Men, dragon or human, are all exactly the same.
“There’s no rush,” I say. “But when you recover your memories, I’ll teach you about this human mating. Okay?”
“You’ll teach me about it? Or we’ll actually mate?” He tilts his head, his eyes still on my mouth. “That seems like a relevant distinction.”
Again, I can feel myself blushing, not that he can see it or knows what it means. “We can talk about that later.”
“You think this is one of those things that’s better to experience yourself than to hear about.” He nods slowly. “You might be right, because when you kiss me, especially when your mouth kisses somewhere that isn’t my mouth?—”
“Okay, that’s enough.” I clap a hand over his very dirty mouth. “You have to stop now.”
He keeps talking though, his lips moving against my hand. “Why do I feel like it’s me who’s the dog in our bond?”
“What?” I drop my hand. “How so?”
“I’ve seen you give Fluffy treats when she does something good, and now you’re offering me one to get me to do something you want me to do—recover my memories. It’s like you’re offering me bacon to jump over a sideways chair.” He narrows his eyes.
“Recover your memories,” I whisper. “And it’s not a treat to reward you. It’s a promise to lure and incentivize you.” I shift my hand so that my fingers can trace the perfect line of his lips. “Because I very much want to teach you a great deal of human things, but I want it to be my Axel all the way when I do.”
He doesn’t say another word, and with his arms around me, I fall asleep within minutes.
Chapter 5
Gullveig
When I left my people, it was after years of preparation and training.
I was sent to kill Freja or her brother, the ice vanir offspring of Bjorn, or if I got very lucky, Bjorn himself. I knew my purpose. I knew who I was and what I was fighting against.
After meeting Freja, and after seeing the good things about her and the miserable way in which she was raised and treated, my perspective changed. She became someone I could trust, once I knew her.
That’s why I betrayed my people and forsook my purpose.
It’s why I committed treason.
I realized, in the moment when I was supposed to sacrifice my own life to make Freja’s death possible, that this cycle of killing was never going to end. None of us could get enough ahead of the other, and that certainty, combined with my doubt about the actual evil nature of my enemy, caused me to protect the villain I was meant to help destroy.
I’m at peace with my own conscience, especially when Freja becomes Freya and helps me steal the heart stone from deep below the vanir caverns. It pulsed with ancient magic as we stole it, and in gratitude for my choice, in appreciation for my love of both Freja and the earth children to whom I was born, the great and fabled Jörð blessed my sword, gave me wings, and transformed Freja the vanir into an earth child shape. Sadly, that transformation left us both stranded below the earth with no way to escape.
And her furious, murderous, power-starved father was coming.
I did have two swords that could do. . .I wasn’t sure what. They’d been forged for me by Freja, and blessed for me by Jörð, but I hadn’t trained to be a warrior. I’d trained to be a self-sacrificing assassin. The limited training Freja gave me before taking me to my first battle didn’t give me much hope.
I had wings, but couldn’t fly.
I had swords, but very little idea how to use them to good effect.
And I had a massive, powerful vanir on my side, but she was currently smaller than me and unable to do, well, anything, seemingly.
“We’re going to die down here,” I whisper.
Freja—now Freya—groans. “You could fly us out. He won’t automatically search down here, you know.”
Thanks to my previous attempts at flight, my arm’s bleeding profusely, and I have two cuts I haven’t even looked at on my legs. When I got those, I wasn’t even trying to carry another person. Freya’s far, far smaller than she was, but I’m not large, even by earth child standards. I’m not even sure I can fly while carrying another earth child, but I’m quite positive I won’t be able to do it well.
After hearing another roar from Bjorn, I decide I should at least try. The cavern we’re inside is long and flat and relatively shallow, but the only way I know out is a fairly sharp and winding tunnel. Freja shot down it like a squirrel up a familiar tree, but I can’t remember all the twists and turns, and I don’t love our chances, even if I can make it.
“Is there more than one way out?”
