by Karin Tabke
The gods ignored his plea.
“Deny my love her life, I will deny you my homage.”
Realization struck them all that the gods were not going to come to Falon’s aide that day. “You forsake me when I need you most? So be it! I don’t need you. I possess the ring, and he who possesses it possesses all of the power!”
Rafael held his hand up to the midnight sky and commanded Fenrir, “Save Falon! Restore her life and I will set you free!”
Flames flared from the ring in answer.
Rafe dropped to his knees beside Falon, anxious for her to draw her next breath. But when she did not, Rafe cursed the wolf.
“Restore her life, and I will release you! I swear it on my own life!”
The ring spewed flames again. And still, Falon’s heart did not beat.
“Release him first so that he can save her!” Lucien shouted across Falon’s lifeless body. “Release him now before it’s too late!”
Rafael raised his hand to the heavens again. “I release you, Fenrir!” he shouted, setting the terrible but mighty beast free after three hundred long years locked in the ring.
Winds kicked up across the cold bay, swirling around them with the force of a mini tornado. The clouds darkened as the ring burned furiously into Rafael’s finger. It glowed, white, crimson, and onyx. Sparks shot high into the night air. A sudden explosion shattered it off Rafael’s hand. When the dock cleared, Lucien nearly gagged at the horrific sight before them.
Dear gods. What had they done?
It, Fenrir, was twice the size of Angor. Most of his bulbous, deformed body smooth, shiny red skin with tufts of black wiry hair sticking out. His muzzle was too big for his small head, his fangs crooked and yellow, his beady eyes, bloodred.
He snarled, daring any one of them to voice the disgust their faces conveyed at the sight of him. Fenrir leapt straight up to where Balor had fallen and snatched the groggy Slayer by the scruff of his neck, then dropped back to the crowded dock. They parted for him.
Snarling low, breathing heavy, his drool soaking Corbet, Fenrir dragged the now fully conscious Slayer toward where Falon lay. “Fenrir!” Balor cajoled the wolf as he tried to stand. “At last you are free! I am your humble servant!”
The wolf snapped the last surviving male Corbet’s neck in half, then sunk his fangs deep into it drawing blood. When he’d had his fill, Fenrir dropped the Slayer’s body to the ground, then moved to Lucien, who held Falon in a death grip.
Fenrir snarled, indicating that Lucien should lay her down. “Do it,” Rafael said. “We have nothing to lose.”
Reluctantly, Lucien lay Falon down on the cold dock. Fenrir snarled him back several feet, then opened his jaws and copious amounts of Corbet’s blood spilled onto Falon’s neck and chest seeping into her wound.
Lucien watched, horrified, unable to stop it. He would get them all killed if he even looked as if he were interfering, but more than that, if this was how that damn wolf was going to save Falon, he would not stand in his way. He glanced at Rafe, who stood as tense and anxious as Lucien.
The instant the wolf licked the blood-soaked wound on Falon’s neck, her heart beat. With each lick the wound healed, and her heart grew stronger. When her beautiful blue eyes fluttered open, Lucien could scarce draw a breath he was so overwhelmed with joy. He felt at that perfect second in time as if the woes of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Dizzy with joy, he bumped into Rafe, as he moved toward Falon. Rafe moved step for step with him, as intent on getting to Falon as Lucien was.
But it was not to be for either of them. Falon screamed in horrified shock as she realized what was touching her. Fenrir snarled and stood up on his haunches and shifted into a giant, deformed half-man, half-wolf hybrid.
“Holy mother of all the gods!” Lucien hissed.
For one so large and grotesque, Fenrir gently picked up Falon in his arms and carefully raised her to the heavens. “I have found the one, Gilda!” he called to the mysterious druid witch of lore. His excited voice was deep with an odd old-world accent. “The one true of heart and of both bloods!”
“No!” Lucien said, striding toward the creature. “She is Mondragon, my chosen one. She bears my child!”
Fenrir threw his head back and laughed as lightning flashed around them. In the calm that followed an old crone of a woman appeared. Long gray hair framed a deeply lined but wise face. She was dressed in a dark woolen gown of old. The weathered leather belt hanging low on her thick waist hung heavy with leather pouches and assorted bones and teeth. Lucien looked to Rafe. Most of them, he recognized as wolf teeth and jaws.
Fenrir’s eyes glowed molten. “For you, Gilda, I give you your twin souls in payment for your benevolence.” He swept his hand toward Rafe and Lucien.
No fucking way, Lucien said to his brother.
Gilda cackled as one would expect an old witch to cackle but instead of accepting what Fenrir offered, she shook her head. “You owe me for three centuries, wolf, not just one.”
“I have been imprisoned for the last three hundred years! I do not owe for the centuries I was a prisoner!”
Gilda wasn’t having any of it. Which meant Lucien and Rafe were about to go up in a puff of smoke.
Let it play out between them, Lucien cautioned his brother when he picked up his swords. Maybe they’ll kill each other. But they couldn’t retreat and leave Falon with Fenrir.
“Pay now, you monstrosity,” Gilda demanded. “Or die with the twin souls.”
“You would cheat me?” Fenrir accused. His rage roiled around them with the intensity of an electrical storm. His power was ominous and otherworldly. Beyond anything Lucien imagined existed. Knowing that, Lucien knew there was nothing they had, nothing they could do that would make a dent against the terrible wolf.
“Be gone, hag, your usefulness is no longer needed,” Fenrir said and sneered. He turned his blazing eyes on her and, as if they were lasers, zapped her. The old woman screamed, rending her hair, kicking in a circle as the heat bore into her and through her. The putrid smell of burning flesh clogged the air. Lucien moved closer to Fenrir while everyone’s attention was on the witch.
He caught sight of Falon’s terrified eyes. It nearly did him in. Stay calm, baby. Rafe and I are going to get you out of this mess.
He focused on her as he spoke to her, unclear as to why she didn’t acknowledge him. It was as if she could no longer hear him. “Falon, blink if you can hear me.” When she didn’t blink coldness filled his veins. Was Fenrir so powerful he could come between a marked pair like this?
In a puff of sulfur-colored smoke, the shrieking witch disappeared.
Holy fuck. We need the treated swords, Rafe! They are our only hope, Lucien called to his brother, who was closer to the container than he was.
Fenrir roared furiously; drool dripped down his fangs, pooling at his feet.
We’re going to have to wing it, Rafe said.
He grabbed swords from his surrounding men; tossing two to Lucien and taking two for himself.
Fenrir turned to Rafael and Lucien, who moved together, swords in each hand, ready to fight for Falon’s life. Fenrir scoffed as he looked piteously at the weapons. “Those cannot harm me.”
Lucien’s heart rate shot up one hundred points when he saw Falon pick up Balor’s dagger from his ashes. Her eyes met his, then Rafe’s. She nodded and plunged it upward, deep into Fenrir’s heart. The wolf screamed as his grip loosened. Falon shoved the blade deeper, twisting it and stirring it. Fenrir’s agonizing screams were so shrill they covered their ears to prevent their eardrums from rupturing. But Rafe and Lucien rushed the beast, slashing his vital veins and stabbing his vital organs, careful not to cut Falon. He kicked them away. Both men tumbled backward into the wall of Lycans.
Blood poured from Fenrir’s distorted chest, but despite what Falon had done and the damage they had inflicted, Fenrir appeared no worse for the wear. He was a damn cyborg.
Lucien motioned his men to spread out. Vulkas
in backed them as did the Russian packs. And while a full-on assault would be their only chance to slay the wolf, Falon was in the way. Lucien would not take a chance of losing her again.
“What do you want, Fenrir?” Lucien demanded, stepping forward. Rafael stepped up beside him. “I will hand you the world for the return of my chosen one.”
Fenrir looked up from his wounds to Lucien as if he were nothing more than an annoying fly.
“Release me, now!” Falon commanded the wolf. His distorted face softened despite the dagger lodged in his chest. He grabbed the hilt and yanked it free, sending his blood spewing in a high arch across them all.
Fenrir flung the dagger to the ground and snatched Falon tightly into his arms. His lips twisted in what Lucien was sure Fenrir constituted as a smile. Awkwardly he stroked Falon’s shoulder and said, “I cannot. I have waited almost one thousand years for you. You are my chosen one. My true mate.”
Falon screamed, horrified, struggling in his arms. Her powers had no effect on the beast. “She belongs to Mondragon!” Lucien shouted, knowing the wolf who had been scorned since his birth by his own kind gave no credence to Lycan law. “She carries my child! Return her to me!”
Fenrir speared them both with a harsh glare, and then said to them not nearly as gently as he had spoken to Falon, “She belongs to me now.”
And then to the brothers’ horror, Fenrir absconded with her into the night.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
