Bride of the Wolf King

Chapter 6

Green light coursed through Brynhilda's veins, following the path of her blood. Heat pulsed through her hands, her fingers throbbing.

The emerald glow seeped from her fingers into the ground, and a sickly twig sprouted between her hands. Its bark twisted, growing taller and taller, roots spreading around the base. Twigs sprouted, and the spindly sapling rose so tall that the leaves collided against her forehead, shoving her backward as it grew.

Her stomach grew cold, a dark pit forming in the hollow behind her bellybutton. Her head felt light.

At the far edge of the forest, the Lamaia screamed and thick soot rose into the air from the cracked ground in the outer lands. The shadowy figures of women around her finally seemed to notice her, their pale eyes growing wide with alarm. Frigga, the doe, reared onto her hind legs, her front hooves pawing at the air.

Heat drained from Brynhilda's body and the green light faded. Strong arms enveloped her as she fell backward, the warmth of her cloak closing in around her again.

The shrieking faded, but the soot still wound through the air above them like snaking tendrils trying to force their way through some invisible barrier.

Her head tipped backward, and her knees sagged. Ulftyr's face loomed over hers as darkness enveloped her.

***

The pain in her fingertips woke her. She twitched her hands, eyes still closed, trying to remember. A green light burned beneath her eyelids as if she had looked at the sun for too long. Warm fur brushed her chin, and she opened her eyes.

The inky fur of Esbjorn greeted her. His heavy head rested on her chest, eyes half closed.

"Esbjorn?" she mumbled. Her throat felt dry and ragged, as if she hadn't had water for days.

The wolf blinked, his brilliant blue eyes turning toward her he lifted his chin and shuffled his paws closer to her side on the bed. His warm breath rustled her hair against her forehead, his earthy scent surrounding her.

"I did not expect the reaction to be so strong," he said, his ears lowering as if in shame.

"Where am I?" she asked, her aching muscles screaming in protest as she tried to push herself onto her elbows. Dim light from two purple orbs floating near the ceiling cast light on the heavy blankets around her.

"Your room," said the wolf. "The king brought to you back here after you fainted."

She sat up, the blanket falling off of her chest. The thin grey fabric of her underdress was soaked with sweat and crusty with salt. She tugged it away from her skin, wincing.

Esbjorn stood on the bed beside her and flicked his tail. The dark purple light changed to a bright pink and the orbs danced around the ceiling. The room lightened.

Brynhilda looked down at her hands. Her fingers were charred and black, the skin already peeling. She gasped and tucked them under the blanket.

"Was I burned?"

The wolf tilted his head and nudged the blankets away from her hands. The dead skin did not look any better with a second glance.

"Your mother's magic is strong," he said, licking her wrist with a warm tongue. "Too strong for the underworld."

Brynhilda touched her shoulders and felt the soft white fur that edged the red velvet cloak. Ulftyr must have tied it around her shoulders again.

"My mother didn't have any magic," she said. "She was just a girl my father found in the woods and fell in love with."