Her Viking Wolves(100)

It is time. His wolf continues to burn inside of him, unchecked by human or command.

Yet he finds himself unable to lift the iron to mark her. Not yet. First he must tell her, “This be not the business of females. You are our mate and now shall you bear the mark of your fenrir. That is all that matters—”

“Not to me, FJ, not to me.” And then does she turn to face him, her dark brown wolf eyes giving glow in the dark room. “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want from now on. You’ve broken my human or tamed my wolf or whatever you want to call it. But before I give all the way in, I need to know. How much did I cost? Just tell me. What is my dad paying you to do all of this?”

FJ does not realize what he is doing, until the branding tool clatters to the floor and his hand is wrapped around several ropes of her hair.

“Yet does this she-wolf need more taming,” he yells out to the Detroit wolves as he forces her to her feet in front of him.





44





One moment FJ is grabbing me by my hair in the ballroom and the next, he’s throwing me through the door of my bedroom, slamming it shut behind us.

The trip from there to here is crazy confusing and I stumble in more ways than one as I regain my footing upstairs.

“What the hell!” I yell out loud, turning to confront the wolf in black wedding leather. He’s now breathing hard in front of me, like it’s him, not me who just went through some huge ordeal.

“You. Are. The. One. Who. Did. Run. YOU!” he yells back at me.

“And you literally fucked me because of it!” I yell back. “I’d say we’re even.”#p#分页标题#e#

“You would say we are even,” FJ repeats, mouth drawing back to reveal teeth clenched in a feral snarl. “One fucking, as is my right by the Detroit pack’s own laws, does not even make. Not after you did attempt to give our claim, our pup, to another after you did make vows to us!”

The door opens behind him and Olafr slips into the room. But for some reason, he’s not nearly as grim as he looked downstairs. In fact he’s smiling like he’s just walked in on us having an afternoon frolic. Not Mate War II, with FJ looking at me all Sam Jackson, like he’s getting set to perform the Party Favor ritual right here, right now.

“This is good, Varra,” Olafr says inside of my head.

“What?” My confusion momentarily suspends my own explosive anger.

“He’s talking to you again. In private. This means he is ready to ‘communicate’ as our father calls it when he and my mother come away from the fight and begin the talk.”

I shake my head, my eyes bulging with disbelief. Because if this is FJ in communication mode, I’d hate to see him in kill mode—oh wait, I did see that. Right before our truly fucked up wedding ceremony. And sorry to say, I’m not seeing much of a difference between how he looked then, and how he’s looking at me now.

“Talk to him,” Olafr says inside my head. “Make him understand as you did with me.”

“Okay, Olafr, whatever,” I say back, before shaking him out of my head.

Then I do something I’ve never done before. Raise myself up to my full height, and look the seething werewolf in front of me in the eye.

“So Dad didn’t think you’d survive the Speak Now ritual but he wouldn’t have wanted you to know that. So I’m assuming when he decided to ‘let’ you marry me, he must have offered you something big to sweeten the deal. And I know gearing up to fight a dragon army ain’t cheap? So how much was it? Two million?”

FJ glares at me, refusing to answer.

“Three million? Seriously, just tell me. I want to know how much.”

“Now you are being unfair, Varra,” Olafr says at the door, looking disappointed. “You goad him on purpose.”

FJ, however, turns and walks over to my desk where he grabs a pen and a notepad.

“Female, I will now make you aware of two numbers,” he says, coming back over to me. “This is how much your Michigan pack is worth.”

With firm but almost child-like handwriting, he writes down eight figures, which looks about right.

“And this is how much my brother and I are worth…”

He carefully writes down a four followed by four zeroes, which seems about right, because his sword is probably worth a pretty penny these days, being in such good shape. But then he adds five more zeroes.

Wait…what?!?!

“I don’t understand,” I say, looking up from the notepad to FJ who’s now wearing a super smug expression. Then I have to ask. “Not to disparage little Sara’s teaching skills or anything, but are you sure you got that number right?”