Page 50 of Winter Lost

He sounded as though he expected me to bow to him, or tremble in fear. I was afraid, but his expectation that it was his due was annoying. The trembling I was doing had more to do with being wet and cold, or so I told myself staunchly. The wind and the storm. Hah. He was lucky I had a liberal arts degree so I knew what “puling” meant.

Adam bumped me hard because he knew me inside and out. Don’t be funny, he was telling me. Don’t be a smart-ass. Remember this is the guy who pulled up a storm that is blanketing three states.

The knowledge of how far out of our league this one was, was not useful, because when I’m really scared, really really scared, the other thing I get is angry.

Remember your brother, Adam’s second bump said.

Adam was very smart, even when I was putting words into his mouth.

It was the thought of my brother’s plight that allowed me to swallow what I wanted to say and change it into something that was more in keeping with good manners and common sense.

“We’ve felt your magic in the wind,” I said, “but we knew of you before that, Hrímnir.” My tongue didn’t want to make the rolling “r.” I ended up putting too much emphasis on it, so his name came out sounding more sarcastic than I meant it to. I went on before he had a chance to notice. “My brother came to our house unable to understand what he sees or hears. Unable to make himself understood. Ymir tells us that it’s your magic that holds him. I am here to ask you to free him of your magic.”

He stared at me with cold, predatory eyes—and I knew better than to meet the eyes of a predator unless I wanted a fight. There was something about his gaze that made it impossible to look away, the way I should have. I couldn’t sense any magic, but it was very, very hard to breathe. I was pretty sure there was a lot of magic around that only my lungs were aware of. Maybe he was hiding it. Maybe there was so much magic that I’d overloaded my ability to detect it.

At least I wasn’t drowning in insight. I had a feeling, call it self-preservation, that Hrímnir wasn’t someone whose soul I wanted to read accidentally. Or otherwise.

“I know why you are here and what you want,” the frost giant said. “My brother told me to expect you.” His eyes went from me to Adam. “Are you his? Wolves are his to call.”

A low growl rumbled out of Adam before he could stop it. And that’s when I figured out that the Jötunn wasn’t asking if I belonged to Adam. Hrímnir thought we might belong to Ymir. I wondered if that would be a good thing or a bad thing as far as getting the frost giant to fix my brother.

“Werewolves belong to themselves,” I said firmly.

Hrímnir made a scoffing noise.

“Ymir took one of our pack,” I told him. “Adam took her back.” I waited a beat. “Ymir apologized.”

The frost giant gave me a look of utter disbelief.

“He didn’t mean it,” I acknowledged. “But we did get her back.”

“He said you weren’t his.”

Yep, I thought, even his brother knows Ymir can lie.

“We aren’t.”

He stared at me again, but this time I took care to keep my eyes on his beard. He gestured to the wintry world around us and a gust of wind cut briefly through the stillness.

“I thought you would take the hint that you were not welcome. He—” He broke off abruptly, and his breath fogged in the chill. The ambient temperature dropped—my childhood senses, attuned to winter, told me it was down by twenty degrees or more. There is a feel to the air when the world achieves below-zero temperatures.

“If you take the spell off my brother,” I told him, “we will be happy to leave.”

It was the wrong thing, and I knew it as soon as I said it. He didn’t have to wait for us to leave. He could kill us here and now, and neither my brother nor Adam and I would be any bother at all. I didn’t need Adam’s warning bump to tell me I’d screwed up.

Hrímnir turned away, the skins flaring around him like a cape. I was pretty sure those were wolfskins, very large ones. The relief of being out from under the frost giant’s regard, of being able to breathe again, made me a little light-headed. He paced in an angry, agitated circle, and when he was looking at me again, he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No. You should leave.”

I was pretty sure he hadn’t been considering letting my brother go. We were lucky in his choice—but it didn’t feel that way. I had to persuade Hrímnir to release my brother.

I needed a way in. Something we had in common. What did I have in common with an ancient frost giant except my brother? And I’d just proven that was less than useful just now.

Reading fairy tales had become something of a passion with me because I dealt so much with people who had inspired them. More than once I’d found a kernel of truth that helped me. The fae love to bargain, I thought. I was pretty confident that the Jötnar weren’t fae, no matter what they had told the government. But a bargain was almost legal tender among the creatures of power I’d met, not just the fae.

“Is there anything we can do for you that would change your mind?” I asked carefully.

Hrímnir started to reply—a negative by his body language. Then he hesitated, closed his mouth, and frowned at me. “What is it you think you can do for me?”

---