Chapter 37 There Is No We #2
Mate calls mate the wolf repeats in my mind.
"Shut up," I mutter before I can stop myself.
Frigga's eyebrows rise slightly, but she doesn't look surprised. "You're already communicating with your wolf. That's... impressive."
"It's not communication. It's an invasion," I snap. "I didn't ask for this."
"Few of us ask for the gifts—or burdens—the gods bestow," Frigga replies calmly. "Yet here you are."
I can't argue with that logic, as much as I want to. Instead, I focus on what matters. "I need to go to him."
The two women exchange a look I can't interpret.
Finally, Frigga nods. "I will show you the way to the western gate.
It's the most direct path to the mountains where he was last seen.
But beyond that..." She shakes her head.
"Fenrir has hidden himself well. Not even Heimdall's sight can penetrate the shadows where my grandson has retreated. "
Great.
Eir leaves the room quietly and Frigga steps closer, lowering her voice. "My grandson believes you are dead. His grief is... consuming him. If you find him… be careful. He may not believe it’s you."
I think of Fen, of his golden eyes and the way he looked at me like I was something precious. There's nothing gentle about Fenrir Thorsson, but he’d never hurt me.
"I'll be careful," I promise anyway.
Eir returns to the room with a small pack. "Water. Some food," she explains, thrusting it at me. "Try not to die again."
"Thanks, I will do my best." I take the pack.
"This way," Frigga says, turning to lead me through the palace corridors.
I follow, hyperaware of every step, every movement. The wolf inside me practically vibrates with anticipation, pressing against my consciousness, making it hard to focus on anything but the need to run, to find Fen, to be free of these golden walls.
Patience, I tell it, unsure if it can understand me. Soon.
The pressure eases slightly. Progress, I guess.
Frigga leads us through a series of increasingly less ornate hallways until we reach a smaller side entrance to the palace.
"The western forest begins beyond those hills," Frigga says, pointing to a distant tree line visible beyond the city outskirts. "Follow this road until it forks beyond the edge of the market, then take the northern route. It will lead you toward the mountains where he was seen last."
I nod, committing the directions to memory. "Thank you."
I step outside the doorway and they close the gate softly behind me. A huge market sprawls before me, a riot of color and sound that assaults my senses with unexpected intensity.
Vendors hawk wares from wooden stalls draped in vibrant fabrics. Warriors in armor that would make a medieval museum curator weep with joy haggle over blades and shields. Children dart between the legs of adults, carrying wooden swords and laughing.
But it's the smells that nearly bring me to my knees.
Roasting meat, fresh bread, exotic spices, horses, leather, sweat, perfumes—all of it slams into me with such clarity that I can practically taste each individual component on my tongue. The wolf's enhanced senses are no joke.
Find mate, she whispers, softer now, almost pleading as her awareness stretches beyond the market toward the dark line of trees in the distance.
"Yeah," I adjust the pack on my shoulder, blinking rapidly to clear the sensory overload. "We will."
A group of warriors pass close by, their conversation faltering as they notice me. One whispers to another, eyes widening with recognition. Word has spread, it seems.
The wolf bristles at their scrutiny, a low growl building in my chest that I barely manage to swallow down. My heartbeat quickens, and I watch in horror as the small potted plant beside the nearest stall begins to wilt, its leaves curling at the edges.
I step away quickly, breathing deeply through my nose. Control. I need control.
I start walking, keeping my pace steady, my movements careful and controlled. No extra speed. No enhanced strength. Just one foot in front of the other. The human way.
A child stumbles into my path, eyes wide with wonder as he stares up at me. "Are you her? The one Odin blessed with a wolf-soul?" he asks, voice pitched with excitement.
The mother snatches him back, murmuring apologies while eyeing me with equal parts fear and reverence. The space around me widens and whispers follow me like shadows.
"Wolf-blessed."
"Prince’s mate."
Each step through the crowded market becomes a battle between my determination to remain human and the wolf's increasing desperation to run free. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool air, my jaw clenched so tightly I can hear my own teeth creaking.
The market begins to thin out as I reach the outskirts. I pick up my pace just a little, eager to reach the tree line and escape the eyes of random strangers.
The wolf grows more restless with each step.
I resist, gritting my teeth against its increasingly insistent pressure.
Soon, I'll reach the fork in the road. Then the northern path toward the mountains.
Run, it urges again. Faster.
"No," I say out loud, my voice firm even as sweat breaks out across my forehead from the effort of containing it. “We’re still too close to the market.”
The wolf isn't happy with this answer. The pressure intensifies, a physical sensation now, like something clawing at my insides, trying to get out. My skin burns, muscles spasming as the wolf fights for control.
I stumble, nearly falling to my knees as pain lances through me. The grass beneath my feet withers to dust.
"Wait," I gasp, clutching my stomach.
No. The wolf surges forward. Now, it demands. Run now.
It hits like a tidal wave, overwhelming and unstoppable. Bones crack and reshape, muscles tear and reform, skin gives way to fur. The pain is excruciating but brief. In seconds, I'm on all fours, my vision sharper, scents flooding my nose with information I could never process as a human.
My first coherent thought is pure panic. The market. Did I make it far enough? I whip my head around, scanning for civilians, for any sign of the bustling crowds I'd fled. The fork in the road lies dozens of yards away. Relief floods through me. I'd made it to the outskirts, at least.
But the destruction around me steals any comfort that thought might bring.
The plants around me wither, life draining into my tainted magick.
Even the earth beneath my paws blackens in a perfect circle, soil turning to dust. Trees on either side of me turn black and crumble, their ancient trunks collapsing as if centuries of decay happened in seconds.
Birds fall silent, the natural world recoiling from the wrongness of what I am.
I try to step back, to retreat from the devastation, but my new body doesn't respond the way I expect. The wolf is in control now, and she has only one goal.
I expected the wolf to seize control completely, but instead, I find we're sharing the driver's seat. My human consciousness remains present, guiding rather than fighting as the wolf's instincts surge through me.
No people hurt, the wolf assures me, sensing my concern. Far enough.
I'm not completely convinced, but there's no going back now.
Must move.
And then we do. We run.
The forest blurs around us, trees flashing by as we move with supernatural speed. The sensation is incredible. Power and freedom unlike anything I've experienced before. Part of me, the human part, is terrified. But another part, the wolf, it feels nothing but joy.
Scents flood my awareness. Water. Prey. Predators long passed. And something else. Something familiar yet not. Something that smells like… home.
The word blindsides me, my human mind struggling to process the wolf's interpretation of this scent. Home? The wolf recognizes it instantly, but my human side is reeling, trying to rationalize this certainty that we've found our north star.
Fucking ridiculous. I've known the man for what—weeks? And most of that time I spent either fighting him or fighting alongside him. There's no logical reason his scent should register as safety, as belonging, as mine.
But it does. With every inhalation, the sensation grows stronger and the woman who died and came back... she just wants to follow this thread to its source.
The wolf swerves, following the scent without hesitation. I let it lead, trusting its instincts in a way I never could have imagined even an hour ago. The trail is faint but unmistakable.
Fen.