Page 3 of The Fanged One

Fenris took a step toward her.

Linnea didn't move, just watched him.

He took another. A wolf the size of her car should have made a sound, but each footfall was silent. His head was still lowered. His shoulders were still loose. He wasn't growling or baring his teeth, which was a good sign.

He stopped close enough that she could have reached out and touched the thick ruff of his throat. He lowered his head a fraction more, his breath huffing her hair.

"Take me to Havi, völva," the wolf said with a voice made of rust and gravel. There was no menace in it, only an exhausted, ancient, slightly impatient request.

Linnea's brain briefly attempted to faint. She forced it back and locked her knees.

"I don't know if he's in Midgard," she said, her voice too small. She cleared it and raised her head a little. "Havi, I mean. He moves around. He could be in Asgard or Vanaheim or anywhere."

Fenris didn't respond. He just looked at her with his mismatched eyes and zero patience.

"But," she continued quickly, "if he is in Midgard, I know where he stays. He has a house in Otta. I can take you there if you don't eat me first."

He took another half-step toward her, lowered his enormous head, and sniffed.

She closed her eyes so she didn't piss her pants.

His breath was hot, and she found herself wanting to lean forward to see if his fur was as soft as she thought it would be. Don't think about that.

He smells like home, her wolf said dreamily.

Stop.

He smells like sex. We should do a sex on him.

He is probably going to eat us.

Fenris stopped sniffing at her, and she dared to open her eyes.

"Right," she said, her voice steadier. "Okay. I have a car about half a mile down the path. I'll take you to Havi's, but you are huge right now, and there is no way you will fit in the back."

Fenris stared at her, and her underarms dampened with sweat.

"I'm just stating facts," she babbled on quickly. "You'll have to shrink down some more if you're going to fit."

Fenris tilted his head. His expression was deeply unimpressed.

"I know. I know," she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets because she had forgotten her gloves. "You are a mighty god, and it's beneath you. I'm only saying that the back seat isn't large enough for you, so you have to deal with it if you want to come to see Havi."

He held her gaze for one long moment, and slowly, with a grumble that wasn't quite a growl, he began to shrink. He went from car-sized to horse-sized, paused, and looked at her.

She raised an eyebrow. "Still too big."

He went from horse-sized to the size of an unusually tall Great Dane, paused, looked at her with an expression of such profound suffering that she actually laughed. It broke free of her, hoarse and surprised.

He glared at her, eyes narrowing.

"Sorry," she said, stifling her laughter. "Sorry. That's perfect. Let's go."

She turned her back on the wolf-god whom she had been singing lullabies to in the dark for over a year and walked down the path toward her Land Rover. Her hands were still shaking in her pockets, and her wolf wouldn't stop doing internal cartwheels.

She didn't look back, but the wolf fell into step behind her.

This is fine, she told herself. This is fine. I have a Norse god following me through the forest in the shape of a very large dog, and I'm taking him to Havi's vacation house in central Norway, and this is fine.