The thought made me smile. Who would have imagined the legendary Fenris-wolf would be so gentle? Yawning, I remembered how tenderly he’d treated me when we first returned to the cave from the darkness of King Nøkkyn’s fortress. Fenris had let me sleep for days on end, holding me when I woke to cry, leaving me alone when I asked for solitude. He’d brought me wrinkled, frost-bitten berries and fresh meat from the Ironwood, all the time promising me bread was on the way.
My stomach rumbled. It had been a long month with nothing to eat but the bloody hunks of meat Fenris brought back to the cave or the few cattail tubers I’d been able to harvest from the edges of the Lucky River. And, of course, we had no money to buy bread or any other supplies.
A cold shiver snaked down my spine. How many times had I been on the verge of suggesting we return to my family’s farm, to the burned buildings and lonely graves, so we might scavenge what was left of the potato fields before the ground froze hard as stone? Every time, I’d hesitated. Fenris was so proud when he returned with a limp deer’s carcass or the lifeless bodies of a dozen rabbits. So what if my mouth watered when I thought of the potatoes hidden beneath my family’s abandoned fields? Didn’t the kings themselves dine on nothing but meat?
And was I, the daughter of slaves, going to protest the meals of kings?
I sat up on the mattress and a wave of nausea surged in the back of my throat. I took a few deep, slow breaths, waiting to see if it would recede. Thank the stars, it did. Perhaps the worst of the pregnancy was finally over. Shaking off the furs, I stood, stretched, and tried to sniff the air. Several nights ago Fenris told me he smelled smoke drifting up the Körmt River. When I’d asked him what could possibly be burning this late in the year, he frowned.
“Nøkkyn died without an heir,” he’d said. “That tends to inspire violence.”
He didn’t speak about it again, but his hands had tightened around my waist. I’d remembered the dark walls of the castle that would have been my home if Fenris hadn’t rescued me, and I’d imagined what the place might have been like if there truly were armies struggling for control of the throne. It had taken me a very long time to fall asleep that night.
“Sol?”
The cave grew darker. I turned to see Fenris’s body slipping through the narrow entrance. His sudden appearance blocked the light streaming through the opening, leaving me almost blinded.
“Good, you’re up!” he said. “Come, I have something to show you.”
I pulled one of the sleeping furs off the pile and tugged it around my shoulders. Fenris wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close, running his fingers over my stomach before kissing me.
“How do you feel?” he asked. His pale eyes flickered across the smooth stretch of my stomach.
“Fine. You know, it’s still early for the pregnancy to start showing.”
He met my eyes with a smile. “I know. Come with me.”
I had to let go of his hand to follow him through the crack which allowed entrance to our cave. As always, a flutter of apprehension danced through my chest as I stood sideways to press my body through the stone. Just how big was my stomach going to get? I raised my hand to the stone wall, trying to estimate how much clearance I’d need. Already, there was barely enough room for me to slide through with the sleeping fur wrapped around my body.
“Well?” Fenris’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
I pulled myself through the rock, gasping at the sudden rush of cold air. The light was so bright outside it almost hurt. I brought my hand to my eyes, squinting to make sense of the blinding landscape.
Ah. Of course.
“It snowed!” I cried.
I blinked in the bright, shimmering sunlight. The birch grove outside our cave had been completely transformed. Soft, white snow blanketed the forest floor, hiding the mess of fallen leaves and faded, wilted grass. The snow must have fallen all night, and without wind. Each branch was silhouetted with snow, forming an intricate pattern of black limbs and white frosting that reminded me of the books in Nøkkyn’s treasure room.
Fenris swept me into his arms, kissing me deeply. “And, that’s not all. Do you know what happens tonight?”
I shook my head, still mesmerized by the snow-covered landscape. Snow would make our lives more complicated, no doubt, and I hadn’t yet finished the boots I was sewing from the deer hide Fenris and Týr had scraped clean, but there was no denying its beauty. It was as if the entire Ironwood had been reborn, or drawn anew in black ink on bone. Fenris ran his lips across my neck, disrupting my thoughts.
“Need a hint?” he asked.
I turned, trying to catch his lips with mine. He pulled away, making me giggle.
“You really don’t remember?” He took a step backward.
I followed him. My bare feet sank into the bitter cold of the snow. “Fenris! Are you trying to tease me?”
He looked up, and I followed his gaze into the delicate cerulean of a perfect winter sky strung with a few delicate wisps of cloud. Stars, it was lovely! I could stare at this bright winter sky all morning, grinning like an idiot struck with moon madness.
The moon. My eyes widened.
“Is it the full moon already?” I asked.
Fenris laughed. “It is, beautiful! Now we’ll get that bread I’ve been promising you!”
My heart leapt, and I felt as though my entire chest was ready to burst. The full moon was when Týr came to visit Fenris, bringing the bread and mead of the Æsir. Týr, the strong and handsome man from Asgard my husband had taken as a lover. The man we’d both taken as a lover.
A noise halfway between a giggle and a shriek slipped from my lips, and I clamped my hands over my lips. Fenris just grinned, his eyes dancing. In a heartbeat he was back in my arms, kissing me as he slipped his hands beneath the sleeping fur to cup the curve of my hips.
“And not just bread, my love. We’ll get answers tonight too, I swear it.”
The elation in my chest was joined by a tight little knot of anxiety. Every time I’d asked Fenris what we were going to do now, how I would fit in the cave once my belly swelled or what we’d use as nappies for the babe, he’d told me to wait. Be patient. We’ll ask Týr, Fenris had said, as if that settled everything.
“Týr will know what to do,” Fenris had insisted again and again. “He’ll help us. I know it.”
I shivered. My feet were starting to sting from the intense cold of the snow, and I felt as though a shadow had just passed over the birch grove. A dark voice whispered through my memories. Within my dreams, the highest of the Æsir fell to the gaping black jaws of the Fenris-wolf.
“Let’s go inside,” I said, pulling away from Fenris’s embrace.
I hadn’t yet told Fenris about the dark prophecy I’d heard King Nøkkyn force upon Bard Sturlinsen. We’d both been so happy to be reunited after the death and blood of Nøkkyn’s castle. I’d been reticent to mar that happiness.
Besides, Fenris killed Nøkkyn. I’d seen the king’s lifeless body splattered across the stones of his own courtyard. Surely, Bard Sturlinsen would call off his journey to the Æsir once he learned of Nøkkyn’s death. He would have no reason to trouble Óðinn with a fantasy about the All-father’s death in my husband’s jaws.
I’ll ask Týr, I told myself. He’ll know if there’s any news among the Æsir from the famous Bard Sturlinsen.
We’d get our answers tonight.
THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER TWO
Because of the snow, Fenris and I went early to prepare the grove for Týr’s arrival. Týr typically showed up, Fenris told me, when the sun began to dip toward the horizon. I spread several furs across the snow, trying to place them in the open, where we wouldn’t be interrupted by a shower of snow from a pine bough far overhead. Fenris dragged logs to the center of the clearing, collecting enough to make a bonfire.
The sun climbed higher in the brilliant blue sky, and the day warmed until the trees all around us were dripping in a soft, steady pattern. The sound of
running water and the warmth in the air made me think of spring, almost as if we’d skipped the discomfort of winter entirely. I settled onto the thick furs, watching my husband’s muscular frame move through the trees. Stars, he was glorious! I remembered the way he’d leaned toward Týr, how their lips had come together in the dancing light of the fire. Týr had soft lips, and he kissed as though there was nothing else in all the Realms that he’d rather do. A familiar coil tightened in my gut, bringing a swell of heat to my skin. We’d both kiss Týr tonight. Kiss him, and do other things as well.
Shading my eyes, I glanced up at the sun. It seemed no closer to the dark spires of the treetops. Stars, this day was taking forever! I sighed loudly enough to catch Fenris’s attention. When he turned his sparkling eyes to me, I rolled back into the furs. The thin dress I’d worn as I escaped from Nøkkyn’s castle rode up my thighs, making my skin prickle against the cool air. Fenris’s handsome face appeared above me.
“It’s getting warmer,” I purred. “A bit too warm for this, don’t you think?”
With a smile, I pulled the dress up, exposing the curve of my stomach. Fenris sank to his knees on the fur beside me.
“That warm?” he said.
I hummed my assent and pulled the dress up farther, until the swell of my breasts puckered against the chill. The way Fenris’s pale eyes followed the upward progress of my dress was deeply satisfying. He leaned forward, his lips brushing my neck, then nibbling my earlobe.
“Yes, you are warm,” he said.
I pulled the dress over my head and sank my fingers into Fenris’s hair. He kissed me, long and deep, until that familiar, hungry heat ached between my legs. My fingers traced the hard plane of Fenris’s chest, dropping to his waist to brush the stiff length of his cock. His back stiffened, and he pulled away from our embrace.
“Týr could be here any minute.” His breath was fast and shallow, and his eyes sparkled.
“So?” I curled my fingers around his neck, trying to bring his lips back to mine. “Let him watch.”
Fenris’s lips curled into a devilish smile, and he rocked backward. A moment later something soft, cold, and wet exploded across my chest. I shrieked. Fenris had lobbed a wet, heavy snowball directly into my lap.
“Now you won’t be too warm,” he said as a wide, satisfied grin danced across his handsome features.
“Oh, you’re going to regret that!”
I leaned backward, scooped a handful of snow, and threw it directly at Fenris’s head. He dodged it easily. I grabbed another handful and aimed for his chest, but he jumped to his feet and the snowball flew wide, missing him.
“You must not be a hunter,” Fenris said dryly, examining the half-melted handful of snow that had just crashed at his feet.
“That’s just mean!” I pouted.
Fenris’s forehead wrinkled with a frown. Before he could speak, my snowball hit his cheek, coating his features with wet snow. I cheered and leapt to my feet, launching another volley at him. Most of the snowballs fell harmlessly at his feet.
Fenris spat snow and wiped his cheeks. “Are you trying to start a war?” he asked, his bright eyes flashing.
I responded with another snowball, this time hitting him square in the chest. When he bent down for another handful of snow, I bolted into the woods, shrieking with laughter. A snowball exploded against my shoulder, dripping down my skin. A moment later, a second snowball hit my neck. I dodged behind a thick pine and crouched to the ground, scooping snow into my hands.
“Sol?” Fenris’s voice sounded close. “Sol the Fearsome?”
Despite my feeble attempt to hide, I snorted laughter at that ridiculous nickname. When I stood and spun around the tree trunk, Fenris was so close I could have touched him. I tossed the snowball directly into his face, and he cried out in surprise.
A moment later, his arms tightened around my waist, and we both crashed to the ground. Thick, heavy snow exploded around us with a wet squishing sound. I squealed at the sudden shock of cold. Fenris stopped my cries with his lips; the ferocity of his kisses pressed me back against the cold ground. Then his lips met my neck, making me gasp in anticipation.
“Stop looking so damned good,” he whispered. “I want to save myself for tonight.”
He pulled away, came to his feet, and offered me his hand. I took it, and together we squished through the snow, returning to the logs he’d piled. I was shivering by the time I pulled my thin dress back on. The air felt colder, and shadows stretched long across the soft snow.
“He should be here soon, right?” I asked, running my hands up and down my arms to warm them.
Fenris nodded distractedly as his eyes searched the forest. “He should have been here by now.” He shook himself and turned to me. “Let me start the fire. You can warm up, and I’ll make a quick check for him.”
As Fenris coaxed the flames to life, I ran my fingers through my wet hair, smoothing out the worst of the tangles and removing a few errant pine needles. Fenris glanced into the woods every few seconds, I noticed, and the line across his forehead only deepened.
“Maybe the snow slowed him down?” I offered.
Fenris grunted in response. I glanced into the sky, which was turning pale as the shadows thickened at the base of the pines. It was now cold enough to pull a fur over my shoulders; my earlier fantasy about spring seemed like a cruel joke. The fire crackled as orange flames licked the logs. Fenris stood up.
“I can’t even smell him,” Fenris said.
A moment later, the warm glow of the fire was joined by a swirl of golden sparks, and Fenris’s body vanished, replaced by his enormous black form, the shape of the monster wolf. It blotted out the pale sky above me.
“I’ll go search for him,” Fenris said. The low rumble of his voice echoed off the treetops. “You have your knife?”
I leaned over and felt for the cold blade of the iron knife. It was there, hidden under a half rotten oak limb.
“I do,” I said.
Ever since Nøkkyn’s soldiers surprised me in the ruins of what had been my family’s farmhouse, Fenris insisted I carry a knife when I left the cave. It seemed a bit ridiculous to me; what good would a knife in my untrained hands do when one shout would bring the monster Fenris-wolf down upon any attackers? But, I supposed, if the knife made Fenris feel more comfortable, then it was fulfilling its duty.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, pulling the furs tighter around my chest.
Fenris nodded his massive head and turned toward the woods. A moment later he was gone, swallowed by the shadows. I shivered at how easily, and quietly, he could vanish into the Ironwood forest. It was as if the forest itself were another monster, an even greater and more terrifying beast. Now that I was alone, it was far too easy to imagine that the jagged pine tops against the pale sky were a row of teeth, in a massive maw about to close.
I shook my head to clear such thoughts. The Ironwood was my home. I was safer here, with Fenris, than anywhere else. If the Ironwood was a monster, it was a monster whose ferocity served to protect us. Who would dare venture so deep into such monstrous woods? Only another monster, or perhaps one of the Æsir. Like Týr.
Týr’s handsome face flickered through my mind, along with memories of the way he’d smiled as he bent to kiss me. Or the way he had run his fingers through Fenris’s hair, gently and slowly, as if they’d been lovers for an age.
For all I knew, they had. I’d asked Fenris how long he had lived in the Ironwood, and he wasn’t able to tell me. Time passed differently as a wolf, he’d explained, and he’d had no need to track the seasons or the years. The stories about him were at least as old as my parents, although his body was still young and comely.
Like his mother Angrboða, Duchess of the Black Isles. I shivered again as I remembered her icy beauty, the way the slit of her dress revealed the curves of her legs and the swell of her breasts.
Just like that, I was back in Nøkkyn’s castle, in the dark rooms lit only with the flickers of torchlight.
One dark room in particular, a room with walls lined with books and two chairs in front of a low fire.
Mímir showed me a death, Bard Sturlinsen said, his voice low and resonant, a grave expression etched across the deep lines of his face.
“Stars!” I huffed out loud. What was wrong with me tonight? Fenris and I were welcoming our friend, our lover, and here I was shivering over ghosts from the past.
I stood and shook my dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. Then I fed another log to the hungry fire and stretched my arms, soaking up the flame’s warmth. I tried to recapture the slow burn of arousal I’d felt during the day, as water dripped from the branches and I’d felt I could almost smell spring, but my imagination refused to cooperate. Instead, I felt lonely. Lonely and afraid.
Perhaps I hadn’t wanted to admit to myself just how much I wanted to see Týr. In the long, lazy days in the cave or digging cattail tubers along the Lucky while Fenris hunted, I’d caught myself missing the hum of human conversation. I even thought of Nøkkyn’s castle, remembering the soldiers and servants, wondering if Nøkkyn’s two guards still made love in the dark secrecy of the bedchamber, or if Brunhild’s granddaughters had found husbands. I loved Fenris, but stars, how I longed for another face!
With a sigh, I dropped back to my knees on the furs spread before the fire. Týr was still coming, of course. I would still get to see another person, talk to him, touch and kiss and embrace him.
And Týr would answer all our questions. He was one of the Æsir, after all, the powerfully wise and fearsome warriors of Asgard. He would know if any of Bard Sturlinsen’s false prophecies had crossed the Bifröst. And he would know what to do with my pregnancy, and the growing belly that would soon make it impossible to slide in and out of our little cave.
I glanced up, toward the serrated edge of the trees. There, just beyond the tangle of pine boughs, shone the brilliant white of the full moon.
THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER THREE
Something pulled at the edge of my consciousness, tugging me backward. I was caught in a tangle of branches, some tight around my body, so tight I almost couldn’t move. Or were they hands, pinning me to the ground?
The Complete Fenris Series Page 34
