Wregen
Chapter twenty-one
We Will Fly
Our mate is on our back, and we have never felt so complete.
She hasn’t accepted us, but she will. She’s ours, and she knows it. I felt the peace that permeated her when she mounted Wrath. We shared it. Wrath and I were whole for the first time in our life, our mate willingly connecting herself to us. Using us. Trusting us.
Wrath’s wings never tire, despite their centuries-long slumber. Twice, the turnip beast slows, as if to stop, but he snarls and snaps at them until they continue. My beast will stop when he can no longer lift his wings. Until then, he will carry our mate.
I must rest, the turnip beast snipes when we’ve flown for many hours, sending a bolt of fury from Wrath’s tail, shooting along his spine.
If he could rip out their throat without angering our mate, he’d have done it before we left the land of our enemies.
A tight leash holds him now, as he fights his need to put them down.
To fill the void in our gut that cracks open in their presence.
That ache led us to the dark place all those years ago, and it started eating us alive when they appeared again.
We will not divide ourselves as they demand, giving part of our very being to them. It is unnatural. We refuse.
Ressssst if you must, Wrath snarls. I will fly.
Perhaps they will grow too tired to follow. They don’t know the path to Helheim, a route that’s been ingrained within us since we gave ourselves to our mistress. Hel beckons us to her and we can only respond to her call.
The dragon is quiet after that, the only sound the flaps of Wrath’s wings propelling us closer to home. And again, he flies, giving in to the serenity of this moment.
It’s a peace we craved when our pairing first emerged.
I hadn’t yet lived a dozen years when Wrath appeared.
He bit and clawed his way out of the darkest part of my being, a chasm I’d feared since I first recognized its presence.
Wrath battled me for control, ever hungry, always demanding more.
I tried pushing back, fighting what would be, but I didn’t have the strength I needed.
Even with the blood of the gods running through my veins, I wasn’t enough to suppress what the fates had decreed.
And definitely not before I’d sprouted hairs across my chin.
Before the seasons turned and the snows melted, I gave up.
Wrath rose when he wanted, and he wanted it often.
Meals lasted in his bottomless gut a day, if that, before his ravenous need returned.
The beasts dwindled and he chose other meals, finally forcing me to travel as far away from humans and other elves as my worn feet would carry me.
The turnip beast appeared when we had nothing to give, trying to claim part of our soul.
We couldn’t bear ourselves; how could we tolerate a being broken or corrupt enough to choose to be with us?
They even tried to tell us that they wanted all of us—the man and the monster—and accepted us as we were.
But they were more depraved than us. They’d have to be, to subject themselves to the evil creature we’d become.
Hel brought us peace. She gave me the strength to trap Wrath, to stop him from claiming our body. He didn’t sleep, but I lived without the furor, the fervency, that always filled me when he tried to rise.
We would betray our mistress if we embraced the turnip beast. Hel plans to keep that beast and the others trapped and under her control. She saved us. How could we forsake her?
Even if we’ve come to realize we might want a life outside of Helheim, a home in the sun with our skjaldmaer.
And started to dread Finaan’s misery, the nightmare that will come to life again when we give our mate to our mistress.
“Wrath.” Finaan’s voice floats toward us, bringing me out of my reverie.
“Yesssss, mate.” Like I love to do, Wrath sends his words to her alone, a soft hiss in her ear.
“It’s time to stop. We can’t fly forever.”
Her voice holds a hint of a plea, and he rejoices in it. As do I, if truth be told. We hold the power to give and take, to offer and withdraw. Both of us crave her supplication.
“We are not ready to ressssst,” Wrath tells her. I feel his frustration at the distance she forces between her and us. She can sense our emotions. He shouldn’t need to tell her.
“I need to rest,” she responds, these words closer to a demand than he likes. “We’ve been flying for hours and you’re not the softest creature in existence. Stop so we can get some food and sleep.”
Wrath doesn’t care for her tone, but it feeds me. I crave her defiance. Still, he knows she speaks true. She’s starving. He can feel it within her. And it’s wrong to let our mate suffer.
Examining the cavern surrounding us, he searches for a place that would let us stay in this form—let him enjoy our mate’s presence—for a time longer.
I indulge him, enjoying the calm this brings.
As he opens his mouth to tell her she must wait, the tunnel opens ahead.
And he knows it’s time to stop, and for him to give our body back to me.
I should be with her in this place.
Her gasp blooms inside of us, tugging at the corners of Wrath’s lips. Few places on or in this world are as vibrant and alive as this one.
“It’s Yggdrasill,” the little rat squeals, loud enough to reach Wrath’s ears.
I can’t fault his joy, though. The tree’s influence in this cave blossoms in everything that lives here.
Its root running beneath the clear lake is visible even from this distance.
The light that pulses through each part of the tree shines bright enough to reflect back individual drops of water, all of the air dancing beneath the soft waves.
As we continue, I feel the tree’s magic, a power unlike anything else in any of the worlds.
I push out of the hole he keeps me in, aching to claim our skin. If he refuses to give it to me, I’ll take it by force. Wrath’s ready, though. Finaan asked us to stop, and he’ll stop for her.
When we’re above the lake, perhaps a dragon’s-length away, Wrath laughs, lighter and freer and happier than he’s ever been, and he releases his grip on our form.
Frustration with the unexpectedly playful beast spears through my gut, but then Finaan shrieks, warming me like a blazing fire on a cold night.
Satisfied, Wrath retreats into the place he rests.
The fucking asshole.
When I told him I wanted our skin, I didn’t expect him to force our shift mid-air. The bastard disappeared, taking his form with him, as soon as he carried us over the lake.
Finaan squeals and wraps her arms around me, although I’m no more capable of flying than she is in this form. But then those luscious tits plaster themselves to my back, taut nipples reminding me why I love them so, and the frustration that erupted turns into something else entirely.
He’s a devious beast. Perhaps I’m not angry with him, after all.
We plummet into the water, my skjaldmaer clinging to me the whole time. I rest my arms on hers before she can push away, and draw on Wrath’s strength to kick us to the surface.
It’s gods-damned beautiful here. The lake my beast dropped us into is the purest blue I’ve ever seen, a sapphire sitting deep in the earth, perfect even without polish.
The waves lap against us gently, as if a soft breeze propels them along.
My skin and bones, every part of me, awakens and throbs with life.
I may be able to survive for days on the sustenance my body is drawing.
But it’s the cave around us that brings a gasp even to my lips, almost catching in my throat.
The light from Yggdrasill’s root fills every rock or pebble it touches, drawing out the reds and oranges and yellows that are usually hidden in their midst, with no flame to reveal them.
It’s not just the color of fire that surrounds us, though.
Purples and blues and greens are as prevalent and they cast their light on each other, creating dancing rainbows everywhere I look.
Better still, Yggdrasill is the tree of life, and it exudes that life wherever it appears.
This cavern deep beneath the earth’s surface—which certainly has never felt the caress of the sun’s rays—is full of fruit trees.
Scarlet apples, like those only available in Asgard; plump peaches that remind me so much of my skjaldmaer’s perfect ass, my cock stirs; berries of every color and shape.
“Let go,” Finaan grumbles as she tries to pull away, her legs pumping frantically.
I ignore her, holding tight, but I suspect she didn’t expect me to release her. “Hush, my skjaldmaer,” I purr as I drag my gaze away from the splendor around us. “I’ll soon have you on your stomach when I need, naked back flush with my chest. Ride me this time. Let me carry you to the shore.”
My female’s stubborn, though. Instead of being the good girl I know she could be if she wanted, she wraps those long legs around me and leans back, a soft giggle tickling my ear. We pivot down and beneath the surface, water filling my mouth as I struggle to hold back the laugh she draws out.
Spinning as I clasp her in my arms, I twist around and bring us face-to-face—my still-beating heart skipping a fucking beat when I see her smile—and take her mouth in mine. She’s salty and sweet, her lips the only thing she lets me taste as I push us back up above the surface.
She doesn’t let go or push me away when we break free of the water, and my cock perks up. He’d already responded to the feel of her body. Now, though, with her lips holding mine, soft and a little bit submissive, he’s fully engaged.
And then she notices. Breaking free, she glances down, a little smirk dancing across that delectable mouth. “It doesn’t take much, does it?” she asks.