Page 26 of Curses and Casualties
The massive wolf-man’s amber eyes bore into us, awaiting our response. Ryan hesitates for a moment, looking to Amara for guidance. When she gives a small nod, he steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me.
“I am Ryan,” he says, his voice steady despite the tension I can feel thrumming through our bond. “Alpha of this small pack of four. This is my mate, Georgia. We come seeking both your wisdom and aid.”
The leader’s gaze shifts to Amara, his expression unreadable. “Amara. You vouch for these outsiders?”
Amara bows her head respectfully. “I do. They carry a burden of great importance to all of us.”
The Úlfhéðnar’s massive form prowls closer, his nostrils flaring as he scents the air around us. His eyes narrow as they land on me, and I fight the urge to shrink back. “One of you is lame,” he growls.
I stiffen, but force my voice to remain clear. “That would be me. I have a limp from where my wolf entered my body.”
He huffs, a sound somewhere between derision and curiosity. “That’s the problem with you vessels. The pain of possession never fully heals, like your human side is constantlyfighting its connection with your wolf.” His gaze sweeps over both Ryan and me. “But I sense something different in your bond.”
He begins to circle us, sniffing the air and even going so far as to shove his nose into my hair. Ryan bristles, his instinct to protect me warring with the need to show respect.
That’s when I feel it—Luna stirring more strongly than she has in days. Not pushing to break free, but... responding. Like recognizing like.
Old wolves,she whispers in my mind, her voice clearer than usual.They remember the true ways.
The Úlfhéðnar leader—Ragnar, I realize—stops mid-circle, his head tilting as he studies me with renewed interest. “Your wolf speaks,” he says, and it’s not a question.
“Sometimes,” I admit, surprised by his perception. “She’s... trapped. Cursed.”
“And what is the nature of this bond?” Ragnar asks, his attention shifting between Ryan and me. “It’s much stronger than a typical pack’s. Is this what brings you to the Úlfhéðnar?”
Amara steps forward. “They are soul-bonded, Ragnar.”
Ragnar halts completely, his massive frame tensing as the word ‘soul-bonded’ hangs in the air like a palpable force. Around us, I hear sharp intakes of breath from the other Úlfhéðnar who’ve been watching from the shadows.
“The old bonds return,” one of them murmurs in what sounds like Old Norse.
Ragnar’s eyes narrow, reflecting a mixture of intrigue and suspicion. “Soul-bonded, you say? That is rare and powerful... and dangerous if not properly understood or controlled. Tell me, do you understand the full implications of such a bond?”
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze. “We are learning, daily,” I admit, proud when my voice doesn’t quiver with nerves. “It’s intense and all-consuming at times. We didn’tchoose this, but we’re determined to understand it and use it for the good of all.”
“The good of all,” Ragnar repeats, and there’s something almost sad in his tone. “Many have claimed such noble intentions. Few have proven worthy of the power they wield.”
“We only want to help fix what’s broken,” I whisper. “And to do that, I’m hoping that maybe... maybe you’d be able to help fix me, uh, my wolf.”
Ragnar’s lips twitch, almost imperceptibly. He steps back, his gaze shifting from me to Ryan and back again, as though he’s weighing our worth—or perhaps the risk we pose.
“Fixing what is broken is not always about mending,” he says, his tone changing to something more contemplative. “Sometimes, it is about understanding the break and learning from it.”
Amara steps forward at this. “What is to understand, Ragnar? We have all witnessed the consequences of centuries lived without the Soul Bond—our powers are failing, our numbers dwindling—and we can’t be idle any longer. We must get these two ready for the supermoon.”
“The supermoon,” Ragnar muses. He circles us once more, but this time his movements are less predatory, more... ceremonial. “Tell me, young ones. Do you know why we Úlfhéðnar have survived when so many old bloodlines have faded?”
Ryan and I exchange glances. “No,” Ryan admits.
“Because we honor the ancient ways. The first law, before all others.” His amber eyes seem to glow in the fading light. “Hospitality. Guest-right. To share food and fire is to share fate itself.”
He straightens to his full, imposing height. “You seek our aid. Very well. By the old laws, you will be our guests. Tonight, wefeast. We shall break bread together, share our mead, and you will tell us your tale.”
His gaze grows distant, as if seeing something beyond the physical world. “After I have heard your story, after the old gods have whispered their wisdom through the sacred smoke, we will know what path lies before us. Perhaps you will face trials. Perhaps we will forge an alliance. Or perhaps...”
He pauses, his nostrils flaring as if scenting something on the wind, something that troubles him. “Perhaps the gods have already set things in motion, and we all just have to watch.”
The cryptic words send a shiver down my spine, but his expression softens slightly.
