Chapter 35 Save Her
Save Her
Fenrir Thorsson
Black blood.
It trickles down her chin turning my blood cold. Her pale skin has turned alabaster. Each breath rattles in her chest, shallow and growing weaker.
The one called Sherlock stands beside Astrid where he's leaned her against an old oak, his rifle now aimed at her unconscious form. The other one—Ghost—stands slightly ahead, his weapon trained on me, tracking every movement of my massive wolf body.
My wolf strains against my control, desperate to reach her to rip these two men to shreds, but I can’t die. I can’t save her if I die. And she would be upset if I killed her team. She sacrificed herself to save the stupid human pointing a rifle at her right now. I should just kill him anyway…
"What the hell is happening?" Sherlock demands. "First those... fucking Chimera, now this wolf?"
I growl low. I can see it—the light in Astrid's chest flickering like a candle in a storm. My soul shard. It's dying. She's dying.
Chimera venom. Nothing in this realm can save her. Each precious second that passes is one closer to losing her forever.
Ghost’s grip on his weapon loosens slightly. His eyes dart between Astrid's unconscious form and me, confusion evident in his expression.
"Wait," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Is she... could she be like it? A wolf?"
"You think she’s a shifter?" Sherlock snaps, finally moving his aim and his attention to me and away from Astrid.
I've run out of patience and time. The change ripples through me—bones cracking, reshaping, fur receding into skin.
The transformation is faster than usual, fueled by desperation.
Within moments, I stand before them as a man, my eyes never leaving Astrid's pale face. But her eyes are closed and she’s struggling to breathe.
"Put your guns down," I command. "She's dying."
Sherlock's eyes widen in shock, but his aim doesn't waver. "Who the fuck—"
"She has minutes," I cut him off, taking a step forward. "The Chimera venom is spreading. Look at her. Look at her."
They both glance at Astrid. The black veins are visible now, spreading from the wound across her chest, climbing up her neck like twisted vines.
"How do you know her?" Sherlock demands, finger hovering near the trigger.
My patience snaps. "I don't have time for this!" The words tear from my throat, a roar that makes both men flinch. "Out of respect for Astrid, I won't kill you, but if you don't lower those weapons and let me help her, she will die."
Ghost suddenly steps forward, placing his hand on Sherlock's rifle barrel and pushing it down. "Stop," he says firmly. "She just saved your life, Sherlock. That strike was meant for you. You'd be the one with black blood coming out of your mouth. Or worse, already dead."
Sherlock's jaw clenches, but after a moment's hesitation, he lowers his weapon.
I push past them, dropping to my knees beside her.
Her skin is already cooling beneath my touch.
If she dies, that piece of me dies with her.
And I know what happens then… I'll be trapped in wolf form forever, mind fading until only the beast remains.
And everything we've fought for and our whole mission to save Avalon will be over.
I gather her in my arms, cradling her against my chest. She feels lighter than she should, fragile in a way that makes my heart constrict painfully. I press my face to her hair, breathing in her scent beneath the copper tang of blood and poison.
"Don't you dare leave me," I whisper fiercely against her temple, panic clawing up my throat. "Don't you fucking die on me."
Her only response is the rattle in her lungs growing more pronounced. The black veins have reached her jaw.
I stand with her in my arms, and then run, leaving the agents shouting questions at my back. Each step jostles her, drawing a weak moan from her lips that tears at my soul. I murmur reassurances, promises, prayers—anything to keep her tethered to this world, to me.
The sound of the river grows louder as I approach, my bare feet barely registering the stones and twigs beneath them. Behind me, I hear the agents crashing through the undergrowth, trying to keep pace.
It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting her home.
At the riverbank, the air shimmers and parts like a curtain. Cormac steps through, his glamor falling away like water.
"Fen, what—" He stops short at the sight of Astrid in my arms, his eyes widening. "Gods, what happened?"
"Chimera venom," I say tersely. "I need Eir."
Without another word, he slips a ring from his finger and drops it into the water. The surface ripples, then stills unnaturally, waiting.
I press my lips to Astrid's forehead. She’s so cold. "Stay with me," I plead softly. "Just a little longer."
Her eyelids flutter but don't open. The rattle in her chest grows weaker. Her body is losing the fight.
"No, no, no," I plead, my voice breaking. My hands shake as I brush her hair back from her face. The black lines of the poison creep up her jawline. I've faced death, felt fear and pain beyond measure, but nothing like this helpless terror.
"Gods damn it, Astrid, fight!" I choke out, tears burning my eyes. "Stay with me." She's slipping away with every labored breath. "Hurry," I growl to Cormac, the word torn from my throat, raw and desperate. "For fuck's sake, HURRY!"
A slender hand breaks the water's surface, followed by a woman's face. Iridescent skin catches moonlight like mother-of-pearl, hair the color of sea foam flowing around elegant shoulders. The siren takes in the scene with one glance.
"Give her to me!" she commands, arms extending.
I thrust Astrid toward the siren, my movements frantic, hands trembling.
"Take her. NOW!" My voice cracks, desperation stripping away any semblance of control.
I carefully place her limp form in the siren's waiting arms, my eyes never leaving Astrid's ashen face.
"Take her to the palace fountain in Odingard," I instruct. "I’ll be right behind you."
The siren nods once, then slips beneath the surface with Astrid, leaving barely a ripple behind.
"You next," Cormac says, dropping my ring into the water.
Another siren appears, hair the deep blue-green of ocean depths. her skin shimmers with the same iridescence.
Behind us, Ghost and Sherlock finally break through the treeline, weapons raised once more at the sight of the siren.
"What the hell—" Sherlock begins.
“I’ve got this. You go,” Cormac steps between the GUIDE agents and me.
I step into the river. The siren's hands close around my wrists, and then we're plunging beneath the surface. The world dissolves into currents and pressure and the thundering of my own heartbeat.
Then, suddenly, air again. We burst from the water of an enormous golden fountain in the central square of Odingard. The siren holding Astrid is right beside us, waiting for me.
The twilight sky glows violet-gold above us and the twin moons hang low on the horizon. Crystal lanterns line the square, their light catching on the rune-etched cobblestones beneath my feet.
The citizens of Asgard scatter in surprise at our abrupt arrival, shouts of alarm quickly turning to recognition. The flutter of cloaks and hushed whispers ripple through the gathering crowd.
"Prince Fenrir!"
"The prince has returned!"
"Who is the woman?"
I ignore them all, taking Astrid back into my arms. Her skin is colder now, her breaths coming in gasps. The soul shard in her chest flickers erratically like a dying star.
"Make way!" I bellow, striding from the fountain toward the palace gates.
The doorway to the golden palace of my grandfather, Odin, looms ahead, its spires reaching for the heavens like the branches of Yggdrasil itself.
Rune-light pulses along its walls, ancient magick thrumming with power I can feel in my bones.
The guards at the entrance recognize me instantly, jumping to attention before rushing to open the massive doors carved with the histories of the Eight Realms.
"Fetch Eir!" one shouts to a page, who takes off running down a side corridor.
"Grandmother!" I roar, my voice echoing through the vaulted halls I've known since childhood. "Grandmother, help us!"
I carry Astrid through the grand atrium where the scent of amber incense fills the air. Past startled courtiers and servants, beneath archways of polished silver etched with runes of protection and healing. Her heartbeat has slowed, each pulse weaker than the last.
"EIR!" I shout, the name tearing from me like a prayer and a demand in one. "EIR, HURRY!"
A flurry of movement at the end of the hall. My grandmother, Frigga, appears, her golden hair flowing loose around her shoulders, eyes wide. The subtle chime of the protective amulets she always wears announces her approach before she speaks.
"Fenrir? What—" Her gaze falls on Astrid, and understanding dawns immediately. "Bring her here. Quickly."
She leads me to a small side chamber, one of her many potion rooms in the palace.
This one has a long stone table at its center.
Heat radiates from the hearth where herbs simmer in a copper cauldron, filling the air with sharp medicinal scents.
Crystal globes embedded in the ceiling cast pure white light over the workspace.
I place Astrid down gently on the smooth stone, my hands lingering, unwilling to break contact.
"Chimera venom," I tell my grandmother. "She was protecting her team."
Frigga's hand touches my shoulder, a brief comfort before she begins examining Astrid with efficient movements. Her fingers trace the black veins that now spread across Astrid's face.
I can't breathe. The sight of my grandmother's normally steady hands faltering for just a moment shatters what little composure I have left. The poison has spread too far, too fast. Her touch confirms what I've been trying to deny—we might be too late.
"Tell me you can save her," I rasp, the words barely making it past the knot in my throat. My chest feels hollow, as if the fading soul shard is taking pieces of me with it. "Grandmother, please."
Frigga's eyes meet mine, filled with a compassion that terrifies me more than anger would. She doesn't offer false hope—she never has. "EIR!" she calls out, her voice carrying the full authority of the Queen of Asgard.
The doors burst open, and Eir strides in. The Valkyrie healer's silver armor gleams in the light streaming through the high windows and her dark hair is pulled back in a severe braid. "Everyone out," she commands, already moving to Astrid's side. "Except you, my Queen."
"No," I growl, my hand still clutching Astrid's. "I won't leave her."
Eir's gaze meets mine, unflinching. "Fen, your presence will only distract me. The venom is nearly at her heart. I need complete focus."
"Fenrir," my grandmother says softly, taking my arm. "Let Eir work. Come."
I resist, watching Astrid's chest barely rise and fall. The black veins have reached her temples now, creeping toward her eyes like grasping fingers.
"She's dying," I choke out. "I can feel her slipping away."
"Then let me save her," Eir says, her voice gentler now. "Please, my prince."
With agonizing reluctance, I release Astrid's hand. The moment our skin separates, my wolf howls in protest, the sound echoing in my mind like a physical pain.
My grandmother's arm encircles my waist, guiding me toward the door. "Come, my sweet boy. Let Eir help your mate."
As we reach the doorway, I hear it… Astrid's heart stops.
The steady, but weak rhythm is suddenly silenced and something inside me snaps.
The change takes me without warning. Bones crack and reshape, muscles tear and reform, skin gives way to fur. My grandmother jumps back as the wolf bursts forth, a roar of rage and grief tearing from my throat.
I can't stay. Can't watch. Can't be contained. The wolf is in control now. With one last agonized look at Astrid's still form on the table, I turn and bolt from the palace.
Behind me, I hear my grandmother call out.
But I run.
Through the palace corridors where I played as a child, past startled guards and servants, out into the city streets. The cool night air of Asgard washes over my fur.
I run as if I could somehow outpace the grief and rage and helplessness.
My paws thunder against golden roads, past the great library with its eternal flame, beyond the armory where Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir, rests. I run past the rainbow bridge, toward the darkness beyond the city, as if I could somehow outrun the truth…
That Astrid is gone. That I was too late. I failed her.
The man in me won’t survive that loss.