Page 50 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

Loki was a trickster god and created chaos for his own end—namely, to have more power. Demons were notorious for complete anarchy, and with Fer-Diorich unleashing the Unseelie Court’s prisoners, no world would survive.

“You’ll leave over my dead body!”

Cyran glanced up at Badoch, his usual easygoing composure gone. The giant now stood a bit taller, and his muscles more prominent. Badoch’s anger and frustration not only beat at him but seemed to be forcing his alter ego to make an appearance, which would only result in the chaos Loki thrived in.

Reaching out, he laid his hand on his friend’s thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Badoch, we will figure out what needs to be done. It would be best if you pulled back. Letting your emotions take over won’t help any of us.”

The giant's dark blue eyes speared his, the zigzagging lines of blood leaching through the whites of his eyes receding as he pulled back his anger.

“Better?” Cyran asked. At the other male's slight nod, he turned his attention to Loki. “None of us have the power to release you—only King Khuunverath can reverse the curse and set you free. I fear he will not listen to reason. Not after you betrayed his trust the last time.”

Shalendra’s gaze jerked upward, frowning at her grandfather. “You’ve been here before? Grandfather, what did you do?”

Loki’s expression was unreadable. “Which are you referring to? When I was here the last time or what I did?”

Her scowl deepened. “You know darn well what I’m referring to. It does not matter when you were last here, butwhatyou did. How old must you be until you realize your actions are everything? Even a child learns about repercussions.”

“You sound just like your mother. What I did wasn’t that bad. Who I did it to, though, got me in trouble.” Shalendra’s eyes closed to mere slits, and Loki exhaled. “Fine, I will tell you the whole story, but it doesn’t matter because King Uppitypants will never forgive and forget, much less allow me to leave this horrible place.”

Loki turned and stepped closer to the fireplace, his hands rubbing his arms. The telling motion was unusual for him. “The last time I was here, the king’s mother decided she would try her hand at taming my desire to cause trouble. At first, it was ridiculous and very annoying. I was thousands of years old, and she treated me like a child.”

“Youarea child,” Badoch muttered.

Ignoring him, Loki continued. “One day, the king arrived unannounced and saw me at my finest—throwing a tantrum. His mother’s house was all but destroyed. She took it in stride because, unlike her son, she had complete faith that I would be remorseful later and return everything to its proper place. The king didn’t allow me that courtesy. Ignoring his mother, he sent me to the dungeons, where I met someone who could free me. Unfortunately, that would set in motion events I couldn’t control.”

Shalendra gripped Cyran’s arm and then rose, moving closer to Loki. She laid her hand on his hand, her face serene as she looked up at him. “Grandfather, what happened?”

Loki turned his head, and Cyran witnessed the momentary acceptance of her question and the brief glimpse of sorrow. Strange, coming from the god of mischief. In all the centuries he had known Loki, he had never seen any sign of emotion other than greed and devilry.

Loki turned his gaze back to the fireplace. “I met a demon named Azazel who promised me freedom if I helped him. Stupidly, I never even questioned him. I just wanted out, so I agreed. He took me to an even deeper level where two more prisoners were being held. A couple named Olivier and Jessica Elasalor. Your aunt and uncle, although I didn’t know that at the time, not that it would have made a difference.”

Loki straightened and turned to face her and the two Frost Giants, who were, surprisingly, quiet. “I didn’t like how the demon behaved with the couple, especially the woman. He was drawn to her, and she seemed to calm him. Once we left this world, it got worse. I later discovered this demon is actually the leader of some rebellion, and in several religions, he is blamed for others’ sins. He would have bouts of uncontrollable anger and righteousness, drawing energy from Olivier, becoming one with him.”

“I don’t understand,” Shalendra said. “What does that mean, becoming one with him?”

Cyran moved behind her, drawing her back against him as he studied Loki. “He means they became symbiotic. Once free from the prison, the demon’s powers were unleashed and will continue to worsen until the man’s energy is used up.”

Shalendra’s small whimper tore at his heart. He kissed the top of her head, his gaze meeting Loki’s. “Do you have any idea where they ended up?”

“I have my suspicions. This story gets even more twisted and layered. We went to Midgard, and Azazel met up with a Dark Fae—Fer-Diorich—and Haman Daralei, who were plotting to help a Nazi named Himmler with a project to guarantee the Axis armies won the war.”

“Werewolves.” Shalendra closed her eyes a second and continued in a small voice. “They were creating an army of werewolves to help Hitler win the war on Midgard and help Óðinn gorge on power. According to my father, the Dark Fae planned on overthrowing both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts to kill off the king and queen and take over the realms.”

“Dear gods…” Kubrel and Badoch said in unison.

“This is worse than we thought,” a new male voice said behind them. They all turned to see Brath and an older man standing just inside the doorway.

Kubrel and Badoch bowed at the waist. “My Lord,” they said in unison, their voices so similar they sounded like one man.

Cyran smiled and, moving past Shalendra, walked toward them and clasped the man’s arm at the elbow. “Sondor, it is good to see you again.”

Sondor returned the warrior’s gesture. “I heard you weren’t doing so well and had Brath bring me in case you needed me.” He peered around him, his merry gaze on Shalendra. “But I see you are in excellent hands. Now, introduce me to your lovely woman, my friend.”

“Certainly, my lord.” Cyran turned, holding out his hand. Shalendra threaded her fingers through his, and he pulled her forward, wrapping his arm around her slender shoulders. “Shalendra Elasalor, this is King Sondor Khuunverath, Lord and Regent of Jötunheimr.”

The king shook his head and grimaced, but Cyran caught a glimpse of laughter in his dark blue eyes. “We are not so formal here, at least I’m not. I would prefer you address me as Sondor—your friend.”

Shalendra nodded, regal in her own right, and smiled. “Thank you, Sondor. It is an honor to meet you.”

---