Chapter 11 | Grim

Chapter 11

Grim

I KEPT MY COMPOSURE while Hersir Jorthyr berated me.

By the time he was finished, he was nearly foaming at the mouth. The rage in his eyes matched my own when I was in a berserk frenzy.

The older man tried to stand toe-to-toe with me, with only a desk separating us. He was goading me, trying to get me to lash out—to add another mark against me, and prove his point that I was some sort of criminal.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

There was no denying I was misunderstood at Vikingrune Academy. When students learned I had two fathers, neither of them biological, they often looked askance at me. As if gay men raising a boy in the woods was the weird part, and not the fact I could turn into a fucking bear and rip people limb from limb.

Alas, I couldn’t complain. I was free here—as Jorthyr had painstakingly pointed out—had a woman I loved, and actually had people I called friends for the first time in my life.

It could be much worse. If Ingvus had his say, it would be.

Making enemies is never fun, I thought, before sensing the Hersir was finished with me.

With a nod and not a word, I left the room. Ravinica stood a few feet from the door, back against the stone wall, trying to play innocent.

I smirked, drinking her in from toe to crown. My little sneak was stunning, even when she was trying to act like nothing was amiss, whistling to herself.

Those long legs I could get lost in. Thighs that had only grown stronger and thicker as we hibernated for warmth and ate our weight during winter. A sturdy waist I needed to wrap my hands around, leading up to her heavy chest and muscled arms.

And that face. Fuck, that face. Pristine as the driven snow, yet slightly darker than most pale-folk from the fringes of her home in Iceland. Radiant platinum hair that glittered silver and black in the sunlight—gods, I missed seeing that mane in the sun. Ears that were adorable for their uniqueness, slightly tapered at the ends. Eyes that spoke to my soul, tinged gold and yellow like summer prairies. Lips that were full, delicious, pink, just waiting to be devoured.

I cleared my throat, blinking away the daydream of her, and started walking down the hall.

She followed, quickly shuffling alongside me. “Sooo,” she began, voice coy and drawling. “What did he want?”

I sniffed, staring straight ahead into the dark hall. My stomach growled, though whether it was from needing food or my desire for Ravinica, I didn’t know. “Nothing much,” I said, shrugging. “Wanted to wish me good luck this term.”

I hid my smile, forcing her to stare around my large body at my face. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed her shocked expression—eyes wide, lips slightly apart—ready to explode.

She knew I was lying to her. And I knew that she knew. But it was fun playing games with my little sneak, because she was adorable when she got flustered like this.

To her credit, she managed to stay silent. Which was how I knew she’d heard our argument and was just trying to see how much I would spill. Because Ravinica was not a quiet soul, like I was. She loved to talk, and I loved to listen.

She was champing at the bit to give her opinions, doing an admirable job of keeping it tamped down until I said something.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, toward the nearest mess hall in the southern region of campus, equidistant between Nottdan and Nottdeen.

Finally, I said, “How much did you hear, little sneak?”

“Everything!” she cried out immediately, unashamed I’d caught her eavesdropping. She threw her hands up, wrist bumping the spear sticking diagonally up from her shoulder at her back, and cursed. “What in all Hel, Grim? Who does he think he is?!”

“A Hersir, love. The Warden of Vikingrune Academy. His britches are, admittedly, massive.”

She scoffed at my side. “He’s not afraid to show it, either. Bastard.” The floodgates dropped, now that I’d given her an opening. “You know? I thought we were on good terms with Ingvus. I really did. Now I’m never going to smile at that haughty asshat for all my days.”

“I’m sure he’ll miss your smile, love.”

“He will when he’s getting the cold shoulder!”

“I don’t want you sacrificing your peace for the sake of some surly Viking. You are on good terms with him.”

“Which one is the surly Viking again—you or him?”

I glanced at her, my smirk widening. “Fuck off, sneak.”

She chuckled, looping her arm in mine and squeezing my hand as we walked through the hall like we were approaching a castle ballroom.

She rested her head on my shoulder as we walked. “I just don’t want you to be hated, Grim. Especially when you’ve worked so hard to make amends and strive to be the best bear you can be.”

“It will never be enough for some people, love. It’s a situation I’m familiar with, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. I don’t take it personally.”

She seemed shocked I was taking this in stride when, in her mind, this was another mortal nemesis we had to add to the list.

I didn’t view Hersir Jorthyr in that light. In his eyes, I was a villain who had gotten away with doing terrible things. Truth was, I had gotten away with doing terrible things. But that didn’t make me a villain.

I couldn’t prove it to Ingvus, and I wouldn’t waste my labor trying. I could accept his loathing—even if Ravinica couldn’t.

“I’m familiar with that situation too, big guy,” she muttered at my side, patting my hand. “I think seeing it play out to someone I care about triggers me.” Ravinica’s voice lowered. “I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

Her words slowed my gait. I turned to her, running a hand down the back of her skull, caressing her hair. It was one thing for vigilante Hersirs to target me with their wrath, but hearing the forlorn tone in Ravinica’s voice was not okay.

Odin’s balls. How could I forget my little sneak was shunned, abandoned, and ridiculed most her life, just like me? If anyone understands the intense loneliness of solitude, it’s her.

I dipped my head and pressed my lips to hers, surprising her, wrapping her smaller frame in my arms. “You have nothing to be sorry about, sneak,” I whispered in the shell of her ear. Pulling my face back from hers, massaging her chin with the pad of my thumb, I smiled adoringly at her. “You have no idea what it means to have someone care so much about me, Ravinica.”

She sniffed, blinking hard to force back any emotion, and nodded. I caught the slight tremble in her chin, and realized she had been more triggered than she was letting on.

It agonized me to see her like this—so filled with feeling and empathy for someone like me.

“The feeling is mutual, big guy.”

With one more kiss, we continued down the corridor, our fingers entwined.

“I beg you don’t worry about Hersir Jorthyr,” I said after a while. We were getting close to the cafeteria. “He’s still embarrassed and humiliated about me escaping his jail after wrongly arresting me.”

Ravinica barked a quick, humorless laugh. “Good. I hope he stays humiliated.”

I laughed, shaking my head. There’s no denying your vindictiveness, is there? Gods above, I’d hate to be on your bad side.

I said, “So I guess, in that respect, he has Sven, Magnus, and Dagny to blame. They’re the ones who broke me out. Though of course he doesn’t know that.”

“He never will.” Her voice was short, clipped, obviously still thinking about Ingvus and all the twisted ways she wanted to end him.

Who ever said you’re a lousy assassin, hmm?

“He said you belong in a cage, Grim. That’s fucked up.”

I raised a finger as we walked. “He said I don’t belong outside of one.”

“Semantics.”

“I’ve lived in cages before, lass. Maybe he’s not wrong. I did kill Anders Rennarfen, after all.”

“Who poisoned you! It wasn’t your fault he induced your berserk rage.”

She had a point. But murder was murder. There was no such thing as good murder, in my mind. Justifiable murder? Well, that was different.

For instance, if anyone tried to harm Ravinica, I would justifiably slaughter them. I was on the same page with Magnus, Sven, Corym, and Arne in that respect.

As we passed a wall sconce, the murky fire incited something inside me. I figured it was combined with the harsh situation I’d just faced in front of Ingvus, and the mention of slaughter , and my head reeled back suddenly.

A repressed memory swept through me, unbidden, fragmented because I had pushed it down for so long.

Torchbearers, screaming through the woods.

Enraged faces, led by hounds, eager for blood—eager to strike down the feral, uncivilized boy raised by feral, uncivilized men.

Kerr and Koll, my fathers, protecting me to the last, even as the torches, pitchforks, and spears surrounded our woodland cabin.

My first berserk rage at seeing them murdered before me, in cold blood, and left on the muddied soil with their blood slashed across the leaves on the ground.

Only putting up a fight to save me—not to save themselves. Because they hadn’t wanted to harm humans.

My nostrils flared, both in the memory and in real time.

My body went taut.

Ravinica noticed. Her pace slowed, face turning. “Grim? Are you all right?”

Her voice drowned away.

I recalled my first berserk rage following my fathers’ deaths. The first sign of my curse—either emerging then because of that awful situation, or erupting for the first time, buried up until then beneath my skin and bone.

The wholesale slaughter that followed.

My teeth ripping into flesh. My bloodied nails turning into flaying claws, eviscerating, killing, and killing some more.

The field of blood and gore and entrails. The screams morphing into wails and cries for mothers.

The methodical way I made sure each and every one of them was dead, but not before they suffered.

“Grim?” Ravinica eked, stealing me from my dismal thoughts, slowing our walk to a complete stop. “Love?”

Her hand tightened on mine.

I blinked away the memory, the redness from my eyes. The sadness and rage. Shaking my head furiously, I cleared my throat. “Sorry.”

“Where . . . did you go?”

“Bad memory. That’s all.”

She said nothing.

I said, “Come on. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

The dining hall was close. I could hear a clamor inside, around a few bends that opened up into a vast cave.

I didn’t particularly want to be surrounded by others at the moment. Not when I was feeling vulnerable and lost in my thoughts.

But Ravinica made me stronger. She firmly held my hand, staying by my side.

The first to ever stay by my side. My queen.

Our walk was barely a crawl. I resisted moving forward. Ravinica didn’t rush me.

“I sought refuge once before,” I said abruptly. My thoughts didn’t feel like my own.

“Really?” she asked softly. Not prying, but curious.

“As a boy. In the woods, after . . . my fathers.”

“Right,” she said, not forcing me to say more—not forcing me to continue reliving that fateful day that changed me forever. The day that made me who I was today, and would always be.

Ravinica had done her best to change me, and change I had. However, the visceral truths of me could never shift. My story could never change. All I could do was add chapters and hope to craft a new story with my silver-haired goddess and her mates.

“I won’t seek refuge again,” I said sternly, staring forward and backward into the past simultaneously.

Ravinica rubbed my tense shoulder. “You’ll never have to, love. Not with me around. I swear it.”

I nodded, decisively. “I know it, Vini. In my bones, I know it.”

I started walking a little easier. She did the most to fortify me, and I’d forever be thankful for her friendship and love.

“Is that how you came here, Grim?” she asked, her voice still soft. “Escaping your refuge, coming out of hibernation?”

There was a sad smile on her face, and I matched it with one of my own. When my smile faltered, I told her the rest of the tale she didn’t know about, quick as I could.

“Refuge and solitude only made me more feral. It wasn’t sustainable. Eventually I left the woodland sanctuary I’d surrounded myself in, once I was years removed from the humans. I ran far from my past, joining a village of strangers who knew nothing of my . . . sordid history. I was tall and broad, even as a cub. A hard worker. They couldn’t turn that away. And eventually, after a few years, the Wraiths arrived on our shore like they did for everyone else. I was chosen by my village to represent us.”

I hadn’t strung that many words together in a row in years—likely since that fateful, fiery day in the woods, before my fathers had been brutally killed.

My rage made me silent and stoic.

Ravinica brought light out of me. Without needing to try, she led me away from my sorrows and filled me with hope, vigor, and words of kindness.

She was the perfect foil for the vindictive rhetoric of Hersir Ingvus. Stealing his hate and replacing it with love.

“It’s a story of resilience, Grim,” she said at last, squeezing my hand tighter. Her voice was soft. “A story I’m proud to join, so we can continue building it together.”

I smiled at her then. Genuine, loving, adoring.

Then a sniveling whelp had to pop out of the cafeteria we stood in front of, open his mouth, and ruin everything.

Damon Halldan was suddenly in front of us, sneering. “Well met, sister.”

Our faces, lips so close before, veered to the grating sound of his voice.

“Damon,” Ravinica said darkly. Her mood soured as quickly as mine.

Her younger half-brother raised both hands, palms up in apparent surrender. “Please, sister, I beseech thee. Break bread with me.” His eyes twinkled roguishly. “So we can try to get past this . . . bad blood . ”