Helle shrugged, something about the gesture vulnerable. Her shoulders looked small suddenly, and Valr felt bad about smirking at her fear. But she was nothing to him—why should he give a shit about her being afraid? And she was the one who’d dragged him out of his life to be her fucking prison guard. And she was a murderer on top of that. No, he’d show her no compassion.
Magnus scrambled up off the floor, his blonde hair wild around his face as he gave Helle a gentle smile. “You’re in Asgard, Mistress.”
“Magnus,” Bjorn warned in a growl.
Valr snorted loudly. Mistress? Magnus had fucking lost it.
Helle laughed abruptly, and then sobered all at once. “Oh great,” she breathed when she realised Magnus was serious. Everything she said was soft, diminished, Valr had noticed, no matter how sarcastic her retorts. “You’re all as mad as the judge. He thinks Odin and Thor are real.” Almost to herself she breathed, “This isn’t a Marvel film.”
Magnus laughed warmly, taking a step closer, his hands out before him like he was approaching a spooked horse. “No, Mistress, it isn’t.”
“Magnus, I won’t warn you again,” Bjorn rumbled.
Magnus just ignored him, his eyes on Helle. “We’ll protect you. Even if you are Ragnarok, you’re a vargr, too. You’re the Fenrir. You’re ours.”
Helle was looking at him with pity now. “You’re deluded.”
“You’re the one that’s deluded,” Valr disagreed with a low laugh. “Here’s the deal, Little Miss Ragnarok,” he said stepping forward and drawing her full attention. “You think you’re human? Guess again. You’re not even an ordinary Asgardian. You’re Loki’s daughter. You’re a vargr—a wolf. And like it or not, you’re a killer.” She opened her mouth, no doubt to plead her case again, but Valr cut her off before she could begin. “The highest judge in our realm condemned you. You’re guilty. And you’re going to Asgard Pen. Get used to the idea or don’t—it makes no difference. You’ll be locked up anyway.”
Helle was breathing quickly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Shit, if Valr had given her a panic attack… “This is all one big delusion,” she breathed, maybe to herself.
“I doubt you’ll be saying that when you shift for the first time,” Valr muttered, and her eyes flared with even more panic.
“Come on,” Bjorn cut in, tugging her closer by her wrists but catching her against his broad chest as she stumbled. “Valr is right, and it’ll be easier on you if you go willingly.”
“We’re your guards,” Magnus added gently, that soft smile still on his boyish face. “We’ll keep you safe.”
Valr rolled his eyes. “And keep Asgard safe from you.”
Magnus
Helle looked terrified, and Magnus wanted nothing more than to take her hand, pull her into his arms, and promise her that everything was going to be alright. His mate. Sentenced to eternity in Asgard’s worst prison.
His mate, the end of the world. But Magnus didn’t care about her being fated to bring about Ragnarok; he only cared that every jumping breath from her lips fired another arrow into his heart, every flood of fear in her eyes had him bristling with protectiveness.
She’d looked at him—at all of them—with that same fear, but Magnus would prove to her that she could trust him, that she could trust her whole pack. Because it was her pack, whether or not Bjorn or Valr wanted to admit it. She was their mate—theirs, not his. He knew they’d felt it, and she’d felt her bonds to all of them, too.
“You’ll be safe,” he promised Helle gently as they climbed out of the long, wooden boat that had piloted itself from mainland Asgard to the craggy island the penitentiary sat atop, looking more like a fairytale castle than a prison with its white towers and spires. “We’ll make sure of it.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” Helle whispered.
Magnus frowned deeply, but it was no wonder she didn’t trust them; she’d been pulled out of her human life, arrested for murder, put on trial for being the future slayer of Odin, and hauled off by three strangers to spend the rest of her life in prison.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Mistress,” he whispered, ignoring the warnings Bjorn had given him about calling her so. She was the Fenrir, daughter of Loki, and his mate—of course she was his mistress. She was his everything. “I know we’ve only just met, but you’re my mate. I’ll devote my whole life to keeping you happy and safe.”
She gave him a sideways glance, an edge of pity in it that Magnus didn’t like. As if she thought he was wrong.
“Can’t you feel it?” he asked quietly as Bjorn and Valr secured the little boat to the shore. “The mating bond?” He brushed a mental hand against that luminous bridge spanning the distance between their souls, invisible and spiritual but incredibly there. Helle straightened, flashing him a wide-eyed look. “You can feel it,” he breathed, a smile splitting his face.
“I don’t see why it would make you … devoted to me,” Helle muttered, stiffening as Valr stalked closer, a scowl on his face as he regarded Magnus. He did this several times a minute, looking at Magnus like he was nothing more than a fuck up. At first, Magnus had thought Valr was sneering at him because he was bisexual, but he’d long realised it wasn’t homophobia making Valr mean; he was just bitter and scowling and cruel. Whatever had made him that way, Magnus didn’t know. He wouldn’t bother asking; Valr would just bare his teeth.
“Whatever he’s saying to you,” Valr snarled at Helle, “just bear in mind that he’s a sentimental fool. He can’t make promises. None of us can. Bjorn’s our alpha—he’ll keep the worst of the inmates from you, but no promises about the rest of them.” For once, Valr didn’t smirk; he said it grimly. “Don’t fuck with the valkyries.”
Helle snorted, and then inhaled sharply at
