When I find the largest window I’ve seen yet, I stride into the room and stand in front of it. We’re in a village, but nothing about the uniform homes or familiar terrain tells me where. Álfheimr’s plants and trees don’t vary as in other worlds. The blues you see on one end are virtually identical to those you find on the other. I haven’t spent nearly enough time in thisworld to recognize landmarks or the names of the few taverns dotted about.
No matter. Wrath will lead us from here when I’m free of these gods-forsaken shackles.
I stand there for a long time, enjoying this world’s unique beauty. I’ve seen remarkable places in Midgard, and Asgard is beyond compare, but if I could look at only one view for the rest of my life—other than my skjaldmær—it would be Álfheimr. The elven side of me knows it belongs here, despite my centuries of commitment to Hel. My soul is at rest.
The stars have risen by the time I return to the hovel they assigned me and drop onto the little bed. Reaching out, I caress the bond between Finaan and me, allowing her time to fall asleep before I join her. Better to wake up together than face a willful pride that might keep us apart. Finally, when I’m certain she’s ready for me, I stand and go find her room.
She’s locked the door, which I’d consider cute were it not for the fact that she doesn’t realize I have a set of keys. Shaking my head at my skjaldmær’s stubborn refusal to admit herneedfor me—as if she hopes to pretend she never saved me from Balin’s arrow—I let myself in and lock the door behind me. Her bed is close enough for me to see the light blanket covering a body I’m certain is naked, the way it rests on her curves without the wrinkles of clothing. I always love it when Finaan chooses to sleep unclothed.
Her breathing is erratic, and she’s moaning every few seconds, her arms and legs twitching as if in fear. I don’t move at first, savoring the dread seeping out of her as I would hatred oragony if she offered me those emotions. But then she mumbles something I can’t decipher, and my blood chills at the terror in her words.
Stepping forward, I reach out to smooth her tangled hair away from her face. Whatever stalked her into this nightmare has twisted her into a frantic mess. Even with the shackles, I feel an echo of Wrath’s anger at whoever would dare frighten our skjaldmær. I wish they lived, so that I could kill them for her. Slowly.
“No, please, mistress,” Finaan mutters, folding in on herself, as if to hide from the female who frightened her so badly.
I don’t hesitate, because I know what she needs. Tugging off my boots and stripping off my clothes, I lay down behind my mate, then pull her closer so I can ward off the evil that stalks her at night. She pushes at me, rising from sleep without Svend’s magic to keep her under, but I hold her.
She’s still trembling. She needs me.
“What are you doing, Wregen?” she mumbles, still trying to escape my arms but with less vigor. The shudders driven by her fears are slowing. She knows as well as I do I’ll keep the nightmares at bay.
“I’m comforting you, my mate,” I purr, helping to slow her erratic heartrate even more. “Your nightmare drew me to you, so I came.”
“How did you know?” she asks in a smaller voice than I’ve ever heard from her. Something inside me twists, anger flaring in my gut at whatever might try to diminish a female so strong and fierce.
“I will always come when you need me,” I respond, surprising myself with the fervor of my commitment. These aren’t mere words. They’re a promise to the female the fates gave me. An oath I plan to keep.
She holds herself away from me a moment more—prickly female that she is—before settling into my embrace. Wrath calms immediately, too enamored of Finaan to concern himself with the ghosts she conjured in her sleep. My heart rate slows and I exhale gradually. I’m calmer, more content, than a being like me deserves to be.
As I’m about to drop off to sleep, I feel her tremble one more time. But this isn’t fear. It’s gratitude and some emotion I don’t recognize, that feels more dangerous than anything I might experience in Helheim. And then she speaks the words that drag me from any hope of rest, keeping my mind fixated on my skjaldmær for the rest of the night.
“Thank you for getting me away from her,” she mumbles, her arms tightening around mine as she snuggles more deeply into my chest. “Hel can’t hurt me here.”
She’s quiet after that, but it doesn’t matter.
I know who haunts her. I think I’ve always known.
And I know exactly what I’ll be doing to my mate when I take her home with me and hand her over to her nightmare.
Chapter eighteen
Finaan
The Fire He Ignited
Iwakewithastart,strong arms wrapped around my stomach—arms I’m clinging to, like I actually want them there—and a massive dick pressed against the back of my thighs. Which are closed, thank the gods.
“What the fuck, Wregen?” I shriek, pulling up the covers to hide my naked chest as I scoot away from him and plaster my spine to the headboard. “What are you doing here?” I’m horrified at what I’ve done, but even more devastated by the sense of peace that surrounded me for that split second before I realized who shared my bed.
And then the memories wash through me. My nightmare. Wregen’s arms. The comfort he brought me.
“You needed me,” he says, confirming it wasn’t a dream. Adding on his signature smirk, he lifts his arms over his head and stretches, not even trying to hide the erection lifting the little bit of blanket left to cover him. I drag my gaze away from his firm chest and the V that leads away from it. “And I gave you what you needed,” he adds as he reaches down, frees his dick from the speck of protection it had, and starts languidlystroking it. The cocky bastard throws in a wink that really shouldn’t send sparks directly to my core, but does anyway.
I knew he was here and let him stay.
It doesn’t make what he did right, though.
“You can’t break into my room,” I growl, yanking the rest of the blanket away from him and wrapping it around me as I stand up. “It was locked to keep you out,” I point out with a frantic wave at the useless chunk of wood. “And I’m not … decent,” I add as I look down at myself to make sure I’m fully covered.
