Page 26 of Wulver's Flame

Her spirit made my chest swell with pride—my flamehearted warrior. Fierce enough to join me in the afterlife, I cared not if it was in Odin’s hall or Freyja’s field.

Then I froze.

Whispers.

Faint. Unfamiliar. All around me.

I stood slowly, hand reaching for the sword in the chest. But before I could fully draw it, a voice—too near and soft—spoke beside my ear.

By the wolves of Fenrir, no other soul shall taste her fire.

She is yours, bound by blood and fate.

Yours to claim in every life.

The wolf and the flame.

Sköll lunged against my skin, snarling. He felt it too—something was too close to her, too near our mate.

And then, silence.

The whispers stopped.

But their words seared themselves into my mind, branding my soul.

By the wolves of Fenrir, no other soul shall taste her fire.

She is yours, bound by blood and fate.

Yours to claim in every life.

The wolf and the flame.

I repeated them over and over, like a rune etched into bone. A vow. A warning. A truth older than time.

Sköll. The exile. The scent trail that led us to her. The treaty. The chains. The heat. None of it was chance.

It was ordained by him.

I hadn’t spoken Fenrir’s name since the exile.

Hadn’t dared.

Now it pressed against the walls of my mind, like a god knocking from within. He hadn’t forsaken us. He’d guided us.

And he wanted her, too.

Sköll snarled, pushing against my skin, desperate to return to her. To keep her safe. To take her fully.

Because now I knew.

She wasn’t just mine by scent or bond.

She was mine by prophecy.

By blood.

By fate.