Vindicated

I

was trapped.

Trapped within a body in the throes of its first heat. Trapped in an underground room with a crazed shaman. Trapped by a surge of magic that kept me rooted to the spot.

The bachelor pad’s stone walls closed in on me, making the space too hot, too crowded, too stifling for me to breathe. All the moisture in my throat evaporated, yet sweat poured down my brow, into my eyes, and down my bottom lip.

Behind me was the massive daybed, and in front of me was a glass coffee table and beyond that, a four-seater leather sofa. Light flooded my vision from the left of the room, where Fenrir had staggered, his body leaching magic through the crossbow lodged in his heart. I longed to reach out for him, but the sight of Grog advancing across the room was like a fist to the throat.

Without his cloak, the Norse shaman looked even more menacing, and as he swaggered toward me, the scent of motor oil filled my nostrils. When he stepped into a shaft of light, what I’d originally thought of as dirt encrusting his skin glistened.

My throat thickened with a surge of nausea that made me clutch at my neck. “What are you doing here?”

“Your heat.” Grog enunciated each syllable. “It drew me here like a siren’s song.”

Runes glowed from beneath the thick layer of black goo. Runes that I recognized from the headboard in my room that occasionally showed me carvings of the flying wolf. I sent a burst of magic into my legs, trying to dislodge them where Grog had stuck them to the floor, but it only held me tighter.

Fenrir slumped against the wall, his skin turning a horrific shade of green. His labored breaths rasped across my eardrums, making my stomach plummet. He slid down to the wall, looking like he was about to die.

“I wouldn’t glance his way at a time like this,” Grog said with a sneer.

My throat spasmed, and a ripple of pain seized my core. Clutching my belly, I doubled over and groaned, wishing I could break free of the enchantment entrapping my legs.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

Grog placed a thin hand on my shoulder, spreading the sensation of centipedes crawling across my skin. “Doing what, my dear?”

“You infiltrated the alpha’s grounds disguised as Frida, appeared across the grounds so only I could see you—”

“Isn’t the answer obvious?” He wrapped a hand around my forearm and yanked me to my feet.

“No,” I said through clenched teeth.

He shook his head. “What are they teaching you people in the Logris Academy?”

Another pain stabbed through my insides, making my knees buckle. I swung at Grog’s face but only managed to graze his beard on the way down. The wretched shaman pulled me upright again, only to shove me to the daybed. I sank into its soft cushions, my body seizing with the symptoms of my heat.

Fenrir’s pained groan made Grog’s head snap to the side, and he exhaled a hiss through his teeth.

“That bolt was supposed to keep him unconscious for at least an hour,” he muttered.

“Get out of here before he wakes up and tears off your head,” I snarled.

He slammed the butt of his staff on the floor, making it tremble. I tried to rise off the daybed, but a force of magic pulled me back to the cushions.

“There.” He stalked toward me, his indigo eyes glistening with lust. “No matter how much he huffs and puffs, he will never get through my ward.”

I bared my teeth. “If you touch me, he’ll make sure you die painfully—”

“Then Marchosias will enable me to rise from the dead, just as I did when I was shot.”

Bile rose to the back of my throat, accompanied by a bout of nausea so severe that it outshone my pain.

“What do you want?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

A shudder ran through my spine, but I held my muscles still, trying not to look overly disgusted. Grog seemed the type who enjoyed attention—perhaps I could keep him talking for long enough for Fenrir to rise, break through the ward, and tear his scrawny body into little pieces.

“It’s as I said.” He ran his long fingers down his matted beard. “The moment Beowulf told Alpha Gundahar and me about the deal he had made with Marchosias, I jumped at the opportunity to make a bargain with such an impressive demon.”

I shuffled back on the sofa, trying hard to keep my gaze on the shaman and not let it drift to where Fenrir lay with a crossbow through the heart.

“But what could an accomplished shaman like you possibly need from a demon?”

Grog grinned, baring a mouthful of teeth so broken, I wondered how he could eat. “An excellent question, my dear. You see, I’ve always wanted a wolf.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

His face fell, and his eyes hardened with malice. “Do you know what it’s like to grow up as a Neutral, knowing there is only one aspect to your soul? Shifters like you take your wolves for granted.”

I gulped, my breaths turning shallow. As an outcast, I had a good idea of what life as a Neutral could be like. Mum and I had spent my entire life being shunned by the other wolves and treated less than even those who couldn’t shift. But there was no point in telling any of this to Grog.