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Her Viking Wolf (50 Loving States #3) Page 43
Author: Theodora Taylor

He dragged her into his wet arms, holding her to him tightly as she cried, wishing to go forward in time again, if only to punish both of her parents for having done this to his queen.

But at the same time, he could no longer curse his fate or hers. What had happened to them both was the reason the spell had delivered him across time to her, his fated mate, his dark beauty, the one he had always been destined to love above all others.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHLOE wore the scrap of fabric with what she called the “divorce spell” on it pinned inside her wedding dress, right next to her heart. Fenris teased her about making it into a memento, but she didn’t care. It had shot past her woman’s dagger as her as most valued treasure, because it more than any told the story of how much Fenris loved her. And at the wedding when she and Fenris drank a special non-alcoholic version of bridal ale she’d concocted from the same wolf-head shaped drinking vessel, she held her hand over the divorce spell, not caring that the pin pricked her skin. After this, she decided, she’d wear it inside her tunic, as a daily reminder. She’d never forget her Viking would never abandon her.

At that point the festivities had been going on for nearly a week. The trading boats had returned, and it was the rare day that everyone in the village was given leave by Fenris the Serious to put aside their work and celebrate. Also, hundreds of alpha chieftains and their contingents had come from far and wide to celebrate the wedding of their king. The wolves of their village were taking full advantage of the many feasts and all the new faces. It caused Uncle Olafr to joke that at least two or three she-wolves would have gone into heat by the time the festivities were over. At least she thought he was joking.

In any case, to her great relief, though the young wolves flirted madly, with one of the alpha chieftains even putting in a heat night claim for Aunt Bera’s daughter, no one actually went into heat. And though the festivities went on for many days, it felt like Chloe blinked her eyes, and suddenly it was time for the wedding banquet. In her time, wolves married as any pregnant human would—as close as possible to the conception date, so as not to have a bride with a significant bump, and in one day with the usual wedding and reception to follow.

In this time, though, not only did they spend a week celebrating, but they also set up a small market so their many guests could trade and barter throughout the festivities. Instead of a receiving line, she and Fenris received many visitors in their longhouse over the week. While most weddings took place in the spring and summer in her time, most Norse wolf weddings took place as close to the fall harvest as possible, so as to ensure enough food for the festivities – there were even a few cases of wolf couples getting married after their pup was born if the conception happened right after the harvest times. And instead of a reception after the wedding, there was a wedding banquet before the ceremony.

Not coincidentally, every wolf but she and Fenris, was pretty drunk when they all spilled from their house to the meadow between the lake and the forest right before the moon was set to rise. Apparently they did not understand the meaning of solemn occasion, because Chloe could barely hear herself speak her vows above the hooting and hollering of the wolves of Norway, who all stood naked as the day they were born in a semi-circle around them.

But then, thankfully the moon rose, robbing all of the guests, except for Fenris and her, of their human speaking voices. Still, the wolves did manage to create quite a bit of ruckus as Fenris presented Chloe with a golden ring on the hilt of his sword. They howled to the sky, even more so, when Chloe put a gold band for Fenris on The King Maker’s sword and pushed the hilt back towards him to take.

But the biggest howls of all came when they kissed much longer than necessary under the light of the full moon, which hung large and low in the sky that night.

When they finally broke off the kiss, Fenris raised his sword in the air and pointed it toward the forest. It was Norse wolf tradition that the groom lead the pack on a hunt to fell a deer, while the bride went back to their home to prepare their bed with goldgubbers, palm-sized gold plates with wolves imprinted on them.

“Make quick work of the bed, beauty,” Fenris said inside her mind as he ran toward the forest with the other wolves at his heels. “As I will make quick work of this deer, so I might have the pleasure between your legs that much sooner.”

“I’ll get it decorated as fast as I can, considering I’m carrying a bowling ball around.”

“I know not what you mean by ‘bowling ball,’” he answered, somewhat predictably.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, heading back to the village. “I’m going now.”

She just hoped she was at least able to make it back to the longhouse before Fenris did. He was nothing if not quick, and as Rafe might have said, “Dude knows how to hunt.”

She smiled thinking of Rafe and Colorado. They were now like a memory that was good until it got bad, but then got good again, because she was now so happy. Rafe would eventually find another she-wolf, hopefully one who pleased him in every way as Fenris said often of her. And eventually his anger would fade, and he’d see their split, though dramatic and humiliating, was for the best.

Her thoughts were abruptly cut short by a low growl and the sudden stench of a wolf who had not taken his Saturday bath in a very long time.

She froze in her tracks when she saw a large red wolf, standing halfway between her and the door of the king’s longhouse.

Fenris had assured her all wolves were trained to be in control of themselves while in wolf form and she had seen for herself over the course of her seven months in the village how much more civilized they were in wolf form than people from her own time.

But she could tell just by looking at this wolf that he wasn’t civilized. Though, he wasn’t frothing at mouth, his gray eyes looked crazed.

She took two steps back and the wolf took as many steps towards her, crouching low.

“Fenris?” she said, calling his name out loud, because she didn’t quite know what to do.

Then the wolf charged her. She cried out and ran, hoping to God there wasn’t a distance limitation on telepathy as she yelled, “Fenris! Fenris! One of the wolves is after me, it’s trying to—”

A growl pierced the air beside her, right before the stinky red thing threw itself at her back, pitching her forward. She caught herself on her wrists, keeping her belly from hitting the ground. She had to protect the baby, she thought. But she also had to protect herself.

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Theodora Taylor's Novels
» Her Russian Surrender (50 Loving States #10)
» His One and Only (50 Loving States #6)
» Her Perfect Gift (50 Loving States #5)
» Her Viking Wolf (50 Loving States #3)
» Her Russian Billionaire (50 Loving States #2)
» The Owner of His Heart (50 Loving States #1)