“Your master,” I repeat, almost a reflex now. “It can’t be helped. The route to Helheim is impossible to find. If the dragons are getting some insight about fate’s plans from the Norns, we need to learn what Panta knows.”
Svend’s quiet after that, and we trudge along in a heavy silence, other than the plodding of our feet. Ruxi leads, their vision alone capable of piercing the blackness in the cave, and we follow the sounds they make, even with their light steps.
Everything feels heavy, not just the stillness and dead air around us. Maybe it’s because Ruxi’s so quiet. Even Svend and Rata are more subdued as we abandon our search for the one place none of us wants to go. Or maybe it’s me. I’m not sure when or how it happened, but Wregen got under my skin. Wrath somehow burrowed even deeper.
Our time in my room in Álfheimr keeps pushing its way into my thoughts: Wregen’s dry humor, how comfortable we were together. His changing expressions filter through my mind, the gradual shift in how he saw me. I was a body he wanted to fuck—to own—for a long time, not the female who would make him whole.
I’m not sure if he’d admit it, but we can’t hide our emotions from each other. I know how he changed. The Wregen who forced Svend to carry me away from Vanatia isn’t the male I swam with in the lake, who purred in my ears before Balin’s attack. I felt his conflict, almost as sharply as my own.
I can’t forgive him for the things he did—coercing my body to betray me twice—but I also can’t deny that he unleashes a hungry, achy part of me, utterly primal. Thank the gods henever went further than that, potentially triggering a bond connection even without my consent. Wregen had Svend at his command. I’d have been helpless if he used his sleep gift on me.
Maybe he did, and I didn’t even realize it.
I don’t think so, though. I’d know. I’d feel it in the morning, and I haven’t.
He wants to fuck me, but more than that, he wants my agreement. Wregen craves a willing mate. So he gave me a choice, in that at least. It wasn’t easy for him, but he can control the monster she created.
Wregen’s belonged to Hel for centuries. He made no secret where his allegiance lies. And maybe I’m lying to myself, but it feels like his commitment to her changed. I felt it waver when I was in his arms.
It’s not nearly enough, but he’s not completely heartless.
Not that it matters. He’s bound to Hel, and I can’t let him take me back there.
Ruxi’s click yanks me from my thoughts, and we all freeze. Slowing my breaths, I stretch out my senses, searching for whatever startled them. My hearing isn’t good enough to find something over the scraps of noises we’re making, but this might work, if my heart stops pounding in my ears.
At least the trembling fingers I’m trying to calm don’t make a sound.
It takes a few seconds to pin it down, and I’m not sure what I’m hearing. It’s as if a ship’s sail is being dragged across stone, gently scraping it clean, dislodging a few pebbles or rocks along the way. There’s a rhythm to it, though not therandom vacillation of cloth. It sounds alive. And enormous. And restless.
The angry grunt takes everyone by surprise, and Rata’s startled squeak echoes around us.
The low growl that follows sends a chill down my spine, replacing every bit of heat my body has managed to store with ice, brittle and frail.
Ruxi spins their head to look at me—bright eyes the only light in this dark place—and then turns back around and starts moving forward.
“Shouldn’t we discuss this?” I hiss as the dragon stalks away.
They don’t pause, though, their steady steps an unsettling contrast to the shards of fear rattling inside me.
“Should we … follow?” Svend whispers.
A tremble in the final word gives me odd comfort. I’m glad I’m not the only one terrified of whatever waits around the corner.
But Panta’s draikani isn’t afraid, and they’re our guide. If they can walk alone toward the mystery monster, we can pull our shit together and join them.
“We should,” I tell him—grateful my voice doesn’t warble like his did—then stride forward.
The cave meanders a bit, and I realize as I turn a third corner that something ahead of us casts light. I’m not sure if it’s a random tunnel to the world above, one of Yggdrasill’s roots, or something else. But my eyes, devoid of any stimulus for too long, crave the images I’m going to offer them. My stepsaccelerate before I’ve even thought about it. After a few seconds, I’m jogging, catching up with Ruxi as they make the final turn.
I can’t hold back the gasp or the flicker in my heart when I see what writhes, trapped, in front of us.
It’s as visible as it would be on a sunny day because the rock beneath it glows. A bright light emanates from the stone directly below its massive form, gradually receding the further away it gets. It’s as if the beast’s touch creates light, dimmer where its contact is less frequent.
Wrath erupts in my mind, their similarities jarring. They’re close to the same size, this monster perhaps a bit smaller, but it has neither wings nor limbs. Shaped like an enormous worm, it slithers and slides across the stone. Their hides are nearly identical, other than the color. Where Wregen’s beast is dark, this creature is light, and it glows from the illumination it seems to have created.
Its face looks like Wrath’s too, except in the expressions they wear. Wregen’s beast can be soft; I’ve seen it but not often. Usually, fury and vengefulness twist his features, eyes narrow, jaw clenched, mouth sealed shut except when he attacks.
This beast, though, looks beaten down. Its eyes are shadows, brow creased, while the rest of its face is slack. It hasn’t stopped twisting, but I realize it’s not trying to escape. It probably abandoned that hope long ago. Its movements appear to be reflexes, the body’s attempt to stay alive and ambulant even when the world or the gods or fates are conspiring against it.
