Thaddeus
Euphemia’s scent surrounded me all day. This wasn’t unusual—God knew I’d been tormented enough by it—but today it was different.
Richer somehow. Denser. As if every note had deepened: the wildflowers sweeter, the pine sharper, that warm undercurrent so intoxicating it felt like a hand closing around my throat.
Even now, as I tossed and turned in my large, empty bed, it was all I could think about. The sheets were cool, the room quiet… yet my mind roared.
While I was restless, Wulfric remained calm.
Suspiciously calm.
As though he’d been waiting for something.
As though he’d expected this.
“All day I’ve been tormented,” I muttered into the darkness. “And still you remain quiet. Useless mutt.”
Silence.
Good riddance.
I rolled onto my back and exhaled, forcing my eyes shut. If I could sleep—just sleep—I’d see her in the morning. Euphemia in the daylight. Her hair catching the sun, her stubborn chin lifted, her scent drifting—
My lips twitched into a slow, foolish smile.
I would see her in the morning.
With or without the mutt.
? ? ?
The sea crashed violently against the cliffs, each wave exploding white against the rocks far below. The wind carried the roar upward—cold, wild, ancient—but the spray never reached me. I stood high above it all, the world stretched out beneath my feet like an old memory being forced awake.
A rustle behind me made me turn.
The faint sound of children laughing drifted through the air—wrong, impossible, carried on a breeze that felt older than the land itself. I followed the sound.
A long wooden structure rose ahead, its arched frame curved like the ribcage of a ship. Timber interlocked with iron nails. Carvings worn smooth by centuries.
A Norse longhouse.
Foreign—yet achingly familiar.
I blinked.
The sunlight vanished.
Darkness swallowed the land, thick and sudden.
Tinkling laughter echoed again—closer now. I spun toward the treeline.
A flash of red hair streaked between the shadows.
My heart lurched.
Flameheart, a voice whispered—right beside my ear.
“Euphemia!” I called, stumbling forward.
But only the empty echo of her name answered me—repeating, distorting, swallowed by the trees.
Moonlight flickered in thin, taunting ribbons, guiding me deeper, urging me on.
Awaken.
The command shook the ground beneath my feet.
Blood of Vargr, you have weakened.
Shame crashed over me like a tidal wave. Heavy. Bone-deep.
My knees threatened to buckle.
Awaken now!
My eyes snapped open.
I clutched my chest, gasping as though dragged out of deep water. Air felt thick. Wrong. The room spun wildly.
Then the whispers came.
All around me.
Inside me.
Through me.
I pressed my hands to my ears, but the sound burrowed straight through me—soul deep.
By the wolves of Fenrir, no other soul shall taste her fire.
She is yours, bound by blood and fate.
Yours to claim in every life.
The wolf and the flame.
Wulfric shifted—bracing, listening.
Because it wasn’t his voice.
It came again—louder, thunder rolling through my skull.
By the wolves of Fenrir, no other soul shall taste her fire.
She is yours, bound by blood and fate.
Yours to claim in every life.
The wolf and the flame.
Wulfric growled—long, loud, and deep.
The sound rattled straight through my torso.
Then something snapped into place.
“No,” I gritted out, teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached.
Yes, Wulfric growled back—right before he claimed my body.
I hit the floor hard.
My hands clawed at the wood.
My spine arched until every bone felt like it was breaking.
The snapping sound moved through me—shoulders, ribs, hips—one after another until I was nothing but a writhing pile of flesh and pain. Breath ripped out of me in short, brutal bursts.
I forced my head up.
My hands—
They were gone.
In their place:
Two thick black paws.
Talons curling into the floorboards.
Now we run. We hunt our mate. Her heat is close, Wulfric growled.
He moved before I could think.
Before I could protest.
Before I could breathe.
A flash of stairs.
The crash of shattering glass.
Cold air exploding against fur.
We were outside.
Snowflakes drifted down—light, slow, drifting like ash. But there was no chill. Only heat. A burning, furnace heat that lived inside me—inside us.
A pale beam swept across the land.
The moon was high and bright. It was the same full moon from my dream.
Watching. Bearing witness to my madness.
Wulfric’s joy surged like fire in my veins as he tore across the ground. Grass flattened under us. Branches snapped. Thickets flew past in blurs as he ran faster, harder, wilder—drunk on freedom.
I could only hold on.
A moment later he came to an abrupt stop.
His massive body went still, muscles coiled, breath steaming in the air.
Then Wulfric lifted his head to the sky.
He howled.
Long and loud—so powerful it cracked across the moor and echoed back in waves.
He howled again.
This time for her.
Calling her.
Claiming her.
Before I could even process the sound, he veered sharply and sprinted along the edge of the loch, paws pounding through the thin layer of snow.
Running toward her scent.
Running to our mate.
The only thing that made sense.
Euphemia.