By the Sharp and Shadowed Wings (Fate of the Nine, #1)

by Rachel N. Harker

“I simply explained to the king that I put the poacher’s mind at ease.” “Didn’t you cut his head off?” Ellika asked. “Is there a difference?”

“Did you have something to say, or did you just want to brood in proximity to me?”

Tyr gestured toward the belt strapped at Revna’s hips. “You should probably rid yourself of the temptation to stab me.”

“Go. It would do you both some good to take out some frustration on each other. Let weapons do the talking … for now.” She winked at him as she put special emphasis on for now. “Don’t you have better things to do than pester me? Like rule a realm?” “This is far more interesting. Go.”

“And I created a bridge between the dead and living, the dark and light, for me to come and go as I please,” Hel continued. “And I learned. Someone may cast you down, but they cannot keep you there.”

“There is no need to kneel,” he said, leaning until his lips nearly grazed her ear. “I am not a God one bows to. I am one you run from.”

“I’m curious, do you lift your leg while pissing in your human form as well?” “Oh, fuck off.” Fenrir shook his head, ridding his hair of excess water. “Mongrel.” “Worm.”

“What if I lose her?” he asked quietly, finally responding to his sister’s statement. Whether by the truth or by fate, there were many ways Revna could be lost to him. Hel threaded her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder, the low hum of her power soothing his nerves. “Then you find her again.”

“So you’re just going to fight me? Until what? You maim the truth out of me?” She swung, striking his blade again. “Yes.”

“The sword, my máni.” “Stop calling me that,” she said half-heartedly, handing him the sword to return it to the weapons area. “Never.”

It was a slow realization at first, but he knew now. Had for quite a while. He had loved her for nine years.

“I would bind myself to you a thousand times—in every realm, every existence—without the looming threat.”

“Nine years, my máni.” Fenrir prowled toward her, showing no external sign that he’d just used his powers on her body. “Nine years I have thought about all the things I wanted to do with you. Did you think this would just be some quick rut in the woods?”

“There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of you, Fenrir. You were the first thing that I chose for myself. I still choose you.”

“Hear these vows and know my heart. If hunger claims you, I will feed you. If you cannot walk, I will carry you. If you need strength, I give you my mind and body. If darkness stalks you, I will enter any shadow to find you. If love is what you need … it is already yours. My heart is yours.”

“Hear these vows and know my heart, Fenrir. Should you feel adrift, I will help you find your way. If you need a hand to hold, mine will be ever yours. If weariness takes you, I will guard you while you rest. If you need love, if you need my heart” she said, as she leaned forward so that her face was hovering above his, “they are already yours.”

“You are mine, wolf. And I am yours.”

“Come for me,” she panted, licking at his mouth. “Come for your wife.”

Fenrir’s lazy thrusts stilled as he leaned down to kiss her, then nuzzled his head into the crook of Revna’s neck. “Wife.” He felt her chuckle and then stroke her hand down his back. “Husband.”

“Careful, girl,” his mother said, smiling almost as if in triumph. “That kind of love can burn the realms.”

“Now, there was mention of feeding your wife. I may waste away before your eyes if I don’t eat something soon.”

“Looks like the monster found someone equally beastly. You both should be put down.”

“I wanted to give you a wedding gift. I noticed, upon your return from Jotunheim, that you no longer carried the axe you arrived with. I figured you wouldn’t mind a replacement.” Austri lifted his hands, handing her the axe. Revna gapped at him. “You made this?” Austri nodded and crossed his arms as she took it from his hands. “But you said you put out your forge when you left Nidavellir.” A shrug. “I found a reason to light it again.”

“Havvar!” Revna called. The young Jotunn whirled and rushed toward her. “I need your help.” “I’m ready, Commander. I will fight by your side,” he said eagerly. Commander. By now, most of the residents knew what she’d done in Myddheim, who she’d been. Fenrir, Hel, and Tyr often told anyone who’d would listen. But she hadn’t been called that since she’d left Myddheim, and the feeling of hearing it squeezed at her heart, filling her with the familiar regret of leading those she cared about into harm’s way.

She took her hand and pressed it on the outside of his, holding it to her face. “Thank you, Austri. You can rest now. I have you.”

“Freyja,” she croaked out. “Freyja, please hear my call. Take this soul and reunite him with those he loves. Freyja, hear me. Please.”

The boar spoke directly into her mind. I will take him home, Revna.

Freyja’s golden boar bowed to Revna before carrying Austri’s soul away to be reunited with his family at long last.

When they saw her enter, they paused, giving her small nods, but didn’t say anything. She wondered if they blamed her.

“Where is my wife, Jormun?” “She asked me to tell you that she is sorry, and to please forgive her.” “Where is my fucking wife?” Fenrir yelled, roots crawling across the shaking earth. “She asked that you don’t go after her. Said that this is her choice,” Jormun ground out. Fenrir slowly stalked toward his brother, watching as Jormun took a defensive stance. “And why did she tell you this, Jormun?” “Because she asked me to take her to Asgard. And I did.”

“And what, Allfather, do you believe my fate to be?” Odin gestured above his head to the bodies in various stages of decay. “To bleed the darkness.”

“What are you—” he started to ask, panic paling his face. Revna smiled. “Fuck you, Allfather.”

Not wanting to be himself anymore, Fenrir shifted back into his wolf form and laid down before the gates of Helheim. And there, he waited. Alone. Alone. Alone

“Give her back,” she snarled, a thousand voices echoing through the unending gloom. A deep, rumbling growl answered in response.

She’d had a name once. She had existed. Hadn’t she?