The Complete Fenris Series

by Samantha MacLeod

  “Oh, be careful!” I cried. I couldn’t see him in that form without remembering the flash of Nøkkyn’s blade and the seep of dark blood into darker fur.

  He gave a low sort of bark, like a laugh, but when he spoke his voice was solemn and serious. “I promise, Sol.”

  Then he was gone, crossing the stream with a single step and vanishing into the darkness of the early morning forest. The delicate birch trees trembled in his wake, and a few of the now-golden leaves drifted to the grass below. My chest ached, as it always did when he left, but I shook my head and tried to put it out of my mind.

  I had a project, after all.

  I PULLED ONE OF THE two remaining loaves of bread from its bag on the wall and took a few, deliberate bites for breakfast before splashing my face and arms in the stream. The water was colder this morning; its surface was thick with fallen leaves. Winter was approaching. I shivered. Our cave got cold at night, even with the fire, and I had no doubt snow would soon pile in this birch grove like flour filling a bowl.

  Enough. I tried to put such thoughts out of my mind as I walked up the river to a slow eddy filled with cattails whose thick, brown stalks were going to seed. Yesterday, I’d cut several dozen cattail leaves and spread them across the great, spreading roots of a fallen log that lay half submerged in the water. I ran my fingers over one of the broad leaves, pleased to find it was still pliant. Then I bent to check the small, sheltered space beneath the tree.

  My first attempt at weaving a cattail mat lay patiently beneath that tree, neatly folded and protected from the rain. It was still too small for me, let alone both of us, but I was absurdly pleased with the tight weave. It would add warmth and comfort, this sleeping mat, and I liked to imagine Fenris’s face when I finally finished it and brought it to him as a gift.

  I gathered my dried cattail leaves and pulled the mat into the sunshine, sitting down to work. My fingers flew over the thick leaves, pulling the dried strands together as I hummed softly to myself. Something dark passed in front of the sun, and my hands faltered. Accompanied by the heavy rustle of large wings, an enormous raven landed on the fallen tree. I flinched, although I knew better than to fear a mere bird. I’d never seen a raven this large, but then again, I’d never lived this far under the shade of the Ironwood.

  The bird tilted his head to one side, fixing me with his shiny, black eyes, and my throat went dry. For the first time since I came to Fenris’s cave, I wished I had something to wear. The great bird fluffed his feathers and opened his long, dark beak. I had the strangest feeling he was about to speak.

  A voice called from somewhere deep in the forest and the moment passed. The bird took flight with a noisy caw, its dark wings sending fallen leaves swirling along the ground as it climbed into the sky. I shook myself, quickly gathering the few remaining cattail leaves and folding the mat to hide it again. Fenris was back sooner than I’d expected. I smiled in anticipation. Perhaps he just couldn’t stay away.

  I followed the stream back to the cave, the latent flicker of my arousal growing with every step as I pictured the smooth lines of Fenris’s body, the curve of his neck meeting his shoulder, the spread of his chest beneath my fingertips.

  The sound of whistling reached me, and I paused. Odd. I’d never heard Fenris whistle before. He must not be wearing the wolf’s shape, then. I glanced at the little stream and grinned. I could surprise him.

  From the sound of his cheerful whistle, Fenris was almost in sight. I walked to the water and dipped my toes in. A twig snapped in the forest, and I lowered myself into the stream, instantly shivering; the stream was almost cold enough to take my breath away. My hair swirled in the water as I pressed my body against the bank, crawling downstream a pace or two until I reached a spot where a great mass of roots nearly hid the bank from view. I hunched down motionless beneath the tangle of roots, imagining Fenris’s face when I burst from the river, my nipples taut, my skin glistening and wet.

  I waited until the sound of his footfalls was almost on top of me. Then I pressed my toes into the sandy stream bed and leapt from the water.

  “Surprise!” I cried.

  The man in front of me gasped and stumbled backward. He was not Fenris.

  I screamed.

  THE MONSTER’S WIFE: CHAPTER TWO

  The man’s hands flew to his eyes. I rushed to cover my breasts and the patch of curls between my legs.

  “My dear lady,” he said, once both hands covered his face, “I assure you I am most surprised.”

  He spoke in a calm, gentle voice. I hesitated by the riverbank and stared at him. He was muscular and tall, almost as tall as Fenris, but his hair was a dark blonde, and he wore a closely-trimmed beard. As I watched, he spun around, showing me an enormous pack on his back.

  “I have no plans to open my eyes,” he said, “until you tell me you’re decent.”

  I glanced frantically around the clearing, seeing nothing but bushes and trees. What in the Nine Realms could I wear? There was the sleeping fur in our cave. Perhaps I could wrap that around my shoulders?

  “I ... uh,” I stammered, wondering if I should just disappear into the cave and hope he left quietly.

  The man cleared his throat. “Ah. Of course. Allow me, my lady.”

  He shifted, sliding the lumpy pack from his shoulders, and I jumped backward. But he didn’t turn to face me. Instead, he bunched his shirt in his hands and pulled it over his head. I stared at the muscles of his naked back. His hair curled around the base of his neck, barely brushing his broad shoulders as he reached backward, the white shirt bunched in his fist.

  “I’ll throw this to you,” he called. “But I have to warn you, I’m aiming with my eyes closed.”

  I giggled before I could stop myself. The white shirt landed at my feet.

  “Now,” he continued, “kindly let me know when you’re appropriately covered.”

  I picked up the shirt. It was still warm. As I pulled it over my head, I realized it smelled of him. It was not an unpleasant scent.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  The shirt reached halfway down my thighs. My nipples hardened as the fabric molded to my wet skin, and I bit my lip, irritated. Wearing a shirt which exposed the curve of my breasts and would reveal my entire ass if I bent over didn’t exactly seem decent.

  Then again, I didn’t have a plethora of options.

  “You can turn around,” I said hesitantly.

  He turned, and our eyes met. A flash of heat rocked my body, tightening low in my abdomen. The man had a handsome face, and now he was half naked.

  “H-How did you know I’d need clothes?” I managed to stammer.

  He shrugged, his full lips curving into a smile. “Fenris doesn’t much care for clothing.”

  I froze. “You know Fenris?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were cut short by a tremendous crash in the forest. A moment later Fenris burst from the woods, his great muzzle flecked with foam, his sides heaving. He fixed me with his pale eyes.

  “Sol?” he panted. “I heard a scream. Are you—?”

  The man didn’t even flinch.

  “Fenris!” he called. “You didn’t tell me you were abducting women now.”

  Fenris’s great, black body shivered with light, and a moment later he stood naked before us, still panting.

  “Týr!” he cried, rushing forward to wrap the shirtless man in his arms.

  The men slapped each other on the back and then pulled apart, grinning. I stared, my mouth open.

  “This is Týr?” I asked.

  Fenris nodded. “Sol, this is my friend Týr. My very good friend. He’s one of the Æsir.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I’d never met one of the Æsir before. In fact, I hadn’t been entirely certain the Æsir existed.

  “And, Týr, I did not abduct her,” Fenris said solemnly.

  Týr raised an eyebrow at me, his eyes sparkling. “Is that so?”

  “I—Yes, that’s true. I w
ant to be here,” I stammered, pressing my body to Fenris’s side. Wearing Týr’s white shirt made me feel more naked than wearing absolutely nothing at all.

  “Well, congratulations, then,” Týr said. “I didn’t know I’d be feeding two! I should have brought a honey cake.”

  Fenris smiled at me, and heat bloomed in my cheeks. Honey cakes were for weddings.

  “Let’s see it, then,” Týr said, cutting off my train of thought. “I didn’t get a good look before.”

  “Of course!” Fenris said.

  He stepped away from me until he was almost under the trees. Then he flexed his shoulders, his muscles rippling. He met my eyes and grinned before turning to Týr as the golden sparks began to obscure his body once again. They swirled and danced as his body grew, stretching and darkening, until it all but obscured the forest.

  The sparks dispersed, and Fenris blinked his great, pale eyes. A low, thunderous growl built deep in his chest, moving through my body like an earthquake. Golden leaves shivered down from the trembling trees, and a deep, primal fear curled in my belly. My body trembled; I forced myself not to step back.

  Fenris tilted his muzzle to the sky and howled. The eerie sound soared through the woods, wild and strange, reverberating inside my skull until I felt my ears would split. He fell silent and turned to us, a grin teasing the corners of his lips. Somewhere deep in the woods, a wolf howled in response. Fenris shook his head, then his neck, and then all of his great body, his black pelt rippling in the dappled light.

  Stars, he was so beautiful! I turned to see Týr’s reaction. Týr stood motionless, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed. For just a heartbeat, before he realized I was watching, something dark and almost sad played deep in Týr’s eyes. Then he caught my gaze and smiled, the moment forgotten.

  “This is your husband?” Týr asked, his voice half teasing.

  I paused, uncertain of how to respond. Fenris arched his back, his great body rising until it seemed he would blot out the treetops, before the golden light once again swirled around his body. A moment later he stood before us again, naked and handsome, his face beaming with pride.

  “Did you get a good enough look?” Fenris asked.

  Týr laughed. “You’re hard to miss, my friend!”

  “Would Óðinn be impressed?” Fenris asked, with the air of someone who already knows the answer.

  “Well, of course. You are the biggest damn wolf in the Nine Realms,” Týr replied.

  Fenris swept me into his arms, nuzzling my neck. His strong arms pressed Týr’s shirt against my stomach.

  “And now you’ll have to tell Óðinn I also have the most beautiful wife in all Nine Realms,” Fenris said.

  I gasped at his words. We’d never spoken of marriage, nor used the words husband and wife. Of course there’d been no wedding ceremony, no bridal wreath of strawflowers, no honey cakes to share with the guests.

  And Fenris’s offer to return me to my mother still hung heavy in my heart. I hadn’t been certain how long he would want to share his cave with me. Perhaps some distant, lonely part of my mind had been preparing for my return to town, to finish my life in the dusty corners of our cabin, cooking and cleaning for my brothers.

  I turned in his arms, meeting Fenris’s dancing blue eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered

  He kissed me, slowly and tenderly, our mouths opening against one another like flowers unfurling to the sun. His hands moved down my back, feeling strange against the unfamiliar fabric of Týr’s shirt. Sparks danced through my body as though I were also undergoing a transformation, shifting into something else entirely. Our hips rocked together, and I felt the dull throb of his manhood stiffening against me as our bodies called out to each other, hungry and urgent.

  Týr coughed loudly. “Shall I start a fire, then?”

  Fenris’s grip tightened around me for a heartbeat, and then he pulled away with a sigh. “No,” Fenris said. “If you have your knife, Týr, come with me. There’s a great stag in the forest that needs butchering.”

  Fenris grinned as he stepped away, his eyes traveling the length of my body, ripping off Týr’s white shirt and ravaging me. The space between my legs slicked; I hoped he could smell my arousal. Having to restrain ourselves was a new experience and, I had to admit, it wasn’t completely unpleasant.

  The two men vanished into the forest. I heard their laughter for a long time, echoing back through the trees as I collected wood and began our fire, the rough weave of Týr’s shirt rubbing at my nipples and stretching across my skin.

  They were gone a long time. The light was fading from the sky, and I’d collected enough wood for a Midsummer bonfire by the time they returned, their hair damp and their bare chests glistening with water.

  “Týr thought we should skin the deer,” Fenris explained as he greeted me with a kiss and a damp embrace.

  “Damn right I thought we should skin it,” Týr echoed. “The hide is hanging just outside this grove to cure.” His dark, sparkling eyes met mine. “You’ll have at least one fur to keep that pretty body warm this winter.”

  I flushed, turning away. Fenris just smiled at Týr’s suggestive compliment.

  “It was messy work,” Fenris explained. “So we washed off in the river.”

  I felt absurdly flattered they’d gone to all that effort for me. “Shall I start the fire?” I asked

  Týr shook his head. “My dear, allow me.”

  THE MONSTER’S WIFE: CHAPTER THREE

  It was the best meal of my life.

  Fenris and Týr had returned with the best cuts of the deer, the soft muscle just under the backbone and above the hips, and Týr cooked it attentively on a green spit, turning the meat what seemed like every second until the outside turned a crisp, deep brown and the inside was so tender it almost melted in my mouth. While we waited, he told a ridiculous story about Thor the Thunderer dressing in a bridal gown to pass for Freyja and recover his stolen hammer. By the time he’d finished cooking the deer, Fenris and I were laughing so hard tears rolled down our cheeks.

  Týr served the deer on great slabs of bread from the enormous bag he’d worn over his shoulder when he first arrived, and the fresh, tender bread soaked up the juices from the grilled meat. We roasted cattail tubers on the embers, and Fenris surprised us at the end of the meal with a handful of fat, late season bloodberries.

  As we sat around the fire, savoring our bloodberries one by one, Týr reached into the sack a second time and, with a grunt of effort, pulled out a fat water skin.

  “I left the barrel in the woods,” Týr said. “The usual place.”

  Fenris stood, smiled at Týr, and vanished into the woods, returning a moment later with his drinking horn and the nearly empty water skin of mead from our cave.

  Fenris handed the horn to Týr, who took it and, with a flourish, uncorked the water skin. He poured a stream of golden liquid into the drinking horn. The spiced, sweet scent of mead filled the clearing.

  “My lady,” Týr said. “I offer you the mead of Val-hall.”

  I considered refusing then thought better of it. “Thank you.”

  The mead danced across my tongue, sweet and sparkling. I resisted the urge to drain the entire horn, instead, letting sips of mead slip between my lips until my entire body felt as warm and content as a honeybee on a flower in the thick, syrupy light of a late summer afternoon.

  I settled back on the grass, sighing with contentment. Fenris took the horn from my hand, finished what I’d left, and handed it to Týr, who refilled it.

  “Fenris?” Týr offered, raising an eyebrow over the horn of mead.

  “Guests first,” Fenris replied.

  “As you wish,” Týr said.

  Týr brought the horn to his lips and closed his eyes. I watched the firelight play across his lips and neck as he drained the mead of Val-hall, the lump in his throat bobbing up and down while he swallowed. Twin streams of mead wound their way from his lips through his closely-trimmed beard, then down h
is neck. I watched them, transfixed, until Týr pulled the horn away and belched loudly.

  Fenris laughed. “Not bad, old friend,” he said.

  Týr was already refilling the horn. “Now you,” he said, offering it to Fenris.

  Fenris took the horn and leaned back. Firelight flickered across his muscular chest as his hair swirled across his shoulders. By the Realms, even after all the time we’d spent together, he was still so beautiful it took my breath away. With a sudden flush of heat, I envisioned plunging my hands deep into his hair, pulling the horn from his lips, and kissing the mead from his mouth as I wrapped my legs around his waist, sinking my body onto his, thrusting our hips together while Týr watched—

  Fenris dropped the horn with a victorious whoop. His eyes blazed, bright and unfocused in the firelight. “Like an Æsir,” he said, wiping his mouth.

  “Just like an Æsir,” Týr agreed.

  Týr bent closer to Fenris, taking the drinking horn from the grass at his side. Fenris leaned to meet him, and—

  I blinked, at first distrusting my eyes. Fenris and Týr had bent so close to one another their lips touched. Fenris tilted his head, his mouth opening to Týr. Týr closed his eyes. For a heartbeat the whole world stood still. Fenris moaned.

  My body responded before my mind could fully grasp what was happening. The dark coil of need inside my gut tightened, and the space between my legs began to ache. My nipples pricked at Týr’s shirt, scraping the coarse fabric.

  The men pulled apart, still gazing into each other’s eyes. I thought they would kiss a second time, and something hungry buried deep inside me wanted to see their naked, muscular chests pressed together in the firelight, but Fenris pulled away.

  “Sol,” Fenris said, looking at me with a frown. “Týr is my good friend. My very good friend. We usually kiss.”

  Týr laughed. “We usually do more than kiss.”

  Fenris was watching me, his expression a bit lost, and it occurred to me he was waiting for something. Permission, perhaps?