Her Viking Wolves(5)

He understands little more of this prophecy now than he did when his aunt first spake it to he and his brother. They had been mere boys of eight and five winters the night she called them over to speak with her by the dim longhouse fire.

However, he is five-and-thirty winters now. And just as his aunt foretold, the lights have come for the first time in many winters. And does Freya’s blessing—purple this time—light the sky above.

Not that any of their village wolves were much enjoying the lights this year. Not only because their father had finally given in to his mother and bade his wolves to worship the Christian God as opposed to the fertility goddess who sent her sky lights to remind them to mate and be merry. But also because Fenrisson, Ever the Man, had sent every woman and child to the safety of the mountains as soon as the lights appeared.

Of course the remaining males, many of whom chose still to celebrate the lights with rutting, gave great complaint. But Fenrisson, Ever the Man, chose to ignore their many lamentations. So determined was he to keep the prophecy from unfolding.

Besides his brother, Olafr, Ever the Wolf, had given up both his boy and his man to keep the prophecy at bay. The very least their warrior males could do was forgo their copulating for a fortnight.

Yet it would seem that despite his noble spirit, Fenrisson is not immune to the affects of Freya’s lights. Every morn since their coming has he woken with the strange female’s voice in his ear, and a dagger painfully throbbing between his legs.

He wonders if the mysterious voice and his morning cockstand are a punishment from the Norns, the three sisters of Fate. They do not look kindly upon mortals who attempt to thwart destiny, and have been known to wreak havoc on those unlucky enough to get caught.

Fenrisson rubs a weary hand over his eyes, and finds himself for the first time hoping his parents, who he had sent away on a false mission to find him a bride, do in fact return with a mate. Fenrisson has never wanted for a wife, but he would be most pleased to lie now with a willing female, human or she-wolf. Anything to rid his mind and body of that cursed voice.

“We have a problem.”

Another voice—this one inside his head—calls his attention away from the female who invaded his dreams. Fenrisson peers further into the darkness and makes out the shape of Olafr’s great red wolf standing quietly before him. His gray eyes glowing in the gloom, as if he has only been waiting for his older brother to wake.

Fenrisson rises from his sleeping bench beside the hearth of his pack’s longhouse. The building, usually full with family, is almost empty save for a handful of young male cousins, warriors who will serve them well in the coming fight.#p#分页标题#e#

“Are you well Olafr, or do you too suffer dreams of Fates unknown?”

Their Brother Bond has always been strong, but as of late did it seem especially powerful, like an unseen twining that bound them even more fast. It would not surprise Fenrisson if he and his brother had also begun sharing dreams.

But Olafr’s answer soon comes inside his head: “Nay, wolves dream of naught but rabbits.”

“What brings you to my bedside so early in morn, then?” Fenrisson asks, the thought of their coming enemy humbling his cock as sure as cold water.

Olafr turns his great head to the sleeping benches on the women’s side of the longhouse. All should be empty now since he gave the order for the village women to remove themselves and the children to safety on the nearby mountain.

Yet Fenrisson can clearly see the outline of a small female sleeping upon one bench, her tightly coiled red hair bursting from beneath a pile of sheepskins like wild flame.

“Myrna!”





* * *



“Let me explain, FJ!”

“There is naught to explain,” he answers his sister, voice grim as the dirty snow beneath their feet.

They stand outside the longhouse, upwind from the toilet pit, with Olafr standing between them like a fur-covered diplomat attempting to keep the peace.

“Why are you no longer on the mountain with the other she-wolves and children? Why did you disobey me?”

“Because I understand not why you have asked me to go with the others!” she answers, her dark brown eyes—an exact match of their mother’s—shining with indignation.

“Myrna, my word is law,” he answers, hardly believing he must explain this to his sister who knows he will be her fenrir when their father steps down.

However, his sister, who has truly earned the nickname, Myrna, Ever the Maid, for her stubborn refusal to marry any wolf their father would bring before them, merely makes the disgusted spitting sound she learned from their mother. “Only because our father is not here is your word law!”