The Complete Fenris Series

by Samantha MacLeod

  “My affairs are no concern of yours, All-father,” Fenris growled. His head tilted, moving his pale eyes away from Týr’s shadowed visage.

  “Anything that upsets the Nine Realms is my concern,” Óðinn replied. His grip tightened around his spear.

  Silence fell between us, as heavy and thick as the night. The fire crackled merrily, and the treetops sighed as a cold wind pressed between them.

  “If I may.”

  I glanced up to see the beautiful man who had been holding Týr’s shoulder. He’d stepped forward, so the flames lit his face from below. And he was smiling. With one glance at his radiant expression, the tight knot of fear coiled around my chest began to loosen.

  The man bowed slightly, sweeping his hand before his head in a theatrical gesture. On someone else, it would have seemed mocking or pained, but he managed to make the motion look natural as if there were no better way to greet the monster Fenris-wolf and the daughter of slaves he’d taken as a wife.

  “Baldr Óðinnsen, at your service,” he said, as he stood. “Now, if I am not mistaken, you are a friend of the Æsir, are you not, Fenris?”

  Baldr tilted his head as he stared up at Fenris’s great jaws, and the resemblance struck me. If his hair were darker, if he were a bit more slender and not as blindingly handsome, he could pass for Týr. I shivered. It was one thing to hear that Óðinn of the Æsir had many sons, and another thing altogether to stand before them.

  Fenris raised his great head to the sky. Perhaps he was proud, or perhaps he was trying to hide the expression in his pale eyes.

  “I am,” he rumbled.

  Baldr’s smile widened. It shone like the summer sun; I half expected the snow under my feet to melt.

  “Then, there’s no need for all the theatrics!” Baldr clapped Óðinn’s shoulder. “We come in peace and friendship, Fenris. We come with enough mead for a celebration. And, we come with an offer.”

  Fenris’s great wolf form shifted beside me. Something unpleasant snagged in my mind, catching like an insect getting pulled into the undertow beneath a drowned log, but I couldn’t quite place it. A heartbeat later, it was gone.

  “You see, stories of your might have traveled across the Nine Realms, Fenris,” Baldr continued. “Yet, of all the Æsir, only Týr has had the pleasure of actually seeing you. We wanted to view your form with our own eyes, my friend.”

  Fenris’s fur rippled with unmistakable satisfaction.

  “My father is apt to be suspicious, I’m afraid,” Baldr continued. Now he was standing in front of Óðinn, in front of all the warriors, and gesturing grandly. Týr had faded into the shadows under the trees.

  “But there’s no need for posturing, really. Come now, let us drink mead together as friends and allies as we discuss the future.”

  Fenris hesitated. I held my breath, not sure whether I expected him to descend on them with teeth bared or pick me up and flee to the forest. But, a moment later, the delicate flutter of golden sparks drifted skyward with the smoke of the Æsir’s fire, and Fenris stood next to me, naked and proud.

  “I will talk,” he said.

  Without looking backward at me, Fenris stepped over the smoldering logs. Baldr grinned as he clapped him on the shoulders. I rocked on my heels, and the thing that had caught my attention suddenly surfaced from the depths of my mind.

  Óðinn had not flinched. The scene ran through my mind again. Baldr, laughing and smiling, clapped his father on the shoulder. And Óðinn showed no reaction, either to the touch or the good-humored jabs. The All-father had not attempted to exert his authority when his son Baldr took over. It was as if they’d planned the whole thing in advance.

  “Sol?”

  My thoughts scattered, and I looked up to find Fenris staring at me from across the dancing flames.

  “Join us,” he said, offering his hand.

  I let him pull me over the burning logs and into the circle of the Æsir.

  THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER FIVE

  The Æsir had arranged three enormous logs in a loose semi-circle around the crackling bonfire. Fenris and I took our seats on the logs, and a smiling Baldr pushed horns of mead into our hands. I sipped at mine, letting its honeyed sweetness dance across my tongue. Fenris took his horn in both hands and drained it, his neck muscles gleaming in the firelight as he raised the tip toward the stars. The Æsir roared their approval when the empty drinking horn fell to the ground, and some of the icy apprehension in my chest began to melt.

  “Not bad, not bad,” an enormous, bearded man laughed as he smacked Fenris’s shoulders.

  “Thor?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  The man turned to me with a smile. “In the flesh. Watch!”

  “Oh, stars, not that again,” Baldr muttered.

  Thor’s eyes sparkled above his bushy beard. A moment later, a thunderclap split the night with such sudden ferocity that I leaped to my feet, spilling my horn of mead down the front of my dress. Thor’s laugh followed, like a distant, merry echo of the thunder. He came to his feet and gave me a theatrical bow.

  “Thor Óðinnsen, at your service.”

  With a grin, Thor took the empty drinking horn from my hand and replaced it with a full one.

  “Now, let’s see if your husband can drain that again,” Thor boomed.

  Fenris’s drinking horn, I noticed, had also been replaced. Fenris came to his feet and met my eyes over the rim, then raised his horn a second time. I watched the flash of his pale throat in the firelight as he drained their horn to the cheers and encouragement of the Æsir. I took another sip of my mead, letting the warmth filter through my body. It felt like sunshine, the kind of thick, lazy light that dances along your body in late summer.

  Fenris dropped his horn and raised his hands in the air, his cheeks flushed, his eyes glassy. The Æsir burst into applause. Thor raised another horn himself, drained it, and then reappeared with a drinking horn in each fist, both full. He pressed one into Fenris’s hands and brought the other to his lips. This time, Thor and Fenris drank together as Baldr and the other men cheered them on.

  That’s all, I wondered, raising my own horn to my mouth. Is that really all it takes to impress the fabled Æsir of Asgard?

  This time, Fenris sat suddenly after he dropped his empty horn. He swayed somewhat in the firelight, blinking slowly. The men around him cheered, and one of them burst into song. Soon, all the warriors were singing some catchy, rhythmic melody about a place where the grass is always green, the sun always shines, and a great hall with five hundred and forty doors stands open, welcoming the brave and true to a place where no one ever goes hungry and the fires are always lit.

  The song ended with a great deal of cheering. Thor clapped Fenris on his back again, and Fenris swayed forward so suddenly I worried he’d land in the fire. Baldr grabbed Fenris’s shoulders and rocked him back.

  “Doesn’t it sound grand, Fenris?” Baldr asked.

  Fenris blinked as Thor pressed another horn into his hand. “Doesn’t what sound grand?”

  The men laughed.

  “Val-hall!” Thor cried. “Home of the Æsir and the Vanir! Home of the mightiest warriors. Like me!” Thor hit his own chest with his fists, then opened his palms and gestured around the fire. “And Baldr the Beautiful. Bragi the Poet. Frey the Fortunate. Óðinn the All-father.”

  My heart felt like it had frozen in my chest. I’d grown up on legends about Baldr and Bragi, Frey and Thor, and I’d only half believed them. This night suddenly felt like a dream. I raised my horn to my lips to cover my own gaping mouth and was surprised to discover it was already empty. Strange. I felt warm and soft, but my head wasn’t spinning.

  I tried to stand. The forest surged around me. Ah. Perhaps my head was spinning just a little.

  “But, why are you here?” Fenris asked.

  Thor laughed as if this were a mighty joke. “To drink with you, of course!”

  At that, Thor raised his horn again. Fenris followed, and they both drained t
heir horns yet again. This time, when Fenris dropped his horn, his face looked pale against his flushed cheeks. His eyes were bleary and unfocused.

  “But... why?” Fenris said, speaking slowly.

  Baldr leaned forward, resting his arms against his bent knee. “Val-hall is the home of mighty warriors, Fenris.”

  Fenris nodded. One of his eyes seemed half closed. The man who’d started the song settled onto the log next to me. Bragi, I thought. Bragi the Poet.

  “Val-hall has many mighty warriors, yes. But not the monster of the Ironwood forest,” Bragi said.

  Fenris’s brow knit into a frown; he looked like he was concentrating very hard on something just in front of him.

  “Tell me,” Bragi continued, “wouldn’t you like to see the fabled walls of Val-hall? The land where the grass is always green, where the tables groan beneath the weight of all the food?”

  “And the mead!” Thor roared as he came to his feet, somewhat unsteadily.

  Bragi turned to me. His eyes dropped to my chest in a way that made me uncomfortably aware of the way the mead-soaked fabric of my threadbare dress clung to my breasts.

  “And wouldn’t you like to walk with your pretty little wife along the shores of Asgard? To show her how well you can fight with the heroes of legend?”

  Fenris blinked at me. He looked pale and unsteady in the firelight’s gleaming flickers.

  “What about you, little wife?” Bragi said, wrapping his fingers around my shoulder. “Wouldn’t you like to see the home of the greatest warriors in the Nine Realms?”

  “In exchange for what?” I stammered.

  The men laughed again. I felt heat rise to my cheeks. I hadn’t meant to say the wrong thing; the question had slipped from my lips before my mind had a chance to catch it.

  “Stars, are you always so suspicious?” Baldr asked. He fixed me with a brilliant smile, and my skin warmed beneath my wet dress.

  I turned away, afraid Baldr would be able to sense my reaction. A strange sound caught my attention. I looked past the knot of men and focused on the scratching noise I’d just heard beneath the trees.

  A silver light shimmered from the shadows beyond the circle of firelight. The sound came again, a harsh and steady rasping. This time, I could place it. Someone was sharpening a blade out there, well away from the firelight and merrymaking. I glanced back at the men with their barrel of mead. Thor, laughing as he swayed on his feet. Baldr, with the incendiary beauty of his smile. Dark-skinned Frey, and Bragi, whose gleaming eyes still rested on my chest. Beyond them, his face half-hidden in the shadows of his great, brimmed hat, stood Óðinn the All-father. Who was missing? Who was beneath the trees?

  The answer hit me with a flush of heat, and for a moment I felt like I’d drained a horn of mead myself. Týr. The man in the shadows had to be Týr. But what was he doing out there? I glanced back at Fenris, half hoping to pull him away so we could talk to Týr together. My heart sank. As I watched, Thor staggered back to the circle of firelight with two more horns of mead. He waved one in front of Fenris; my husband took it automatically.

  “Fenris–” I began, wanting to tell him to stop, wanting to tell them all that was probably enough mead for the night.

  Fingers closed around my arm. “Hush,” Bragi whispered from beside me. His breath felt hot against my neck. “Let him have his fun.”

  I ground my teeth together. Fenris did not look like he was having fun. He looked sick and disoriented. The mead I’d drunk earlier felt like it was curdling in my gut. I yanked my arm out of Bragi’s grip and stepped away from the fire.

  It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the pale light of the waning moon. Behind me, the sounds of violent retching filled the air, intermingled with cheers and laughter. I shivered, wrapped my arms around my chest, and stumbled toward the rasp of metal against metal.

  “Sol?”

  I blinked. Yes, that was Týr’s voice. Something deep and hungry inside me awoke at the sound, and I almost closed my eyes, amazed at the depth of emotion his rich timbre had just unleashed.

  “Týr,” I whispered.

  I took another step toward the woods, and Týr’s tall form materialized out of the darkness. His eyes gleamed in the silver light. The moon made his features stark and pale, as though he’d been carved from ice. I reached forward, and he took both my hands in his.

  “You didn’t come,” I said. My voice wavered, and my lips felt numb.

  Týr’s mouth pressed closed, forming a tight, thin line. “I was...ordered not to.”

  The forest seemed to sway above me; I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. “Ordered?”

  Týr’s jaw clenched. “Óðinn is the All-father. He’s my father. He...forbade me to go alone.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  Týr sighed and released my hands. “I don’t know. At first, I thought he wanted to try marrying me off again. Then Óðinn said he wanted to see Fenris for himself, with all of us.”

  Týr glanced over my shoulder and frowned. I followed his gaze. Fenris sat, swaying, in front of the fire. His chest was splattered with liquid, and he seemed to be nodding in agreement with something Thor was saying. I realized my hands had twisted the fabric of my dress into tight fists.

  “Does Óðinn want us to come with you to Val-hall?” I whispered.

  “I think so,” Týr said. He sounded miserable.

  “But...” I stammered, trying to find the words to voice my vague sense of disquiet.

  If Bard Sturlinsen’s prophecy had reached Asgard, if Óðinn had heard the false dream where my husband ended the Æsir, then why in the Nine Realms would they invite us to Asgard? Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill us now? My eyes drifted back to the fire. Fenris was doubled over now, vomiting a stream of dark liquid between his legs. Everyone else seemed to be laughing at him.

  I blinked away a sudden rush of furious tears. No, the prophecy must have died with King Nøkkyn. There had to be another reason for Óðinn and his sons to visit the Ironwood. Swallowing hard, I turned back to Týr. If the Æsir had come to the Ironwood in order to invite us to live on Asgard, then why did Fenris’s lover look so desperately unhappy?

  “Fenris-wolf,” Thor shouted from behind us, “you can’t drink for shit!”

  Týr flinched at the Thunderer’s words. Another explanation rose slowly in my mead-softened mind.

  Was Týr ashamed of Fenris? Of us? All this time, had his relationship with Fenris been a secret he wanted to hide from the illustrious warriors of Asgard?

  “You don’t want us in Val-hall,” I said.

  Týr’s eyes widened. “No! Stars, no, that’s not it at all!”

  He reached forward, taking my hands in his again. His skin was rough and warm against mine. Gently, he pulled me further into the shadows beneath the trees. When his eyes met mine, they burned with fierce intensity.

  “I would love to have you and Fenris in Val-hall,” Týr whispered. “To be able to see Fenris whenever I want, to not have to wait for the full moon. It would be—” His voice softened, then faded altogether. His grip on my hands tightened.

  “But, I don’t understand it.” Týr’s voice had roughened. “After all these years, why is my father suddenly so stars-damned interested in Fenris?”

  The dark words of the prophecy rose in my chest, tightening around my heart like a black snake. No, I told myself. No, they would have just killed him outright if they were worried about the prophecy.

  “Týr, what should we do?”

  Týr wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me to his chest. His hand ran down my back, smoothing my hair.

  “Just keep your head down,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ll find out what’s going on, and I’ll come to you with the answers. I promise.”

  He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. Even though my hair, I felt the warmth of his lips.

  “Now, go back to the fire,” Týr whispered. “Try to enjoy yourself. And don’t worry.”

 
THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER SIX

  I woke when someone’s foot collided with my shoulder. My eyes opened to find the pale light of dawn spreading across patchy snow-streaked with ashes from last night’s fire.

  “Let’s go,” a man’s voice said from behind me.

  Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes and surveyed the scene. The Æsir were all dressed in their armor, standing and stretching above the mud-smeared snow. Only my husband was naked, unconscious, and still on the ground. This time, Bragi did not stop me when I went to him.

  Fenris lay in a pool of his own regurgitated mead next to the pit of ashes that had been last night’s bonfire. The stench emanating off him almost stopped me.

  “Stars, did you kill him?” I spat, blinking back a flood of unexpected tears.

  Rough laughter greeted this.

  “Oh, he’s still alive,” said a gruff, amused voice.

  Thor, I thought, still a bit stunned to find myself attaching a name from myth and legend to an actual person standing beside me.

  Thor leaned forward and prodded Fenris’s inert body with his boot. “He really didn’t live up to his reputation, you know. He’ll have to learn to drink better than that if you’re going to live in Val-hall.”

  “What?” I stammered.

  Fenris moaned, and I sank to my knees in the mud. His bloodshot eyes flickered open, then squeezed shut again.

  “Sol?” he whimpered.

  “I’m here.”

  Gently, I tried to wipe the mud and vomit from his face with my sleeve. Fenris moaned again as he rolled over onto his side. His back was patterned with dirt, and he stank to the stars. A white-hot rage surged inside me, as pure and blinding as a lightning bolt. What in the Nine Realms were they doing, forcing mead on him like that all night long? And, damn it all, why had he accepted those full horns over and over again?

  “Time to go, mighty monster of the Ironwood,” Thor said, laughing at his own joke. “Time to go home.”

  Fenris heaved himself out of the mud and stared at me, pale and disoriented. “What?”