by Poppet
The bastard gives me a chilling grin, “She was never my hostage, Macala. She is a guest in my halls, there's a distinct difference betwixt the two and I do not appreciate the insinuation.”
“Where is she then?” I snap, my patience with this man flossing down to the last strand.
The man hefts up the sack of thunder and lightning, waving us forward, “This way gentleman, it is time for fortification, libations to our victory, and Macala getting to hold hands with his sweetling again.” Then he turns to me, smirking like he's walking while stroking his dick at a gay pride festival, “She's having lunch in the mess hall. Emma's been a congenial delight in these dark halls, you are indeed a fortunate Raven. Tell me son, did you give her freedom of choice to handfast with you?”
“No, it was ordained by Odin's book, no permission or agreement was required.”
Ewan stops dead, digging his hand into the sack of thundereggs, plucking one out and grabbing my head with his other hand, “Would you like me to smash this in your mouth, or your eye?”
“What the fuck is your problem? You're all mentally deranged, fucked in the head insane!” I react, pulling away, drawing my sword instinctively.
He stoops to stand nose to nose, bellowing at me, “My problem is bastards like you thinking you own women! Odin did not own Skadi! Skadi owned him! Need I remind you that she rejected her first husband because that partner was chosen FOR her! It is against our laws for a man to choose a mate on a woman's behalf! You have broken Odinic law!”
A rumble cascades down the vast corridor, a surge of voices all bellowing, “Fight fight fight!”
The walls must have ears for his insurgents to come crashing down the catacomb in a flood of violence.
“Where is Emma?” I demand, pressing my sword against his belly while he holds a thunderegg to my forehead, my men frozen, awaiting my word, while his rush forward in a wild frenzy of chaos.
He steps into the blade, laughing coldly, “Give me another reason to end you son. Just one. I cannot die, I am Odin's grandson and your sword is dulled by my skin, your sight and instincts blinded by my power, and the fire of your men to fight is a flame already snuffed. Decide quickly if you are threatening me or just showing me respect a little too close up for comfort. Either way I'll be smashing your head in after Leug's. How dare you fuck a fledgling and handfast with her without her willing consent! You bring shame on your father, you shame your chief, and you shame your clan.”
Stepping back he spits on my sword, giving me a deathly glare, razoring it over my men, even the concealed ones, sneering with a bitter distaste, striding toward the commotion, yelling, “Get back to your drinks fools! When I need your assistance I'll fucking demand it!”
*
Gunn:
The granite munros are riven with rivulets of frigid tears, electricity searing the moody sky in lances of volted anger.
Tracking her passage has proven easy, her ability to traverse encumbered by her inability to fly, leaving a trail as bold as bog lights to the trained eye.
Sneaking around the rock, I spy a cell phone floating in midair, a plaintive voice hissing, “Come on Lara, pic up already.”
Creeping up behind the poised phone, I pounce, gripping her, luck on my side, evicting a shocked wheeze from her chest.
“Gunn!”
“The chief wants you home, Deliah. What the hell is your game?”
Nails bite into a flesh wound, her voice panicked, “Just wait would you, fuck, now I have to phone back and hear that message again. Gunn, would you fucking release me already! This is urgent!”
“Hold my hand, maintain contact or I will knock you out cold and carry you back if need be,” I warn.
I can't see her and don't plan to track her twice with the weather turning from dismal to torrential.
A trembling hand grips inside mine, feeling a little too comforting. She puts the thing on speaker phone, saying, “Shhh,” to me.
Ringing pings faintly in the heavy drops landing around us, then a voice answers, “Lara can't come to the phone right now. If this is Deliah phoning, I have a message for you. The fenrir are here, they will banka your vinr if your clan seek böðvar with Leug.”
Then a long beep resounds, the hanging phone shaking violently, a sob shuddering next to my shoulder, “Fuck, Gunn! What the hell does that mean? Do they have Lara?”
Suspicion kicks in and I grab the woman, correctly gauging her shoulder's position, “Who is Lara?”
“My foster sister. She's the only family I've ever had. One warden even hinted that Lara is my blood sister, but I don't know if it's true or not. Oh god! What the hell did he mean? It was a message for Ewan, wasn't it? How the hell do they know about Lara?”
“If they know about Lara, they know about you,” I say, tension turning my voice gravelly.
“Gunn! What did it say? Tell me!”
“Only if you agree to come back to Umbra, no more bullshit. Our chief has enough on his mind without you breaking his heart too.”
“I didn't break his heart, I broke yours. I don't belong in a place where I cause conflict. I refuse to stay where my presence causes undercurrents and argument.”
Releasing her to knead my head, which is beginning to throb, I hiss down to her, “I apologized, but you'd already left the compound. I was in error. I wish you well. Now come, I'll fly us home, just hop onto my back and don't fucking let go, you hear?”
Crouching for her, she clambers onto me, gripping slender arms around my neck, speaking into my ear, giving me shivers right down to my nuts, “You look like a punching bag. Are you okay?”
“I'm fine. We do this regularly, get used to it.”
With her secure, I hamask into eagle form, flying through the rain on instinct, the fog so close now it's an omen of ill fortune.
“Tell me what the message said!”
Now that she can't escape without breaking herself broken from the free fall, I use telepathy so she'll understand my calls, “...the fenrir are here, they will banka your vinr if your clan seek böðvar with Leug. It means the wolf is here, Loki's wolf to be exact, they will beat your friend if your clan seek battle with Leug.”
Tremors cascade down my spine from her warm body trembling, hot tears in my neck telling me she's in no state to run away now. She needs us to rescue Lara, and all our well laid plans are shot to shit.
What I failed to mention is that banka means to pound and beat. The threat is clear, they will rape and batter Lara if they sense us taking a war to their door.
And the sagas dare to call us bloodthirsty savages without respect for chastity.
Chapter 27
The noise of wolves
sounded ill, compared
with the swan's song.
~ Skáldskaparmal
Ewan:
Stalking into the beer hall, I head directly for Emma.
She sends me her sunny smile, making a face as I close in, “Ow. Did you have a fight with your ego and lose?”
Shaking my head, smiling despite myself, I nudge Adam away from her with a shunt of my shoulder, taking his place while the black winged bleed into the room behind me.
Taking her hand, I ask quietly, “Are you happy to be handfasted with Macala? He broke law by the manner in which he did it. This is an opportunity for you to wipe the slate clean if you so wish.”
Titling her head back to look up into my face, she seems unperturbed. “Ewan, it takes more than the mark of valhalla to lock two fates together. It takes love, and trust, and a little madness. I love him and wouldn't decline him even if I could do it all over again 'the right way'. He is my perfect.”
The punk saunters up to me, his stance defensive and itching for a fight he'd lose. I nod to him, “I'll reinstate your handfast, but this conversation isn't resolved. Your chief will be hearing from me.”
He gives me a snot-nosed smile of triumph, sidestepping me and folding Emma into his embrace, the reunion seeming genuine enough, when Gunn's voice filters thro
ugh the chaos, shouting telepathically to me, “Your bedroom. Now!”
I'm just about to turn and run at the urgency I'm sensing in Gunn, when I catch Emma and Mac unhooking their arrow chains, winding them together, their feathers hanging from the ends, touching like lovers in flight while they kiss for their audience.
Young love, what saps. Maybe Deliah needs a dose of that.
Smiling at the display, I make my excuses, dashing into the ebon corridor and running with Odin's speed, grinding to a slamming halt when I collide with the screen inside my chambers.
Shit!
“Gunn?”
“Over here,” he says, drawing my focus to the dining table, two chairs standing away from the table, one occupied by Gunn, the other I assume is Deliah.
“Liah, baby? Talk to me, what the hell happened that you absconded into the storm of Skadi's revenge?” I demand, striding their way.
Holding up a finger, I force myself to see with the eyes of the finfolk, finally seeing my poppet shaking, with her shoulders hunched, her eyes as swollen as Gunn's with the deluge exiting them.
Snapping to Gunn, I'm ready to pound his head into the rock, “What the hell did you do to her?”
He holds up his hands in the immediate gesture of surrender, “Wasn't me. We're all good, the problem is the message on Lara's phone. Leug and his fenrir have her.”
Gunn grabs Liah's phone, pushing it at her, “Show him.”
We're technophobes unless it serves the mission and our intel. We do not use these modern in-conveniences. We will rely on humans for nothing. Not ever.
Deliah fumbles with it, sobbing hysterically, suffocating in a bid to stifle them when ringing fills the alcove.
A smooth voice answers the phone, saying, “Lara can't come to the phone right now.”
There's a pause, then a male voice I know too well takes over in a guttural snarl, saying, “If this is Deliah phoning, I have a message for you, the fenrir are here, they will banka your vinr if your clan seek böðvar with Leug.”
Yanking out the third chair, I collapse into the seat, looking at Gunn, who gives me a feint of a nod, indicating he understands the message as loud and clear as I do.
Wolf has Lara, and if we move on his lair he will violate the woman in every manner he chooses, to inflict maximum pain.
“Fuck.” We're screwed! Completely. All this prep for nawt. “Fucking twat.” Reinstating my control, I reach out and hold her hand, rubbing my hand over the smooth knuckles, “Liah, who is Lara?”
“My foster sister.”
Her voice is serrated with worry, with anguish.
I need to make this better, but I'm fresh out of ideas. This is history repeating itself in a most formidable fashion. Loki has a fucking bad habit of kidnapping women. It makes me want to disembowel him and force him to eat his own entrails.
Blinking, trying to think, I look to Gunn, “Go read the mist for me. Ask it about Lara.”
He nods, screeching his chair back further now that he is freed of his guard duty, leaving me alone with my distraught poppet.
Leaning, I hook her chair, dragging it toward me until I can get a good hold on her, lifting her out of her chair and cradling her on my lap, kissing her forehead, “We'll figure this out, darling. Where there's a will there is always a way.”
She emits a strangled whine, twisting to wrap herself into and around me, squeezing tight, burrowing for comfort.
Nicking her chin, I expose her streaked face, looking into her eyes now glowing with eaglefire. Wow, that's a potent aphrodisiac.
“Never run away again. Promise me.”
She shakes her head, wailing, “I'm so sorry. I didn't u..nderstand. Gunn splained. Too much pain for one li..fetime. No more.” Hiding her face back in my neck, she trembles with the effort to hug me, “No more. I can't take any more.”
It's such vulnerable torment that she manages to get tears of compassion to briefly flare in my own eyes. Inhaling deeply, I just hold her tight, squeezing, riveting her to my hips, cradling her head in the crook of my neck.
That bastard is going to pay for this. On Odin's name I swear it.
Gunn bolts back in, excitement shaking his voice, “Lara is her twin. She has an un-identical twin sister.”
And I know exactly who she'll be handfasting with.
Well, it looks like right now Wolf is holding all the cards even if I'm the one sitting with a full house.
Deliah looks up, squealing, “For real?”
Gunn nods, his face a vision of euphoria, “Yes!” Then his face clouds and he scowls at me, thinking of Leug raping the woman he's already set his heart on.
Shit. Fucking balls.
I disengage from Deliah's cling, helping her back to her chair, looking at both of them, “This is going to take help. I need to get Fornjót here to make Liah visible again, and we need a talk about how we're going to infiltrate Leug's lair without him detecting us.”
Gunn sits down, facing me again, his face stern, “We have only one hand to play, chief. The thur. She can get in and out because she'll be welcome. She has enough power to crush them all if he refuses to negotiate with her.”
“Send Emma in there without an army to back her up? Giving him exactly what he wants? Are you out of your mind, son?”
He folds his arms, not giving a damn, it's his beloved on the line. It confirms for me that he's truly taken to Liah and would have been a good match if she'd shared his objective. He's happy to swear an oath to her twin, so enamored is my stoic ally.
A twinge of guilt twists my gut, but not enough for me to rescind my oath.
Shaking my head, I stand, “I'll be back in ten minutes with Fornjót. Stay where you are, take care of Liah. I expect you to keep her innangarth while I go utangarth.”
I don't look back, stalking to my sword and up the bathroom's exit before I do something stupid and compulsive.
I'm prepared to go in there alone, to take him on one to one, and let the better man prevail. But one thing I will not do is send Emma to that madman. He'll seduce her, turn her, and the last good thur will be desecrated by his greed.
*
Deliah:
As soon as I have a mug of coffee set in front of me and a wad of tissues piled for my funeral pyre, Ewan storms in with the tall stranger, bringing with them the scent of icy wet conditions.
Fornjót walks directly to me, touching his frosty hand to my lips, giving me a creepy smile when he sits on the fourth chair at Ewan's private table.
Gunn extends his long legs beside my chair, grinning, “That's better. You made me look mental talking to thin air.”
I don't care, I'm too concerned with Lara's safety than whether or not Gunn looks sane. It's debatable either way.
Fornjót leans forward, expelling a satanic hiss between his teeth, “Deliah, I must invade your privacy for intel. Do you mind?”
Ewan sits down opposite me, giving me a reassuring nod.
I shrug, unsure of what to expect. “I guess.”
The towering man with graceful movement scoots up right in front of me, his chair somehow staying stuck to his bottom, and he clamps my head in his alien hands, snaking his frigid tongue into my mouth, pinning it to my palate where a sharp pinprick pierces a pain right to my eyeballs.
Holy fuckness dude! What the frig!
His head hold refuses to let me pull back, even though I do instinctively, only serving to have his tongue and mouth smash mine harder, the pain on my palate becoming excruciating.
Finally the agony withdraws and he plucks his frozen lips off mine, giving me a fond stare before releasing me, moving back to his original position to nod to Ewan.
“Her memories are dark, my brother. Too dark for a mortal. If she was not eagle kin she would be dead in the womb.”
“My memories?” I blurt, looking accusingly at Ewan for not warning me that his freaky friend was going to kiss me and then stick his tongue in my brain to violate the only sacred space I can still call my own.
Ewan shakes his head, “Where she goes, I go. Never again to walk apart, Fornjót. I made an oath and nothing can stop me from keeping it.”
“Then you and I must go, but only after the moon's zenith,” says the fey vampire.
Gunn asks Ewan, “Can your finfolk blind the snouts and ears of the fenrir?”
Ewan sits forward, a coiled mass of muscle, his tension so obvious as to give me more distress. This is all my fault. I'm a walking disaster area.
He speaks curtly, “Yes, we can make it so with my galdr, and with theirs. He will have no forewarning. Gentleman, I thank you for your counsel but now I need to be alone with Deliah for a little while. Please go deliver the tidings to the gathered, tell them we do not attack tonight, tell no one of our plans. The only way for Leug to have acted with such swift ferocity is if one of the extended have betrayed our plan. One of the men in my own hall has wolfkin. He is not welcome here. Fornjót you will be able to find this mole with your gifts. I'll deliver his justice later.”
Fornjót plants his hand on my head as he walks past me, delivering a current of ice down my spine, saying to Ewan, “As you wish brother. No one can escape my influence.”
Gunn gives me a wink of support, leaning over to squeeze my leg, saying, “It's going to be okay, baby. We can do this. We'll get your sister back.”
Then he stands and follows the freak.
Ewan evicts his ass from his chair, sitting in Gunn's vacated spot, waiting a moment for them to be beyond hearing distance.
Taking my hands, holding them together in his warm ones, he stares into my eyes, the seconds ticking over, until heat from his palms disperses the disgust and cold staining my body from Fornjót's gross violation.
