Wregen #2
He stands to his full height, no bigger than a cat, and sticks his chest out, arms stretched wide. “I would help anyone who seeks it,” he insists magnanimously. “I have served the gods for millennia and will again soon. But while we’re in these caves, I offer my aid to you.”
“Why can he talk?” Finaan asks—a very reasonable question—but before I offer my guess, the tiny beast responds.
“Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?” he demands.
“Squirrels don’t talk,” she responds in a patient voice, as if telling him something he already should know.
But I’m done with this conversation. “Leave him behind,” I command as I start to stride forward again. “We don’t care about a talking squirrel.”
“You don’t want to do that,” the little fucker squeals at me. “The monsters waiting around that corner will destroy you before you can pull your sword.”
“They haven’t met me yet,” I mutter, turning toward the others to beckon them forward.
Before I’ve gone two steps, though, Wrath rumbles another warning.
“I told you,” the annoying creature says as he scampers beside me, “they’re dangerous. You’re lucky I found you when I did. We need to be careful. If we don’t hide, they’ll kill all of us.”
Fuck careful. I strip off my clothes and call up Wrath. Giving myself to him, we fully shift within a few seconds. And I’m back in the hole he stores me in when he takes our skin.
The squirrel’s scream echoes through the caves but Wrath ignores it. He would be a pitiful snack, and Wrath has a larger meal waiting for him. Seven jotnar approach, apparently the size of groups they travel in as they move through these caves.
Wrath spins his head, “Ssssstay here,” whispering out, and goes to chase another meal.
He doesn’t waste my time torturing these males.
They didn’t threaten our mate or draw her blood.
And I am so fucking sick of these delays.
I don’t trust my skjaldmaer or the weasel.
The sooner we’re all back in Helheim, the happier I’ll be.
Within a few minutes, Wrath’s hunger is sated again.
Burping up a trace of flame, he releases his hold on our body, giving it back to me.
I glance down at my naked body, giving in to the smirk that twists my lips.
Wrath ate most of them whole, so I have no blood to wash away.
As much as I’ve enjoyed his massacres as we wander the lands of the living, I don’t care to wear our victims on my skin.
And I have no idea when we’ll be able to bathe again.
When I stride back into the cavern where the others wait, my gaze goes straight to my skjaldmaer.
As always, I’m hungry to see her response to my naked body.
She tries to hide it, but I know her so well.
The little intake of breath, her chest expanding enough to pop out those tits like she’s craving my tongue on them.
Wide eyes drawn to the curves and ripples of my muscles, leading down to the cock that’s always hard for her.
And then a shake of her head as she tries to convince herself she doesn’t want me. That she’ll never fuck me.
Instead of the vision I covet, though, I can’t see a single thing except that fucking rodent wrapped around her neck, whispering in her ear, tail playing with her hair.
That’s my neck to wrap my fingers around.
My ear to whisper filthy demands in.
My hair to fist.
“Get it off of you,” I snap, striding forward to reach for the little bastard.
Finaan steps back, one arm rising to block me while the other grasps its fur, like she wants to hold it there.
“Get. It. Off.” My voice is low and dangerous, the tone I use to bring wraiths to their knees.
“Oh, stop it,” Finaan responds with a laugh. “I’m not afraid of you, even when you act like a homicidal maniac.”
“You should be,” I snarl, my hand whipping out to try again.
But my skjaldmaer is fast and determined. And she’s already figured out how to protect herself from me. Ducking down, she spins and kicks out a leg, dropping me to my knees.
My cock, already throbbing, is an iron rod now. Holy Helheim, am I mad for her fight.
Rising, I turn and stroke myself slowly, drawing her gaze where I need it—her wide eyes and open mouth finally giving me the image I crave.
But she snaps herself out of it quickly, as she always does. “He’s coming with us.”
“The fuck he is.” I reach for him again but my skjaldmaer dances away in time, still protecting the rat.
“You want me with you!” he screams as he clings to my mate, her dark locks mixing with his fur, tickling his nose. “Don’t you know who I am?” he demands.
“Why in all the worlds would I have any idea who you are?” I bellow. “You’re a squirrel. That’s all I need to know.”
“I am Ratatoskr,” he cries as my hand finally grasps his neck.
I’m tempted to yank, taking the clumps of Finaan’s hair I also grabbed with him. But his unexpected claim stills my hand.
“Who?” Finaan asks, spinning her head to cock a single eyebrow at the scrawny furball.
“Ratatoskr,” he repeats. “Surely you know my name.”
She shakes her head before tipping it to one side, her lips pursing as if she plans to kiss the dirty beast.
So I let go of his neck and grasp it with my other hand, sliding my fingers under my mate’s hair to leave her untouched.
Now I yank, pulling him up to eye-level to hold his gaze as he spits out his lies.
I try to squeeze his throat, but the pest is too small for me to get a grip, so I wrap my other hand around his chest.
“I’d been planning to let you go,” I tell him as I grip him tightly enough to stop his breath, “but I don’t like being lied to. You should have feared me.”
“I’m … not … lying,” he rasps, eyes bugging out even more than they already were.
“Stop it,” Finaan barks, reaching for my arm and drawing my gaze to her. “I can’t read him clearly, but I think he’s telling the truth. Let him speak.”
“He can’t be Ratatoskr,” I explain, my patience wearing thin.
Every single gods-damned being we encounter seems determined to slow us down, and we need to get out of these caves.
“That rodent is bound to Yggdrasill, ferrying messages and stirring shit between the eagle who perches on top of the tree and the serpent who chews on its roots.”