FJ
FJ has never missed his father more than he does before his official wedding. He harbors many questions about the nature of fated mates. Questions such as: are all fated mates so infuriating? So unrepentant? Furthermore, is it normal to feel such bitterness toward your fated mate while at the same time knowing you’ll stop at nothing to possess her?
Perhaps it is only the she-wolves of this time who cause their males such turmoil. FJ has heard the story of the woe that came before the great happiness of his parents’ prosperous marriage. It is a tale shared many times around their longhouse fire pit with his father never failing to give great laugh. But FJ cannot fathom now how his father ever forgave his mother when she did attempt to run after their first heating.
Mayhap because, unlike their she-wolf, she did not get very far.
These musings bring him little peace of mind as he observes his new pack.
He sits now in a great hall that is nearly twice as large as the one his kingdom uses for feasts and celebrations. And instead of a skald to provide music and stories, does this place have music that spills from magical black boxes interspersed throughout its ceiling. And what music it is. Violent chanting and dark drums.
FJ likes this music. It feels kin to him somehow, the ominous beats reflecting his true wolf’s soul in a way a lap harp never could. He also likes this pack.
He realizes this as he watches the Detroit wolves give into their revelry. Though dressed in white leathers, they are not nearly as refined as the smaller wolves of the Alaska pack. Much different from the Alaska pack, but more to FJ’s estimation like Vikings. And he does find something happily familiar in the way they call out to each other with loud voices as they tell many stories of past battles won.
Of course, everything he has agreed to has been for the purpose of securing the hand of their she-wolf. But his new pack displeases him not.
Save for their lack of red hair and the illicit wares they sell—strange medicines and weapons, according to the honored past fenrir—this place and these people remind him of his own. And despite his dark feelings toward his mate, Fenrisson believes he and his brother will fit in well with this pack of brown warriors and their dark beauties.
The Detroit fenrir, seated beside him, leans over to say, “Just got a text from Evelyn. Tiara should be coming down soon.”
The Detroit fenrir’s face is grim as he relays this news. Despite his agreement to their deal, FJ is well aware his marriage to the princess does not please the fenrir.
“How you want to do this? Burn and Fuck or Fuck and Burn? I’ve seen wolves do it either way.”
FJ considers the question for a few moments, then responds, “Fuck and Burn.”
“I’ll tell Yancey.”
If the Detroit fenrir is put off in the least by what shall soon pass, he gives no indication, FJ notes sourly.
Is this why their she-wolf so quickly betrayed them after giving her vow? He cannot help but wonder if her lack of fidelity is tied to having been raised by this man without mother. Yet she seemed so sincere… FJ thinks to the last night they all shared beneath the full moon. The promises they made to one another their seed took root within her belly.
And once again does his heart know great violence.
“Nah, fuck you, man! Fuck you! You want to go? You want to go? Because I will light a bitch up. Keep talking!”
The angry words bring FJ’s head from his morose consideration of their she-wolf’s motives. He looks in the direction of the shouting and sees the Detroit beta, the one called Yancey, insert himself into an argument between two males. But not before both have moved their hands to the hilts of the large metal weapons they, like the every other male in this pack, wear strapped at their sides. Under Yancey’s threatening stare, they eventually back down, but with a reluctance that speaks toward a later confrontation.
FJ frowns. It would seem many arguments within this pack are settled with these strange weapons. This is not good. According to FJ’s father, having wolves settle their grievances with their fists is the only way to solve arguments without losing males. And FJ remembers well, watching two quarreling wolves wrestle and beat upon each other until one or both did give in.
This is the way it shall be during his reign over their she-wolf’s pack, he decides. And once again does a feeling of absolute rightness take possession of him. He feels a sense of belonging here that he has never felt in his own time and place. This wild pack with its dark music and violent nature sings both to his human warrior’s spirit and his alpha wolf.
He also approves of the monstrous kingdom house which will soon become his. Not only because of its size—a mansion, as he has heard it called—but also because of its design. Distinguished as a home for the wealthy on the outside. But a fortress to behold on the inside.
It will be a good place to eventually raise and protect his family, he thinks.
If not for two things, he imagines he would now find himself well-content after reaching a contract with the Detroit fenrir. The need to go back in time to save his parents remains. As does the fact of his mate’s betrayal.
One of these things will be dealt with tonight.
He reaches out to his brother. “Are you with her?”
“You know I am,” comes the answer, short and grim.
FJ can all but see Olafr standing outside their mate’s door. Ever her protector. “Good, then you can bring her forth. It is time.”
A slight pause, then, “I am unsure we should participate in this ritual.”
“Would you have her run from us again?” FJ asks his brother. “Because she has not been properly punished?”
“I have her promise she will not run again.”
FJ resists the urge to roll his eyes within his head, as their mother oft does. He and his brother were in full agreement about what must happen when they stepped through the Alaska time gate into Michigan. However after availing himself of their she-wolf, now has Olafr suddenly become soft and decided to plead her case.
“She must be punished.”
“Must she?” his brother asks.
“I will not have her attempt to flee again.”
Even the thought of what she’d attempted to do, marry another, give another wolf claim to their pup, is enough to send a surge of rage through his body.
“As I have said, Brother, I have her promise she will not run.”
“Her promises no longer mean anything to me,” FJ informs his brother. Then before Olafr can irritate him further by once again coming to her defense, he says, “If you do not wish to see her suffer, you may wait upstairs while I mete out her punishment.”
Olafr’s mind becomes very quiet, then he says, “No, I am her protector. This have I promised. And I will not leave her unprotected. Not even with you, Brother.”
Something dark pulses inside FJ’s head. He dislikes that his brother thinks him incapable of maintaining control when it comes to their mate. He likes it even less that Olafr might be right. Even now can he feel his wolf pulsing inside him. Demanding his say. And even now does he swell below with the need to give their female punishment. To show her and every other member of this pack that he is her true fenrir—not the princeling wolf her father did choose.
Yet FJ can feel his brother’s disquiet thrumming over their mind link as if it were his own, like a lyre cord struck wrong.
In the end FJ shakes his head. Tells his brother, “If you wish to prepare her for what is to come, do so now. Otherwise, speak to me of this no further.”
Olafr keeps their mind link open for several beats of the ominous chanting music. And then finally, their connection goes quiet.