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“Could you possibly find me a shirt and a pair of trousers?”
Ogun’s eyes twinkled. “None of us have anything in your size, man-wolf.” Then the smirk reappeared. “You could use the tablecloth.”
“Don’t think I won’t,” I answered as Ogun balled his fist into the tablecloth and yanked it from the table in one smooth motion. It came free without rattling any of the dishes. Even I was impressed. It was a move worthy of a magician. His smirk came back in full force when he caught sight of our expressions. Then he tossed the wad of fabric underhand. I caught it on reflex.
Jovi failed to mask her excitement and curiosity as she looked around the room. The kitchen counters were littered with junk. To her, it must have been like walking into a treasure trove. Enchanted artifacts were tossed in with everyday appliances. She picked up a music box and lifted the lid before slamming it shut.
Then she turned to me, eyes wide, “I—it’s a head. A singing head!”
Ogun took the box from Jovi’s hand. “A gift from a merchant that passed through here before the bifrost was shattered,” he explained. “Quite a lovely voice, I think.”
I wrapped the tablecloth around my waist as they talked. The fabric was thin and nearly shredded as I pulled it over my thighs. This was almost as bad as still being naked.
Ogun whistled like a cartoon wolf and wagged his brows when I stood. “You don’t look half-bad, grumpy. Very caveman chic,” he said with an infuriating smirk on his lips.
I shoved past Ogun and approached Jovi. The closer I got to her, the more flustered I became. No matter how much we’d been through together, there was something about her that made me a tongue-tied fool whenever she glanced up at me through those long lashes and gave me that sweet little smile.
“Are you alright?” she asked. Her hand lifted to my chest as she gently probed along my side. It was tender, but the bones no longer jutted through the skin. The wound was sealed along the edges with a faint line of dark pink still peeking out.
“I’ll live,” I replied. “So long as Ogun’s rambling doesn’t put me in an early grave.”
Jovi slapped my shoulder playfully and then adjusted her makeshift dress. “I happen to like him so far. He’s growing on me.”
“Yeah… like a fungus.”
Ogun whirled around and scoffed at me with his stubby hands on his wide hips. “If I was a sensitive Dwarf, I might take offense to that,” he said. But there was a spark of mischief in his gaze as he said it.
Jovi and I nibbled at strange bread and funky smelling cheeses in the kitchen as Ogun bustled away, preparing for our departure.
“I hope you’re keeping your guard up,” I whispered. Dwarves had incredible hearing, but I made sure my words were for Jovi’s ears only. “It would be a mistake to think these men are our friends, Jovi. They could be taking advantage of you in ways you might not see.”
Her shoulders slumped a bit as she avoided my gaze. “I’m sad for you, Torsten. You’re from a world filled with magic and you’re so paranoid that everyone is out to get you that you won’t let yourself enjoy it.”
“I was born to this world,” I replied, tone frosty. “But I want no part of it.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“Magic has brought me nothing but pain. This was the first time I was able to fully summon my beast in so long, and I still couldn’t save you. Magic is fickle—it’s not reliable.”
“Being human isn’t any better,” she said as she picked at another slice of nut bread. “You can’t let yourself be too afraid to live.”
“So long as I’m breathing, I’ll consider myself lucky. Being Freya’s toy—her pleasure slave—killed something inside me.” The honesty of my words was shocking even to me. “My mistakes brought me to this point and I’m paying for them dearly.”
She shook her head slowly. “You’re a slave to your own anger more than you were ever Freya’s slave.” Jovi took her leave of me then and wandered off to find Ogun.
I stood in an unfamiliar kitchen hidden somewhere in the realm of fire, and yet it was Jovi’s words that made me feel like a stranger in a strange land. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps I had allowed myself to wallow in self-pity and angry paranoia for too long.
Chapter Nine
Skarde
I didn’t allow myself to think, only to act.
Before the army of berserkers could take another lurching step toward us, I bent and seized Fyrcat by her hair, hauling her to her feet. She made a sound in the back of her throat that was caught somewhere between a yelp and a moan. Her eyes, already unfocused, went glassy with pleasure, and her lush lips parted a fraction. Another breathy sound escaped her when I hauled her against my chest and slanted my mouth over hers.
She tasted like blood, and the ominous charge that came before lightning struck. Magic, heat, and the memory of battle with foes stirred my beast, brought it raging to the surface. The wolf howled its frustration, throwing itself against the binding she’d slipped over its muzzle. My claws extended, biting into her sides, and the urge to tear through her clothing slammed through my veins.
Fyrcat pressed herself as tightly to my front as she could manage, hands flying up to cup my face. Her nails teased my skin before biting in deep, drawing crescents of blood. Her magic slipped inside the wounds, as insidious as a weed, siphoning some of the rage, the confusion, the lust. It cleared enough to allow me to think and by the time she stepped out of the circle of my arms, my thoughts were as sharp and clear as the glass that littered the ground around us.
