Her Viking Wolves(89)

I try to move into position right before we’re all set to enter the house through the double-arched front doors—but Olafr stretches out a thick arm and gently herds me back behind him.

“Our mother has told my father of modern she-wolves and their desire to walk beside their mate always. But this I cannot allow as your protector. You will walk behind us into this place.”

Ugh!!!

Feeling like I’m really, really not going to like the time period I’m trying so hard to get them back to alive, my mind scrambles for another escape plan.

But then it’s too late. My father throws both doors open and walks us inside.

From my position behind FJ and Olafr, I can’t see much. But my nose easily paints the picture for me. A shit ton of leather. Probably all the bikers in the pack, called from across the state of Michigan to do the dirty job of killing these two wolves on sight. Because that’s how my father rolls. He’s not going to let two wolves overpower him twice. No, this time he’s going to make sure the job gets done.

As if to confirm my assessment, I hear my father yell out to the pack, “You ready...!”

“NO!!!!” I scream, prying myself into the small space between FJ and Olafr’s large bodies and bursting through—

Only to see every biker in my state pack dressed in their best white leathers…along with their mates. And my Aunt/Stepmother Evelyn.

They all have their arms raised, in preparation to cheer. But in the wake of my scream, they look to my father.

Who finishes with a strained, “…for a wedding?”

Oh.

I step back and find I finally have FJ’s full attention. He’s staring at me along with Olafr, my father and pretty much every other wolf gathered here today.

So that happened.





39





FJ has never missed his father more than he does before his official wedding. He harbors many questions about the nature of fated mates. Questions such as: are all fated mates so infuriating? So unrepentant? Furthermore, is it normal to feel such bitterness toward your fated mate while at the same time knowing you’ll stop at nothing to possess her?

Perhaps it is only the she-wolves of this time who cause their males such turmoil. FJ has heard the story of the woe that came before the great happiness of his parents’ prosperous marriage. It is a tale shared many times around their longhouse fire pit with his father never failing to give great laugh. But FJ cannot fathom now how his father ever forgave his mother when she did attempt to run after their first heating.

Mayhap because, unlike their she-wolf, she did not get very far.

These musings bring him little peace of mind as he observes his new pack.

He sits now in a great hall that is nearly twice as large as the one his kingdom uses for feasts and celebrations. And instead of a skald to provide music and stories, does this place have music that spills from magical black boxes interspersed throughout its ceiling. And what music it is. Violent chanting and dark drums.#p#分页标题#e#

FJ likes this music. It feels kin to him somehow, the ominous beats reflecting his true wolf’s soul in a way a lap harp never could. He also likes this pack.

He realizes this as he watches the Detroit wolves give into their revelry. Though dressed in white leathers, they are not nearly as refined as the smaller wolves of the Alaska pack. Much different from the Alaska pack, but more to FJ’s estimation like Vikings. And he does find something happily familiar in the way they call out to each other with loud voices as they tell many stories of past battles won.

Of course, everything he has agreed to has been for the purpose of securing the hand of their she-wolf. But his new pack displeases him not.

Save for their lack of red hair and the illicit wares they sell—strange medicines and weapons, according to the honored past fenrir—this place and these people remind him of his own. And despite his dark feelings toward his mate, Fenrisson believes he and his brother will fit in well with this pack of brown warriors and their dark beauties.

The Detroit fenrir, seated beside him, leans over to say, “Just got a text from Evelyn. Tiara should be coming down soon.”

The Detroit fenrir’s face is grim as he relays this news. Despite his agreement to their deal, FJ is well aware his marriage to the princess does not please the fenrir.

“How you want to do this? Burn and Fuck or Fuck and Burn? I’ve seen wolves do it either way.”

FJ considers the question for a few moments, then responds, “Fuck and Burn.”

“I’ll tell Yancey.”

If the Detroit fenrir is put off in the least by what shall soon pass, he gives no indication, FJ notes sourly.