By the time we’ve leveled out, the dryness in my throat is a parched desert. The pit that formed in my stomach as I walked is a cavern, consuming rational thought. And I realize why I can’t wield my magic. I haven’t had anything to drink or eat for hundreds of years. This isn’t Helheim. My magic demandsenergy. I am at this bastard’s mercy until I can sate my thirst and hunger.
Which pisses me off even more. I’m stronger than any of them. This prick will pay for treating me like one of Hel’s wraiths.
Within minutes, I feel the subtle shift of the dragon’s wings as we start to descend. No wonder he accosted me. I was close to whatever city or camp he’s trying to protect. These people must know something about the elves who arrived in this world. That type of secret can’t be contained for long. Maybe the gods are with me after all.
And then I feel her, and I’m sure they’re by my side. The bond that ties Finaan to me vibrates, as if it’s as excited as me to be so close to her. This dragon rider is connected to Hel’s elves. He’s bringing me straight into their midst.
She’ll be mine again soon.
Chapter four
Finaan
He's from Helheim
Ishutoutthewarmthof the sun on my skin, playful laughter a few tents over, the rich aroma of tonight’s stew. And I concentrate on her.
Connecting to my dragon used to be easy. From the moment we embraced our bond, she was there, a constant presence. I was never alone or lonely. If my soul needed the touch of another soul, it reached for her. Our connection was exciting and vibrant, but more than that, it was fulfilling and inspiring. It was enough. She was enough.
But then Nerthus, covetous bitch that she was, decided to take the dragons that she desperately wanted. She launched a war against the elves who bonded with those beasts much more often than the other races did. If fate wouldn’t give her a dragon, she’d take them all by force. We were about to defeat her—force her back into the hole where she belonged—when a magic more powerful than any I’d felt before sucked me into Helheim.
Without Panta.
The cleaving of our bond nearly destroyed me, so much worse than being dragged to the underworld. I spent threecenturies convinced my dragon was dead. As much as I wanted to join her, I couldn’t. Every time I tried, Hel found and healed me. I even tossed myself into the pit, convinced that would send me to Valhalla or Folkvangr at last, but Hel dragged me out before death could take me.
The bitch.
Now, I feel my bond with Panta again. It’s barely there, a shadow of the link that once connected us. Itisthere, though, and I have to follow it. I have to find her.
Standing, I spin in place, stretching out my senses. I haven’t tried this before, too afraid of realizing I’m imagining it. But I’m not a coward. As I take a step in the direction of the setting sun—Panta drawing me closer to the water—something else rips my attention away.
Mikkael and Z are flying low toward camp, a sheep or something clutched in the blue beast’s claws. I have no idea why I’m drawn to the poor animal, but I am. As they near, though, I realize it’s not an animal. It’s a person—human or elf, I can’t tell—who apparently refused to join Mikkael on Z’s back or wasn’t welcome there.
I watch them spiral down, wondering who it could possibly be and why this being I don’t even know captured my attention. They’re spinning much more than they usually do, as if they want their captive to puke all over the camp. They must have really pissed off the dragon or his rider—or both.
But then they get close enough for me to see him, and a shiver rumbles down my spine before shifting to my gut, launching a swarm of flies. They buzz around, landing, eating,and spewing where they will, while I try to figure out why the fuck Wregen is in Vanatia and being carried into our midst.
I’ve never talked to him. He probably has no idea who I am. But everyone in Helheim knows Hel’s sadistic sidekick. Any wraiths or elves with a shred of sense stayed as far away from him as possible. He held Hel’s power in too many things and delighted in using it in cruel ways. He served Hel by doing her bidding, but even more by chasing his fiendish desires, making “life” in Helheim much worse than it already is. Those desperate for release from their pathetic existence—or hoping to gain access to Niflhel—offered themselves for his amusement. It rarely worked out well for them.
And now he’s here.
Hel must realize where we are. There’s no other explanation. I don’t know what she expects Wregen to do, but we have more to worry about than him. If Hel knows, then Beron probably does too. We’re not safe here. We may not be safe anywhere.
Turning, I sprint toward Sifa and Fhord’s tent, whirling past or over other elves and any logs or fires in my way. My chest is heaving by the time I stop at their entry, fling the tent flap open, and rush inside. They spin their heads to stare at me, lips dropping down at the corners as Sifa lifts a hand to rub the base of her neck and Fhord’s hand lifts to rest on a hip.
“What’s wrong?” Sifa stands and strides toward me, her expression shifting from confusion to concern, eyebrows drawing together as she holds my gaze and tilts her head. “What happened?”
“Hel sent someone,” I spit out. “Mikkael and Z brought an elf I recognize from Helheim. Wregen. With us gone, he’s the only living being in Helheim, other than Hel. Or was. He’s here now.”
“Hel found us?” Fhord throws himself to his feet, stalking forward to stand with his mate. “She knows about this place?”
“Fuck if I know,” I force out, my breath finally slowing a bit. “He’s blindfolded and Z’s carrying him in his claws. I have no idea how far away he was when they found him.”
“Mikkael’s not traveling far in his sweeps,” Sifa says as she looks at Fhord. “He must have gotten pretty gods-damned close.”
“Fuck,” Fhord snarls. “Fuckity fuck fuck.” He stomps past me and then starts sprinting toward the dragons’ landing area.
Sifa and I race after him. He’ll need her there, and they’ll need me or one of the other elves. Maybe whatever I know about Wregen will help them figure out how he got so close to us.
