Finaan
Chapter four
He's from Helheim
Ishut out the warmth of the sun on my skin, playful laughter a few tents over, the rich aroma of tonight’s stew. And I concentrate on her.
Connecting to my dragon used to be easy.
From the moment we embraced our bond, she was there, a constant presence.
I was never alone or lonely. If my soul needed the touch of another soul, it reached for her.
Our connection was exciting and vibrant, but more than that, it was fulfilling and inspiring. It was enough. She was enough.
But then Nerthus, covetous bitch that she was, decided to take the dragons that she desperately wanted.
She launched a war against the elves who bonded with those beasts much more often than the other races did.
If fate wouldn’t give her a dragon, she’d take them all by force.
We were about to defeat her—force her back into the hole where she belonged—when a magic more powerful than any I’d felt before sucked me into Helheim.
Without Panta.
The cleaving of our bond nearly destroyed me, so much worse than being dragged to the underworld.
I spent three centuries convinced my dragon was dead.
As much as I wanted to join her, I couldn’t.
Every time I tried, Hel found and healed me.
I even tossed myself into the pit, convinced that would send me to Valhalla or Folkvangr at last, but Hel dragged me out before death could take me.
The bitch.
Now, I feel my bond with Panta again. It’s barely there, a shadow of the link that once connected us. It is there, though, and I have to follow it. I have to find her.
Standing, I spin in place, stretching out my senses. I haven’t tried this before, too afraid of realizing I’m imagining it. But I’m not a coward. As I take a step in the direction of the setting sun—Panta drawing me closer to the water—something else rips my attention away.
Mikkael and Z are flying low toward camp, a sheep or something clutched in the blue beast’s claws.
I have no idea why I’m drawn to the poor animal, but I am.
As they near, though, I realize it’s not an animal.
It’s a person—human or elf, I can’t tell—who apparently refused to join Mikkael on Z’s back or wasn’t welcome there.
I watch them spiral down, wondering who it could possibly be and why this being I don’t even know captured my attention. They’re spinning much more than they usually do, as if they want their captive to puke all over the camp. They must have really pissed off the dragon or his rider—or both.
But then they get close enough for me to see him, and a shiver rumbles down my spine before shifting to my gut, launching a swarm of flies. They buzz around, landing, eating, and spewing where they will, while I try to figure out why the fuck Wregen is in Vanatia and being carried into our midst.
I’ve never talked to him. He probably has no idea who I am.
But everyone in Helheim knows Hel’s sadistic sidekick.
Any wraiths or elves with a shred of sense stayed as far away from him as possible.
He held Hel’s power in too many things and delighted in using it in cruel ways.
He served Hel by doing her bidding, but even more by chasing his fiendish desires, making “life” in Helheim much worse than it already is.
Those desperate for release from their pathetic existence—or hoping to gain access to Niflhel—offered themselves for his amusement. It rarely worked out well for them.
And now he’s here.
Hel must realize where we are. There’s no other explanation. I don’t know what she expects Wregen to do, but we have more to worry about than him. If Hel knows, then Beron probably does too. We’re not safe here. We may not be safe anywhere.
Turning, I sprint toward Sifa and Fhord’s tent, whirling past or over other elves and any logs or fires in my way.
My chest is heaving by the time I stop at their entry, fling the tent flap open, and rush inside.
They spin their heads to stare at me, lips dropping down at the corners as Sifa lifts a hand to rub the base of her neck and Fhord’s hand lifts to rest on a hip.
“What’s wrong?” Sifa stands and strides toward me, her expression shifting from confusion to concern, eyebrows drawing together as she holds my gaze and tilts her head. “What happened?”
“Hel sent someone,” I spit out. “Mikkael and Z brought an elf I recognize from Helheim. Wregen. With us gone, he’s the only living being in Helheim, other than Hel. Or was. He’s here now.”
“Hel found us?” Fhord throws himself to his feet, stalking forward to stand with his mate. “She knows about this place?”
“Fuck if I know,” I force out, my breath finally slowing a bit. “He’s blindfolded and Z’s carrying him in his claws. I have no idea how far away he was when they found him.”
“Mikkael’s not traveling far in his sweeps,” Sifa says as she looks at Fhord. “He must have gotten pretty gods-damned close.”
“Fuck,” Fhord snarls. “Fuckity fuck fuck.” He stomps past me and then starts sprinting toward the dragons’ landing area.
Sifa and I race after him. He’ll need her there, and they’ll need me or one of the other elves. Maybe whatever I know about Wregen will help them figure out how he got so close to us.
Z’s dropping the bastard to the ground when we get there and as anxious as I am, I can’t hold back the laugh that erupts when I see him.
For someone with such an ugly soul, he’s a dangerously handsome male.
His pale complexion contrasts with black hair that’s straight but thick and full of life, the richest, darkest lashes I’ve ever seen on an elf, and burgundy lips that have snuck into my dreams more than once, to my eternal horror.
That combined with a jaw and cheekbones that look like they’d win in a fight with a rock-breaker drew my eye to him.
Evil though he is, some depraved part of me has craved Wregen since the first moment I saw him.
Even in Vanatia, he ripples with the power he exudes in Helheim.
But that power didn’t do a damn thing for him against the elements in this world.
He must have been walking in the sun for a long time because his ghostly skin is as bright as a lobster, starting to blister in some places.
I never took him for such an idiot. Funnier still, the red in his face is somehow washed away by a tinge of green, his stomach heaving as he lies in the dirt.
I can’t wait to hear what he did to provoke the ride Z subjected him to.
“What’s he doing here?” Fhord demands as he stops in front of Wregen, nudging him over with the toe of his boot.
“Get the fuck away from me,” Wregen snarls, whipping out a hand to catch Fhord’s ankle before the dragon rider can pull it away.
But Fhord doesn’t put up with shit like that. He lifts his other boot and kicks Wregen in the temple, flinging him onto his ass. And I again can’t hold back the laugh as I watch him scramble backwards, still blindfolded, straight into Z’s waiting claw.
Which immediately closes around him, trapping him, arms at his sides, in the cage dragons like to create.
Fhord’s gaze snaps up to Mikkael, who’s standing next to his dragon smirking at Wregen’s plight. “What the fuck is he doing here?” Fhord yells.
Mikkael gives him a lazy grin. “Found him during my patrol. I wanted to kill him, but Z thought we might need him. Fuck if I know why. So we brought him here.”
“You don’t know who he is?” Sifa’s calm voice pierces the air, helping settle Fhord’s temper.
“Should I?” Mikkael glances from her to the elf trapped under his beast’s claw. “I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”
“His name’s Wregen,” I tell them as I join the circle that surrounds him.
The bastard’s head snaps up, his features settling into a look of perfect calm. And then he sucks in a deep breath, a smile lifting his lips as he nods his head twice. He must realize I’m from Helheim, that he’s found us. Hel’s punishments for failure are intense, and he’s met his first goal.
“You know him?” Mikkael asks, the smile dropping away from his lips. “How?”
“He’s from Helheim, Hel’s most loyal servant.
His heart still beats because he gave himself to her alive, just before we were sucked into that realm.
He’s a bastard, and I wish Z had killed him,” I add in a voice full of the disdain I feel for the asshole.
“But he didn’t, so we should find out why he’s here. And how he found us.”
“I’ll speak to you,” Wregen murmurs, his voice barely reaching my ears but his bound eyes still firmly fixed in my direction. “Nobody else.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” Fhord interjects. “You’ll speak to whoever I want you to speak to.”
“I will not,” Wregen responds, never looking away. It’s as if he can see me through the blindfold. The flies in my stomach dart around more frantically, the weight of his attention spurring them into a frenzy.
“Let’s not decide that now,” Sifa says. “He got close enough to threaten this camp. We leave within the hour.” She turns toward Mikkael. “Tie his wrists and legs. He’ll stay blindfolded until we get him someplace secure at our next stop.”
Mikkael dips his chin, pulling out two more cords from his belt. As he approaches Wregen, the bastard snarls, but it seems half-hearted. He wants to go with us. He’s here to try and return the elves to Helheim, so there’s no place in this world he’d rather be.
“Maybe we should drop him somewhere along the way,” I suggest, even as something inside me twists at the thought. Shoving that aside, I plow on. “I don’t think he’s powerful enough to drag us back to that Hel-hole, but maybe I’m wrong. Why tempt fate by making it easier for him?”