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Fyrcat opened her mouth to reply, then turned abruptly at the sound of pounding paws. A fifth wolf we’d missed came bounding out of the woods, jaws open and poised to tear out Fyrcat’s throat. I lunged forward without thinking, placing my body between hers and the oncoming wolf. It hit with the force of a war hammer, driving me to the ground. A slash of white-hot pain exploded through my chest and then…
Nothing.
Chapter Five
Fyrcat
Blood… there was so much blood.
Blood staining the snow, the front of his leathers, and his clawed hands. The taste of iron was thick in the air. In my many years on the soil of Midgard, I’d never known a man to lose so much and survive.
But Skarde was a berserker, one of the damned things that had made my life a misery all these long years. They were nigh impossible to kill. And here was my chance to test that theory—to leave him and see what happened.
And yet…
And yet I couldn’t—something which bothered me extremely. Why did I care? He’d held me at knifepoint and bullied me relentlessly. I ought to have turned my back on him and let his blood melt the unnatural snow. I didn’t know what possessed me to drop down beside him and pull his face into my lap.
Self-interest, I assured myself. You can’t escape the dead on your own.
“Fool,” I croaked. “Damned fool.”
His cheeks were pale and cold. A pulse beat weakly in his neck. Too slow. He wouldn’t last another five minutes unless I intervened.
“Skarde,” I ventured. Names had power. Using his name couldn’t hurt. “Skarde Fatekissed. Answer me.”
I lifted his head a little and struck his cheek. He twitched, and a low hiss of pain sent a rush of relief through me. He was alive. Angry but alive.
His eyes opened ever so slowly, revealing a sickly green ring around the irises. The veins in his neck were also green. I hadn’t noticed in the frantic moments after the wolf disappeared. It wasn’t the teeth marks I had to worry about now. It was the wound on his chest. The wolf had made a suicide run, coating his claws in poison before attacking.
“Mistletoe,” I hissed. “Damn him!”
After Baldur’s death, Freya cursed the realms with all the force of her grief and made it so that no being would be safe from the seemingly innocuous plant. Mistletoe was a deadly poison to all who were not born of Midgard. Odin had banished Mistletoe from Asgard and the rest of the nine realms… or so we had been led to believe. Some had apparently been saved by Frigg. And it would kill Skarde within minutes.
Not if I can help it, I thought fiercely. No one kills this hidebound bastard but me.
I seized my wand and sank the tip into the ground. The trees writhed like living beings, their roots shooting up from the frozen earth and reaching. Still more branches formed a protective barrier between us and the rest of the forest. No more surprise attacks.
“What are you doing?” Skarde managed. His voice was barely intelligible—more the sound of wind than speech. His lips were turning a sickly shade of green. If the poison reached his brain, it was all over.
“Saving you.”
“Can’t,” he whispered and then coughed. His spittle came out green-brown. Damn it. The poison was working faster than I’d expected.
“Don’t tell me what I can do, wolf,” I snapped. “Now shut your mouth and brace yourself. This will hurt.”
I beckoned the roots and vines closer until they lay by Skarde’s side. One slender root plunged into the fallen Viking’s body. His head lolled to the side, dark eyes fixed and unseeing. Skarde’s reaction when a second root thrust into his neck was more pronounced. He threw his head back and opened his mouth wide as he attempted to scream but only a winded sound came out. Sweat poured down his face, tendons straining tight as the root went about its unpleasant business, siphoning the poison out of him.
I closed my eyes, hands pressed against his chest, caressing the frantically beating heart with magic, willing it to continue to beat. I didn’t dare draw away until his cries were audible, and even then, I was reticent.
Skarde lay in a pool of his own blood, breathing shallow but sure. His eyes fluttered open a moment later, a scowl creasing his face. The ass was well and truly back then. His face didn’t look right without a slant of firm disapproval.
“What was that?”
I shrugged. “Does it matter? You’re alive.”
“You cast magic on me,” he snapped. His tone carried less venom than usual, but I doubted it would last. He was still weak from the poison. Soon he’d be back to himself and sizing me up as an opponent once more. “Tell me what you did.”
“I siphoned the poison out of your body, you clod. That’s all you need to know. Now get up. We can’t remain here.”
