In that split-second when my mate feels my torment and lets himself glance at me—make sure I’m still alive—the jötunn attacking him slashes his sword across Wregen’s chest, slicing it open to reveal ribs and guts and a heart that is somehow still beating.
Everyone in the cave freezes, as if a god has taken control of our bodies and stopped the mayhem that might have killed my mate. The male next to Wregen’s executioner rips the sword still dripping with blood out of a hand that’s gone slack. “If his heart stops,” he snarls, “I’ll rip you open and eat yours while you watch. We get nothing if we carry his corpse back to Hel.”
The jötunn, who’s now trembling, opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a shriek draws all of our eyes up. Four dragons shoot toward us, their wings tucked into their sides, eyes blazing with a rage so potent, it feels alive. They plungeinto our midst, surrounding Wregen and the jötunn closest to him, and scream at Ruxi and Glow.
I don’t know what the fuck they said, but the dragon and wyrm do. They bolt away from Garmr and the jötnar and form a ball, Glow wrapped tightly around herself as Ruxi uses their own body to shield the wyrm from whatever’s about to happen.
“Get away from the jötnar,” I bellow at Svend and Rata, scrambling backwards as fast as I can.
But these dragons are focused on Garmr. The one that seems to be leading them—a magnificent red and orange beast with a beautiful female astride her—spews flames at the dog, and the others join in. Their fires shift almost immediately from a color as bright as the lead dragon to white and then a blue that shimmers like the sea.
Garmr stands firm, snapping at the dragons who appeared from nowhere to fuck up his plans, but not for long. Even his Hel-forged body can’t withstand the inferno raging all around him. Before I’ve found a way to calm my galloping heart, the mutt is starting to tremble, his limbs shivering as he struggles to hold himself aloft. He stands there for long seconds, eyes blazing as his gaze bounces between Wregen and the dragons. And then he barks once, a command laced with frustration, and spins to run away.
The jötnar hesitate long enough to realize they’re the dragons’ next target. When those beasts turn to face the defiant group, their resolve collapses, shoulders slumping even as their fists clench. The male who threatened Wregen’s attackergrowls something I don’t understand, and the jötnar pivot as one to bolt away.
Nearly as quickly as they came, they’re all gone.
I turn toward our saviors, struggling to catch up to everything that happened, but all of that can wait.
My gaze finds Wregen and my legs follow. He’s alive, and I don’t know how. Before the pain from stumbling toward him can register, I’m dropping to his side, my hands fumbling with his flayed skin to cover the wounds, as if I can keep him alive by will alone.
“Let me help him,” one of the women mutters as she catches my wrist. I look up into dark eyes that are so kind, I can’t hold back my gasp. “I have healing powers, and he doesn’t have long. Move aside so I can help him.”
Nodding, I collapse on my ass and shove away from her, resting next to his head to wipe the hair from his eyes and stroke his forehead.
“You’re going to live,” I swear as I cup his cheek.
He doesn’t believe me, and I’m not sure I do, either. He looks at me with dull eyes, the last hints of life slipping away. His expression is flat, a little tremble on his chin that would send him into a rage. He hates showing weakness, and I don’t think he’s ever been so frail. It’s hard to imagine that even Hel’s torture carried him so close to death.
“Can you save him?” I mutter, glancing quickly at the female’s hands on Wregen’s chest.
“Not now,” she grunts, her gaze still fixed on the wound. “Let me work.”
So I do. I sit in silence as Wregen falls unconscious, caressing his skin and mumbling threats about what I’ll do to him if he abandons me now.
It’s a slow, perilous process. Her magic is strong and I can see his flesh slowly, ponderously, seam together. But even when his skin is nothing but a bright, angry line, she doesn’t stop. I suspect she closed the surface wound and is struggling to repair everything else, but I won’t drag her focus away with questions she doesn’t have time to answer.
Perhaps ten minutes after she started, she exhales deeply and shifts her focus to me. “I need to do more, but I can’t do it here. He’s stable enough to move. We’re going to take him home. You’ll have to come to us.”
“I can’t let you take him. I don’t even know who you are.”
“You’re an elf?” she asks, resting one hand on Wregen with a grimace, as if she’s taking his pain.
“I am,” I tell her, confused by whatever she’s asking.
“Do you still swear fealty to Freyr? Still consider him the father of your people?” Her eyes are bright, this random question important to her for reasons I can’t fathom.
“We do, but why does that matter?”
She looks up, a smile brightening her expression for a moment as her gaze lands on the male astride a stunning grey and black dragon. “I’m Ailia, and Freyr is my husband,” she explains. “Together with Freyja and her husband Will,” she says with glances at the other two riders, “we’ve led the gods who still call Asgard home since Ragnarök took the life of their father Óðinn.”
My gaze follows hers, and the air leaves my lungs when I see the male a dragon’s-length away.
I’ve never been in his presence, had no idea before this moment what he looks like, but I know in my bones that she’s telling the truth. Freyr, the elves’ guardian among the gods, is here with us.
“I’ll keep him alive,” she swears, drawing my focus back to her. “Will has vision that rivals Óðinn’s. He saw your need for us, and he’s seen the role this male and his beast will play in the days ahead. He’ll be safe from Loki and his spawn in Asgard. Find us there.”
“But why can’t we come with you now?” I demand, terror at being separated from Wregen rippling through me.
