Finaan
Chapter sixteen
álfheimr
Whatever I was about to say to Wregen gets trapped in my throat as I catch sight of the fantasy world laid out in front of us.
We’re still underground, but now I know why the light has been increasing over the last hour or so.
The earth is open above this field—far, far above it—casting its soft glow on the trees and grass and flowers and streams and pond.
I look up, wondering what hovers between us and the sun, shifting the colors here.
But then I realize the hues are true in this unexpected place. No mist or cloud floats above us.
A small laugh escapes me as my eyes dance across the blues that dominate this oasis instead of the greens of Vanaheim.
The grass beneath our feet and the leaves on the trees are a soft azul, like the birds that roam the skies at home, or the ocean at dawn, its gentle waves shifting as they reflect the colors of the heavens.
They’re a gentle contrast to the tree trunks and branches of the bushes and shrubs, which all are the dark blue of the sea at dusk, or the very edges of the wings of the butterflies that appear at home every spring.
It's the flowers, though, that call to mind the fairy tales my parents read to me every night when I was a girl. They dot the ground in a kaleidoscope of colors—just like home—but their light doesn’t come from the sun alone.
Every single one appears to be illuminated from below or within.
It’s as if they capture the subtle rays that reach down this far, then magnify and reflect them back, casting more light than they catch.
And then I see the most remarkable part of this astonishing scene.
Two unicorns—they could be nothing else—trot into our view, their heads turning in unison when they realize we’re here.
No, they don’t trot. Their legs move, but they seem to glide, as if their hooves never actually touch the ground below.
They pause, again as one, both standing as motionless as statues.
We’re as still, I suspect because every one of us is transfixed by the wonder of it all.
Finally, they drop their heads, in greeting, I think, and turn to continue on their path.
“What is this place?” I whisper, afraid to speak too loudly and disturb the calm that’s enveloped me.
I drag my gaze away and turn toward him, but this sight stuns me even more.
His expression is lighter than I’ve ever seen it.
It feels like a weight he’s carried around the entire time I’ve known him disappeared when we reached the outskirts of this oasis.
Still, his very essence remains heavy—he’ll never rid himself of the burden of his fealty to Hel, or his time in Helheim—and my gut churns with that realization.
In this moment, I wish the fates hadn’t fucked us as thoroughly as they have.
I see the mate I might have had, in another time or a different place.
I can even catch hints of the love I might have felt for him.
“We stand beneath our ancestor’s home, álfheimr,” he tells me, one side of his lips ticking up a bit to display the dimple that brings him closer to humanity than any being this evil should get.
“Yggdrasill’s influence is strong, reaching far enough into the earth to imbue this crater with the magic that creates a nirvana above us.
The elves consider this place theirs as well, travelling here occasionally. ”
“You’ve been here before?” It’s a stupid question, and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to tease me for it.
“Why do you play the fool, my skjaldmaer?” he asks with a deepening of that dimple in his cheek. “You are not daft. Make no mistake.” These words are kind, playful, and the feeling that we’ve walked into a world of make believe, both of us completely different people, deepens.
I smile—how could I not?—and ask a better question. “How many times have you been here?”
He nods his chin in approval, and my fucking heart flutters. Traitor. “I’ve traveled through this cavern four times. The world above, twice.”
“Why?” I didn’t realize he ever left Helheim, although I guess if anyone could, it would be him. And Hel must occasionally have business in the other worlds, even if it’s simply sending messages.
I see the change come over him, as if my reminder of his mistress brought back the Wregen I’ve always known. His smile drops away, lips forming a thin line and eyes narrowing. “My liege bid me come, and I came. That’s all you need to know.”
“That’s all I want to know,” I claim as I reach out and pat him on the cheek—drawing out the scowl I expected—and turn to stride forward. “Your life is yours. I don’t need any part of it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, my mate,” he rants as he stalks up to me.
“My life is mine, that part is true. But your life is mine, too. I can twist it—twist you—any way I want to fit into the mold I’ll create for you when we return to Helheim, where we belong.
You’ll take every part of me I give you—shove inside whatever hole or crevice I choose—and then you’ll thank me for the honor like the good fucking girl I know you can be. ”
He tramps ahead and I’m grateful to the gods that he does, because I don’t want him to see the flush that must have filled my cheeks with his words, my treacherous pussy joining in the melee.
I will never understand how any part of me could respond to this asshole, but fuck if he doesn’t wake up part of me I don’t want to acknowledge.
I’ll spend my life making sure I never give into it.
Again, I tell myself, memories of his fingers on me—in me—a reminder that it didn’t take much for him to claim control of my body.
I’ll never give in again. But my pussy disagrees, continuing her spiral into a lust-driven tizzy as I try to shove aside those thoughts.
I ignore her, though, focusing instead on the home I never knew I had.
“Our ancestors came from here?” I ask, jogging to reach him.
He doesn’t glance back, but I’m determined to get answers he’d rather not give me.
“Look,” I continue, catching up and walking by his side, “I don’t need to know why you were here or when.
I had no idea this place existed. Vanaheim and Helheim are the only worlds I’ve ever known.
Please,” I add, because I know he likes it when I beg, “tell me a little about álfheimr.”
“Don’t you dare,” a strange voice bellows from my side, drawing both of our gazes toward the nearest tree line.
I stop in my tracks, stunned by what I see. The unicorns that passed us earlier are there, but they’re not alone this time. A dozen other beasts surround them, each one carrying an elven rider, with each rider holding a massive bow, aimed directly at Wregen.
“They’re so pretty,” Rata proclaims from atop Ruxi.
“Hush, Ratty,” Svend whispers, his voice barely loud enough to reach me. “Maybe they won’t see us here.”
Not likely. Their sharp eyes have studied us already, and I can’t imagine they missed a single thing.
A flicker of hope sparks in my chest with the realization that these elves might be my only chance at breaking free from Wregen.
With it, though, comes an emotion that feels a bit like dread for reasons I refuse to consider.
I don’t know if I’ll take this chance—I haven’t decided yet whether I believe Wregen’s my only hope for freeing Panta—but my gut twists at the idea of betraying and abandoning this asshole of a mate the fates gave me.
“Oh, fuck off, Balin,” the asshole grunts in response, snapping my gaze back to him. His expression is calm, placid, but his leg has started to bounce a bit. It’s barely there, and I wonder if he’s trying to control his response but can’t still it completely.
“I see they remember you,” I say, one eyebrow popping up. “And they came prepared. Where’s Wrath?”
“My better half learned his lesson the last time he appeared in this place,” Wregen responds in a voice low enough to evade even the sensitive ears most elves have.
“The arrows are dipped in poison that would kill a normal elf and paralyze anything else—and I do mean anything. Wrath withstood four strikes before collapsing. He wished for days that the gods would let him die.”
“Hel has no business here,” the same elf—Balin—yells. “We told you not to return.”
“And I told you,” Wregen responds, quietly but throwing his voice as he likes to do, “that I have no choice. My path back to Hel goes through this place. We’re not staying. Let us pass.”
“Do they travel to Hel with you willingly?” Balin demands.
His gaze shifts toward me and even from here, I can see the rich blue of his eyes, sapphires sitting within a face so classically perfect, I wonder how he could exist. His thick blonde hair is cut short, framing features that appear completely uniform.
Wide eyes, a thin nose, a strong jaw, generous lips, and an angular chin give him the look of elven royalty.
“They do,” Wregen claims before I manage to chime in.
“He’s taking me to my dragon,” I clarify, spinning my head to glare at the bastard before I turn back to the elves. “He hopes to lead me to Helheim from there, but I won’t be joining him on that part of the trip.”
“Stubborn female,” Wregen mutters by my side, these words for me alone. “You’ll go with me to Helheim.”
Now I turn to stare at him. “Do you really want to have this conversation here, with poisonous arrows aimed at you?”
“Wrath is confined. They won’t hurt me unless he appears, and he won’t.
But if you want to see your dragon again,” he intones, slowly pivoting his head to give me his full attention, “you’ll say whatever you must to leave this place.
” His words are deadly quiet, the deceptive calm I’ve already learned precedes anger in this volatile male.
“Give it a rest, Wregen,” I murmur before looking again at the gathered elves. Balin’s watching us, his head cocked to one side.