The Complete Fenris Series

by Samantha MacLeod

  “Why do you want to know about the army?” Fenris asked, his attention back on Thrym.

  “Because, my dear heirs, the general is paying us a visit tomorrow. We’re due for a new contract, and he wants to renegotiate our terms, the stars-damned cheating bastard,” Thrym said, cheerfully.

  “And you want me to watch and learn?” Fenris said.

  “No,” Thrym answered.

  Fenris looked visibly relieved.

  “I want you to do the negotiating for me,” Thrym said.

  Fenris’s jaw clenched. “I’m not sure I’m ready—”

  “Well, you are,” Thrym answered, cutting him off. “You’ve picked up the language faster than just about anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ll be damned if you’ve forgotten a single thing I’ve told you. You’re ready, and that’s the end of it.”

  Fenris’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing.

  “The general arrives tomorrow afternoon,” Thrym continued. “We’ll wine and dine him, then we’ll retire to my tablinum so you can try to squeeze a few more denarii out of his impossibly tight ass.”

  One of the twins shifted, kicking me right in the kidney; I tried to adjust my position as unobtrusively as possible. My mouth had gone dry, and the smoked fish and bread spread before us suddenly looked unappetizing. On the couch beside me, Fenris had fallen silent. His face, which had tanned deeply beneath the blinding white sun of Midgard, had suddenly turned pale.

  The mighty Fenris of the Ironwood, I thought, with a pang of regret. I’d seen him run through the forest in the shape of a terrifying wolf, the strongest and fiercest being in the Realm. I’d watched as he killed five armed and trained soldiers in a matter of minutes. Now, he looked like the only thing he wanted in the Nine Realms was to return to our little cave in the Ironwood Forest and hide beneath the sleeping furs. Fenris ran his hand over his lips again and turned to Thrym.

  “Do we have any chain?” Fenris asked.

  “Chain?” Thrym frowned above his wine goblet.

  Fenris just nodded in response.

  “I suppose we could scare some up. What for?” Thrym asked.

  Fenris shifted on his dining couch and gave us both an anemic smile. “I think I’d rather just be chained up again.”

  Thrym and I stared at him in shock. A moment later, Thrym began laughing so hard that his entire body shook. Wine sloshed from his goblet and splattered across the intricate tile mosaic on the floor.

  “By the Nine damned Realms,” Thrym said as he turned to me with a wide grin. “Sol, did Fenris actually make a joke? Here I almost thought Loki’s son had no sense of humor.”

  Fenris turned to me with a shy little smile that reminded me of the Ironwood, of the days when my husband and I had lived for our pleasure alone, with no concerns other than the ecstacy of our bodies. For a moment, my heart felt light, and I could almost believe Fenris and I were the same people who had made love for days in the dappled sunlight of the Ironwood’s summer.

  Ignoring another sudden stabbing cramp up my midsection, I leaned forward and took Fenris’s hand.

  “You can do this,” I whispered.

  FROM THE MOMENT HE entered Thrym’s domus, General Decius Treblanus Caerellius looked to be every bit the impossible tight ass Thrym had described. He’d walked through the domus as if he owned it, worn a sword during the meal, and completely ignored all the women in the household, including me. He drank a surprisingly large amount of wine, even as he blathered on about how anything the barbarians produce couldn’t possibly come close to the quality of true Roman vintages.

  Thrym just smiled and refilled his glass. Fenris answered General Caerellius’s questions politely, in passable Latin, and looked like he was trying hard not to scowl. I ate the evening meal in the kitchen with the other women, listening as Liburnia peppered the servants with questions every time they returned. When they reported that Thrym, Fenris, and the general had retired to Thrym’s little tablinum, I knotted my hands into the fabric of my skirt and tried to keep from biting my lip hard enough to draw blood.

  “Would you like to walk with me?” Liburnia asked.

  I blinked at the strange request.

  “Just through the halls of the house,” Liburnia said, with an exaggerated wink. “Very slowly.”

  It wasn’t until we reached the closed doors of Thrym’s tablinum that I understood what she’d meant. We walked past the doors again and again, catching snippets of conversation. Mostly, I heard the general’s blustering, although occasionally Fenris’s calm, clear voice would rise above the din. He sounded so cold that I almost shivered against the warmth of Liburnia’s arm.

  We paused in the atrium beneath the warm glow of a lamp. The sun had set hours ago, and thin clouds now chased each other across the sky, their ragged edges silvered by the light of the rising moon. I yawned, then covered my mouth. The last time we’d walked past Thrym’s tablinum, we’d heard nothing, and I’d half wondered if they’d all fallen asleep in there.

  A burst of excited chatter flew across the atrium from the entryway. Liburnia and I both turned toward the sound, and Velia flew into the room, her eyes wide in her pretty face. She usually worked in the kitchens, but I wasn’t surprised to see her still awake. It felt like the entire domus was finding excuses to walk past Thrym’s tablinum doors tonight.

  “Come quickly,” Velia gasped. “He’s here!”

  Liburnia inhaled sharply. Before I could ask who he was or why we should move, another sound echoed through the atrium. The booming thud of the door to Thrym’s tablinum being thrown wide open. Male laughter followed, and I could make out the distinct thread of Fenris’s voice. My heart rose in my chest. Liburnia turned to Velia, then back at me, clearly torn.

  “Go ahead,” I told her. “Go with Velia. I can find my own way.”

  Liburnia shook her head. “Someone has to lead the general to his own room. He’s probably too drunk to find it himself.”

  Together, Liburnia and I walked through the halls of the domus toward the men, leaving Velia and her mysterious male visitor. When we turned the last corner, I saw Fenris and the general clasping each other’s forearms in what seemed to be almost a test of strength.

  But they were smiling. Both of them were actually smiling. Fenris’s wide grin looked like something out of a dream, or a distant memory. My chest tightened at the sight and, for a heartbeat, I was almost afraid to speak, lest I ruin the moment.

  The general released Fenris’s hand and turned toward us. His eyes looked glazed, and his cheeks blazed in the lamplight. Liburnia bowed low before him.

  “Shall I show you to your quarters?” she asked deferentially.

  General Caerellius made a harumping sort of snort. “Of course, of course. Our business here is concluded. Yes, yes. You. Show me to my quarters!”

  As soon as they’d rounded the corner, Fenris swept me into his arms and spun me in the air. Thrym laughed as Fenris set me back on my feet, his eyes wild above his enormous smile.

  “I did it!” Fenris cried. He sounded as though he’d just pulled the moon from the sky.

  I squealed at his happiness, his smile.

  “Of course you did!” Thrym said. He wrapped one arm around Fenris’s shoulder and the other around mine. “Your husband was brilliant in there.”

  Fenris barked, a sharp laugh of surprise. “I just didn’t say anything!” he cried. “Every time he made an offer I didn’t like, I shook my head and frowned. It’s what Angrboða used to do!”

  He sounded almost breathless, like he’d just returned from training with Thrym, and his voice carried an awed hush of disbelief.

  “I can’t believe it worked!” Fenris finished. His long curls swirled around his shoulders as he shook his head from side to side.

  Thrym slapped him on the back. “Fucking brilliant, Fenris. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

  Fenris turned to him with a look of naked shock and disbelief. “Really?”

  “Really. General Caerellius kno
ws me by now. I couldn’t have intimidated him in the same way. But you— Shit, that was just lovely.”

  Fenris laughed again, then pulled me into his arms for a crushing hug. His hands sank into my hair, clenching the strands in his fists. The twins both kicked in protest, but I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held him as tightly as I could.

  “You did it,” I whispered.

  Someone coughed politely in the hallway. Reluctantly, I let go of Fenris. The gentle lamplight bathed his smile in golden warmth. Stars, nothing in the Realms was as beautiful as my husband’s smile.

  “Ere Thrym?” a woman asked, using the household’s most formal salutation.

  I turned to see Velia standing before us, looking very nervous. She rarely spoke when Thrym was present; I’d gotten the distinct impression she was painfully shy.

  “What is it, Velia?” Thrym responded.

  She cleared her throat, glanced down the hallway, and coughed again. Her cheeks were flushed and pink in the lamplight. “It’s...visitors, Ere Thrym.”

  “Visitors?” Thrym responded. “Who in the Nine Realms is going to visit this late in the night?”

  “Someone with absolutely no sense of decorum,” Loki answered as he emerged from the shadows.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Thrym cried, throwing his hands in the air.

  He pulled Loki into an embrace as Velia pressed herself awkwardly against the wall, making room for Thrym’s massive body. Another woman followed Loki. My throat tightened as the lamplight illuminated her gentle features.

  “Sol,” Sigyn said, reaching for my hands. “How are you, my dear?”

  I let her pull me into her arms.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,” I said, trying to speak around the lump in my throat.

  Sigyn stepped back and cupped my cheeks. “Oh, of course you will!”

  Fenris lowered his head solemnly as he clasped Sigyn’s hands. “I understand you took a great risk, taking care of me. I thank you.”

  Sigyn’s eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “You are Fenris Lokisen. You will always be welcome in our home.”

  Fenris swallowed hard.

  “Thrym,” Loki announced as he wrapped his arm around Sigyn’s shoulders, “I think it’s about time to visit the garden. Don’t you, dear?”

  Sigyn’s cheeks darkened. “Yes. Let’s give them some privacy.”

  “Them?” Fenris asked.

  He turned to me with wide eyes. Loki, Thrym, and Sigyn turned down the hallway, with Velia following on silent feet. I shook my head in confusion. The sound of scuffling feet echoed through the hallway, followed by a high, ringing peal of laughter. I was about to ask Fenris what he thought Sigyn had meant by them when another figure stepped out of the hallway’s shadows. He was a man, a tall man whose face was hidden by a deep cloak. Fear ran cold through my body as the man pushed the hood back from his face.

  Fenris gasped as the man raised his eyes to us.

  He was Týr.

  THE MONSTER FREED: CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Týr’s face was gaunt, and he’d shaved his soft, carefully trimmed beard. He wore simple, dark leather armor, as though he were going out for a hunt. The streaks of silver I’d noticed in his dark blond hair were more prominent now. Before I could stop myself, my eyes dropped to follow the curves of Týr’s muscular arm. His right hand rested on the pommel of a small sword strapped to his waist. But Týr’s left arm ended in a stump that was wrapped in dark fabric and bound tightly against his chest. I turned back to Fenris, who wiped his hand across his lips and blinked furiously in the lamplight.

  “Fenris.” Týr took a step forward, then lowered his head. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “T-Týr?” Fenris’s voice came out in a pinched squeak.

  Týr raised his head. The lamplight in the hallway shone on unshed tears pooled in his eyes. Fenris stared at him, his mouth open in shock.

  “Shit. Fenris. I’m so sorry,” Týr said, his voice cracking. “I should have come to you sooner. I should have—”

  “You’re alive,” Fenris said. It was scarcely more than a whisper, but it was enough to silence Týr.

  Týr wiped furiously at his own eyes. “I—I don’t deserve to be alive. I was afraid of my own father. I betrayed you for him.” He turned to me with his dark, haunted eyes. “Sol stood up to everyone, there on the fields of Asgard. She called us all cowards, and she was right.”

  I stepped forward and pressed my hand against Týr’s arm. “You saved my life!”

  Týr shook his head. “I—”

  Fenris pulled Týr’s dark-clad body into his arms. He sank one hand into Týr’s dark hair and formed a fist around his cloak with the other, almost as though he were trying to convince himself Týr was real. I pulled back as the two men embraced, their bodies both trembling.

  “I’m a coward,” Týr whispered. It sounded like the words hurt.

  “Oh, shut up,” Fenris growled.

  Fenris pulled Týr’s head back and pressed his lips against Týr’s mouth, cutting off any further protests. A jolt of heat ran thought my body as I watched their fierce embrace, the kiss that looked almost like a struggle. When they pulled apart, the light sparkled off tears in Fenris’s pale eyes as well.

  “I thought I killed you,” Fenris said, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. “I see it every night, in my dreams. I see you die before me.”

  Týr brought his right hand up to caress Fenris’s cheek. “I told you to do it. I thought it was another bluff.”

  Týr turned toward the floor and sucked in another deep breath. “I thought I meant more to my father,” he finished. “I didn’t think he would... would waste me like that.”

  Fenris wrapped his arms around Týr’s waist, and they stood together without speaking. The sound of laughter drifted through the hallway, carried from the garden on the warm night breeze.

  “May I see it?” Fenris asked, breaking the silence.

  Týr pulled away from his embrace. “Are you sure you want to?”

  Fenris shifted on his feet, then nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Silently, Týr reached for his left arm. He carefully unhooked a leather strap around his forearm and began to unwind a strip of black fabric.

  “It’s healed,” he explained, “but I still keep it covered. The stump tends to make people nervous.”

  Týr hesitated, glanced at Fenris almost apologetically, and pulled off the dark fabric. His left arm ended just above the wrist, in a jagged mess of pink and scarlet scar tissue. My heart clenched, and my gut shifted uneasily. I turned away almost instinctively. But Fenris stepped forward.

  “May I?” he asked.

  Týr nodded. I watched as Fenris raised both his hands to cup Týr’s arm. Týr inhaled sharply. Slowly, Fenris ran his fingers across the angry lines of scars.

  “Does it hurt?” Fenris asked.

  “Sometimes,” Týr admitted. “Not...not now.”

  Fenris’s hands closed around the scars. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be. It was my decision.” Týr gave Fenris a hesitant half smile. “Honestly, I should probably thank you.”

  Fenris frowned. Týr glanced at his mangled arm, now clasped tightly between Fenris’s hands.

  “Óðinn can’t marry me off anymore,” Týr said, in a low, soft voice. “No one would want me now. I’m free.”

  Fenris ran his fingers gently over the red scars of Týr’s arm. “I thought you said you couldn’t live in your father’s world anymore.”

  Týr’s lips curled into an expression caught halfway between a smile and a sob. “I can never leave. He would follow me, he’d send his spies to find me. And they would lead him straight to you.”

  Fenris exhaled in a low hiss.

  “Týr,” I began, trying to find the words that would comfort him.

  Týr shook his head. “No. No, Sol, it’s fine. I can protect you this way. I’ll watch my father. I’ll hide you. And I’ll come visit you whene
ver it’s safe.”

  Fenris ran his fingers across the curve of Týr’s cheek, then over his lips. Their eyes met; Fenris rocked forward until his forehead was almost touching Týr. Fenris closed his eyes, and they stood together, silent and still.

  “I...lost the wolf,” Fenris whispered.

  “I know,” Týr said. He wiped his right hand across his face and tried to smile. “I guess we’re not quite what we used to be, are we, my friend?”

  Fenris took a deep breath and rocked back, letting go of Týr’s arm. “Are we still?”

  Týr frowned. “Still what?”

  Fenris glanced down the hallway, shifted again, and cleared his throat. His eyes burned in the lamplight. “Are we still friends?”

  Týr’s face contorted. For a second, I thought he was about to cry. Or to scream. He turned to both of us.

  “Sol of the Ironwood,” Týr said, his voice strangely resonant and formal in the small space, “your beauty is easily the least of your virtues. I’ve seen you face down the armies of Asgard, and I’ve been humbled again and again by the force of your love. Your friendship would honor me deeply, if you choose to give it.”

  I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. Deep inside me, one of the twins kicked in response to Týr’s words.

  “O-of course,” I stammered. “You saved my life. Our lives,” I added, running my hand over the mountain of my belly.

  Even as I said the words, I realized they weren’t the entire story. I crossed the hallway and reached for Týr again, this time wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I breathed him in, the deep, musky scent of him I’d first noticed in the Ironwood as I pulled his shirt over my head. The night we’d made love as a threesome.

  “We were going to run away with you,” I told Týr. “And I wanted to. I wanted to live with you, Týr. I wanted to raise the babies with you and Fenris on Álfheim.”

  Hesitantly, almost as if he were afraid of being pushed away, Týr reached up and returned my embrace. He sighed as I held him; I wondered if he realized he’d done so. Then he pulled away, stepped back, and faced Fenris.