Epilogue

Drysi was sleeping in the small bedroom as Loki studied the calendar in the kitchen.

After being thrown from the tower top, he’d landed on a boulder, snapping his spine in two. The fall would have killed a mortal, but Loki had simply healed himself. Then, in the confusion of the mass exodus from the island, he’d discovered the girl on her side, barely conscious. She’d been pitched from the chair with the force of the explosion. He was about to walk off when he heard her voice.

‘Wolf-father.’ It was weak, barely audible. ‘Wolf-father, Hel is alive. Fenrir hid her.’

He turned back, picked her up and strode away.

After a night of wandering the countryside, he came across the empty holiday home. It was a pretty, modern bungalow overlooking a hillside. Family photos of the owners covered the walls. They obviously only lived at the property during the warmer summer months. Loki broke in with little difficulty and that’s where they’d been ever since.

Loki – all alone in the kitchen – never slept. He didn’t need to. He spent the days and nights looking at the calendar he’d pulled off the wall, staring at the date he’d circled with his own blood.

If what Drysi had said about his daughter being alive was true, then Arthur had defeated him for the last time. He would find his daughter. But first he had to find Fenrir. His son had gone missing in the mêlée and only he knew the location of Hell’s Keeper.

Loki smirked. He knew that with Drysi’s help he would find Fenrir. They just had to wait. Until the next full moon …