“It’s Yggdrasill,”the little rat squeals, loud enough to reach Wrath’s ears.
I can’t fault his joy, though. The tree’s influence in this cave blossoms in everything that lives here. Its root running beneath the clear lake is visible even from this distance. The light that pulses through each part of the tree shines bright enough to reflect back individual drops of water, all of the air dancing beneath the soft waves. As we continue, I feel the tree’s magic, a power unlike anything else in any of the worlds.
I push out of the hole he keeps me in, aching to claim our skin. If he refuses to give it to me, I’ll take it by force. Wrath’s ready, though. Finaan asked us to stop, and he’ll stop for her.
Whenwe’re above the lake, perhaps a dragon’s-length away, Wrath laughs, lighter and freer and happier than he’s ever been, and he releases his grip on our form. Frustration with the unexpectedly playful beast spears through my gut, but then Finaan shrieks, warming me like a blazing fire on a cold night.
Satisfied, Wrath retreats into the place he rests.
The fucking asshole.
When I told him I wanted our skin, I didn’t expect him to force our shift mid-air. The bastard disappeared, taking his form with him, as soon as he carried us over the lake.
Finaan squeals and wraps her arms around me, although I’m no more capable of flying than she is in this form. But then those luscious tits plaster themselves to my back, taut nipples reminding me why I love them so, and the frustration that erupted turns into something else entirely.
He’s a devious beast. Perhaps I’m not angry with him, after all.
We plummet into the water, my skjaldmær clinging to me the whole time. I rest my arms on hers before she can push away, and draw on Wrath’s strength to kick us to the surface.
It’s gods-damned beautiful here. The lake my beast dropped us into is the purest blue I’ve ever seen, a sapphire sitting deep in the earth, perfect even without polish. The waves lap against us gently, as if a soft breeze propels them along. My skin and bones, every part of me, awakens and throbs with life. I may be able to survive for days on the sustenance my body is drawing.
But it’s the cave around us that brings a gasp even to my lips, almost catching in my throat. The light from Yggdrasill’sroot fills every rock or pebble it touches, drawing out the reds and oranges and yellows that are usually hidden in their midst, with no flame to reveal them. It’s not just the color of fire that surrounds us, though. Purples and blues and greens are as prevalent and they cast their light on each other, creating dancing rainbows everywhere I look.
Better still, Yggdrasill is the tree of life, and it exudes that life wherever it appears. This cavern deep beneath the earth’s surface—which certainly has never felt the caress of the sun’s rays—is full of fruit trees. Scarlet apples, like those only available in Asgard; plump peaches that remind me so much of my skjaldmær’s perfect ass, my cock stirs; berries of every color and shape.
“Let go,” Finaan grumbles as she tries to pull away, her legs pumping frantically.
I ignore her, holding tight, but I suspect she didn’t expect me to release her. “Hush, my skjaldmær,” I purr as I drag my gaze away from the splendor around us. “I’ll soon have you on your stomach when I need, naked back flush with my chest. Ride me this time. Let me carry you to the shore.”
My female’s stubborn, though. Instead of being the good girl I know she could be if she wanted, she wraps those long legs around me and leans back, a soft giggle tickling my ear. We pivot down and beneath the surface, water filling my mouth as I struggle to hold back the laugh she draws out.
Spinning as I clasp her in my arms, I twist around and bring us face-to-face—my still-beating heart skipping a fucking beat when I see her smile—and take her mouth in mine. She’s saltyand sweet, her lips the only thing she lets me taste as I push us back up above the surface.
She doesn’t let go or push me away when we break free of the water, and my cock perks up. He’d already responded to the feel of her body. Now, though, with her lips holding mine, soft and a little bit submissive, he’s fully engaged.
And then she notices. Breaking free, she glances down, a little smirk dancing across that delectable mouth. “It doesn’t take much, does it?” she asks.
“With you, my mate,” I murmur, “any hint that he’ll get attention has him rising to demand it. He’s every bit as alive as Wrath and me, and the three of us want nothing more than to fuck you raw. And then do it again, to make sure you know you’re ours. When you finally accept what the fates decreed, you’ll carry our scent with you every moment of every day.”
“And if wishes were horses,” she responds with a laugh, pushing away and giving me her back.
“This beggar will ride sooner than you think,” I assure her, my hand dropping to relieve some of the pressure. “I’ll join you in a minute,” I add, “after I fix this problem you created for me.”
She doesn’t respond, her giggle trailing behind her as she swims to the shore. I watch her ass ride the water’s surface, arms and legs propelling her along until she’s close enough to walk. When she stands, I don’t try to hold back the groan that rumbles from me, my gods-damned balls quivering at the sight of her wet body, hair and clothes plastered across her ass as she sashays away.
Unholy Helheim, do I need her to give in and open that pretty cunt to my aching cock. That desperate part of me is demanding that I let Svend’s magic push her into a deep sleep and claim what’s mine. But I won’t do that. She already feels the strength of our bond, after so many nights together in Helheim. The next time I plunge into her, it will harden that connection. She may never be able to break free.
And as much as I want her bound to me, I want her to choose it more.
Fuck if I know why. I’m not the kind of male who gives one single shit about what others think. I claim what I want, always. But this … this thing with my mate … is different, somehow. I can’t take this choice from her.
A laugh rumbles from me as I ponder my mistress’s face if she knew my thoughts. She’d skin me alive and then suspend me over the pit if she knew how weak I’d become. I can’t bring myself to care, though.
Besides, the next time I fuck my skjaldmær, she’ll remember every second, every inch of skin, every single moan she draws from my lips. And I’ll claim all of her sighs and trembles for the rest of our very long lives.
I float there long enough to spill my seed—wishing it had a purpose and was swimming inside of her—then follow her to the shore.
The weasel and the rat are pulling down our supplies while my skjaldmær digs through her bag and tugs out some clothes.
