It’s been a long fucking time—centuries of existing in Helheim, our mistress keeping him trapped the entire time—but it feels so familiar andright. I shudder out a sigh and yield control to my beast.
Some might call him a dragon, but he’s nothing like the feathered beasts that dominate the open skies. His scales are as black as the caves around us, and he doesn’t crave connection. He craves chaos.
Seven creatures surround us, Jötunheimr having spewed out the males who are threatening our mate. They’re enormous—the jötnar, or giants, that humans dread—and each carries a sword or spear that would take our blood if Wrath let them.
He won’t.
A dragon might be afraid. But Wrath isn’t a dragon. He doesn’t fear.
He turns toward the male holding our mate, a shiver rippling down his spine when he sees her wide eyes and open mouth. She’s alive. But then Wrath’s gaze focuses on the blood that cakes her chest, and crimson erupts in his vision. The fire these males sparked when they attacked her explodes, setting every part of us aflame.
In one stride, Wrath is standing in front of him, his breath coating the jötunn’s skin in embers. This risks our mate, though. The bastard holds her as if his threat might salvage his life. But he’s dead already. He just hasn’t yet suffered everything Wrath will do to him for attacking her.
One of the other males finds his courageand stalks forward, driving his puny little knife into Wrath’s side. My beast spins his head and shoots a single flame at the fool, incinerating him before he can take another breath. Ashes fall where he stood, and a ripple of pleasure rolls through Wrath as the others’ fear pounds out. It bounces off the rock, filling the space around us.
Wrath will eat well today. Their emotions will sustain his soul, and their bodies will fill his gut.
Looking back at the male who still holds Finaan in his filthy hands, Wrath savors the trembles that run up and down his body, his quivering fingers barely strong enough to grasp her.
“You sssstill may choosssse how you die,” Wrath murmurs, the corners of his mouth lifting as he rises to tower over the fool holding our mate. “Your death will not be quick, but you desssside now how much you will ssssuffer before we take your life.”
“I’ll kill her before you can get to me,” he yells, pushing his blade into the surface flesh on her throat, drawing even more of her blood. “Let us go. Let us all go and I’ll release her.”
But Wrath is done with this game. The jötunn chose a long death, and that’s what he’ll get. Flinging his tail toward him, Wrath traps his neck between the two spikes at its end, driving him backward and pinning him against the nearest rock. For a moment, my hungry beast considers giving in and taking his life. His need to avenge our mate twists his insides, demanding that vermin’s death.
He doesn’t, though.
Instead, Wrath slams one of his spikes against our enemy’s head, rendering him useless until he’s ready to wake him. And then he turns to theothers. Five remain, too stupid or stubborn to flee when they had a chance. Wrath would have enjoyed the chase but this is better. He’ll take them one by one, sating his hunger, and then he’ll play with the male who laid hands on Finaan.
The first acts as if he plans to attack the monster looming above him. Lifting his spear, he glances at the others, yelling something in the language of the jötnar. But Wrath puffs out a breath that coats him in flame, and then bites him in half, his head and the top of his torso sliding down Wrath’s throat while the rest of him collapses on the ground.
Fuck. Me. My stomach jumps, its contents turning sour as they push at my throat, looking for an escape.
I hate this part.
Despise it, with every bit of my soul.
But I need revenge against the male who attacked Finaan as desperately as Wrath does.
So I shove away the queasiness still churning my insides, and resign myself to what’s to come.
Gasps around us are the only sign that the others recognize their fate. One finally grasps his reality and tries to run away. Wrath chooses him next, knocking his sword from his hand before he swallows the jötunn whole. Another cowers on the ground; Wrath leaves him for last. His fear has paralyzed him and Wrath despises easy prey. Perhaps he’ll find courage as Wrath sups on his allies.
He takes a little more time with the next two, trapping one with his claw while he eats the other piece by piece, every bite twisting my gut. The jötunn’s screams pierce the air around us, almost drowning out the shrieks of the male who can only watchin fear of his own end.
When Wrath has taken his legs and arms—each of them in two bites, to lengthen his pleasure—he shoves his nose at the enemy’s crotch and reveals a dick too small for a male of his size.
“Oh, fuck no,”I snarl at my beast. “Don’t you dare leave me with shreds of his cock in my teeth.”
Wrath grumbles at me, but he listens. Snaking out his tongue, he wraps it around the jötunn’s pitiful penis—capturing his balls as he does—and yanks. And then he sucks down his prize in one grisly piece.
This squeal lasts a long time, and I have no idea how his lungs can sustain it. After more seconds than I bothered to count, Wrath takes his head, finally ending the pitiful caterwauling.
The smell coming from the last one offends even my beast. I bark out a laugh—Wrath grumbling at me in response—because this male found his weakness. Wrath won’t stick his nose anywhere near the shit that probably coats the ass that spewed out that disgusting smell. This jötunn will keep his cock and everything in its vicinity.
Wrath wants to take his time with this meal too, but he’s held our body for too long. It’s my turn. I reach out to take control and yank. He fights me, not ready to give up, but I’m stronger than him. He hasn’t found a way to withstand the power I gathered in my service to Hel.
And so he agrees to forego his prize. The male who attacked our mate will be mine. I’ll avenge her. Snarlingat me one more time, Wrath cleaves the shitty jötunn in half, swallowing his chest and head as the rest drops to the rock below us.
