Chapter 14
Soren
“What’s got you smiling?” Tom gives me a teasing smile as I slide his and Franklin’s drinks across the bar.
Shit. Was I doing it again? I rub my mouth, trying to physically scrub away the evidence. “I was not.”
Franklin elbows Tom’s side. “You either got that promotion to manager or you got laid.”
“Warmer.”
Franklin whistles while Tom laughs. “Wait, wait, I got it. You’re doing your manager.”
“Tom!” Franklin smacks his shoulder.
I snort. “Stone cold. No, I’ve been seeing this guy.” I flush when they both cheer. “He’s super sweet, sexy as hell, and I really like him. Great kisser too.”
“That’s so great! When do we meet him?”
I hesitate, my cheer fading. A customer orders a drink, so I focus on preparing it. I don’t usually tell Franklin and Tom about the guys I’m seeing. I’ve been burned enough times that I’ve decided to wait about a month into the relationship before even mentioning them.
I can’t explain it, but after last night I have a good feeling about Lyall.
The kiss we shared was so sweet, and it gave me a thrill I haven’t felt in a long time.
I’m talking butterflies in my stomach all day and a goofy grin I haven’t been able to shake.
Kissing him felt so right, like I’d found something I hadn’t even known was missing for so long.
But talking to Tom and Franklin makes me feel like I’m jinxing something, and an old familiar fear gnaws at the edges of my happiness. I know how quickly things can change. As right as things feel now, what if it doesn’t last?
Scowling, I give the drink I’m making a good, aggressive shake and imagine I’m shaking all the negative crap out of my head. I want to hold on to this giddy infatuation for as long as I can.
Lyall seems to think my past relationships didn’t work because they weren’t him. He makes it sound like some unconscious part of me has been waiting for him, like he’s waited for me. Like destiny or something. I’m too cynical to believe in that sort of thing, so I don’t know what to feel.
I want to trust him, even if I can’t trust myself.
Once I’m done with the drink, I hand it off to the customer, then stop by Franklin’s and Tom’s seats. “His name’s Lyall. Things are still really new and we’re taking it slow, but I’ve got a good feeling about him.”
“That’s great, Ren.” Franklin smiles brightly. “I hope we get to meet him.”
So do I…
After work, I head over to the Hudson River to meet with Lyall. I try to squash as many of the butterflies in my stomach as I can. Just be cool. Be calm. Will he want to kiss me again? Fuck, I hope so. Will things be awkward? What do I say? What do I do?
My phone chimes. Lyall sent me a text. Well, a picture.
It’s of a seagull perched proudly on a railing, the setting sun casting an orange glow over his feathers.
I stop in my tracks, smiling like an idiot at my screen. Why’s this guy so wholesome and cute?
Don’t be fooled. He may look innocent, but he’s got murder in his eyes.
Lyall replies with a voice message. “Are they dangerous?”
I bark a laugh at the very real concern in his voice, causing some people to stare at me, but I don’t care.
Very. Five out of ten people are killed by seagulls every year.
Lyall replies, “By this little bird? If they’re so dangerous, why are they allowed free?”
I cover my mouth but can’t hold back my laughter.
Who knows? This city’s gone to the dogs.
“Dogs are responsible for this?” Lyall sounds both baffled and horrified.
Oh right. He’s not familiar with the sayings and slang of this time. I probably shouldn’t say those things all the time then, just out of respect—but his reactions are really fucking funny, so I’m gonna do it anyway.
I quicken my pace until I spot him sitting on one of the stone benches and glaring at the seagull still perched on the railing. “You know,” I say as I approach, “there are some places where dogs and cats are mayors of towns.”
“You jest,” he says, huffing. He stands, and my heart trips as he comes closer. We stand toe to toe. We’re roughly the same height, so his lips are tantalizingly within reach. His hand drifts along my hip, just touching, not demanding. “You look good today.”
My face flushes. “Thanks. So do you.”
His throat bobs, and his eyes catch on my mouth. Heat flares low in my stomach.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I admit. “Kept thinking about you.”
The corner of Lyall’s mouth tips up. “Good thoughts?”
I grin and lean in until his breath warms my lips. His lips smell of mint, cool and fresh. “Very, very good.”
A low laugh rumbles in his chest. “My memories of last night are a bit… blurry. Kiss me again, love. It may just spark my memory.”
I don’t need telling twice. The low, pleased sound Lyall makes when I take his lips in a deep, lingering kiss makes my heart flip.
It’s chaste and sweet, and when we pull apart, I want to dive back in for another taste.
Lyall leans his forehead against mine, eyes still closed, a smile on his flushed lips.
“Gods. I could kiss you until the end of the world and it would never be enough.”
My heart races with joy. “Is there an afterlife in Norse myths?”
“Aye. Warriors go to Valhalla to join Odin’s army and prepare for Ragnarok. Those who do not die in battle go to Hel’s realm.”
“Hell? That sounds scary.”
Lyall chuckles. “No. Not the Christian idea of Hell. Helheim. Hel cares for the souls who die of sickness or old age. She is supposedly quite fearsome to gaze upon but tender-hearted.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, maybe when we die, we can go there. That way, we’ll still be able to kiss, even in death.”
Lyall smiles, making the sunlight feel dimmer by comparison, and I realize I’ve essentially said I want to be with him for the rest of our lives and on into the afterlife.
Oops. So much for taking things slow.
Swinging an arm over my shoulders, he leads me toward the boats. “That’s a good idea. To tell the truth, Helheim was always more appealing to me than Valhalla. I want to die in my bed, surrounded by my family. I’d rather spend my life farming than fighting.”
“Honestly? Sounds good to me.”
Lyall squeezes me close. “Anders used to tease me for it, but he has a family and a nice, cozy life with his mate. Dying in battle seems a worthy death until you’ve found someone you want to live for. Now, enough talk of death, we have memories to explore.”
“What will we see today?”
“I thought we could skip ahead until we’re both older.” Lyall drops his arm from my shoulders and takes my hand as we walk the stretch of pier toward the rental shack. Once we’re in our boat and far enough from shore that nobody should notice, Lyall opens a portal with the branch of Yggdrasil.
This time when we pass through, the sensation is less unpleasant.
It still feels like tripping on my way down the stairs, but at least I don’t feel nauseous this time.
It’s night here in the past. The full moon hangs overhead, and stars blanket the sky.
We drag the boat ashore and walk the path to the village.
Lyall leads the way, my hand in his, walking with confidence while I trip and stumble in the dark.
“Stop laughing,” I grumble after almost falling on my face.
“Stop amusing me then,” he counters, “unless you’d like for me to carry you?”
“Don’t you dare!”
Distant howls drown out his answering laugh. A chill runs down my spine. “Fuck!” I look every which way, but I can’t see for shit in the darkness.
“It’s all right,” Lyall assures me, leading me toward the howling rather than away. “It’s my pack. We’re celebrating.”
“What?”
“You.”
Curious but still unsettled, I grip his hand tight and let him guide me through the dark. Soon enough, torches light the village road, although the village itself appears empty.
“Where is everyone?”
“This way.” Lyall guides me along a dirt road east from the village.
Torches flicker ahead like fireflies. Drums thunder through the woods, vibrating the ground.
There’s a crowd gathered in a clearing in the middle of the woods.
Many are humanoid, but others have shifted fully to wolves and watch whatever is in the center of the circle with an awareness that’s all too human.
We pass through the crowd like ghosts and stop when we’ve made it to the front.
A man with long dark hair kneels before an altar.
Bones and wolf fur decorate the stony surface.
A wolf skull has been mounted to the structure, empty eyes gazing down at the man prostrate before it.
The man who, when he lifts his head, looks startlingly similar to me.
I barely recognize him. His hair is long and braided; his beard is full but neat.
Blood smears his lips and clots in his beard.
A shiver runs through me. This man is nothing like the scared little boy Erik brought to the village.
He’s a man now, wild and fierce. The crowd parts, allowing Erik to make his way toward us.
In his arms, he carries a mound of wolf fur.
He stops before Past Soren, who gazes up at Erik not with fear, but with something close to reverence.
The drums fall silent, and the wolves stop howling.
In the quiet, it’s as if the wilderness itself holds its breath.
Erik says, “You are one of us now. Blood of our blood, flesh of our flesh. We are your pack. I am your Alpha. You will never hunt or howl alone in this life.”
Past Soren’s face softens into a smile. “Thank you, Alpha. All of you.” He looks past us at someone.
I turn, heart tripping when I spot a younger version of the man beside me.
Past Lyall has shaken off the gangliness of youth.
He’s grown out a golden beard and a mane of hair, and his body is hard and trained for battle.
When he smiles, it’s full of pride and warmth and…
love. There’s no other way to interpret how he’s looking at my past self.