ASTRID’S POV

The wind howled like a living thing, rattling the wooden shutters of my chamber with a fury that made the entire building shake. I had never experienced a storm like this in my village. The blizzard had come from nowhere, sweeping across the settlement with the force of an angry god.

I pulled my woolen cloak tighter around my shoulders and moved closer to the small fire that flickered weakly in the stone hearth.

The flames danced and guttered with each gust of wind that found its way through the cracks in the walls.

Outside, I could hear the crash of objects being thrown around by the storm, the worried shouts of men trying to secure anything that might blow away.

The temperature in my room was dropping rapidly. I could see my breath forming small clouds in the air, and my fingers were already growing numb despite being tucked inside my cloak.

The fire that had seemed adequate just an hour ago was now struggling against the cold that seeped through every gap in the wooden walls.

I had been in the healing hut when the storm hit, organizing my supplies and preparing medicines for the coming winter.

The blizzard had arrived so suddenly that I barely had time to gather my things and run back to my chamber before the wind became too strong to walk against.

Now I was trapped here, watching my small fire fight a losing battle against the bitter cold.

Another fierce gust of wind shook the building, and I watched in horror as my fire flickered lower.

The flames were barely visible now, just tiny tongues of orange struggling to stay alive in the stone hearth. I had used the last of my firewood an hour ago, and there was no more fuel to keep the fire burning.

I tried to blow gently on the coals, hoping to coax the flames back to life, but the cold air rushing through the walls made my efforts useless.

Within minutes, the last of the fire died away, leaving only glowing embers that provided no warmth at all.

The cold hit me immediately. Without the fire, the temperature in the room plummeted, and I could feel the chill seeping into my bones.

I hurried to my bed and pulled every fur and blanket I owned over myself, curling into a tight ball and trying to conserve what little body heat I had left.

But it wasn’t enough. The storm seemed to be getting stronger, and the cold was creeping through the furs like water through cloth.

My teeth began to chatter, and no matter how tightly I wrapped myself in the blankets, I couldn’t stop shivering.

Time passed slowly. I lost track of how long I lay there, shaking uncontrollably as the cold consumed me.

My fingers and toes went numb first, then the numbness began to spread up my arms and legs. I knew this was dangerous. I had seen people die from cold before, had treated the frostbite that came from being exposed to winter’s bite for too long.

But there was nothing I could do. The storm was too fierce for me to leave my chamber and seek help. I could only lie there, wrapped in my furs, and hope that the blizzard would pass before the cold could claim me.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside my door.

At first I thought it was just the wind playing tricks on me, but then I heard a voice calling my name.

“Astrid? Astrid, are you in there?”

It was Ragnar. Even through my chattering teeth and the fog of cold that clouded my mind, I recognized his deep voice.

But I couldn’t seem to make my mouth work to answer him. The cold had stolen my voice along with everything else.

The door burst open, and I heard him curse in his native language.

Through the gap in my furs, I could see him standing in the doorway, snow clinging to his dark hair and beard.

His eyes swept the room, taking in the dead fire and the pile of blankets that concealed my shivering form.

“Gods above,” he muttered, rushing to my bedside. “How long has your fire been out?”

I tried to answer, but all that came out was a weak whimper. My whole body was shaking so violently that I couldn’t control it, and I could barely feel my hands and feet anymore.

Ragnar didn’t wait for an answer. He quickly assessed the situation, seeing the empty wood pile and the cold stones where my fire had been.

Without hesitation, he began stripping off his heavy outer cloak and boots.

“Move over,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

I was too cold to protest, too desperate for warmth to care about propriety or the careful distance we had maintained since that night on the wall.

When he lifted the edge of my furs and slipped beneath them, I actually sighed with relief.

The heat from his body was like a blessing from the gods. He was so warm, so solid and alive next to me.

I couldn’t help but press closer to him, seeking the warmth that radiated from his skin like heat from a forge.

He wrapped his arms around me carefully, pulling me against his chest. I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, could smell the familiar scent of leather and steel that always seemed to cling to him.

But underneath that was something else, something that was purely him.

“You’re like ice,” he murmured, his breath warm against my hair. “How could you let yourself get this cold?”

“Fire died,” I managed to whisper through my chattering teeth. “No more wood.”

He made a sound of frustration. “You should have come to find me. Or sent word. You could have died in here.”

I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t wanted to bother him, that I had thought I could manage on my own.

But the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was burrow deeper into his warmth, letting his body heat slowly chase away the deadly cold that had settled in my bones.

We lay there in silence for a while, and gradually my violent shivering began to subside.

Feeling started to return to my hands and feet, bringing with it a painful tingling sensation. But I barely noticed the discomfort.

All I could focus on was the way Ragnar’s arms felt around me, strong and protective and surprisingly gentle.

His hands moved slowly along my back, rubbing warmth back into my muscles. It was innocent enough at first, just practical attempts to help my circulation.

But as the immediate danger passed and awareness returned to my cold-numbed senses, I became acutely conscious of every place our bodies touched.

I could feel the solid strength of his chest against my cheek, could feel the way his breathing deepened when I unconsciously pressed closer to him.

My own breath began to hitch as warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with fighting off the cold.

“Better?” he asked softly, and I could hear something in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

I nodded against his chest, not trusting my voice. The storm still raged outside, but here in this small space beneath the furs, wrapped in his arms, I felt safer than I had since leaving my village.

His hand came up to touch my face, his thumb tracing gently along my cheekbone. “Your lips are still blue,” he murmured, and I could feel his breath against my skin.

I looked up at him then, meeting his ice-blue eyes in the dim light that filtered through the shutters.

There was something intense in his gaze, something that made my heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Let me warm all of you,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.

Before I could respond, before I could think about what was happening or what it might mean, he lifted my chin with gentle fingers.

His eyes searched mine for a moment, as if asking permission for something we both knew would change everything between us.

Then his lips touched mine, soft and warm and infinitely careful. It was nothing like I had expected from a man like him. There was no demand in the kiss, no taking what he wanted by force. Instead, there was a tenderness that took my breath away, a gentleness that made something deep inside me begin to melt.