“It must have followed us here.” He cursed. “Do you understand now why you cannot be careful enough these days? From now on you will stay near me…” He sounded as if he was sure that she wouldn´t protest or as if it didn´t matter anyway. But Freya now knew why she hadn´t tried to run…because there had been no need. Wolf had skillfully kept danger away.
“How near are we talking about?” Freya asked in a flirty voice, remembering that she had work to do. Wolf didn´t answer, his eyes turned suspicious and Freya swallowed. But then he pressed her to him and told her to close her eyes.
When she opened them again, she gasped. They were standing in a round, white room covered with wall paintings that looked like they were made out of lace, but at closer inspection Freya realized it was frost. Large gothic windows let in the hazy light that remained of the day and a strange fire was burning by one of the walls. It wasn´t made out of flames but out of what looked like delicate snow, that twirled in circles, secretly dancing.
Wolf glanced at her to see her reaction and when she joyfully looked at him, she thought she heard him hissing as if he reveled in her delight.
“This almost reminds of the old days with the aristocracy,” she murmured in awe. “Or partially at least, it was never this extravagant.” She stroked a chaise lounge that was standing by the fire and it felt like velvet. Freya hadn´t felt velvet in hundreds of years.
“Do you eat?” Freya suddenly asked Wolf who shook his head. “Shame,” she murmured. “I used to be amazing at setting tables and folding napkins. I could do swans, flowers…” Freya trailed off when she noticed it. A harp in white gold was standing in the corner and Freya almost grew teary eyed.
“Oh, how I´ve missed playing on one of those,” she said breathlessly, shrugging off the sable coat and let it fall to the floor. She was aware that Wolf was watching her, with that slinky little dress on that barely covered anything but she pretended not to notice. As a mortal she had been a little too thin, however as a god her curves had grown shapelier, ample breasts and a rounder ass but her waist had remained narrow.
Freya shot out her hip because his interest in her body was only going to serve her. Tentatively she moved one of the strings and shuddered as the sound moved through the room, sounding like a divine whisper.
“You should have told me you had a harp, I might have followed you willingly,” she smiled but he only scowled. Wolf removed his sword and armor dropping it on a chair by the wall. He was wearing a black, quilted sweater underneath and his muscles rippled. Freya stared at him openly just as he had done with her until she realized what she was doing and stopped.
Sure, Wolf was perhaps brutally handsome but Philip had been more proper and much less rugged which Freya believed suited her better. Wolf was just too big for her.
“Didn´t know god´s had any other talents than parading naked in front of strange men.”
“Of course we do,” Freya said lightheartedly. “We used to be human ones. I was taught to play the harp as a child. Once I even entertained the nobles of Lichtenstein.” She shot a glance at Wolf to see whether he would be impresses but he barely seemed to register what she was saying.
“I´m not surprised you don´t know who they are,” Freya said with slight haughtiness. “But they were very famous during my time, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn´t, I care very little about the affairs of humans.” Instead he seemed to be caring about her, his eyes intensely flickering over her softly rounded thighs and the curve of her breasts.
“What if I told you that before I was a god, my name was Freya Von Rozen and I was a true lady?”
Wolf drew his eyebrows in confusion.
“Is that more special than being what you are now?”
“Depends on who you ask,” Freya said. “I think so at least.” Then she sighed. “Ok, maybe not. I couldn´t be underwater for five days straight as a lady.”
“Humans are fragile,” Wolf murmured. “Thoughtless, their minds bend easily from their emotions. And they can´t withstand extreme conditions.”
“Spoken like a true Frost Giant,” Freya snickered.
“I´m not a Frost Giant.” Wolf threw her a sharp look, leaning against the wall. “But my second father was.”
“Your second father?” Freya became intrigued and stopped playing. She crossed one leg over the other and put her chin in her hand. “What exactly are you?”
“A frost entity,” he said but that didn´t explain much.
“How were you created?”
Wolf stiffened.
“That´s a story for another day.”
“Come on tell me, I´m curious to find out.” She battered her eyelashes at him. “And don´t you want us to get to know each other? Since, we will be spending so much time together and all.”
He seemed to be weighing whether to tell or not to tell and Freya got the feeling that his creation, just like hers brought him pain. Wolf cleared his throat, lowering his icy grey eyes.
“Centuries ago there was a winter known as The Great Frost.”
“Such a fitting name,” Freya said and then shrunk from the look he gave her. “Sorry, continue.”
Wolf drew a deep breath. “My mother, a mortal woman was the only one in her village who had survived the cold, surviving even my mortal father. She was pregnant with me when she walked through a blizzard trying to reach another settlement.” He examined Freya cautiously as if her reaction was crucial. “After a while she grew thirsty, drinking snow she didn´t know was part of a Frost Giant who had been watching her, curious about her resilience to cold. Later, that same night she
