Chapter 2
Between Worlds And Wolves
Fenrir Thorsson
The wolf wants out.
It always wants out these days, scratching and clawing beneath my skin like a caged beast, challenging my control with every heartbeat.
I check the flask of ambrosia in my pocket for the hundredth time today—three swallows left, maybe four if I'm careful.
Not nearly enough to last me through the day.
My hands haven't stopped trembling since yesterday, and every quick movement from my companions sends a jolt of predatory awareness through my body, my teeth aching to lengthen into fangs. The wolf's hunger bleeds into my thoughts more with each passing hour.
A young siren I don’t recognize stands up in the fountain in front of me where we’re all waiting to leave the Stormblood Palace for Earth. She reaches out and I take her hand. We descend into the water without me moving again. The bottom of the fountain just disappears.
Traveling with a siren is strange. You're in the water, but not wet.
You're moving, but not swimming. The sensation reminds me too much of being trapped, and the wolf doesn't like it.
Each second underwater feels like a battle for control.
By the time we break the surface on Earth, my jaw aches from clenching my teeth to keep them from sharpening into fangs.
The water pours away from my body and clothes, leaving no trace behind as I walk out of the lake onto the shore where Wraith and Arik wait.
Heavy humid air clings to my skin, thick with moisture that does nothing to soothe the burning of my wolf beneath my flesh.
The massive oaks dotting the shoreline creak in a hot wind that carries the scent of livestock, freshly cut grass, and bread.
The food smell distracts me from my wolf momentarily, making my stomach growl.
I don't like this place and I don't like working with the sirens, but we have to find the missing shards of our souls.
We're out of time. If we don't we'll suffer and we'll hurt the people we care about.
I can feel my control slipping. A little more each day.
I know the others are the same, but we suffer mostly in silence.
My fingers curl into fists, claws threatening to emerge. One breath. Two. I taste blood as my lengthening fangs pierce my own lip. Wraith's hand lands on my shoulder—meant to steady, but the touch sends sparks of aggression through my muscles.
"Fen?"
I shake my head once. Sharp. Warning.
A monstrous sound splits the air–sharp and blaring, unlike anything I've ever heard.
My eyes snap to a massive metal beast rolling along the road to my left, its surface gleaming painfully bright in the sunlight.
My heart rate spikes as the thing lets out another ear-splitting bellow.
The wolf surges forward in my mind, every instinct screaming danger. Enemy.
No. Not here. Not now. But it's too late. I can't pull him back.
I sink to my knees in the sand and groan. This isn't just losing control—this is the wolf seizing control.
"Fen!" Wraith's voice shouts ahead of me. "Keep it together, brother!"
I can't. "Run," I grind out the warning between my teeth. My bones begin to crack and shift before I can respond to my friend.
"Back off!" Wraith shouts. "He's turning!"
My consciousness fractures next, human thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. And then I'm gone.
The world explodes into scent-sound-movement. Metal-beast-enemy stands too close, too loud, too wrong. Teeth find hard shell, rip-tear-destroy until submission-sounds screech from its wounded body. Victory-surge pounds through blood, but more threats circle-move-approach.
Pack-scent (Wraith-friend-brother) cuts through rage-haze, but too many stranger-scents crowd the air. Too many bodies. Too much movement. Hackles rise. Muscles bunch. Ready to fight-flee-attack.
I hear Wraith curse, smell sharp tang of fear—not of me, but for me. The wolf doesn't understand the difference. A low growl builds in my chest as I back away from him, betrayal mixing with rage. Pack shouldn't fear pack.
The sound of shattering glass cuts through the air as someone drops something. The wolf's head snaps toward the noise, and I feel muscles bunch, preparing to attack. No. Not them. Not pack. But I can't stop it. Can't control it.
Forest-dark-safe calls with shadow-promise and earth-scent ahead. Trees mean shelter-den-territory. Paws dig deep, driving forward with power-speed-need. Open ground falls away. Lake-water-scent fades. Pack-scents fade.
New scents assault–leather-sweat-human. More intruders. Rage burns hot, drives legs to turn-face-challenge. A snarl rips free. My ground now. My trees. MINE.
Prey-things scatter, filling air with fear-sounds. They run all-ways-at-once. Confusing. Which threat first? Where to attack? Too many choices.
Movement draws eye-ear-nose. Power-scent rises (magick-wrong-danger). The one called Boaz raises hands. Voice-sounds blur together, sharp with fear-anger-warning. Magick-scent fades. Run-escape-flee pulses through blood, but pain strikes flank. Pain. Slow.
Must run. Must... world tilts-spins-blurs. Paws tangle. Ground rushes up. Try to rise-fight-flee. Body is heavy. Legs refuse. Nothing works right.
The world fades to gray-dark-nothing.
Sweet-gold-power touches my tongue. The wolf retreats, snarling-fighting-fading as more human thoughts and processes start to trickle back to the foreground of my mind.
Another swallow of honey-thick liquid slides down my throat.
Ambrosia. Ares is kneeling beside me, pressing the flask to my lips.
His hands shake slightly—the first time I've ever seen him unsteady.
"Drink," he orders, but there's an edge of fear in his voice that makes my stomach turn. "All of it."
My body feels raw, like I've been torn apart and hastily stitched back together.
Every muscle aches with the memory of the shift.
The ground beneath me is cool and damp—forest floor, I realize as awareness creeps back.
Dead leaves and withered grass press against my bare skin, and I can smell blood. Not just my own.
Shame burns hotter than the fever still raging through my veins. Here I am, naked in the dirt, having lost control like some newly turned pup. I try to sit up but my arms shake with the effort, muscles still trembling from the recent transformation.
"How bad?" My voice comes out rough, like I've been gargling gravel. Please don’t let me have hurt anyone.
"The truck's going to need a new hood." A female voice speaks outside my line of sight, tone caught between amusement and concern. "But no one got hurt. This time."
Those last two words hit like a blade between my ribs. This time. Because there will be other times. Because I'll lose control again, and we all know it.
Ares keeps the flask steady against my lips, his other hand gripping my shoulder to keep me upright.
There's tension in his fingers—worry masked as anger.
"You should've told me you were struggling sooner, you idiot.
" The words are harsh but his touch is careful, steadying. Like I'm something that might shatter.
I take another big swallow of ambrosia, letting the honey-thick liquid wash away the last of the wolf's rage. "I won't make that mistake again. I thought I had more control than I did." The admission tastes bitter. "How much longer can we keep this up? I need so much ambrosia already."
“You’re not the only one, brother,” Ares whispers under his breath.
"Here." A different woman speaks this time, her voice gentle. She holds out a stack of strange clothing, careful to keep her movements slow and predictable. Like approaching a wounded animal. The thought makes my teeth ache.
Ares helps me stand, and I grab what appears to be a pair of soft thick pants.
I slip them on quickly, trying to ignore the fact that dozens of people just saw everything I have to offer this world.
The fabric feels foreign against my skin, but right now I'm just grateful to be in control again and know that my wolf didn't hurt anyone. This time.
Boaz, Wraith, and Arik stand a few steps away, their stances wary but concerned.
The distance between us feels wrong. Pack—family—should stand together.
Alongside them are three women—two human females and one Elf female with delicate pointed ears and curly blonde hair framing her face.
Their expressions range from curiosity to caution, and I can't blame them.
They just watched me tear apart one of their metal beasts.
"Well, as much as I'd love to continue ogling the nice Viking wolf-man's lickable abs, we have a shit ton of work to do.
" The dark-skinned human woman's voice carries a hint of amusement.
She points over her shoulder, gold bangles jingling at her wrist. "Why don't we head to the house and get started? "
Ares chuckles and tucks the flask of ambrosia into his vest. "Why did you all scream at Boaz and stop him from containing Fen?" he asks.
A siren with hair like midnight water steps out from behind the group of strangers.
"If you use magick past your personal stores on this planet, you'll start to pull from the world around you—nature, animals.
.. people." Her eyes find Boaz, sharp with warning.
"That's why everyone was shouting at you to stop.
Once you do that, your magick becomes tainted. It's irreversible."
Well, fuck, that’s good to know. I feel like Nimue should’ve said something before we came. How much more do these rebels know about earth than everyone else?
Boaz nods and murmurs a thank you, his face tight.
"That's why Hawke's mate's magick is painful to be around," I say slowly, thinking back through when Melinda's magick spiked around us. The nausea. Pain. She was pulling our lifeforce.