“And if I heard crickets, it was through Wrath’s ears as I hunted for another meal in an attempt to sate my eternal hunger. But they never sang for long. Wrath silenced everything that felt his presence.”
He turns away from me, striding toward the closest cavern. “She saved me from an existence far worse than anything I suffered in Helheim,” he says, not bothering to turn around. “I’d do it a thousand times without any regret. And I will never forswear her,” he adds before turning the corner, casting the last few words as a whisper in my ear.
I fear he’s right, that he’s hers forever.
For our sakes, though, I hope to all the gods he’s wrong.
Chapter thirteen
Wregen
Ratatoskr
Ineedtogetthemto Helheim.
How the fuck are we still in the cave Jörmungandr slung us to, a full day later? My liege was right. When Ragnarök split the worlds open—triggering a war between gods and jötnar—it fucked with the fates’ weaves. Nothing is as it should be. Or maybe those bitches are still scrabbling to fix the chaos they created when they sided with that prick Freyr and the other Vanir over my mistress’s dread father, Loki. Their meddling interfered with the plans the chaos god had for the world that would emerge after that accursed day. He’s been pissed off ever since. His drive for retribution is probably meddling in the fates’ new weaves.
I have no gods-damned idea. But I do know that it’s time to pull my shit together and get us back home.
I’m already risking my skin by bringing only two elves with me, instead of the hundreds Hel demands. I think I can convince her that my plan will reap her many more subjects, but I have to deliver Finaan and Svend to her first. And then I have to convince her to let me have my skjaldmær as my reward.
The second part was supposed to be the hardest. Hel will smell the bond between us. She won’t want to allow me any companionship, much less the female the fates chose for me. I’m still not sure if I’ll be able to convince her, but I don’t have any other choice. Even if I tried to run, my liege would find me. And I can’t bear Helheim without Finaan’s presence. The loneliness that plagued me during my early days with Wrath pales in comparison to the desolation I felt existing in that dark world without my mate.
Taking them to Helheim should have been easy. Yet, here we sit, smoking a gods-damned fish, twenty-four hours after arriving in these caves. And what fucked up hours they’ve been.
That beast is back. Even their color pisses me off, summoning memories of the turnips I grew to loathe as a child. Their odious flavor often was the only taste in my mouth for days, as Midgard grew barren, and the animals that walked its surface abandoned the corner I called home.
Worse, though, is the constant scratching at my insides since they appeared. That and the wails, howls, and snarls that erupt every few seconds, churning my gut as I fight to keep him contained. My beast hates many things, but that gentle emotion pales in comparison to Wrath’s malice toward the dragon who wants to claim us.
I thought they’d learned their lesson after their first encounter, and we’d never see them again. How was I to know my magic pulled them from Midgard when it captured the Vanatian dragons, trapping Ruxi with the others all this time?Now, we’re stuck with them. They’re mated to Finaan’s beast, and my mate is a stubborn female. She’s resolved to protect the dragon and coerce my bond with the beast.
But I’m more stubborn. Even if I wanted it—and I do not—Wrath would destroy both of us before he’d accept the beast. He came before Ruxi, and he’ll be my other half long after they’re gone. He’s the only beast I will ever bind my life to.
“Master,” the weasel croaks, a warble in his tone. I spin and glare at him, all of my rage focusing on the outlet he offers. He knows it too. His gaze is locked on the floor below us and every inch of his skin trembles. “Finaan bid me to tell you that a meal awaits you. If you would eat.”
“You know better than to disturb me,” I murmur in his ear. “Do you crave punishment?”
A vigorous tremble rolls through his body as he shakes his head from side to side. But then he gives his chin a sharp dip. “I’m here to serve you,” he whispers, though I’m certain that’s the last thing he wanted to say.
I’ve trained him well.
And for some reason I’ll probably never fathom, the weasel’s piety gives Wrath the solace he needs. My beast wants the dragon’s blood or nothing. Maybe the feel of Finaan’s cunt as she clenched around my fingers, and then coming with her taste on my tongue, quenched his need. This elf’s devotion, his willingness to offer himself to use as we wish, soothes the furor that erupted when the turnip creature—the only name I’ll use for the detestable beast—appeared. He drops into his hole, quiet and still.
I suck in a deep breath. Finally, some gods-damned peace. “I will eat,” I tell Svend, striding past him toward my mate.
She feeds me—bringing the fish she cooked as soon as I sit down—and Wrath actually purrs. His low hum rumbles in my chest as he settles more deeply into his space. For a moment, I’m back in my home before Wrath took control, when the beasts we were able to kill and eat satisfied him. I breathe easier than I have in centuries.
But then I remember that those days are behind me. I’m Hel’s now. And the weakness that comes with a sated Wrath has no place in her realm.
“We’ll travel far today,” I tell them. “I’m displeased that we linger here, a day after our arrival. We’ll make up that time along the way.”
“Because something pressing awaits us in Helheim,” my skjaldmær gripes with a roll of her eyes.
I pause, savoring her insolence. Holy Hel, do I adore her fire. But I need her compliant until she’s again trapped in that world. So I set my meal down, rise and close the distance between us, staring at the eyes that are sparking at me. And then I wrap my hands around her throat and push her to her knees.
“Our home awaits us,” I remind her, “where you’ll soon learn to love kneeling at my feet as you worship me.”
Finaan smirks, winks her left eye like the cheeky little slut she is, and punches me in the groin.
