Chapter Twenty-Eight

A good destiny is when two people find each other without even looking.

—Unknown

 

THE PRESSURE OF sharp teeth around his throat, cutting off his airway, woke Penn. The low growl and jerk made it clear this was his end as Penn stared into ice-blue eyes and saw his own reflected back at him within the dark pupils. The teeth pressed harder, close to breaking the skin, the Wolf’s mouth and breath hot on Penn. He relaxed; it would be so, his fate and his end, and he was not afraid.

So he closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, baring his throat to his god in supplication for a clean and quick death. He thought of his loving mother. It would be fitting to let her be his last thought, but his own mind betrayed him as Penn thought instead of his only regret, that he would leave this world without ever having found his mate. Never being able to give another all the love he had to offer. A single tear rolled over the imagined loss of something that never was and never would be.

There was a long moment of silence. Then, the Wolf bore down and bit, but not enough to seriously harm. Penn didn’t cry out, though it hurt. He was confused when the pressure released, and the massive Wolf stood over him, sniffing at the corner of his eye and then his neck and hair. Penn didn’t dare move as the Wolf scented him. He kept his eyes closed, and his head turned in submission, awaiting some sort of decision. Penn flinched as a wet tongue swiped the side of his neck, a snout nosed him to turn, and the other side was licked clean. Then the Wolf growled over him.

Penn blinked open his eyes, staring at canine fangs. A shiver went down Penn’s entire body. At another growl, Penn stared into his eyes and dared not blink as his god looked into his soul. A moment later, the great weight moved off him and back to the pallet with a limp. He lay down, but his eyes searched the room.

Penn sat up slowly, head lowered, eyes on the floor. “There is food and clothing for you.” And he waited. Penn closed his eyes tight and covered them with his hands at the sound of a shift, a rustle of fabric as an enormous body moved around the cavern.

“Name,” the gruff voice asked above him.

“My name is Penn Halvorsen, formerly of the Mitchum pack. Lone Wolf.” Penn knew his god would already know these things. Still, he wouldn’t deny answering all he wanted to know.

“Who am I?” he asked.

“You are Iver Jorgensen, adopted son of Alpha Gundar Jorgensen of the Bellum pack. One of the four Pillar Wolves. The Riddle Wolf. Immortal, undying, healer, and executioner. Wolf of justice for all Wolf law. Firstborn of Elvenia, The Great Mother, and Akela, The Great Father. Eldest brother to Pillars: The Enigma, The Fortune, and The Wave. Bellum pack Warrior, front guard. Defeated by the Mitchum pack and left for dead without ritual or rites.” Penn recited his history to the present day and then swallowed hard.

Iver grunted, and Penn removed his hands from his eyes but kept them aimed at the floor as he heard Iver move to the food and take the pot from the stones. Penn listened to the scrape of a spoon on metal.

“How did I get here?” Iver asked.

“I found an injured Wolf by the river. I made a sled and dragged you to the only place I knew no one would come. I knew you were Bellum, but not the Riddle Wolf. I treated you, cleaned you up, and—” Penn swallowed again.

“Go on,” Iver said as if amused.

“I bathed you at this pool; that’s when I knew who you were,” Penn said.

“You bathed me,” Iver repeated, but he wasn’t asking a question, and Penn wanted to crawl under a rock and happily stay there for the rest of his life.

A sound, something like a grunt, came from Iver and then silence as he ate and drank.

“Why have you broken from your pack? Why have you risked going feral?” Iver asked.

“I didn’t want them to find me while you were healing. We’ve been here for many days. I think a few weeks since the battle.”

“What did you give me?”

“IV antibiotics for the infection, a binding agent for the iron poisoning, and saline to hydrate.” Penn pointed to the glass bottles without looking up.

“Did you call for my siblings?” Iver challenged.

Penn nodded. “Aye.”

“Ja,” Iver corrected.

“Ja,” Penn repeated.

“They did not come?” Iver asked.

“The water was warm, the cave was safe, the food was plentiful. I didn’t get caught when I stole the supplies,” Penn explained.

“Were you not a Mitchum when you took them?”

“Ja,” Penn said.

“Then you did not steal,” Iver said, and Penn heard the metal bowl being set down, the metal water container scraping as it was lifted. Then came the tearing of meat from bones.

Penn stayed silent and waited for the next question.

“What cave is this?” Iver rumbled between bites.

“This is the Cave of the Chindi,” Penn said in a whisper and cringed.

But Iver let out a good laugh this time. “You hear that Sven?”

There was no answer Penn could hear, and Iver spoke again.

“Get up; eat the last rabbit,” he said.

Penn went to the fire, tended it, and then took the rabbit from the flat stone. He sat and ate quietly.

“Your many scars—they are from the battle,” Iver said more than asked.

“Ja.” Penn turned, showing his face and then twisted, revealing his chest, side, and back. “They won’t heal.”

“No, they will not,” Iver said.

Penn dared not look directly at him but saw out of the corner of his eye the hulking warrior he was, in only the loose pants, and that he had stretched back out and was inspecting his leg. Penn could see the ancient runes and designs tattooed into his skin. He was bigger than any man Penn knew, even Ryan. Iver was truly a god. Penn focused back on his food.

“So you helped the enemy,” Iver finally said.

“Ja,” Penn admitted.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Surely your Wolf said no.”

“He did,” Penn said.

“But you dragged me here anyway. And my siblings did not come.”

Penn swallowed. “I believe they came to me in a dream, but I didn’t speak their language.”

“Ah.” Iver sounded amused. “Come to me then.”

Penn sucked in a breath and tossed the remains of his meat into the fire. He quickly washed his hands in the pool, approached Iver, and knelt on both knees with his head down. A large palm covered his head. Penn closed his eyes, and he and Wolf willingly opened their minds to their Pillar. The hand was warm, and Penn felt tired, lazy almost, and then it was as if Grace had given him a dose of something to sleep. Strong arms lifted him, and Penn blinked to drunkenly see, at last, the face of the Riddle Wolf, likely the last face he’d see in this realm. And he wasn’t only magnificent but beautiful, Penn thought as he drifted into oblivion.

*

“SKINNY,” SVEN SAID. “But brave to bring you here.”

Iver nodded as he looked down at the sleeping form of his savior.

“He’s handsome, even with all the scars,” Britt said quietly.

“Immortal now, brother.” Hanne tsked.

“That’s right,” Sven accused with a look.

Iver ignored them, not acknowledging that he’d bitten Penn and then healed him.

“That was no slip,” Britt agreed, then giggled.

Iver gave her a shove, and she just laughed harder at him.

“Did you bring my things?” Iver asked them.

“Yes,” Hanne said and sat down on the pallet. She stroked Penn’s hair.

“Stop that,” Iver snapped at her, and she just gave him a knowing smirk as she got up and then winked at their sister.

“Mark him before the Tribunal.” Britt’s tinkling voice teased him as they each kissed Iver’s cheek and disappeared.

Iver sighed, then sat on the pallet and stared at Penn for what seemed like forever. He’d lived a long, long time. While most Wolves were nearly immortal, he actually was. He and his three siblings. Born in the first litter of the Makers, he was Ivarr, the firstborn and was white like his father but with the black tip on his tail from his mother. His magic, his gifts were strongest from her, but his great strength and human appearance were of his father.

The second-born son was Sven, a black Wolf with four white stockings. He had magic over the land. Where he walked, the earth would either flourish or fold. He could create feast or famine, a forest or a desert. And he was called the Enigma.

Third-born, a daughter, was Britt, and her Wolf had a black outer coat with a white undercoat. She had magic over the beasts. She could create and take away, keeping the chain of life in harmony or causing extinction. And she was called the Fortune.

Fourth-born, a daughter, was Hanne; her Wolf was white, with specklings of black that filtered through the white on her coat. She had magic over the sky and the water. She could bring a storm or the sun and controlled the wind. The goddess of fire. She could fill the waters with fish or let them run dry. And she was called the Wave.

The four first children, the Riddle, the Enigma, the Fortune, and the Wave. Feared and honored throughout Wolf history and by all Wolves. Unlike the litters that followed, they were the four Pillars of their race, gifted with true immortality and powerful magic by their mother to ensure the harmony and balance of their world. After the firstborns, she was never able to gift it again. Her God, the Creator, commanded it so. These four would wander the world maintaining equilibrium, rewarding and punishing Wolves who did and did not live by Wolf law.

Second and third litters, their other siblings, had possessed some magic and their father’s line. They had traveled far and wide to create one race. And when their parents continued their eternal life amongst the stars, Iver, Sven, Brit, and Hanne left their homeland in four different directions as fated. They would fulfill their eternally bound duties to mate, live, and have their own offspring. All the siblings were mated except for Iver. He’d spent his life with family after family as their other son, taken in and cared for, loved as he did his work. But in all that time, he’d never found his mate.

Each of them had been gifted with the ability to give immortality to one mate. Iver stared down at Penn. He wasn’t the mate he’d imagined for himself, but he couldn’t ignore how his Wolf sang the word, drumming it relentlessly into his ear. It often happened this way, with the Wolf knowing before the human form did.

Mate, Wolf confirmed.

“So it shall be,” Iver said and closed his eyes. He placed his hand over Penn’s heart, reciting the first language.

Looking at him one last time, Iver memorized his appearance. He leaned down and inhaled, learning Penn’s scent for himself. His Wolf already knew. Then, Iver slipped the Tribunal scroll into Penn’s hand.

*

PENN WOKE TO a fire burning and a plate of food left for him. The lantern was lit and turned low, and he saw that his other belongings, the furs, were all missing. He was dressed in the loose clothing he’d brought from the packhouse, and in his hand, he held the rolled parchment.

“No.” Penn cursed and closed his eyes. He already knew what this was. This wax-sealed, gold-ribboned parchment. Penn rubbed at his aching chest and sat up, still groggy. He reached for the glass filled with an unfamiliar liquid. He swallowed it and instantly began to feel better as he took another look around the cave.

“He took my stuff,” Penn said aloud, wondering. But he was hungry suddenly, so he ate the food on the plate—meat and fruits he didn’t know but didn’t question as he finished them. Then, even more thirsty, he drank down the last of the sweet liquid. His head was much clearer, and he studied the scroll again. Peeking in the end of it, plenty of words rolled in on themselves, and he understood he had a job to do.

Penn decided to leave the bedding and straightened it. He rinsed his plate and glass, put out the fire, and left everything there. Penn pulled on his socks and shoes, tucked in his shirt, and headed to the packhouse. He couldn’t restore his links without permission from his Alpha, so he would have to wait at the northern border.

And so, he did.