Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet 2)

In the end, he’d turned his head and swallowed all his protests, saying only, “Do not tell your mother about Odin when you say your goodbyes.”

Now Olafr stirred. “We will not speak these words,” he assured Fenris in his strange way of speaking. Like a child with uncertain pronunciation, but deep of voice. “We have much love for her and we know she will miss us greatly.”

“I am not sure we can speak of this to her or anyone else in any case,” FJ added with a lift of one brow. “At the celebration last eve, I found myself unable to speak to anyone of the great help Odin gave us.”

Fenris never tested FJ’s notion himself in the sad days that came after his and Olafr’s immediate departure to the farthest east. And that was because of how his hate of Odin burned bright from that day. For the All father was not a kind and loving god like the one Chloe gave praise to. He was a god who would chain the Fenrir wolf up, then help the king of its children win a fight against the serpents, but at the cost of his two sons.

Even if Fenris could have told Chloe what happened the eve before the battle, he would not have been able. The truth was too painful.

Their life was too painful.

The fire blazed now within the hearth, warm and alive. Yet, Fenris felt cold and dead as he climbed into the bed to lay with his mate.

“Tomorrow I’ll be better,” she promised him after he laid down on top of the covers with her and drew her into his arms. Her voice was as solemn as a warrior before battle.

“Tomorrow I will complete the winter’s hunt,” he answered, his own voice even more somber than hers.

That was the only answer he could give her. The only promise he could make.

They lay there together and he recalled the feeling he’d had the morning they watched their sons disappear into the snowy distance. It had seemed to him that they were not just watching their sons walk away but their entire life.

They lived still, but they both knew the truth even if they were too kind to say it out loud to each other.

They were dead now. The life they had… the life they thought they would have was over. Melted in their hands like so much snow.

Yea, there were still those who would claim Fenris the Beardless the most powerful fenrir the North Wolves have ever had. But he felt utterly weak in this moment. For there was absolutely nothing he could do about what ailed them both.

Chapter Five

DAMIANOS

Come to me. You will come to me now and release me from these chains.

I cast the thought, straining with all my might to reach the North Dakota beta I had god spoken. But just like my similar attempts to summon the latest Colby to my side, I receive no indication that my summons had connected.

Perhaps this shouldn’t come as a surprise. It can be difficult to god speak people again after your thrall has been compromised or interfered with in some way. Often it requires looking them in the eye and commanding them to forget what has come to pass before.

I can look at neither Clyde nor Colby, nor the near-drooling members of the Yellow Mountain wolf tribe I god spoke directly in the eye, so it would be understandable that my summons wouldn’t work.

But this lack of answer strikes me as…different. I’ve lost thralls before, and usually it feels as if I’m being ignored. What I’m sensing now is more like dead silence. None of my summons crackle with the energy that quantum mind control commands.

It’s as if all the people I god spoke have been released. Did the pretender release them? Release all of them? But why would he have done that?

To please her.

The possible answer rolls into my head like an ominous fog.

Disquieted by that thought, I furrow my brows and close my eyes, redoubling my effort to summon a thrall to me.

And to my great relief, a few moments later, I hear the sound of a door opening.

But that elation dies when Ola comes into the room, this time dressed in a silky robe. It is cinched at the waist but I see one of the nightgowns I provided for her to wear at the gatehouse peeking out from its V. She carries two large pots. One hangs empty from her left hand and the other is tucked under her right arm.

“I made a huge mess of the stew Other You liked so much. Hope it’s enough. Actually this will be a good experiment. Other You acted like everything I made was a gift from heaven, but I know you’ll tell me the truth.”

My physiology isn’t so unsophisticated that it requires a watering of salivary glands to alert me to my own hunger. But suddenly I understand the meaning of mouthwatering when I catch the muted smell of the stew through my capped tongue.