Pivoting his enormous body while still keeping a unicorn or two between himself and the rest of our attackers, he starts taking out the ones who aren’t scrabbling on the ground trying to find their weapons. The first two think they’ve got him, with clear shots and less than a dragon’s-length between them. But Wrath is faster than their arrows. He slips out of their path and rises from below them, grabbing one pair with his tail as he takes a bite out of the other that cuts both the unicorn and its rider in half.
He likes that move, whether from the top or the bottom. Isuspect I’ll see that again and again until he’s ready to start spitting them out because he’s eaten his fill. Once more, I feel his urge to chase the hindquarters dropping to the ground—his favorite part of any beast—but he won’t be tempted. They’ll be fresh when he’s done. If he’s still hungry, he’ll enjoy them then. And he has more prey trapped. Flipping around to fling his tail toward his gaping maw, he throws the elf and unicorn he’d trapped just right to take his favorite parts, letting the rest fall.
From the corner of my eye, I see the dragon attacking anyone who followed their weapon to the ground. They’re ferocious, fighting to keep our enemies from coming after me again, and Wrath and I share an unexpected pang of pride that fate chose them for us. We both shut that crap down immediately though. We refuse to let that beast sneak into our lives.
Ignoring them, Wrath’s gaze bounces between the group preparing to attack him, and the unicorns starting to lift from the ground and circle behind him. I can feel excitement ripple through him as they finally give him the contest he craves. He’s spinning and moving erratically, as he always does, but now it’s with a purpose. He needs them to start shooting each other, and they’re in the perfect position to do that.
My stomach clenches as I prepare for this part. So far, I’ve been along for the ride, secure in the knowledge that Wrath has the upper hand and will destroy any threats. This is different, though. They need to believe they’ll be able to shoot him. Their arrows must fly before he climbs or drops out of their path. It’ll be close, andif I had a body, I’d probably be shitting my pants right now.
Wrath doesn’t fear them, though. He wants these bastards to threaten him. He’ll show them who they should dread, and then he’ll take their lives as they tremble in his wake. They trapped him once, but he’s ready for them this time.
When they’re less than two dragon’s-lengths away, Balin lifts his fist and they all stop, a ball with Wrath in its center. The turnip beast takes notice and abandons their fight on the ground to race toward us, but they’ll be too late. Balin won’t wait long enough for them to reach us.
Wrath watches our foes with an almost detached interest, noting their position, the way they hold their bows. They all have tells—the smallest movements that will signal him to move—and our enemy’s is the most important. He leads and even a flick of his eyes could launch the attack.
They’re motionless for five beats of my heart, the unicorns galloping in place with barely a flutter. Even the air around them seems stale and unmoving. Their arrows all are aimed at Wrath’s moving form—bows fully extended to unleash them together—and my heart would be in my throat if I had one. My thoughts bounce to my skjaldmær, grateful that she’s waiting for me safely away from the massacre that’s coming.
And then Balin drops his fist, and all thoughts of Finaan fall away. The arrows fly, seconds away from taking our lives, but Wrath holds his position. I’d have flung us away the moment our enemy moved, but Wrath is fucking cold for a beast with so much fire in his veins.
When the bolts are so close I can hear their shafts vibrate the air, my black beast flings his wings against his side, straightens his body, and becomes his own arrow. He aims for an opening he’s loath to take. The three unicorns in that part of the formation were starting to respond to the dragon racing at them from below, and they’ve created a gap he can’t pass up. He cringes away from accepting the turnip beast’s help, but does it anyway. He’s resolved to win, and this gives him the best chance.
Wrath’s satisfaction rumbles through him as he soars away from the threat without a single wound and pivots to watch his adversaries destroy each other. Elves and unicorns plunge to the rock beneath us. A few beasts, now riderless, abandon the fight and fly out the way they came. A third, maybe more, of our attackers are dead or gone. Another pang of warmth floods his chest at the role his fated beast played, but he quashes it. He can’t let them get a single claw into his soul.
He's plotting his next move when Balin’s head spins. Our enemy stares at the ground while a smirk emerges on his hateful lips. Wrath follows his gaze, horrified to see Finaan standing there. Her chest heaves as she takes in the massacre around her and the war raging in the air. My beast pauses for the briefest moment, his thoughts splintering as rage billows from his gut to fill him.
How dare she come, endanger herself, when he commanded her to stay?
This arrow takes Wrath by surprise, his focus in that split-second so fully on our mate, he didn’t even see it coming. It lands true, piercing that space below his head where he’s most at risk, severing the bonesthat lead to the rest of his body. Her scream echoes across the cave, following us down, taunting us as we plummet to the ground, unable to move. The rage at our mate turns into an eruption of fury and hatred and disgust for ourselves.
We did this.
This is our fault alone.
Now, she’ll pay the price for our failure.
We’re not dead, although we will be soon. That single arrow will paralyze us until our body can repair itself. It doesn’t hold enough poison to kill us, and we’d survive if we could fight. But we’ll be impaled with swords and spears before our tail can twitch again.
The rock trembles beneath our body when we land a man’s-height or two away from the water, but we don’t even feel it. The agony—the torment—hammering our head dominates us so completely, there’s no room for anything else. It’s physical pain, but so much worse, it’s devastation for failing her. For falling to our greatest enemy.
We watch as she stalls, mouth dropped open as a hand rests against her chest. A pang of gratification emerges, only to be snuffed out again by our failure. She’s realized too late that she needs us.
The surviving elves dash toward the ground, their unicorns impossibly fast, but the purple beast somehow is faster. They throw themself on top of our motionless body, a barrier against the poison arrows. This won’t work, though. I have no fucking idea why our enemies decided to spare the turnip beast, but it can only betheir connection to me. Balin wanted them because he might have been able to use them to find me. He doesn’t need them once I’m dead, so they’ll be a useless sacrifice.
A flicker of surprise rolls through us as we watch the elves drop the poisoned arrows, pulling from their other quivers. They want the turnip beast alive. Our fury flickers again, a hint of relief pushing itself into our consciousness.
If we must die, we want Ruxi to live. It is the most astounding realization we’ve ever had, and our confusion and resistance and distrust of these warring emotions paralyzes us as surely as the elf’s arrow did.
The yank shocks us even more. We can’t feel it, but our body hurtles toward the water, tail first, and we realize we’re being dragged into the waves that have formed on its surface. Terror rises in us for a split second, but then our head flips over, giving us a glimpse of the serpent pulling us away.
Jörmungandr.
Hel must have felt my defeat and sent him for me. I’ll soon wish that arrow had killed me. Dread lodges in a throat I can no longer feel as memories of her punishment the last time I failed so badly erupt in my thoughts. I’ll spend eternity over the pit for fucking this up, bringing her nothing except my broken body.
Still, my instincts kick in and I draw air into my empty chest before I’m fully submerged. We’re closer to Helheim here, and even the measly breath I took will carry me alive back to my mistress.
I watch as the cavern holding my skjaldmær and the others disappears above us. For a few seconds, the rippling water, blueand sparkling like a bird flying in the sun, is all I can see. It’s chased out almost immediately by the black sea around us, the darkness that signals my doom.
I should have fucked her when I had the chance. This bond between us is stronger than it would have been if I hadn’t taken her in her dreams, but I don’t know if it will be enough. She’ll be able to free her dragon without me or my death only if our connection gives her access to my power. If it does, she’ll leave these caves on her dragon’s back, the turnip beast by her side.
