Odin and Freya both let out a sigh of relief, their shoulders relaxing in sync.
Picking up on the gravitas of the situation, I still didn’t make any jokes. I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t move. All I wanted was to get this over with and go see my best friend and his wife. The sober tension from Odin and crew were starting to bother me, making my shoulders twitchy.
Alice suddenly squeezed my hand, and I realized her tiny fingers were practically buzzing with fear. I squeezed back reassuringly.
“They’re different than last time I saw them,” she whispered, barely moving her lips. “At your house. They’re all different,” she added in a lower tone, her eyes seeming to settle longer on Odin.
I knew she wasn’t simply referring to their physical appearance. “Also the same though, right?” I asked in a whisper, thinking of Loki and his powers of illusion.
She nodded minutely. “It’s definitely Odin, if that’s what you mean. But they were…muted before,” she said, her gaze unfocused as she stared up at the ravens. “Now…” she trailed off, looking concerned. “They are overpowered. Stronger than even I thought possible. Their power lies in their ability to deceive and judge truth. I don’t fully understand what I see around him,” she breathed, indicating Odin. “But power runs between them like a raging river.”
I arched an eyebrow, glancing down at her. She was shaking as she stared at Odin. In a way, her concerns made me feel better. She was confident that it really was Odin. And if she was sensing that they were all connected by power, it was only further evidence that he wasn’t Loki. Unless he could pretend to be all of them at once, even mimicking their magical auras…
And just like that, I was back to the drawing board. I shook off my paranoia.
I’d always wondered why the ravens hadn’t been more badass. Had they been muting themselves like Alice thought? It would make sense. Dean had been concealing his identity from everyone, so maybe that had forced them to appear muted as well—more domesticated—so as not to give away his identity.
So, what exactly was so dangerous about the bird brains? What were they capable of, really?
Looking back up at them, into those cold black eyes, I felt myself shiver slightly. Alice was right. These were not the same ravens that had threatened to shit on Talon at every opportunity, making crude jokes to everyone at Chateau Falco.
“Now we can proceed,” Odin said, dipping his head at the ravens individually, respectfully. The ravens had been bouncers, checking our credentials. That didn’t ease my paranoia at all. Were they looking for someone, or was all this to protect my friends up ahead?
Freya obediently stepped into the tunnel, following her husband. I waited a few moments before leading Alice and Grimm after them.
I couldn’t help but tense my shoulders as I passed directly beneath the ravens, imagining their talons sinking into my shoulders.
As I walked into the darkened tunnel, I found myself wondering why they had looked at Grimm so strangely…
Chapter 11
I tried to ignore the ravens silently watching us as we entered the dark tunnel of leaves and foliage that was too thick to see through. With each step, the darkness increased, like we were willfully walking into our own graves, voluntarily allowing Niflheim to devour our souls.
Even still, it was impossible not to notice the sudden crackling of leaves and branches just outside either side of the tunnel walls—the feral growls and the occasional puffs of vapor that blasted through the dense vegetation. It made me think of walking through a dark, abandoned subway with leaking steam pipes while the depthless shadows emitted obvious sounds of malevolent pursuit. Our hunters were toying with us—trying to frighten us enough that we bolted out the opposite end of the tunnel to, in all likelihood, run right into their waiting jaws.
Odin and Freya walked very carefully, almost subserviently, which only served to ratchet my anxiety higher. I gripped my staff firmly, mentally preparing to make a stand and keep Alice safe.
I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but if Odin and Freya looked concerned, I wasn’t anticipating a friendly outcome. More like a few pissed-off residents of Niflheim.
And I didn’t know enough about this place to determine what kind of monsters they might be.
The rhythmic sweep of heavy wings above the tunnel soon joined the sounds of pursuit from the sides, and I began to feel claustrophobic, wondering if maybe I’d made a bad decision in following Odin and Freya. Then again, maybe Hugin and Munin were chasing off our hunters.
The tunnel curved, revealing a dim light not far ahead. Our destination, and potentially an unwelcoming committee. Almost simultaneously, the sounds of our pursuers stopped—so abruptly that I missed a step. I instinctively lifted my staff across my chest in a defensive guard.
But Odin and Freya pressed on, reaching the end of the tunnel and stepping out into a dry creek bed. I kept my staff in front of me as I followed them out, ready for anything.
The sheets of rain hadn’t reached this area, which made the hair on my arms stand straight up. We were surrounded on three sides by a steep ravine of boulders and fallen stones, our only exit back through the tunnel. Unless Odin and Freya intended for us to climb the ten-foot rock piles.
“It’s okay. I’m a good climber,” Alice said, somehow reading my thoughts. Not in any magical way, but like kids often did when surrounded by adults—wanting to prove their independence and that they could take care of themselves.
But Odin and Freya stood entirely still, not turning to speak to us or explain where we were going next. Grimm neighed suddenly, rearing up on his back hooves. One second later, two wolves the size of small ponies struck the creek bed not five feet away from us, shattering the stones beneath their gargantuan paws, somehow seeming to box us in even though we outnumbered them.
Their lips were curled back to reveal fangs longer than my fingers, and their eyes smoldered with hunger and warning. Waves of power oozed from them, and for some reason, I knew it wasn’t magic. I had the almost overwhelming urge to submit to their authority, and I noticed Grimm’s legs buckling and shaking in my peripheral vision—as if he was fighting against the same urge.
Or he was scared to death, which was not a typical reaction for the psychopathic unicorn.
Alice had promptly dropped to her rear, sitting down on the rubble-strewn ground, hugging her knees close to her chest.
Which lit a fucking fire inside me. How dare they scare my girl? I gritted my teeth, railing against the enticing urge to submit, and slammed my staff into the stones beneath my bare feet—thankfully, not sharp enough to cut my flesh—as I stared the nearest wolf right in the eyes.
He was massive and ferocious, like he—specifically—was the first of his kind—the undiluted, monstrous, prehistoric ancestor to every wolf ever. The first beast to decide he wanted to howl at the moon.
His shoulders were stout and beefy, making a mastiff seem malnourished by comparison, and his paws were a foot in diameter, with long, bone-white claws that sunk into the stone like it was nothing but caked dirt.
Long strands of drool hung from his fangs, and I noticed dozens of gruesome scars across his face and muzzle. Not appreciating my defiant posture and direct eye contact, he hunkered lower, a furious, warning growl bubbling out from his jowls as his mane of fur seemed to bunch up and flare out.
I set my shoulders and took a step closer, slamming my staff into the stone hard enough to create gravel. Knightmares were plaguing my city, Gunnar and Ashley were injured, and then these two overgrown fleabags had chosen to scare Alice.
And now they expected me to roll over for them in some petty dominance game.
I would end their games with one final move.
Check-Nate.
“You’re frightening the girl, and I make pelts out of things that frighten the girl,” I warned the wolf closest to Alice, not giving one flying fuck who they obviously were.
Geri and Freki, Odin’s wolves.
Exce
pt, like Hugin and Munin, these two were drastically different than the last time I had seen them.
Almost like I was seeing their Wild Sides—a monstrous, mutated form of one’s self that was discovered upon one’s first visit to the Land of the Fae. Their id—or primitive, savage side—unleashed.
And this realization actually served to bolster my confidence rather than diminish it. Give me a Fae creature and I would give you back a lovingly-packaged, wicker basket of bleached bones. The Fae no longer elicited fear in my heart. Fae was mine.
So, I took an educated gamble and opened myself up to my own Wild Side. I let more of that persona—Wylde—creep out, and I distantly realized that I was chuckling, wiggling my fingers around the shaft of my staff in a more versatile grip as I readied myself to play with the prehistoric canines.
The wolf licked his lips hungrily, grinding his paws into the stone as he prepared to pounce.
I stuck out my chin, grinning like a madman. “I’ll show you why your descendants now wear collars. How easy it was to teach your kind to roll over—almost like you were born to submit.”
He snapped his jaws three times, jerking his head back and forth like a cobra. The other wolf let out a sudden, thunderous bark, and my foe shuddered, instantly ducking his head in an obedient manner.
I had apparently misjudged. The other wolf was the alpha, and I hadn’t even bothered to assess him. I’d just focused on the one closest to Alice.
I could tell that my chosen wolf was pissed to be forced to ignore my challenge, but he didn’t dare cross his alpha.
And I realized that this was the sensation I had felt. The authority. He really had been trying to dominate me—to let me know that he was second in the line of command. If not for my recent experience in Fae, I was pretty sure he would have succeeded.
I heard Grimm stamp a hoof suddenly, shaking out his mane of long black feathers. I cast a quick glance backwards to see it was now flared out, the red orbs oozing blood, and he had his horn lowered in warning—also conveniently serving to protect his neck.
I knew that wolves and horses had never been the best of friends. Had these wolves been that powerful—to dominate Grimm—or had it been the instinctive reaction of a horse confronting a wolf?
Well, a unicorn reacting to these specific Norse wolves.
Whatever it had been, me standing up to them had somehow galvanized both Alice and Grimm, because Alice was also back on her feet now, clutching a rock in each hand, looking ready to acquire her own pair of wolf pelts—when before, she hadn’t even been able to remain upright.
Were Grimm and Alice mirroring me, or had they overcome their fear on their own?
I glanced over at Odin and Freya to see that they were still entirely motionless. They were too focused on the alpha—I wasn’t sure which wolf it was, Geri or Freki—standing before them. They hadn’t even bothered chastising me for how I had spoken to the beta wolf.
The alpha let out another series of short barks that more resembled the thumping bass from your neighborhood’s resident, self-proclaimed badass in his ’85 Honda Civic. The car with the loose muffler, faded primer paint, stock rims and tires, and the ridiculous spoiler improperly bolted onto the trunk—a hopeful extra for the unannounced Fast and Furious sequel.
The pair of wolves began slowly circling Odin and Freya, sniffing and growling forcefully enough to shift their robes at the sudden clouds of vapor from their nostrils.
There was no light petting, no eye contact, and no slobbery dog kisses. This was a challenge, a ritual. A test similar to what we’d seen with Hugin and Munin.
Odin very slowly extended his hand and the wolves instantly recoiled, snapping their wicked teeth. Freya slowly did the same—careful to make sure the gesture didn’t look aggressive.
Both wolves were snarling and sidestepping as they stared at the proffered hands. They looked livid and starving.
What the fuck kind of pet dogs were these guys?
Before I could demand an explanation, both wolves lunged in a synchronized, explosive dash, clamping down their powerful jaws over the extended hands—one wolf for each god.
Blood spurted and both gods trembled, biting back cries of pain.
Without consciously realizing it, I had slammed my staff into the ground again—but this time I let loose a wave of rainbow light that rolled over the wolves like an inferno of air hot enough to singe their fur and scorch their nostrils. All without touching Odin or Freya.
The wolves yelped and whined, dancing back to relative safety—thankfully after letting go of the hands in their jaws rather than simply ripping them off.
The smell of singed fur and flash-fried meat hung heavy in the air—not a pleasant mix.
“Back off,” I warned them, “before I do something stupid like actually putting some effort into teaching you a lesson.”
They narrowed their eyes, licking the blood from their lips as they hunkered low, looking ready to teach me a lesson about disturbing their play time. Then, like they’d abruptly switched personalities, they froze and promptly sat down on their haunches.
“That’s right. Who’s the alpha now?” Grimm sneered.
Chapter 12
Geri and Freki began panting, letting their ridiculously long, blood-soaked tongues hang out the sides of their open mouths. I blinked incredulously, my pent-up adrenaline suddenly having no outlet.
Alice cleared her throat. “They verified Odin and Freya by blood. It had nothing to do with Nate,” she said quietly, shooting a sheepish glance my way. “Although that was very scary, too.”
I was pretty sure her assessment was right, because the wolves weren’t even looking at me now—they were staring at Odin and Freya, still panting happily as if the last few minutes hadn’t even happened.
I narrowed my eyes at Odin, making certain to keep my thoughts veiled as an idea slowly began to form.
Freya produced a powder of some kind from one of the pouches on her belt, and then turned to sprinkle it over Odin’s hand before tending to her own. She murmured a strangely musical—yet harsh—word, and the two of them winced at a sudden flare of purple light. When it faded, I saw that their wounds were healed.
Freya’s knees buckled slightly, but she righted herself, looking haggard as she took a shaky breath. Odin looked dazed and confused, staring off at nothing. With Hugin and Munin absent, I wondered if he might currently be partaking in a vision quest, using their eyes to scope out Niflheim.
Their reactions made me feel remarkably uneasy rather than reassured. What the hell was wrong with them? How was a little bit of magic doing them in like this, and why so many precautions?
Freya glanced my way as if to draw my attention, and then she turned to point at the rock wall opposite the tunnel. She closed her eyes, murmuring under her breath, and then she began to draw in the air. Her finger began to glow green, then blue, and then gold, and vines suddenly sprouted out from between the rock walls on either side of where she was pointing, weaving together in the center like they were forming a wicker wall.
And although I could sense power of a sort, I had absolutely no idea where she was pulling it from. It wasn’t any kind of magic that I was familiar with.
And it was fucking loud. Stone cracked and groaned before cascading down the walls in a deafening rumble, and wood squealed and popped as the vines grew longer and thicker, weaving together with greater complexity. Grimm neighed uncertainly and Alice took a step backwards. Finally, the sounds faded and the vines ceased moving, revealing a masterpiece.
A vine-woven door now stood against the rock wall where Freya was still pointing. It even had a crude handle. Freya’s finger began to dim, and I realized she was panting and sweating despite the frigid air.
She opened her eyes and turned to look at me. “We must rest. Grimm and the child may stay here, but your friends await you inside.”
My heart began to race at the prospect of what horrors I was about to witness. Locking my friends up behind a secret d
oor implied they weren’t healthy enough to protect themselves.
I also wondered if this was actually a prison. A trap.
Were Odin’s super-pets acting as protectors or wardens?
Alice set a hand on my wrist, squeezing gently. I flinched instinctively, not having noticed her approach.
“Gunnar really is in there,” she whispered, smiling faintly. “And they won’t betray you,” she said, indicating the Norse crew.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
Alice had a thing for Gunnar, having traveled with us in Fae. She’d spent most of her time perched atop his shoulders, weaving yellow ribbons into his hair as she peppered him with a billion questions. She’d flipped the script by seeming to adopt him as a temporary father figure. It had been ridiculously cute, even serving to inspire Gunnar that he might actually have what it took to be a good father, and that his fears of failure were entirely unwarranted.
Her gift of sight often manifested in strange ways, like apparently being able to see Gunnar’s aura through a magic door. Since she wasn’t frowning, he must be relatively safe.
But she hadn’t mentioned anything about Ashley…
Geri and Freki began to whine playfully, one of them even rolling onto his back as Alice giggled and bent down to rub his belly. I hadn’t even sensed her leaving my side. The other wolf started hopping back and forth, yipping excitedly, and I watched as Alice tried to split her heart equally between the two predators. The wolves were still huge and terrifying, but seeing them resort to puppy-like excitement, I knew Alice was right. She was safe with them.
I noticed Freya was also smiling down at Alice, but her eyes seemed to be seeing something Nine Realms away.
She must have sensed my attention because she blinked rapidly and then turned to look at me. Her smile didn’t entirely disappear, but it was noticeably less heartfelt.
Knightmare: Nate Temple Series Book 12 Page 7