And fuck if I’m not hard again. I double over, a groan spilling from my lips as my cock responds to our mate’s attention. A shiver skitters down my spine as I lift my head and smile. “I should shove you to your knees more often.” My raspy voice can’t hide the need for my ferocious female that bursts inside me at her rough touch.
“That turned you on,” she declares with wide eyes and a sharp laugh. Shoving my hands aside, she rises to her feet to tower over me. “You are one sick bastard. You deserve much, much worse than anything I’ll give you, because I’m not nearly as cruel as you. But if you think any of it will involve me on my knees for you, Hel has twisted your mind more than I imagined.”
The haughty turnip dragon barks out their agreement, and my hatred for them spikes. “You’ve got a reprieve for now,” I tell the beast as I glare at it, straighten my back, and stand beside Finaan. “Wrath will kill you before we reach Helheim. Unless I kill you first.”
They grumble, trying to shove their response into my thoughts, but I push right back. “Stay out of my head,” I mutter, shaking myself as I will the blood to flow away from my cock. I’m usually eager to give in to its needs, but we’ve been in this cavern too fucking long. “Wrap the fish and store it on the beast. May as well get some use out of the little cunt. We leave as soon as you’re done.”
Finaan grumbles her compliance but does as I ask. Within a few minutes, we’re finally starting the trek to Helheim. I pull up Wrath, letting him guide us rather than carrying a torchthat would highlight our presence to the creatures that hide around corners, and in crevices and cracks. He knows our path and will alert me to any threats.
The first few hours are quiet, everyone keeping to themselves, thank fuck. But then Svend gets bored. And a bored Svend is an annoying Svend.
“How many days will it take us to get to Helheim?” he starts, innocently enough.
I shut that shit down, though, barking, “None of your fucking business,” as soon as the “heim” leaves his lips. I will not be drawn into meaningless chatter with the weasel.
Wrath grumbles, his low warning shivering through my chest. For a moment, I think he’s risen to join me in chastising Svend. But then he growls, this time in warning.
I click my tongue, reaching back to lift my palm in Finaan’s direction and stop her before she gets close. We stand in silence as Wrath and I stretch out our senses in search of whatever caught his attention.
We don’t have to look far.
After a few seconds a squirrel, of all things, scampers into our path, pausing a man’s-height away to stare up at us.
Why have we stopped for this vermin?I demand of Wrath. I try not to talk to him much, lest he start demanding things, as he did in my youth, but he alone knows why this creature drew us to a halt.He can’t harm us, I point out to my perplexing beast.
Ssssstrange isssss he, Wrath rasps at me.He carriessssss the magic of thegodsssss.
He’s a squirrel. Kill him if you want for a snack later, and let’s continue.
“You don’t want to kill me,” the little fucker squeaks, his voice so low, I barely miss it. “You can’t trust them,” he adds as his gaze flicks back to the others. “I can help you.”
“You can help me?” I bark out a laugh. “I don’t need help from a rodent.”
“Shhh!” the creature spits out. “She comes.”
His head pops up, eyes staring behind me as I hear Finaan step closer.
“Is that … a squirrel?” she asks, her voice several octaves higher than normal. “It is,” she declares, observant skjaldmær that she is. “How is there a squirrel down here?”
“Is it you that needs help?” the little varmint quizzes, now staring directly at Finaan. “You can’t trust him,” he adds, jutting his puny chin toward me. “I can help you.”
“Now you seek her trust?” I grunt, not able to hold back the smile that ticks up one side of my lips. “You would help her?”
He stands to his full height, no bigger than a cat, and sticks his chest out, arms stretched wide. “I would help anyone who seeks it,” he insists magnanimously. “I have served the gods for millennia and will again soon. But while we’re in these caves, I offer my aid to you.”
“Why can he talk?” Finaan asks—a very reasonable question—but before I offer my guess, the tiny beast responds.
“Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?” he demands.
“Squirrels don’t talk,” she responds in a patient voice, as if telling him something he already should know.
But I’m done with this conversation. “Leave him behind,” I command as I start to stride forward again. “We don’t care about a talking squirrel.”
“You don’t want to do that,” the little fucker squeals at me. “The monsters waiting around that corner will destroy you before you can pull your sword.”
“They haven’t met me yet,” I mutter, turning toward the others to beckon them forward.
Before I’ve gone two steps, though, Wrath rumbles another warning.
