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Fyrcat had been fiddling with some trinket in her hand, but at the sound of my voice, she raised her face to mine. She had the audacity to grin at me, displaying dazzlingly white teeth. The smile pushed up into her eyes, setting them gleaming with a mischievous light. She tossed her red-gold hair over one slim shoulder. Even bundled as that shoulder was in furs, it still seemed impossibly slim. In a purely physical battle, I could best her handily. She looked so frail that a sharp gust of wind might snap her like a dry branch. Of course, I knew better.
“Do you really think I can carry all that?” she asked, tone taunting, despite the innocence of the words.
“Yes,” I said curtly. “You’re a witch, not a weakling. You can carry your elixirs and trinkets without my help.”
Her lips curled into a sultry smirk. “Are you saying you’re too weak to shoulder the burden? I would have thought one of Odin’s finest could haul twenty or thirty pounds on his broad, muscled back in addition to his armor and sword.”
She wormed a few fingers under my leathers, stroking the bare skin of my back for emphasis. Her fingers were like ice on my flesh, and I jerked away from the contact on reflex, cursing in my mother tongue. Fyrcat laughed, dancing out of arm’s reach when I tried to swat her hands away. She was deceptively fast for a mortal woman. Or perhaps it was a trick, her magic slowing my senses long enough to allow her to escape. I wouldn’t have put it past a witch of her caliber.
My teeth ground audibly. This witch belonged in the ground, not prancing around, testing the patience of a warrior. I supposed this was what I got for recruiting a seeress to do the pack’s work.
I hiked the bag further on my arm with another growl. Glasses clinked against one another inside, one striking a rod that let out a discordant sound. It made my ears ache and my nerves jangle.
“What in the name of Hel is that?” I demanded.
“A divining rod,” she answered, reaching up to adjust the cloth sack. The sound stopped, much to my relief. “I thought it could come in handy, given what we’re up against.”
“How is that supposed to help us?”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t even try to understand magic, do you?”
“Why should I? It’s an offense against the gods.” She rolled her eyes at me. “I know enough to defeat you. That is all I need to know.”
She stopped so suddenly that I ran into her back. She pitched forward with a small cry, and my hands shot out to brace her waist, catching her before she could land face-first in the powdery drifts of snow. The drifts were almost waist high in some places, and a small avalanche would bury someone Fyrcat’s size. Gripping her as I did brought her back against my front, and the part of me that was male couldn’t help but find that fact intriguing.
I realized what I’d done a second later and cursed myself. I should have let her fall into the snow. It would have been the just course of action.
Fyrcat twisted in my arms, small hands coming to rest on my chest, rather than hang awkwardly at her sides. I felt them like tiny brands against my skin, though there were layers of cloth and armor in the way. Definitely magic. Her eyes were wide and earnest, no trace of teasing in her face when she stared up at me.
“Do you really hate us that much, even after Eir?” she murmured.
The name hit me like a bolt from Thor himself, and I shoved her away. She windmilled her arms, catching herself before her tiny ass could plant in the snow.
“Don’t say her name,” I hissed. “You’re not worthy to speak it. Not a single one of you foul impostors.”
“I am hardly an impostor.” Fyrcat’s expression hardened. She straightened, brushing herself off with a scowl. “You loved her, and she was just like us. Magic and power, and you ought to have done your duty by ending her. The Aesir are perfectly willing to use Freya’s magic, work out its secrets, and horde some for themselves. But when their teacher became a burden, they cast her aside. You’re a filthy hypocrite, just like all the rest of your kind.”
I had a sudden, visceral urge to draw my blade and thrust it beneath her ribs. The angle would reach her heart and exit out her slim shoulder. It would be fast and clean. Crimson would stain the snow where she fell, a satisfying picture after all the blasphemous words that had dared fall off her tongue.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t defeat an army of the undead without help, and she was the most talented caster in the area, aside from Freya herself. So, I stalked past her, muttering under my breath. She didn’t know a damn thing about me or Eir, and I wasn’t about to enlighten her.
Fyrcat had to wade through snow drifts to catch up. It was almost amusing to watch her struggle through them. She was like a small, ginger kitten. Actually, more like a dangerous, feral kitten.
“A divining rod ordinarily detects water and minerals underground,” she said, apparently done provoking me for now.
“I take it this one doesn’t?”
Fyrcat reached up, shoved a hand into her pack, and rummaged around. She pulled out what looked like a forked branch, albeit one made of copper, rather than wood.
“This detects paranormal energies. Laylines, creatures, objects and the like. Watch and learn,” she continued as she held the thing out in front of her. “The nearest should be my home. It’ll sound faint, since we’ve made it quite a ways into the woods.” But when she knelt and struck the frozen ground, the rod let out a tone so loud, it made us both wince. Fyrcat’s eyes widened. “That’s not right,” she whispered, shaking her head.
“Why isn’t it right?”
She looked at me, still in confusion. “It means something is nearby. Almost on top of us, really.”
Then I heard it. Heavy footfalls, and wavering howls. My stomach dropped to my toes.
“Wolves.”
