But I won’t be with him. I’m going to stick with Wregen until we free Panta. And I’ll figure out how to rip this irrational,desperate, and utterly toxic desire out of my soul. There must be a way. I’ll find it.
Then I’ll abandon him, wherever we are, whatever we’re doing. I’ll shove Wregen and this fucked up mating bond out of my life for good. I’ll make sure he can’t find me and can never drag me back to Helheim again.
Chapter twenty-one
Wregen
We Will Fly
Ourmateisonour back, and we have never felt so complete.
She hasn’t accepted us, but she will. She’s ours, and she knows it. I felt the peace that permeated her when she mounted Wrath. We shared it. Wrath and I were whole for the first time in our life, our mate willingly connecting herself to us. Using us. Trusting us.
Wrath’s wings never tire, despite their centuries-long slumber. Twice, the turnip beast slows, as if to stop, but he snarls and snaps at them until they continue. My beast will stop when he can no longer lift his wings. Until then, he will carry our mate.
I must rest, the turnip beast snipes when we’ve flown for many hours, sending a bolt of fury from Wrath’s tail, shooting along his spine.
If he could rip out their throat without angering our mate, he’d have done it before we left the land of our enemies. A tight leash holds him now, as he fights hisneedto put them down. To fill the void in our gut that cracks open in their presence. That ache led us to the dark place all those years ago, and it started eating us alive when they appeared again. We willnot divide ourselves as they demand, giving part of our very being to them. It is unnatural. We refuse.
Ressssst if you must, Wrath snarls.I will fly.
Perhaps they will grow too tired to follow. They don’t know the path to Helheim, a route that’s been ingrained within us since we gave ourselves to our mistress. Hel beckons us to her and we can only respond to her call.
The dragon is quiet after that, the only sound the flaps of Wrath’s wings propelling us closer to home. And again, he flies, giving in to the serenity of this moment.
It’s a peace we craved when our pairing first emerged. I hadn’t yet lived a dozen years when Wrath appeared. He bit and clawed his way out of the darkest part of my being, a chasm I’d feared since I first recognized its presence. Wrath battled me for control, ever hungry, always demanding more. I tried pushing back, fighting what would be, but I didn’t have the strength I needed. Even with the blood of the gods running through my veins, I wasn’t enough to suppress what the fates had decreed. And definitely not before I’d sprouted hairs across my chin.
Before the seasons turned and the snows melted, I gave up. Wrath rose when he wanted, and he wanted it often. Meals lasted in his bottomless gut a day, if that, before his ravenous need returned. The beasts dwindled and he chose other meals, finally forcing me to travel as far away from humans and other elves as my worn feet would carry me.
The turnip beast appeared when we had nothing to give, trying to claim part of our soul. We couldn’t bear ourselves; how could we tolerate a being broken or corrupt enough to choose tobe with us? They even tried to tell us that they wanted all of us—the man and the monster—and accepted us as we were. But they were more depraved than us. They’d have to be, to subject themselves to the evil creature we’d become.
Hel brought us peace. She gave me the strength to trap Wrath, to stop him from claiming our body. He didn’t sleep, but I lived without the furor, the fervency, that always filled me when he tried to rise.
We would betray our mistress if we embraced the turnip beast. Hel plans to keep that beast and the others trapped and under her control. She saved us. How could we forsake her?
Even if we’ve come to realize we might want a life outside of Helheim, a home in the sun with our skjaldmær.
And started to dread Finaan’s misery, the nightmare that will come to life again when we give our mate to our mistress.
“Wrath.”Finaan’s voice floats toward us, bringing me out of my reverie.
“Yesssss, mate.”Like I love to do, Wrath sends his words to her alone, a soft hiss in her ear.
“It’s time to stop. We can’t fly forever.”
Her voice holds a hint of a plea, and he rejoices in it. As do I, if truth be told. We hold the power to give and take, to offer and withdraw. Both of us crave her supplication.
“We are not ready to ressssst,”Wrath tells her. I feel his frustration at the distance she forces between her and us. She can sense our emotions. He shouldn’t need to tell her.
“I need to rest,”she responds, these words closer to a demand than he likes.“We’ve been flying for hours and you’re not the softest creature inexistence. Stop so we can get some food and sleep.”
Wrath doesn’t care for her tone, but it feeds me. I crave her defiance. Still, he knows she speaks true. She’s starving. He can feel it within her. And it’s wrong to let our mate suffer.
Examining the cavern surrounding us, he searches for a place that would let us stay in this form—let him enjoy our mate’s presence—for a time longer. I indulge him, enjoying the calm this brings. As he opens his mouth to tell her she must wait, the tunnel opens ahead. And he knows it’s time to stop, and for him to give our body back to me.
I should be with her in this place.
Her gasp blooms inside of us, tugging at the corners of Wrath’s lips. Few places on or in this world are as vibrant and alive as this one.
