Z’s dropping the bastard to the ground when we get there and as anxious as I am, I can’t hold back the laugh that erupts when I see him. For someone with such an ugly soul, he’s a dangerously handsome male. His pale complexion contrasts with black hair that’s straight but thick and full of life, the richest, darkest lashes I’ve ever seen on an elf, and burgundy lips that have snuck into my dreams more than once, to my eternal horror. That combined with a jaw and cheekbones that look like they’d win in a fight with a rock-breaker drew my eye to him.
Evil though he is, some depraved part of me has craved Wregen since the first moment I saw him.
Even in Vanatia, he ripples with the power he exudes in Helheim. But that power didn’t do a damn thing for him against the elements in this world. He must have been walking in the sun for a long time because his ghostly skin is as bright as a lobster, starting to blister in some places. I never took him for such an idiot. Funnier still, the red in his face is somehow washed away by a tinge of green, his stomach heaving as he lies in the dirt.
I can’t wait to hear what he did to provoke the ride Z subjected him to.
“What’s he doing here?” Fhord demands as he stops in front of Wregen, nudging him over with the toe of his boot.
“Get the fuck away from me,” Wregen snarls, whipping out a hand to catch Fhord’s ankle before the dragon rider can pull it away.
But Fhord doesn’t put up with shit like that. He lifts his other boot and kicks Wregen in the temple, flinging him onto his ass. And I again can’t hold back the laugh as I watch him scramble backwards, still blindfolded, straight into Z’s waiting claw.
Which immediately closes around him, trapping him, arms at his sides, in the cage dragons like to create.
Fhord’s gaze snaps up to Mikkael, who’s standing next to his dragon smirking at Wregen’s plight. “What the fuck is he doing here?” Fhord yells.
Mikkael gives him a lazy grin. “Found him during my patrol. I wanted to kill him, but Z thought we might need him. Fuck if I know why. So we brought him here.”
“You don’t know who he is?” Sifa’s calm voice pierces the air, helping settle Fhord’s temper.
“Should I?” Mikkael glances from her to the elf trapped under his beast’s claw. “I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”
“His name’s Wregen,” I tell them as I join the circle that surrounds him.
The bastard’s head snaps up, his features settling into a look of perfect calm. And then he sucks in a deep breath, a smile lifting his lips as he nods his head twice. He must realize I’m from Helheim, that he’s found us. Hel’s punishments for failure are intense, and he’s met his first goal.
“You know him?” Mikkael asks, the smile dropping away from his lips. “How?”
“He’s from Helheim, Hel’s most loyal servant. His heart still beats because he gave himself to her alive, just before we were sucked into that realm. He’s a bastard, and I wish Z had killed him,” I add in a voice full of the disdain I feel for the asshole. “But he didn’t, so we should find out why he’s here. And how he found us.”
“I’ll speak to you,” Wregen murmurs, his voice barely reaching my ears but his bound eyes still firmly fixed in my direction. “Nobody else.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” Fhord interjects. “You’ll speak to whoever I want you to speak to.”
“I will not,” Wregen responds, never looking away. It’s as if he can see me through the blindfold. The flies in my stomach dart around more frantically, the weight of his attention spurring them into a frenzy.
“Let’s not decide that now,” Sifa says. “He got close enough to threaten this camp. We leave within the hour.” She turns toward Mikkael. “Tie his wrists and legs. He’ll stay blindfolded until we get him someplace secure at our next stop.”
Mikkael dips his chin, pulling out two more cords from his belt. As he approaches Wregen, the bastard snarls, but it seems half-hearted. He wants to go with us. He’s here to try and return the elves to Helheim, so there’s no place in this world he’d rather be.
“Maybe we should drop him somewhere along the way,” I suggest, even as something inside me twists at the thought. Shoving that aside, I plow on. “I don’t think he’s powerful enough to drag us back to that Hel-hole, but maybe I’m wrong. Why tempt fate by making it easier for him?”
“Why are we even keeping him alive?” Mikkael demands, prompting a low growl from his dragon. The canny male—a descendent of the Æsir prophet god Hœnir, I’m told—whips his head around, one eyebrow quirking up. He and Z embark on some argument about Wregen, Mikkael throwing his arm out occasionally to gesture at the trapped male, then yanking it back in, his fists clenched.
But Z must win because after a minute or two, the male flings his chin down in anger, muttering “Fuckin’ A.” He glares at Wregen, whose lips are lifted in the barest hint of a smile. “We need to take him.”
“Why?” I demand, because it makes no sense. “We don’t know how he found us. What if he leads Beron straight to the next place.”
“I am connected to you,” Wregen butts in, his voice low. His expression wavers for the briefest moment, the corners of his lips dipping down as he seems to weigh his next words. But then the arrogant asshole returns, and he throws his shoulders back, a half-smile emerging again. “Helheim lives in your souls,” he explains with a shrug. “I followed that link. I willalwaysbe able to follow that link. The next time, though, I will bring Konungr Beron and his forces with me. He wants nothing more than to quash your little rebellion and prove to the peasants that he alone rules this land. You can protect your secretsonlyby taking me with you.”
My stomach stills, as if every creature that had been buzzing within me calmed at the same time. And fuck me if a spark of joy doesn’t erupt in the place of all those bugs. My thoughts are a jumbled mess as I wrangle with the reality that some depraved part of me wants him with us. I do my best to smother that insanity as I join the others in staring at him in silence.
Theneedto read his powers and possibilities—the way I can with every being across the worlds except him—twists my stomach in frustration. I don’t know enough about Wregen, and I hate being useless on something that matters this much.
“Fuckity fuck fuck,” Fhord mutters, repeating the curse that appears to be his favorite. “It would explain how he got so close.”
Sifa nods, glaring at the bastard still trapped under Z’s claw, then turns to Mikkael. “Z can carry him,” she declares with a grimace. “You brought him and your dragon argued for his life. He’s yours until we decide what to do.” Turning around, she yells at the crowd gathered around us. “We leave within the hour with every trace of our presence.”
