Her Viking Wolves(95)

My heart drops clear down to my feet when FJ reaches back and pulls out his sword, his hand wrapping around the hilt like he’s here to do business. Not with a gun. But with a sword from fucking Viking Age Norway.

Yeah. He’s literally brought a knife to a gun fight.

That’s when I really begin to struggle against Olafr’s grip. With every fucking thing I have. I have to get down there. I have to stop this!

“Be at ease, Varra,” comes Olafr’s voice inside my head. He gently turns me back around to watch the fight. “Your bravery is admirable, but I would not have you hurt while proving yourself a loyal mate. Now is it time for us to watch our fenrir defend your claim.”

He thinks this is about bravery or loyalty? No, this is about his brother. My other mate. Living. I continue to fight, my whole body straining to get away.

But then I hear my dad shout, “Draw!”

And there’s nothing to do but squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to watch FJ die at the hands of one of my father’s most cold-hearted pack members. I wait for the sound of the gunshot. But it never comes.

Instead, I hear the collective gasp of the crowd, just as the smell of smoldering flesh hits my nostrils…

I open my eyes in time to see the Trouble Fucker’s now headless body keel sideways onto the ground.

There’s a long pause, in which I can nearly hear the minds of the crowd working to process what they just fucking saw.

But FJ doesn’t allow us to stand there in open-mouthed shock for long.

He turns to face the crowd, and raises his sword, now covered in Trouble Fucker blood. That’s when I see it. The glow in his formerly frosty gray stare. And though it is FJ’s human voice I hear next, I can clearly see his wolf in his eyes, burning bright with a killing madness as he roars, “WHO FIGHTS ME NEXT!”





41





So…. I’m just going to start this next part off with a list of things I didn’t expect would be a part of my wedding day:

1.    A blood soaked groom with glowing eyes.

2.    A shell-shocked pack.

3.    The severed heads of the four wolves who hoped to claim me, watching from the stage floor as my father, much subdued, quickly says the words that will officially marry me to a time-travelling Viking from Norway.

Nerp. I definitely did not see any of that coming.

And even as I take a knee beside FJ, my father tapping both of our shoulders with the butt of his gun as he declares FJ a bad muthafucker and me his bad mamma jamma—crazy cheesy, I know, but the original ceremony was created by my grandfather in the early seventies—FJ and I are officially married.

My father’s announcement of our newly upgraded status as King and Queen of the Detroit pack is met with shocked silence. But my heart sings as I stand to face the still stunned crowd with my new husband.

We’ve won! We’ve actually won! I can’t believe it. I have to throw Olafr, who’s now standing at the front of the crowd below, an apologetic look. Because he was totally right and I was totally wrong.

I didn’t believe before.

I couldn’t believe before.

But I believe now.

I believe in Olafr. I believe in FJ. And I know without a doubt.#p#分页标题#e#

He is now my king.

Which is why I don’t understand why Olafr looks so sad when his eyes meet mine. His face should be shining with happiness, just like mine. FJ and I are officially married in the eyes of my pack. This is what he told me he and FJ wanted. What they’d planned.

But he looks like a wolf bearing witness to a train wreck. I don’t understand why—

A surprised cheer suddenly disrupts all that shell-shocked quiet.

And Yancey appears at the bottom of the steps, temporarily blocking my view of Olafr. However, it’s not Yancey I stare at as he comes up the steps. It’s what’s in his hand. A branding iron, with the image of a dark wolf inside a wheel.

I step back, only to have my arm caught. This time, not by Olafr. Or my father. No, when I look up, I see FJ staring down at me, a mix of toxic triumph and anger shining in still glowing eyes.

And absolutely no surprise.

That’s when I realize…this isn’t like the Speak Now ritual, something that was just sprung on him by my Machiavellian father.

He knew about this completely optional part of the wedding. Knew about it, and checked the box for yes. In fact, he welcomed it as his ultimate revenge for my running way.

I stare at him in horror. With the feeling that some vital organ is dying inside of me. My heart. I think it might be my heart.

And somewhere in the distance, my dad yells, “The groom has chosen Fuck and Burn. What say you, Dark Wolves?”