“I’d love to visit you again,” she whispered. “Perhaps... when your husband is also home?”
A slow heat rose in my cheeks and sank through my abdomen. I swallowed hard. “Sure,” I stammered.
Freyja smiled again, this time shaping her polished lips into a wickedly sensual curve. By the time my mind clicked back into place, Freyja had already come to her feet and pushed away from the table. I watched the curve of her hips sway in the thick sunlight as she walked out of the feast hall. Very slowly, the hum of conversation began again.
I put my bread down. That sudden, confused rush of arousal had bridled my appetite, leaving me feeling lost and unsteady. Biting my lip, I looked around the feast hall. Bragi turned away as soon as our eyes met. Frey nodded at me. I recognized no one else.
No, wait! A dark-skinned warrior at the next table raised a flagon to his lips, and I paused. Why did he seem familiar?
The spray of blood and the clash of metal against metal flashed in my memory. Of course. I’d seen him this morning, as a sword caught him between his ribs. A sword wielded by a man with a long, dark braid. I shifted on the bench, turning to watch that table.
Yes. The dark-skinned warrior was sitting down to eat with the man who had killed him this morning.
I shuddered, then pushed my plate away. My gut rolled over itself. For a moment, I worried I was about to lose the bread I’d just eaten.
“Sol?” Baldr asked.
He stared at me, his handsome face wrinkled with concern. I suddenly wondered if his expression was genuine. Were any of his expressions genuine, or was his beauty also his armor?
“I don’t see Fenris,” I said. I wished my voice was stronger, like Freyja’s.
Baldr’s eyes flickered toward the door, and his handsome smile slipped just enough to let the vague disquiet rolling through my heart harden into something deeper and colder.
“I’m sure they’ll be finished soon,” Baldr offered.
I sank my hands into the thick, soft fabric of my skirt as another question rose in my throat. “Where’s Týr?”
Baldr’s smile flickered. For just a heartbeat, I felt almost certain he was going to deny ever having met Týr.
“He is your brother, isn’t he?” I pushed. “You’re both the sons of Óðinn, right?”
“Of course,” Baldr said, flashing his handsome smile at me again. “And I’m sure Týr is sorry to miss you. He was sent to Álfheim as soon as we returned with you and Fenris. Very important business. It may take some time.”
Fenris and I were alone, then. And the answers Týr promised might be a long time coming. My chest tightened. The food spread before me suddenly seemed unappetizing; the room felt far too hot. I stood and stepped away from the table.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
A few faces turned toward us, their expressions inscrutable. The memory of King Nøkkyn’s dark courtyard rose in my mind like thick, greasy smoke from a bonfire. The way torches had flickered across the dark cobblestones and cast long shadows over the faces of the crowd. The way no one had dared to look at me as I’d been dragged across those stones to my own funeral pyre.
I spun on my aching toes and almost smacked into Baldr. Fear spiked in my chest and I braced myself, half expecting Baldr to grab my wrists and keep me from leaving. Instead, he stepped aside without a word. I wove my way through the feast hall as quickly as I could without actually running. Once I was back in the dusty hallway, one of the doors swung open as I walked past. I rushed in. Only after the door had slammed shut behind me did I take a deep breath and look around the room.
Yes, this was where Freyja had taken me this morning. It held the same copper tub in the corner, the ash-filled fireplace on the opposite wall, and the enormous bed.
“Fenris?” I asked.
My voice echoed strangely in the empty room, and I felt like an idiot. What exactly had I expected? Did I think Fenris would jump out from beneath the bed?
With a sigh, I kicked off the beautiful shoes that now felt like vice grips around my toes and walked to the windows. The sun had dipped low against the horizon, and the ocean shone so brilliantly it almost hurt to look at it.
The clang of metal on metal sounded through the window. I leaned out over the wooden window frame to see if I could spot the warriors whose sparring I’d heard. Flowers swayed in the breeze on the long stretch of grass before me. I heard the sharp, insistent mah of a goat bleating from somewhere above me. I grinned. Somehow, hearing goats declaring their business to the Nine Realms made Val-hall seem more like home.
The stomp of heavy feet in the hallway outside the room interrupted my thoughts. I pulled away from the window and turned to the door, waiting to see if the footsteps would continue on. If not—
“Get in there and clean up,” a deep male voice boomed from the other side of the door. “Let’s see if you can hold your mead any better tonight!”
Thor. That had to be Thor. The door creaked open, and Fenris stumbled through the opening. Behind him, Thor’s looming bulk blocked the doorway. I ran forward as the door closed and threw myself into Fenris’s arms. He stumbled backward, crashing into the wall.
“Stars, Sol!” he cried.
“I’m sorry!” I pulled away.
Fenris looked pale and exhausted. His hair lay matted against his back, his bare chest was streaked with dirt and dried blood, and he was wearing a torn, filthy pair of leather greaves that looked far too big for him. A dark stain oozed across the torn right leg. He frowned as he stared at me, his eyes dropping to the spreading hemline of my soft blue skirt and then coming back to rest on my face.
“You look like one of them,” he said.
I swallowed hard against the sudden sting of disappointment. I’d thought I looked beautiful. Fenris seemed to sense my discomfort. He plunged his hands in his hair, then shook his head.
“I mean, you look...nice. In that dress.” His mouth twisted, and he looked like he was searching desperately for another word he could use to describe the elaborate outfit Freyja had chosen for me. “It’s a very nice dress,” he finished.
“Thank you,” I said, my feelings somewhat mollified by his awkward attempts to compliment me. “Freyja did my hair, and the dress—” I faltered. “I don’t really know where the dress came from. But at least you didn’t have to steal it for me this time.”
Fenris flashed me a grateful smile. I wasn’t certain if he was thanking me for the little joke, or for forgiving his earlier comment on my appearance. Or both. I frowned at the dried blood and dirt streaking his torso.
“Are you—” I couldn’t bring myself to finish.
“I’m fine.” Fenris sighed. “They brought me some mead. It healed everything.”
I stared at him. My pale, half-naked husband didn’t look fine. He looked as though he’d been dragged through the mud across half of Asgard.
“I’m not very good at fighting,” Fenris said, with an apologetic shrug. “I don’t understand why they didn’t want the wolf. There’s nothing I can do in this pathetic body that can’t be done a thousand times better as the wolf.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “I can think of a few things you do better as a man.”
He gave me a tired smile, then turned to stare at the room. The gleaming late afternoon sun painted his wan face in shades of gold.
“This is...nice, too,” Fenris said, haltingly. “This will be good for the baby, right?”
I nodded, then walked to the copper tub on the floor and pressed the circle in the bottom. The room filled with the laughter of running water. Fenris rubbed his hands across his eyes. Beneath the patchy mud streaking his chest, I saw the bright red lines of several new scars.
“Stars,” I cursed under my breath.
As the tub gurgled behind me, I walked to Fenris and put my hands hesitantly on his chest. His skin felt warm beneath my palms. Softly, I traced the bright, red line of a new scar.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
He shook his he
ad. “Not with the mead. It cures everything.”
“Everything but the scars,” I added.
Fenris shrugged. “What’s that water thing?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject.
I grinned. They must not have had these magical copper tubs in Angrboða’s castle either.
“Take off those disgusting pants,” I said, “and I’ll show you.”
“I did try to tell them I didn’t need clothes,” Fenris said weakly, with a half smile.
I smiled in response, wondering how Freyja would have responded if I told her I didn’t need new clothes. Fenris tugged at the knot cinching his pants tightly around his slender waist until the ratty rope finally unraveled, and the mud-stained fabric fell in a heap at his feet. I tried not to stare at the fresh, angry red scar along his right thigh.
“Come on,” I said.
Fenris let me pull him to the copper tub, which was now filled with steaming warm water. I grabbed one of the soft towels, pushed back my sleeves, and ran the damp fabric over Fenris’s shoulders as he sank into the water. He sighed in pleasure and leaned back, letting his head loll against my neck. His scent drifted through the steam, the irresistible, wild aura of my demon lover from the Ironwood.
Warmth bloomed in my chest, loosening the knots of anger and fear. His scent, and the weight of his head against my chest, made me feel like I was home. His eyes were closed, and his lips curved into a grin. I ran the cloth over his cheeks and brow, across the soft arc of his mouth, wiping away the dirt and dried mud, revealing my husband’s beautiful face. Then I bent to kiss him, covering his lips with my own. His eyes opened when I pulled away.
“I guess this is a little more comfortable than the cave,” he said, with a lazy smile.
“A bit,” I answered.
I kissed him again, deeper and longer, letting my tongue embrace him as steam rose around us. When I pulled away, Fenris smacked his lips.
“Your lips taste funny—” He caught himself. “Different,” Fenris corrected. “With all that stuff on them. But, not bad different. Just—”
I giggled. The warmth of his kisses left me glowing inside like a Harvest Festival lantern, and I felt too damned good to be offended by my husband’s naked honesty.
“Freyja painted my lips, too,” I said.
“Ah. It’s—”
“Nice?” I finished.
Fenris gave me a grin that rivaled the sun. “Very nice,” he corrected. “You look very, very nice, Sol. But, stars, I’m glad I don’t have to do all that lip-painting stuff. I just have to wear pants.”
I giggled again. Fenris leaned forward, dunked his head under the warm water, and pulled up. Water ran in shining rivulets down his long hair, turning the auburn strands ebony. He shook his head. Water flew everywhere.
“Fenris!” I shrieked.
His eyes gleamed. He cupped his hands on the surface of the water and pushed forward, sending a wave of spray and foam over the edge of the tub and straight into my chest. Warm water surged over my chest and soaked through the rich blue fabric. I jumped back, sputtering.
“You’re soaking my dress!”
“Take it off,” Fenris said, his lips spread in a wide grin. “I think this tub is big enough for both of us, don’t you?”
A familiar ache welled up inside me as the flicker of arousal grew. I pictured myself lowering my body into the warm water, straddling my husband, and pulling his face to my chest. I’d slide down his body as he licked and kissed my nipples, sink my hands into his hair as he entered me, and let the bath embrace our bodies as we came together, both of us burning with a fire no amount of water could quench.
Yes, that tub could hold both of us very nicely.
I returned Fenris’s devilish grin and reached for the laces of my bodice. I planned to take my dress off slowly. Very slowly.
Someone knocked on the door to our room. I jumped. My hands fell away from the wet, slippery laces. Fenris groaned and sank even further into the tub.
“If that’s Thor,” Fenris muttered, “could you tell him I’ve drowned in here?”
“Do you think it’s Thor?” I asked, hurriedly re-tying the knot I’d loosened.
Fenris’s smile had evaporated. Now, he sat in the bath with a look of grim determination on his face. “Who the fuck else could it be?”
The knock came again, light and delicate. I couldn’t imagine Thor knocking on a door that gently. I glanced at Fenris again, an unspoken question on my lips.
“Go ahead,” he said, with a frown, as he waved his hand at the door. “I’ll get out.”
I crossed the small room and pulled the door open just enough to see the hallway beyond.
It was not Thor.
THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER ELEVEN
Freyja stood in our doorway with one hand on her hip and a black dress pulled so tight across her curves that it may as well have been painted on. She gave me a wicked grin.
“May I come in?” Freyja asked. “Or are you otherwise occupied?”
A shock of heat rose in my core at the sight of her full lips and her breasts straining against the dark fabric of her dress. I glanced back at Fenris, who’d stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his hips. Water ran down his hair and trailed along his chest and abdomen.
“Tell Thor I’m coming,” he grumbled.
Freyja pushed the door open. “I’m not Thor.”
Fenris froze, his eyes wide, his mouth half open. Freyja trailed a hand along my shoulder, then pulled the door shut behind her.
“Hello, Fenris,” she purred, as if my husband weren’t dripping wet, half-naked, and wrapped in a towel.
Fenris turned to me, his eyebrows raised. “Uh, Sol?”
I tried to think through the red fog of arousal from my mind. There were lots of reasons Freyja could have stopped by, after all. Maybe she forgot something?
“This is Freyja,” I stammered. “She helped me with the dress.”
Fenris blinked as Freyja turned back toward me and tilted her head as if assessing my appearance. “Oh, dear. I see you’ve already managed to get it wet.”
Heat rose in my cheeks before I realized she must be talking about the sleeves and chest of my dress. Not the aching space between my legs. Freyja stepped closer. A rich, floral musk enveloped me. Her fingers ran gently down the front of my dress. My skin prickled beneath the wet fabric.
Freyja turned back to Fenris, who was now uncomfortably adjusting the towel around his waist.
“Such a beautiful wife you have,” she murmured. “Fenris, may I kiss her?”
Fenris’s face flushed. “Uh—”
Freyja turned to me, fixing me with her dark eyes. “Sol, may I kiss you?”
Oh, stars! I remembered the intense pull of desire that had surged inside me in the bath, when Freyja pulled a cloth across my neck and chest. I remembered how I’d ached for her touch, and her lips, as she dressed me, and how the thought had left me flushed with shame.
Instead of answering, I rocked forward and met her lips. She gasped against me, pulling back from my mouth. And then her body relaxed, her frame going soft against mine, her lips opening like a flower. She tasted like honey and roses. As our tongues embraced, her hands found my waist and rippled across my back. I pulled away, panting. Freyja’s eyes sparkled.
“Wow,” Fenris gasped.
I glanced over Freyja’s shoulder to see Fenris staring at us, transfixed, the towel around his waist doing nothing to hide the sudden bulge of his arousal.
“You’ve never seen your wife with another woman?” Freyja asked.
Fenris shook his head slowly, sending water drops cascading down his arms and chest.
“What a pity,” she purred. “Most men find it quite...entertaining.”
Freyja met my eyes again as her hands rose between us, settling on the sodden laces across my chest. My breath stuttered in my chest as she untied the laces, then pushed my dress off my shoulders. In the thick, afternoon light spilling through the window
, my breasts practically glowed. Freyja purred in appreciation.
“Come here, Fenris,” she said, waving a hand next to me. “Oh, and leave the towel.”
Fenris dropped the towel in a heap at his feet and crossed the room, his eyes still wide and his cheeks flushed. Freyja bent to kiss me again, harder and deeper this time, while her hand cupped my breast, her fingers closing around my nipple. I moaned beneath her, arching my back.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Fenris, show me what she likes.”
Fenris pressed his wet chest against my back, his hand closing around my other breast. As Freyja kissed me again, Fenris’s hand dropped between my legs. His fingers ran across the tight curls covering my sex; I whimpered in anticipation.
“Sol,” Freyja panted against my neck. “May I kiss your husband?”
I shook myself out of my stupor and turned to stare at Fenris. He was watching Freyja with a strange, hungry expression as his fingers flickered across my sex, teasing me. Visions of Fenris kissing Týr surged in my mind, their naked chests pressed together, Fenris’s lips against Týr’s beard, Týr’s fingers threaded deep in Fenris’s hair. The sight of them together made me ache with need; I’d wanted them both, that first night. And I’d had them both.
But, Fenris with another woman? Freyja raised her head from my neck to meet Fenris’s gaze. Her soft lips parted just above me.
Yes. Stars, yes. I wanted to watch that kiss. I wanted to see Fenris meet Freyja’s dark lips, to see him close his eyes as he surrendered to her.
“Yes,” I whispered.
As she cupped my breast, Freyja leaned across my chest and kissed my husband. At first, Fenris didn’t react. Their lips brushed, pulled apart. Brushed again. This time, Fenris’s mouth parted. His eyes closed. As he kissed the most beautiful woman on Asgard, his fingers sank between my thighs, and ecstasy surged through me. I grabbed both of them as I arched my back, aching to be filled.
Freyja rocked back. “On the bed,” she said, her voice thick.
I kicked out of my dress, and Fenris guided me as I staggered backward, then sank to the plush fabric below. Fenris lay down next to me and kissed me, slowly and deeply. His lips tasted sweet, like Freyja’s. Freyja settled beside me, and her thick, floral scent joined the rich forest aura of my husband.
The Complete Fenris Series Page 39