The woman.
Dressed bright as the sun, slashed through with midnight blue, she dragged my gaze across flawless, smooth skin. I could hear her heartbeat. My head tilted—caught between fascination and revulsion at my own weakness. My eyes traced the bare curve of her shoulder to the pulse beating at her throat.
I grabbed a napkin, clamping it over my mouth as saliva pooled and threatened to spill from the corner of my lips.
What is she? I demanded.
Fenrir paced. Sniffed. Said nothing.
Stop forcing me to inhale her—fucking perfume, I snapped.
I tore my gaze from the swell of her breasts as my cock stirred, only for it to land on the sway of her hips as she moved through the room like royalty. Her black hair was partially braided, the rest rising tall and proud around her head.
I pressed the napkin over my nose as she reached her table. At least three metres away—and still the scent clung, thick and invasive.
People gathered around her.
Fenrir growled. My men shifted back.
He cut off mid-growl as he forced me to inhale again.
They are her kin, he said at last.
What was wrong with me? Of course they were.
At least two generations of them.
“What is she, Fenrir?” I muttered aloud, uncaring of the cretins nearby.
Different, he said—and before I could snap, he continued. Old. Her blood carries an old enemy. Almost as old as me.
His next words sent a cold wave through my blood.
Possibly older, Fenrir murmured, thoughtful.
Older. Did that mean stronger? Fenrir was part god. What spawn could be older—let alone stronger—than a giantess and a shapeshifting magician like Loki?
Fenrir eased, just a fraction.
“What?” I snapped, ignoring the heads that turned toward me.
I don’t sense her beast, he said.
No. She feels like a threat, I insisted.
I swallow gods.
I snapped my fingers. One guard leaned in.
“Find out who that woman in the yellow dress is. Now.”
I watched him thread through the tables, then tuned back to her heartbeat. Steady. Ordinary. Nothing unusual—until she laughed. The soft, tinkling sound grated on my nerves.
“Lielit Tolera,” the guard said quietly.“Owner of Her Glow.”
“Call the driver. We’re leaving,” I said, glancing at the programme to confirm her name. I folded it into four neat quarters and slipped it into my pocket.
Fenrir was eager to leave. To recalibrate.
