Wregen
Chapter five
The Fifth Day
Mikkael, they call him, and his dragon, Z. Bastards, both of them.
I don’t mind being carried in the dragon’s claws the whole Hel-damned way. I don’t even mind being bound and blindfolded like a gods-damned scofflaw. But those cunts weren’t satisfied with that. They used this interminable flight to fuck me in every single way they could.
The dragon’s claws have been moving the entire flaming time, squeezing me so tight I felt like I’d burst one moment, and nearly dropping me the next.
I’m bloody exhausted but I’ve spent every second of this trip gasping for breath or clinging to the beast’s claws—barely holding on at times, because the fucker tied my wrists behind my back.
They probably have coats to shield them against the bitter cold up here, but the asshole bound me as he found me, my upper garments uselessly packed away. So while the sun continues to beat on my blistered skin, I’m as cold as Hel’s frigid heart.
And now they’re finishing with the denouement.
The cretins are laughing as the beast twists like a gods-damned tornado—still expanding and contracting his claws—while he descends to wherever the fuck we are.
Three fucking times, I’ve had to wrap my bound hands around a talon and hold on for my accursed life, shoulders screaming at me the entire time as they threatened to push out of their sockets.
The fall wouldn’t kill me, but if we’re still high enough, I’d wish I was dead.
I’m already weaker than I’ve been in centuries. But I’ll cut my own throat before I let them take my last dregs of health from me. Who the fuck knows what they’d do if I were stuck on my back for days or weeks while this pathetic body tried to heal itself?
Finally—fucking finally—the spinning stops.
It’s sudden, as if the twister hit a wall, nearly sending me flying into …
who the fuck knows? I can’t see shit. And then the brute flings out his claws, dropping me like a sack.
A long gods-damned way. I land on my back, bound hands digging into me to force out the puke I’ve been holding down since we started plummeting.
I will kill him. I’m not sure when or how, but Mikkael will die by my hand.
And since the vermin will end up in Helheim—óeinn and Freyja sure as fuck won’t take him—he’ll be mine for eternity. Oh, the games we’ll play together.
Every single part of my body hurts, but Wrath stirs at the fantasies that are spilling through my mind, surging life into my cock as he rises.
I’ve always gotten off on a little pain. Or a lot of pain. Or giving others pain.
My body won’t move for the first few seconds, the commands my brain sends to my pathetic limbs getting washed away in the tide of my exhaustion.
But these fuckers will not see me cower on the ground.
Grasping for the resolve that has carried me through every ordeal Hel flung at me, I dig my hands down and push away from the dirt, sitting on my ass.
My muscles scream, bolts of lightning rippling through each of them to leave destruction in their wake, but they respond. Inhaling deeply to gather the strength I’ll need to stand beside them, I lean forward and push myself up.
I almost fall, the trauma too much to bear.
If elephants had stomped me to the ground and danced on my spine, it would be but a glob of spit in the hurricane of my pain.
I don’t, though. Instead, I rise to my full height, straighten my shoulders, and cast my bored, blind gaze toward the wretches who captured me.
“Fhord,” a voice beckons from a distance, spearing into our midst. “We didn’t expect you here so soon. Were you found?”
“This bastard is from Helheim,” a pissy voice declares. “We couldn’t risk letting him draw Beron’s elves to us so we decided to move early.”
“I’ll make arrangements for the others to leave right away,” the new voice says, as if this Fhord person is in charge here. “Shall we take him below?”
“Yes, thank you Birger. Leave the blindfold on until you’re there, but once he’s in the cage, you can free him. Give him food too. We’ll need him strong to withstand our questioning. Don’t want him to die on us too soon.”
“I’ll take him,” Mikkael chimes in, the bastard.
“Grown attached to him?” Fhord asks, a smattering of humor in his words.
“I’ve grown attached to fucking with him,” Mikkael declares, his voice full of laughter.
“Then fuck away,” Fhord grants. Magnanimous prick that he is.
A few seconds later, a blade slices the rope around my ankles, drawing a sigh of relief from me. “About gods-damned time,” I mutter as I lift a foot to stretch the muscles.
“Be grateful I let you walk on your own,” Mikkael mutters in my ear. “If you’ve put us in danger or exposed our sanctuary, I’ll cripple you myself before I peel off your skin,” he adds as he places a hand near my lower back and gives a little shove. “Go. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
I straighten and lift my chin, ignoring the ripples of pain that follow. They may control my body for now, but they will not hold me down. Striding forward with sure steps, I let them know I’m a lord of Helheim and they’ll bow to me tomorrow, if not today.
Mikkael drones directions at me as we travel further than I’d expected, first over a field of some kind, then dirt paths that must lead past farms—if the scent of cow shit and prattling of children is any indication—and finally into a town.
He plants his hand on my shoulder and guides me down the street, but it’s too crowded to avoid the jostling of bodies that only happens in busy places.
To my right, merchants bellow about cloth, pastry and weapons, while flirtatious laughter erupts to the left.
We’ve turned twice—both to the right—when the grip on my shoulder twists me to the left.
“Fifteen steps down,” he says, giving me a little shove.
As soon as I find the first stair, I lift my chin and stalk forward, my stride unwavering.
Our boots pound against the rock at our feet, and the smell of mildew surrounds us, unexpectedly launching memories of hiding in a cellar as my brother searched, struggling to restrain the laughter that would reveal me.
Fuck me. I didn’t think my youth held any good memories.
Pushing that aside, I focus on what matters.
This is a large, established settlement, and nobody’s hiding here. It can’t be in Vanatia. Beron would have found it by now. Hel will have much to share with the Konungr when I report my findings to her.
I don’t pause as we reach the bottom, walking forward until he tells me to stop.
After twenty-three steps, he yanks again, spinning me to the right.
His fingers pull at the cloth tied around my head, jerking out a few hairs with it.
I’m relieved to find only a hint of light in the room.
It’s been too fucking bright since I got here.
“Once you’re safely inside, I’ll untie your wrists, then bring you some food.”
Stepping into the cell, I watch him through narrowed lids as he slams closed a door made of iron bars, locks it, and pockets the key, then gestures for my hands to slice off the rope.
As soon as I’m free, I heave out my cock—yes, heave—and piss on his boots, holding his gaze the entire time.
I don’t like being pushed around.
“What the fuck?” he squeals, bouncing back before I can drench him, although I catch part of his pants as he tries to dance out of my reach. “You really are a pathetic bastard, aren’t you?” he bellows, shaking out the foot that got the worst of it.
“You will not touch me again.” My voice is low, commanding.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to you,” he declares. “Starting by pissing in the stew and water I’m about to bring you. Enjoy your meals here, Wregen. You’ll be tasting a lot of me over the next few days.”
Cocking my head, I flatten my expression and watch him walk away. I don’t give a fuck what he does to my food. I’ve spent centuries consuming whatever Hel demands as part of her mercurial punishments—and there aren’t many things in Helheim worth eating. Nothing he might do could be worse.
I need to sit down but they won’t catch me on my ass. Fhord ordered them to feed me, and feed me they will. Soon, if I’ve read the politics here right.
Within fifteen minutes, someone I don’t recognize comes down the stairs, a tray in hand.
He doesn’t hesitate as he nears the cell, setting the meal on the floor outside the door—close enough for me to reach everything if I’m on my ass.
I’m fucking hungry, but I’ll be damned if I drop to the floor in front of a single one of these bastards.
“Mik tried to piss in it,” the male says in a voice I recognize as belonging to Birger. “I’d probably do the same if you peed on my boots, but you didn’t, so I stopped him. The stew is safe to eat.”
I don’t have anything to say to him, so I don’t.
“I’ll let you eat before I start questioning you,” Birger says in a kind tone. “This can be easy if you’ll let it. Or it can be hard. Your choice.”
“I will speak with the female who leads the elves you stole from Helheim,” I tell him in the cold tone that collapses wraiths to their knees in my realm. “Nobody else.”
“We didn’t ‘steal’ any elves from your mistress,” he responds with a smirk.
“They’re home again, where they want to be and belong.
Regardless, you’ll speak with me in this cell, or with Fhord in a different room, that has drains for the blood you’ll shed.
As I told you, that’s your choice. But it will be one of us. No other.”
“Then I won’t speak.” I shrug, watching him with the same cold look I gave Mikkael.
He holds my gaze for a long time, his lips set in a thin line.
Occasionally, his eyebrows draw together or he shakes his head, one side of his lips tugging up, but he’s as silent as me.
The soup must be cold by now and I’m so mother fucking hungry, I could scream, but I’ll be damned to the pit before I show him any weakness.