Edge of Control: (Viking Dystopian Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

within with violence and fury. He looked exactly like the warrior king he was.
    Wulf was not the largest or brawniest of the brotherhood, but that hardly mattered. He was obviously and inarguably the king. He was a gracefully wicked blade where Gunnar was an ax, Tyr a hefty broad blade suitable for taking down packs of men in one swing, and Riordan that damned scimitar he loved so much. Wulf was dressed for battle tonight, his leather harness making him look even longer, leaner, and tougher than usual as it stretched across his broad chest. And that astonishing power he held and exuded in equal measure was like its own fire, bright and hot and unmistakable, drowning out any other flames in the vicinity.
    All the brothers fell silent, out of respect or deference or, in Eiryn’s case, because she hadn’t been shooting off her mouth in the first place.
    Wulf tossed a hard glance around the gathered group, and Eiryn was certain he was taking stock of who waited there for him. Tallying up injuries and losses in a swift instant before he drew his blade and crouched down in front of the two captives where they waited. They looked as if they would have shrunk away from him if they could, despite the fact there was nothing but a ring of fire and a set of raiders behind them—still, it was likely a more appealing choice than a pissed-off raider king.
    Wulf didn’t point his blade at them. He didn’t have to. He merely held it in a loose grip as he squatted down before them in the dirt, all of his considerable attention focused on the two brawny men with their shaved heads and their arms bound behind them. His mouth curved as he studied them, but not in any way that a sane person would call friendly.
    “Did you try to blow me up?” he asked, almost casually. Almost as if he thought it was a joke, though only a suicidal blind man would think the steel-packed fury before them was kidding. About anything. “Because it turns out I’m not a big fan of explosions when they happen in my fucking face.”
    The two captives exchanged an alarmed sort of look.
    “We weren’t after you,” Riordan’s captive hurried to assure him. “Our orders were to destroy the temple, that’s all.”
    “We didn’t expect anyone else to be here,” the second man chimed in, too quickly. “Where the hell did you come from? We didn’t get paid enough to mess with raiders.”
    “I’m touched that we command a higher price for your compromised blades,” Wulf murmured, still with that dangerous curve to his mouth. “How many are you?”
    “There were five,” Tyr belted out. “Now there are only these two douchebags.”
    Eiryn was closer to the war chief now, having moved around the edges of the group almost without meaning to, the better to put herself where she should have been already—at Wulf’s side. And it still took getting used to, that Tyr wasn’t responsible for crippling her father. That he’d done it, yes, but only at Wulf’s command. She’d spent so long hating Tyr and plotting the many satisfyingly bloody ways she’d make him pay that it was hard to let go. Her years of black hatred hung between them like the thick, choking smoke from the temple fire and maybe she liked it that way, because she didn’t do anything to rein it in.
    Tyr slid a hard look at her, then returned his attention to the grim little scene playing out before them.
    Any other member of the brotherhood might have felt chastened by that, as they were meant to do. But Eiryn had never answered to Tyr like the rest of them. Not once she’d survived her prospective period and her trial year in the brotherhood. And certainly not since she’d claimed her place as Wulf’s bodyguard.
    She might not be feeling that place any longer, but that didn’t mean she wanted to put herself back under the war chief’s command. He was a celebrated hard-ass and she’d already had enough of that from her blood—and her one goddamned mistake—to last her a lifetime.
    Eiryn