“We couldn’t give one little shit what Wregen likes, could we, Rata?” I don’t turn to look at Svend, starting to appreciate the “weasel” nickname Wregen gave him more and more. “You can call him Ratty if you like,” I tell the large rodent. “You’ll regret it, though.”
I hear his sharp inhale but ignore it. I doubt I’ll need to demonstrate, but I will if I must. Somebody has to break Svend’s unholy obsession with the asshole shifter trying to lead us back to Helheim, and there aren’t any options in this cave. It’ll have to be me—and soon—but I’ll deal with that later. Or tomorrow. Maybe the next day.
We walk for a long time, the sounds of footsteps in front of and behind me my only company. Occasionally, I stumbleover a rock, but my eyes have shifted in a way I never expected. They’re finding light where there is none, giving me vague outlines of the caves we’re walking through. It’s as if I already possess Wrath’s gifts, even though I haven’t embraced the bond.
And maybe that’s it. I can grasp echoes of their emotions. It would make sense for me to be able to harness some of their magic too. Wrath’s eyesight is better than mine, if Wregen’s sure steps and steady pace are any indication. I just need a scrap of my sight to follow him without tripping over every rock, and running into every wall, along the way.
The roar pulls me out of my reverie about vision, sending a chill down my spine as I wonder what Wregen found, and whether he’ll leave part of its corpse to disgust us as we pass by. But when he bellows again, frustration rumbling through every note, I feel a rush of panic shooting through our bond.
The chill that rolls along my spine this time is a shard of ice, slicing its way down my back. Wregen’s terrified, and I have to fight the tremble in my hands that this triggers. I focus on the bond, trying to find some idea of what he and Wrath have encountered, but it’s too shallow to give me anything except their panic at whatever waits for us ahead.
Inching my way forward, I let images of the worst possibilities emerge in my thoughts. Telling myself that I’m preparing to meet whatever awaits us around the corner, I focus on each, examining their strengths and weaknesses. Mostly strengths, because anything that can frighten Wregen can’t have many weaknesses.
Jörmungandr’s not likely. He carried us here alive and could have abandoned us in the sea’s depths, never to be seen again. His brothers, though, would be terrifying if they gathered together. Unlike the serpent or his sister Hel, who’s shaped like an elf or human, most of Loki’s offspring are wolves. Enormous wolves. Fenrir is said to be larger than any horse, nearly as big as the elephants that roam Midgard’s warmer lands. The others aren’t much smaller.
Still, it doesn’t sound right. Loki’s sons wouldn’t turn on their sister like that. Wregen’s important to Hel. I can’t imagine they’d threaten him.
Rata is here, tossed from his service to Yggdrasill. What if Níðhöggr got separated from the tree too? Even Wrath might be terrified of that enormous dragon. And he’s a malevolent creature, devoting centuries to destroying the tree of life, if he can.
Wouldn’t Rata sense him, though? After thousands of years of carrying messages to and from the beast, the squirrel should know when he’s nearby.
I slow as I near the corner, stretching out my senses one more time to find some insight into what Wregen fears. Again, though, raw panic alone pulses back at me. With no weapon—because the fuckers stole me in the middle of the night—I feel naked. So I stuff as many rocks as I can into my pockets, and then gesture Ruxi forward.
I couldn’t possibly have expected what I find. The cavern opens up in front of us, a vast space that somehow has more light than the tunnels we’ve been trudging through. And inthe center, as if on display, Wregen is sunk into the ground. It looks like the earth opened up, sucked in half of him, and then wrapped itself around his torso. And maybe that’s exactly what happened. I’d be a fool to underestimate the power of the magic rippling through this system.
“Get me the fuck out of here,” he barks, his eyes the brightest sparks of light in this enormous cave.
I sense, more than see, Svend starting to climb down from Ruxi but spin my head to glare at him. “Don’t you dare,” I warn. Because we’d be fools to give up this opportunity to wring some answers and compliance out of Wregen.
“But … he may die,” Svend whispers, a catch in his voice with the last word.
“Then he’ll die.” There’s no catch in my voice. The knot that formed in my stomach when I saw him may disagree, but all of us would be better off if his journey ended here.
Ruxi rumbles their feelings about the bastard, a confusing mix of fear and dislike giving the low growl an incongruity I understand. But there’s no room in this decision for compassion or the fucking mating bond. He’s a soulless bastard, and we need to be too. Maybe we’ll save him, maybe we won’t, but we’ll get some concessions before we pull him out.
“We have to help him,” Svend squeaks, his words more forceful this time.
“If he tries to get down from you,” I tell Ruxi, still staring at my asshole mate, “fly around for a bit. This is between Wregen andme.”
Ruxi grumbles, this one a complaint I’d understand even without our loose connection. I spin my head, letting my eyes soften. “I understand,” I tell them. “Trust me.”
They watch me for a moment, their expression flat. But then they give their chin a sharp bob, and I turn back toward the dick that’s somehow made himself the center of all of our lives.
He’s not happy. The brows that were drawn together when I first turned the corner now are a single gash across his forehead, wrinkles above them and also spreading out in waves from his downturned lips. His shoulders are tight, and not merely from the pressure of whatever’s pulling him deeper into the earth. It’s the eyes, though, that catch my attention. They’re full of fire, but not the flames of anger. Desire billows out. He may hate this, but the fates paired him with the female he needs. He’d hate a weak mate more.
I don’t move at first, wondering what he’d have been like before Helheim. He’s so fucking beautiful, dark in every place I crave something a little sordid in my life, with signs of light where I’d need them. Our paths never would have crossed—we were raised in two different worlds, literally—so maybe we both were destined to go to Helheim. But the fates couldn’t have intended what he became. There’s no pulling him back, even if some depraved part of me wants to try.
I’d be a fool to save him.
I’m going to give him a chance to bargain for his life anyway.
I pick my way forward, watching for the start of whatever trapped him, in case he managed to move after he stepped into it. It begins where I’d expect, and I can see why Wrath’s sharpeyes missed it. The surface is nearly identical, the smallest shift in color the only sign that something isn’t right.
“I’m going to punish you for this, my stubborn skjaldmær,” he rasps, his expression shifting into a hungry smirk. “But I think you may want my hand on your ass, or maybe my cock in it.” He’s dropped a little, but not much. The ground has covered most of his stomach and is slowly rising toward the lower rise of his chest muscles. It’s sexy in the most frustrating way, and I can’t stop the flame that lights in my core as I watch him flex and clench his pectorals. If his conflicted emotions are any indication, he’s fighting to suppress the instinct to try to escape before it’s too late.
“What I want,” I scoff, “is to see a little bit of humanity from you.”
His eyes narrow, lips drawing into a thin line. “How many times must I tell you,” he demands, his voice barely loud enough to reach me, “that I have none? Hel wrung it from me long ago.” He leans his head forward a touch, holding my gaze. “Make no mistake, my wary mate. I am the most evil creature you will ever encounter, save my mistress herself. I won’t change.”
