Page 45 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you called giants when you are only a few inches taller than us?” Shalendra asked, hoping to get an answer to her long-held question. “You seem very much like elves to me.”

“What you see is our normal forms. When we are driven by strong emotion, such as rage or extreme grief, our bodies change to a much larger size.” The brown-haired man answered.

“You grow taller?”

The red-haired man shook his head. “We grow both in height and girth. You would only recognize us by our features.”

She bit back a smile, unsure she could do such a thing. “That might be difficult since you and the brown-haired warrior look like brothers.”

Studying these two giants closer, she realized a few noticeable differences. While they had almost the same facial structures, the brown-haired man’s eyes were green, and the red-headed warrior sported dark blue eyes. “Are you two related?”

Her gaze met the leader’s. His black brow rose, and from the twinkle in his black eyes, she could have sworn he was smirking at her. “You have a good eye. As you probably noticed, I do not resemble either of my companions, who, by the way, are cousins.”

“Frost Giants are like all other races,” he explained. “We have many similarities and just as many differences in our features, shapes, and personalities. We have good and bad among us, and our ice cities are filled with art, music, and technologies yet to be discovered on Midgard or any other world.”

Shalendra could listen to his voice forever. She had never heard such a fluid tone as if the man sang each word. A low growl filled her head, and she frowned, glancing around to discover where the sound had come from. Other than the three giants and Loki, she and Cyran were alone.

“I will not return with you, Brath.” Loki straightened, his black eyes glittering like obsidian. Shalendra’s gut churned as a distressing sensation moved through her.

“Why should this time be any different?” Brath’s gloved hands tightened around the pommel of his sword.

“Brath, my name is Shalendra Elasalor. And, while I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Loki, my companion is in bad shape. He needs shelter and healing. Can you help us? Please?”

The imposing Frost Giant turned his dark gaze on her, momentarily dropping to Cyran. “Why are you in Jötunheimr? Without his knowledge or permission, no one gets past the king’s wards.”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. One minute, Cyran and I were escaping Nazi soldiers on Midgard. The next moment, we were flying through space, talking, and then he lost consciousness. We shifted off course and landed here. Believe me, it’s the last place I want to be right now.”

Brath leaned in closer, his face scowling down at Cyran’s immobile form, his face partially hidden against her stomach. “Did you say his name wasCyran? His surname wouldn’t be Daralei, would it?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes, it is. How in the world do you know him? Is it normal for people to travel from world to world? If so, I have some serious questions for my father.”

The brown-haired giant grinned, if it was a grin. His facial muscles did not seem to be used to the lopsided movement. “Cyran is a special friend to our king. My name is Kubrel Oldrok, and the redhead is Badoch Oldrok. Our fearless and rude leader is Brath Khuunverath. And yes, we all travel to different worlds quite often.”

“With his face planted against your chest.” Badoch's lips twisted as he tried to suppress his smile. “We now know why he never returned.”

She shifted Cyran’s head, ignoring the burning sensation spreading over her face as she gave them her fiercest scowl. “Was that necessary? It would be best if you learned female anatomy—my chest is higher, and he is facing my stomach. Get your mind out of the gutter. Will you help us or not? I trust you three more than I do Loki, so please get us out of here.”

Badoch leaned closer to his cousin. "What's a gutter and why would my mind be in it?"

Loki gave her an exasperated glance. “Seriously? What have I ever done to you? That’s the thanks I get for rescuing the two of you? Without me, you would be plummeting through space, probably frozen peoplecicles by now.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a frown. “What did you just say?”

Loki stared up at the sky, his brows drawn together in thought. “Well, I said you two would be plummeting through space, frozen.”

“Frozen like peoplecicles,” she said in a hushed tone. “I have never heard that word in all the centuries I’ve lived, and now, in only a few days, it has been said twice.”

Loki shrugged. “I first heard it about a century ago, I think, on Svartálfheimr when a young bloodminer got irritated with his grandfather for making him stand in an icy stream. It’s one of those words that sticks in your mind, so I borrowed it.”

She couldn’t stop the smile spreading over her face. “You borrowed Castien’s word. I can’t wait to tell him the great Loki is using it. He will either run for the hills, screaming all the way, or like it. I’m betting on the screaming reaction.”

She brushed Cyran’s damp hair with her fingers. “I guess you can’t beallbad if you would borrow a word like that.”

“You two are weird.” Badoch scowled, his gaze landing on Shalendra. “Who are you again?”

“I am the daughter of Hel and Émilien Elasalor.”

The three warriors warily looked at each other and then turned their gazes back on her. “TheHel? As in the queen of Helheimr? And Émilien—the cursed guardian of the Shadow Lands?” Brath asked.

---