Chapter 10
Linnea looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and, knowing she had limited options, accepted that this was as good as she was going to look tonight.
Her hair was the problem. There was no time to wash it, blow it out, or do anything stylish with it, so she had brushed it through with dry shampoo, plaited it into thick honey-blonde ropes, and pinned them up in a messy braided crown.
Her makeup was minimal because she rarely wore it, and she kept only a travel bag of makeup and toiletries at the Oslo apartment. She stuck with her tinted moisturizer, a clean flick of black liquid liner at the outer corner of each eye, mascara, and a swipe of red lip gloss.
The dress was the one Alruna had bought her for her last birthday, and she hadn't had a chance to wear it. It was dark blue velvet, long-sleeved, fell mid-thigh, and fitted her generous curves within an inch of public decency.
She put on sheer black stockings and ankle boots with a heel low enough to walk in.
It wasn't snowing, but she wasn't in the mood to break an ankle from one slick misstep in anything higher.
She turned once before the mirror, decided she couldn't improve on it, and walked out of her bedroom before she lost her nerve.
Fenris was standing at the window of Tor's lounge with his back to the room, looking out at the lights of Oslo.
The black shirt he had conjured for himself was rolled to the elbows.
His hands were in his pockets. The streetlight made the long pale line of his profile look like something a sculptor had carved to perfection.
Linnea's palms went sweaty. Gods, he was beautiful. He looked like a feral thing dressed in nice clothes.
That's exactly what he is, her wolf whispered unhelpfully.
She cleared her throat so it wouldn't crack. "I'm good to go when you are."
Fenris turned and stared at her without answering. His pale blue eye went dark, and his half-gray one lit at the edges. The wolf was suddenly looking out at her through a man's face.
Linnea's body went hot. Her wolf wagged so hard she thought she was going to have a heart attack. The backs of her knees went stupid. She kept her chin up because she had úlfheenar pride if nothing else, and because if she dropped her gaze first, he would know she was intimidated.
"What?" she demanded, her hands going to her hips. "Too much?"
"Have you forgotten half of it?"
"Excuse me?"
"The dress." He gestured vaguely at the entire length of it. His voice deepened as he asked, "Where is the rest of it?"
"This is the whole dress, Fenris. Women's fashion has changed a lot since you last walked the earth. You're going to have to get used to it because you will see a hell of a lot less on women tonight."
"What makes you think I care what other women are wearing?"
Fenris made a small, frustrated sound at the back of his throat that wasn't quite a growl. His mouth set, and the sheer brooding wattage of his face went up by a measurable amount.
It shouldn't have made him look even hotter. It shouldn't have made her hotter. It absolutely did.
"If you go out like that, it seems I'm going to be fighting more than your relatives tonight," he grumbled.
"Yes, well, that sounds like a you problem." Linnea went to a cupboard by the door and took out one of her nice coats. It was a long black wool trench, lined with black fur, that would keep her bare legs warm. "You'd better conjure yourself a coat, or people will stare at you."
A leather jacket appeared over his shirt, and Linnea couldn't help but feel a little envious that he could do that.
"Are you ready?" she asked, picking up her keys.
"No," he muttered, his eyes looking at her legs.
"Tough. Let's go," Linnea said, and she was careful to hide her smile when his brood deepened.
Ritual was already busy with a long line when they pulled up at the curb and got out of their taxi. The street was wet from a thin Oslo sleet, and bass was leaking up through the pavement.
Fenris stopped at the corner of the building before they reached the door. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, and looked at the whole black-painted brick facade.
"There are dragon wards on this place," he said, sounding surprised.
Linnea blinked at him. "How can you tell?"
"They taste like fire when I breathe in."
"Cool," she whispered because she was always going to be a magic nerd.
She rocked back on her heels. "What you are sensing would be King Taranis, who is a dragon.
He warded the place after a Fomorian mage firebombed it.
Von refused to give up the location of a friend.
The building burned down, and Taranis rebuilt it from scratch with the kind of wards you can't break with anything less than god-level power.
They warn Von if someone with ill intentions towards him or the family enters the club. "
Johan was at the door. He was the size of a bear, had the kindness of a Labrador, and after bouncing at Ritual for six years, had seen it all. His whole face lit up when he saw Linnea waiting. His eyes shifted to Fenris standing behind her, and he turned wary.
"Linnea, girl, where have you been? Tor's been..." Johan began.
"Furious. I know. He's coming tonight, and I'm bound to get bitched out. This is a friend of mine." She passed Johan her coat and Fenris's. "Is Von in yet?"
"Running late."
Linnea sighed. "Of course he is."
"You know how he likes to get dressed up. I'll tell him you're here the moment he arrives." Johan's eyes flicked back to Fenris, very briefly. "You good, brother?"
"Yes," Fenris said.
Johan stepped aside. "Right then. Go and enjoy yourselves. Maybe get him a drink, Linnea. He's looking a bit dour."
"I'm definitely going to need a strong one," Fenris said, his gaze flicking over Linnea's dress again.
Linnea took Fenris's hand because the alternative was to walk down the staircase ahead of him and let him follow her ass for the entire descent. His fingers folded around hers, strong and rough, and the steady warmth of his palm went straight up her arm and into her chest.
It's nothing, you're just holding hands. Stop acting like a blushing teenager already.
The staircase down into Ritual was Von's masterpiece.
It curved in a long sweep around a central well, and the walls were carved end to end in the old style, with bind runes and serpent knots, an eight-legged horse, and a roaring dragon.
Wrought-iron sconces held real flame. Reindeer antlers crowned the lintel over every doorway.
The whole place was a goth-Viking long hall fever dream, and it was Von's heart as a building.
Linnea watched Fenris's face as they descended.
His head tilted back, eyes moving across the carvings, and his mouth softened.
He stopped halfway down the stairs in front of a panel that showed a howling wolf and looked at it for a long moment without speaking.
When he started walking again, he was almost smiling.
"This," he said, gesturing to the decor and the people dancing. "I understand this."
"I hoped you would," she replied, with a grin as the main floor opened out before them.
Ritual was a great oval hall, the bar along one curving wall, the band's stage at the head of the room under a hanging banner of Yggdrasil worked in iron and copper.
The dance floor was black, lit from below in a slow, shifting pulse of red and gold runes.
The crowd was a thrum of leather, eyeliner, tattoo ink, and chaos.
Fenris watched the band as the drummer counted in. The bass dropped in a slow, heavy line, the kind that vibrated under the breastbone.
His eyes flicked to her. "Dance with me."
Linnea couldn't form words in time to object, so she let him lead her out into the slow pulse of red and gold. Her mouth went dry as his hand moved to her waist and the other to the back of her bare neck.
Linnea, whom Gudrun had called a 'passable' dancer for a wolf, found she didn't have to do a thing. His body knew how to move with hers. He led, and she followed, and the music carried them into its rhythm.
She could smell him over the close warmth of the dance floor.
Iron and magic, and something underneath both of those that was just him.
It was the scent that had filled the cave where he had been held, and that had lived in her dreams. She didn't know if it was her or the wolf that wanted to bury her nose in the skin just under his ear, where it would be strongest.
Fenris turned her under his arm and brought her back in against him with her shoulder blades flush to his chest, her back to his front, and the feel of all of him pressed up against her made her whimper.
His mouth found the column of her throat, lips just barely brushing the place where her pulse came up under the thin skin.
A soft rumble vibrated in his chest, and Linnea's head tilted of its own accord and gave him more of the line of her neck.
She shivered as he took what she offered, and everything became sensation.
Soft lips. The faint scrape of his beard. His warm breath.
His mouth went to her jaw, his hand tilting toward him. Linnea turned in his arms, and his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth. Her hands went to his chest, his heart pounding hard beneath her palms.
Fenris's hand slid from the small of her back to the curve of her ass, and pulled her in against the long, warm line of his body as they swayed to the beat.
When his lips went to hers again, they weren't careful or awkward like most first kisses. They were hot and hungry and full of a year of dreams and songs and dark fur and silver ribbons.
Linnea groaned in his mouth as she pulled him closer and deepened it. His tongue brushed against hers, sending desire pounding through her core, and she was lost.
She didn't care that he was a wolf god and someone she really shouldn't be grinding up against. All she could think was more, more, more. His teeth scraped against her lower lip, and wet heat flooded her panties. Her hands dropped to his hips, needing to drag him closer…
Behind her, a voice full of pure unholy joy said, "Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite witchy wolf, making out with the tallest, darkest stranger I have ever seen in my entire fucking life."