Her Viking Wolves: 50 Loving States, Michigan (9 page)

“
Y
ou must learn
to control your wolf.”

The disappointment in his father’s voice was so palpable, Fenrisson could barely manage to keep himself from sniveling like a pup not fully weaned.

But he would be the next fenrir. And he knew the only thing that would cause his father even more disappointment than he already had in him would be for his oldest son not to take this censure like a warrior—even if he were only nine winters.

So he kept his head raised, training his eyes on the town below the mountain upon which they stood side by side. This morningtide, their village was in full bustle, with many shifters taking advantage of the early light to do the farm work that would sustain them during the dark winter months.

“You will be the fenrir of our land one day,” his father continued beside him. The flame-haired Viking, so much larger and paler than his oldest son, turned to regard him with stony expression. “Would you have yourself known as a fenrir who cannot control his wolf?”

Fenrisson’s jaw clenched. “No.”

Then because he knew it to be expected of him, he added, “I have caused you shame. For this I apologize, Father.”

“It is not I to whom you should give apology, but to the family of the male you did slay.”

Once again Fenrisson’s jaw clenched. But this time his teeth squeezed so tight, he found himself unable to open his mouth to issue further apology. He could apologize for the shame, for turning wolf like a pup untrained—but he could not apologize for the killing.

“Did you make this killing for a true reason?” his father asked quietly, as if reading his son’s silence.

Again he did not give answer. Could not give answer. Could not tell his father of the male, Arvid, who kicked Olafr for the amusement of his laughing friends. Could not explain to his father the fury that had overtaken him, causing him to instantly shift and lunge at the laughing male of eight and ten winters, ripping his throat out before he had fallen to the ground.

His father would consider this teasing a fighting, not a killing offense. He would not, Fenrisson knew, be able to understand why his son had felt such enraged need to defend the brother who had sacrificed his human for the good of his village. For the lives of his parents.

So he gave his father no answer, because there was none he could give.

And eventually his father made a grunting sigh. “You will give me this story, my son. And until you do will you remain the man unless compelled by myself or the moon. And on full moon days will you take yourself to the hot spring and make yourself into the wolf where no one can see. Until you give me the truth, ever the man will you be as Olafr is ever the wolf. Do you understand me?”

“Yea, Father,” he answered quietly, happy for the punishment if it meant this conversation might come to end.

And this be the story of how the next fenrir of the North Wolves came to be known to his village as Fenrisson, Ever the Man, just as his brother came to be called Olafr, Ever the Wolf.

Y
ears
—Centuries later, FJ feels his wolf rippling down his back when he sees his brother attempting to give rut to his mate. He throws his sword down, and grabs his brother. In that moment, FJ knows nothing. Nothing but rage. Red is the only color he sees as he struggles against the male holding him back from killing his brother. His wolf demanding justice against the brother who attempted to take what belonged to him.

But his body is too well trained not to turn. Even with his wolf in full rage, he remains the man, his father’s long ago bidding like a binding upon his beast.

And eventually the red fades and FJ returns to himself. Realizes he and his brother are now in a small, bright room surrounded by many wolves shouting in his mother’s tongue. They speak so quickly, even FJ, who knows well this tongue, cannot follow them.

He turns back to Olafr. “Brother, you have betrayed me!” he spits out in his father’s tongue.

Olafr shakes his head, still looking the large, dumb animal even though he now be in human form.

“Nay, I have not!”
his brother answers inside their bond. “
I would never! My human—”

FJ has no patience for excuses, but he concedes to use their brother bond when he answers,
“Then what would you call your attempt to cover my she-wolf instead of finding your own?!”

“Your she-wolf?
Nay, brother. She is not your she-wolf. She is mine!”
His brother says this as if these are the truest words ever spoken. “
She is mine.”

“NO!”
FJ roars, his head flashing red with rage, as he struggles to free himself from the hands holding him back.
“SHE DOES BELONG TO ME!!”

Strangely, it is Olafr, the one who knows his human so little, who first stops struggling against the hands holding him.

He stares at his brother in helpless confusion for a very long time before he says,
“She is yours.”

“
Yes!”
FJ yells back.
“She is mine!”

To his surprise, Olafr merely nods as if FJ has confirmed a fact.

“But she is also mine,”
Olafr says as if also stating a plain fact.
“My wolf wants her. My human wants her. My soul wants her. This I cannot deny.”

FJ finally stops struggling, realizing exactly what his brother is telling him.

“Brother, do you understand my words?”
Olafr asks.

Now it is FJ who nods slowly. He does understand. She is his. But she is also Olafr’s.

He and his brother look at each other, coming to a silent, grim agreement. Then do they turn their gaze upon their fated mate and say with one voice, “
Varra
.”

“
V
arra
,” they both say, turning their heads toward me, their gray eyes blazing bright.

Oooh-kay. I have no idea what or who Varra is and whoa, why are they both staring at me like that now? I thought having one wolf staring me down with those gray, Viking eyes was intense, but two…

I’m not sure what to do. Ask the pile of questions booting up in the back of my brain or start inching toward the clinic door behind me? Because these two wolves—Vikings—whatever the hell they are, are staring at me like…like…

Well, I may not be Little Red Riding Hood, but I’m more than a little afraid of getting eaten up.

Which is why I’m really surprised when the wolf with the curly man bun bows his head and says in very clear, slightly-accented English, “
Varra
, my brother and I are deeply sorry for this misunderstanding.”

Then before I can ask what the hell “varra” means, he says to Grady, “I ask that you, good fenrir, release me with my solemn vow that we shall not commit further violence in your place of healing.”

Rafe studies the new Viking for a long, considering moment. But eventually he gives a subtle hand signal to Grady, and Grady lets him go.

Freed of his Oklahoma King vice, the new wolf once again bows his head, addressing Grady like he’s royalty in full garb, “You do honor me with your trust, Fenrir. I give you thanks.”

He then says to Rafe, “Rafe, Fenrir of Colorado, please release also my brother. I vow on my sword he will do no further harm to your place of healing.”

After a slight hesitation, Rafe and Mag release Olafr, but more reluctantly than Grady did with the new wolf. Probably because he’d gone even more berserk and it had taken two of them to hold him back.

However Olafr keeps the new wolf’s promise. He turns his brick wall of a body to face me. But other than that, he doesn’t make any further moves. In fact, his eyes are focused on me and me alone, as if that open wound is nothing more than a bug bite.

Which is creepy enough, but then FJ does the same thing, coming to stand beside his brother. They both stare at me, their combined gazes making my skin feel like it’s on fire. Even my wolf is crouched back in fear now, not nearly as curious as she was on top of that operating table with Olafr.

“We would talk to this she-wolf now,” the new wolf announces, without taking his eyes off me. “Alone.”

He says this very calmly, but nothing about this situation feels calm. Especially since one of them is still completely naked.

“Yeah, that’s a pass for me,” I say, slowly moving towards the door. I’d run if it were up to my human, who prefers her scary shifters on an LCD-screen where she can easily press pause if the fighting gets too intense—or if she has to, like, go to the bathroom.

But my wolf is telling me this would be a very bad idea. That if I run or make any sudden moves, at least one of these big-ass guys is coming after me.

Also, Cousin Alisha says, “Tee, don’t,” under her breath. “Running will only make it worse. Let me handle this.”

Then she comes to stand a little in front of me and says with her usual brand of Team She-Wolf, “Boys, you are out of your wolf-ass minds if you think I’m going to leave you alone with my cousin.”

But unlike her sons, who I’ve seen her quell with nothing but a look, this new wolf doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated.

“Aunt Alisha, we are boys no longer,” he says. And my veins fill with icy fear because his voice somehow manages to sound both respectful and threatening at the same time. “I am five-and-thirty winters. My brother is two-and-thirty. We would talk with
our
she-wolf now. After she is made to understand what happens here, then will I meet with you about the siege that has befallen our land.”

His words stop me in my “edging the hell out of here” tracks.

“What do you mean ‘our’?” I ask at the same time Alisha’s asks, “What siege?”

C
razily enough
, the new Viking decides to answer my question first.

“My brother and I have both to this land traveled to make union with our fated mate,” he tells me, his gray eyes burning into mine. “And we both knew you to be ours as soon as our eyes upon you lay. And so will we both give you claim.”

My mouth drops open because he explains this to me like we’re talking about a simple platform upgrade and not a completely new game. One in which both he and his wolf-bound brother are my fated mates…and will therefore be sharing me.

“Whoa! Well, um…” Rafe clears his throat and puts a hand on Alisha’s shoulder. “Stay calm,” he says to her in a low voice. “We’ll get this figured out.”

Of course, Alisha ignores him.

“Okay, are you kidding me!?” she all but shouts at the new wolf. “With all due respect, FJ, that ain’t going to fly here. I lived in Norway and I never saw anything like what you’re talking about go down—”

“With respect to you and your fenrir, Aunt Alisha, you were in our land but four summers. You know not that of which you speak,” FJ responds evenly, his eyes still glued to me. “In our land, if two warriors give claim for one she-wolf’s hand, they fight. However, if bonded brothers or fast friends give claim, they may both take the she-wolf to mate.”

Aaaaand
…cue me sliding even closer to the door.

Alisha, however, shifts from avenging she-wolf into academic mode in less than a nano-second, pinching her chin and saying, “Really? I didn’t know that. I mean, I’ve read about a few ancient societies with that rule, especially during times when she-wolves were in low supply, but I didn’t realize the Viking wolves allowed it. How did it work when the she-wolf went into heat? Did the bonded brothers, or ‘fast friends’ as you called them, take turns? Like, one claimed her for the first heat and the other for the next?”

I blink at Alisha, who sounds way more interested in the history surrounding FJ’s explanation than she should be, considering the “claim” they’re talking about directly impacts me.

“No,” FJ answers, easily enough, though I’d like to reiterate here that he and his brother are still staring at me like I’m on the menu at a five-star restaurant. “We will both claim her during her time of heat. We will both be as a father to any pup she bears. If a male, he receives my name first and then Olafr’s. And he will have all rights due to him as our son, including my title.”

“Well, that’s extremely interesting,” Alisha says, like they’re talking about this over tea. “I wish I’d known about this when I was in your village, because I definitely would have spent a week or two researching that.”

“Alisha!” I say, squirming with nerves. “I know you find this interesting, but I think now’s the time to talk about how I’m definitely not getting with two wolves from the Viking age, one of which is wolf-bound.”

But my words don’t seem to phase FJ one bit. “You will feel differently when your heat comes upon you,” he tells me, like I’m a child and not the woman he’s talking about MFMing with his wolf-bound brother.

“No, I really won’t…” I assure him with a shaky voice, taking another small step back toward the door.

Now FJ goes from all mansplainy to confusion. “Are you saying you do not accept our claim?”

“Yep,” I mumble, eyeing the door. “That’s pretty much what I’m saying.”

FJ shakes his head, still confused. “So you would have my brother and I fight to the death for you?” he asks.

Cue the sound of a needle scratching across a record, and I once again pause my slow scooch toward the door.

“What?!?! No, I don’t want you fighting over me at all, especially not to the death.”

I glance up at him, and FJ gives me what even I have to admit is a killer smile. “So you do care about your mates,” he says.

“Yes—I mean no. I mean…” I break off, feeling flustered under the double weight of his sexy smile and his brother’s intense gray gaze. “I don’t really want anyone to die. Unless it’s like a fake death on screen.”

FJ stares back at me, obviously confused.

And I mumble, “What I’m trying to say is you two should go back to where you came from. Without me. Because while I love me a good sandwich, I’m not into
this
kind of sandwich, if you get my drift.”

Huge silence, and then FJ asks, “What is a sandwich?”

Luckily Alisha chooses that moment to finally come out of academic blah-blah-blah mode to back me up again.

“It doesn’t matter what a sandwich is, FJ. You have your answer.” Then she fixes him with a stern, professorial look and adds, “And of course, Tee is right to feel as she does about this particular matter.”

She comes to stand between me and the crazy Viking brothers.

“While I respect the ways of your land and love you both as dearly as any of my blood nephews, you are in my land now. And Tee has rejected your claim. You and Olafr must respect this because those are the rules in this time and place.”

Alisha exchanges a significant look with Rafe who comes to stand beside her. He sounds both real official and like the kind of loving husband who always has his she-wolf’s back when he says, “We’re not going to let you to take Tee with you against her will.”

“That’s for sure,” Mag says, coming to stand with Rafe and Alisha, along with Grady, whose tank-like body completely blocks my view of the brothers.

Even Uncle Tikaani gets in on the wolf-wall action saying, “And I do not need the phone call I’d get from Tee’s dad if I let her get taken off by not one, but two Viking werewolves.”

I’m touched by all of these wolves going to bat for me. I truly am. And I’d be super relieved, too…if it wasn’t for the low growling sound now emanating from the other side of my protective wall of wolves.

Olafr. I sense the growl’s origin even though I can no longer see him. And then I know it for sure when I hear FJ gravely say, “Brother, do not. Stay in control of yourself.”

My wolf stumbles a little inside of me, both terrified…and compelled.

But my human has no doubts about what I need to do.
Run!
she screams at me, when I see every king in the room put a hand on their tranq guns.

As if reading my thoughts, Alisha says, very carefully in a low voice, “Don’t, Tee. That will only make him come after you faster. Let us handle it.”

Sure, sure…my upstairs brain can see her logic. The worst thing any would-be prey can do is run from a faster, stronger predator who’s already got her scent.

But then Olafr’s growling shifts into a full-on engine, revving to come after me, and I can feel true panic set in, yelling,
Run, bitch, run!

“Don’t, Tee,” I hear Alisha say again, somewhere in the distance. “Daddy, Rafe, Grady, Mag, maybe you should…”

I see them all raise their tranq guns, not needing to be told.

But it’s too late. My scaredy-cat human’s already made up her mind. I turn and haul ass out of the clinic as fast as my legs can carry me.

As I push through the door, I hear raised voices and the sharp, whooshing sounds of several tranq guns going off behind me.

But instead of the thud of a dropped body, I hear another set of feet pounding behind me and then I smell campfire and fir trees.

Oh no! They must have missed! My mind nearly collapses in on itself in horror. They missed! And now Olafr’s right behind me!

Which means I’m totally screwed.

The ensuing blind panic makes me run even faster. That’s the only thing I can credit for how my big ass nearly makes it down the entire street before Olafr tackles me, sending us both crashing into a bank of snow on the side of the road.

I spit out a mouthful of icy cold, mind scrambling to figure out what to do. Dude, I cannot let this wolf get me into a mounting position again. Adrenaline at ten, I jack knife on to my back, so I’ll at least have a fighting chance—

I scream when large hands suddenly grab on to my legs, and Olafr’s pulls me underneath his body, like he isn’t wounded and I weigh nothing.

“No,” I yell at him, kicking and scratching. My hand finds skin, and the smell of fresh blood hits the air when I rake my nails across his face.

We both pause then. Me shocked that I actually managed to hurt him. Him probably for the same reason.

He sits back on his haunches, one large hand covering his face. His eyes are glowing now. Like our eyes often do when our wolf gets too close to the surface.

He stares at me with those glowing eyes, his expression both confused and apologetic. And then, possibly because this night just wanted to out-do itself at next year’s “What the Fuck?” awards, Olafr morphs back into a wolf.

My breath catches and I quickly sit all the way up. Olafr’s wolf is horror movie large, but a beautiful specimen to be sure, with a magnificent coat of copper red hair and strong white teeth.

And he’s coming right toward me. Now I start to scramble backwards, but before I can get too far, he pushes his muzzle into my chest. And when I bring my hand up to fend him off, he pushes his face into my palm. Once, twice, then a third time, like, “C’mon, do your job, lady!’

“Do you…?” I start, then stop. Because surely this can’t be what this large, man-eating wolf wants. “Do you want me to
pet
you?”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. He probably doesn’t understand much English, I remind myself. Have I mentioned I am
so
confused? Because I totally am.

“Um…pet,” I repeat. “Like this…”

I stroke a hand over his red hair. And this must be what he wants because he dips his head into my hand. Like a much-pleased beast. And maybe, just maybe I misunderstood the situation that almost went down because he growls in a way that sounds an awful lot like purring, if incredibly large wolf-bound shifters could purr, that is.

He gets closer, pressing his nose into my neck. Sniffing, then settling his heavy head against my shoulder as if to say, “Yes, this is a good position and I’ve decided I shall stay here all night.”

To my astonishment, I begin to calm down. In fact, the more I pet him, the calmer I feel.

“Ahem. Are we interrupting something?” Rafe’s dry voice asks from above. “Because if you want, we can come back later.”

I look up to see Alisha, Rafe, Mag, Grady, King Tikaani, Tu, Janelle, and FJ staring down at us.

But only Rafe and Alisha look amused.

“Nay, we cannot come back later,” FJ says with great severity. “In fact, the she-wolf must accept our claim so we might go back and save our village.”

At the same time Uncle Tikaani hisses at me, like I’ve gone insane, “Tee, don’t! He’ll tear you apart.”

He has a point. Shifters in wolf form are dangerous enough. A wolf-bound were even more so, since they have even less access to their human side. This is one of the many reasons most packs sequestered themselves away in small towns, to protect nearby humans from their wolves who couldn’t be counted on to maintain control of themselves after shifting.

And wolf-bound wolves aren’t just wolves with no human in charge on full moon nights. They don’t have a human in charge year-round. In some of the more severe cases, wolf-bound shifters born into families without a lot of resources had to be permanently crated like dogs for fear of them harming other shifters in human form.

But I continue to pet Olafr in this strange hug of ours, entranced by the feel of his coat. Knowing instinctively he won’t hurt me.

As if to back me up, Alisha says, “Actually, the Viking wolves were trained from a very young age to ensure their human remained in complete control when they were in wolf form. If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have been able to travel to other lands. They were also very tolerant of wolf-bound wolves and worked hard to integrate them into the community from early childhood.” She throws her father a disparaging look. “You would have known that if you read my book.”

Uncle Tikaani harrumphs, still looking none too comfortable with me petting a wolf. But I continue to stroke Olafr’s smooth coat, the instinct to do so more powerful than any desire I might have to put my uncle at ease.

And as I pet Olafr, my pulse rate decreases and my worries take a back seat. Like everything will be all right. I’m having a very Bob Marley moment.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt this relaxed and happy so it takes me a while to figure out what it is. But that’s exactly how I feel right now. Warm and happy, never mind I’m sitting in a pile of snow, my ass getting wetter and colder by the second.

But then a deep voice says, “Yes, you will make my brother and I a fine mate.”

Warm and happy feelings gone. Buh-bye.

My hand drops away from Olafr’s fur like a dead fish.