I drop my hands, unable to hold back the petulance that whips through me. “I need my magic,” I tell her, “and my beast.”
“Do you miss Wrath when you can’t sense him?” she asks, one eyebrow rising.
“Are you trying to change the subject?” I demand, even as her calm leeches into me.
“Is it working?” she responds with a smile.
I huff out a sigh. “It is,” I concede. “I’ll indulge you, this once.”
“Lucky me,” she scoffs. But her smile turns into a grin, and fuck me if I don’t smile in response.
I barely recognize the male she brings out in me, and I’m not sure how I feel about him. It doesn’t matter, though. Once we’re back in Helheim, I’ll be the male I always have been. I’m Hel’s second and even this disarming female won’t change him. Finaan knows him. She knows what to expect when we’re home again, and she’ll adapt.
“Wrath has been part of me for centuries. Even in Helheim, he’s always there, sharing his emotions, sometimes swaying mine. It’s unsettling to not feel him. He’s risen twice since that bastard placed these cuffs on me, both times nothing more than a flutter in my gut. I never thought it possible, but I miss his presence.”
“He’ll be back soon,” she assures me. “Now, get out. Go waste time somewhere. Come back at midnight, and we’ll leave as soon as we can.”
I guess it’s time to explore. I may not get another chance to find whatever it is Balin alluded to all those years ago, when he told me he’d found a way I might be able to break free from Heland still control Wrath. One of the last things he said before he betrayed me, binding me to my mistress even more tightly.
Not that I’d change anything, I tell myself, ignoring the whisper of discontent that flares in my gut at the thought of being bound to Hel forever. I belong there. My mistress’s depraved tastes suit me. But I’m curious. And it may help me take revenge against Balin when the time comes.
I start in the messiest office I can find, since it’s likely to be the most fruitful and I don’t have time to waste. I haven’t figured out how important this building is, but if my views from its many windows are any indication, it’s the beating heart of this town. Elves who seem to hold power in this world—including Balin, much as I hate to admit it—come and go regularly. They spend time in rooms like this and the few larger meeting rooms dotted about. Nobody except my merry little group sleeps here.
This one’s a waste of time, though. The occupant must manage supplies. Everything I find relates to trade with other parts of Álfheimr. It’s mildly interesting that I find no evidence of commerce with other worlds, but not what I’m looking for. Three more offices yield similar results—one, the local herdsmaster; another, the elf responsible for brewing ale; and the final one (which I should have realized from the stench alone), the poor sap stuck with creating soaps and lotions.
I’ll stink for days from spending time in that room.
The fifth office, though, is promising. I recognize his scent the moment I swing open the door, a hint of leather covering up the animal smell he’s carried since our youth. And he callsme a beast, the asshole. I close the door and stride forward, missing Wrath’s heightened senses more than usual. He could find the hidden places Balin obsesses over, the notes he’s written to himself since I arrived, and the messages he’s received from his queen.
My snooping skills will have to do, I guess. I start with the top of the desk, although I don’t expect to find anything helpful. He’s not that foolish. After a few minutes, I conclude I’m right. There’s not much here, beyond confirming his importance in this place. But I knew that already.
His desk drawers aren’t much better, until I tap the bottom of a drawer that has papers shoved in, as if the entire stack was stored together. Another smile creases my cheeks, because even without my skjaldmær nearby, that’s my reaction to everything good these days. I pull out the folders and check the edges, looking for the latch or opening that will reveal whatever he’s tried to hide.
Before I find it, though, I hear steps I recognize as his. Dropping the papers and straightening my back, I nudge the drawer shut with my knee moments before the bastard walks in. I’m relieved not to have been caught with my hand in his drawers—disgusted at the mere thought—and more grateful than I expected that Finaan ignored my request and left these fucking manacles on me.
“Do you think I’d leave anything significant for you to find?” he demands as he leans against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other. “You’ve beenspending too much time with the dead. You’ve lost your common sense.”
“You left with my female. I decided I’d see what I could borrow of yours. It looks like you couldn’t keep her, though. Not that I thought you would. Because, as I told you, she’s mine.”
“Not for long,” he claims, the deluded bastard. “I told you I’d take her from you, and I meant it. She might have some unholy attachment to you now…”
“Did she tell you that?” I ask, unable to help myself. Because my skjaldmær wants me to believe she still hates me, and I’d love some gossip to throw back at her.
“No, she didn’t tell me that,” he sneers, his shoulders growing stiff for a single beat of my heart.
She didn’t say the words, but she didn’t need to. Her need for me is obvious even to this oaf.
“No matter.” I stride toward Balin, patting him on the chest as I pass. “I’m done here. I’ll see you at dinner. Or not.”
He grabs my wrist, tugging me toward him, but before he gets a chance to reconsider the wisdom of touching me without permission, my arm is at his throat and his eyes are bulging wide.
“You don’t put your hands on me,” I remind him. “Wrath isn’t my only dangerous side.” Stepping back, I give him a nod as I tap his puny little chest again, then gather all the saliva I can and spit on his pretty white shirt. He mumbles some complaint or another but I ignore him. He’s got nothing I want to hear.
Finaan does, though, so I make my way back to her room.
“I thought I told you to disappear,” she mutters as she swings her door open in response to my knock.
“The rat got the keys for you?” I ask, looking her over. She changed out of the clothes she wore with Balin. I’m going to believe it’s because his smell was on them, and she only ever wants to smell like me.
