Page 18 of Fenrir

Grace laughed. He’d asked her that a dozen times over the past months.

She slid her wrist from his grip and patted his shoulder. “When you can shift into a wolf and both outrun me and best me in a wrestling match.”

His buddies laughed heartily.

“That’s never gonna happen,” one said.

“You have a better chance of Lucifer promoting you to general of the army than have that happen,” said another.

The demon chuckled and winked at Grace. “You never know. It could happen.”

She snorted. “Well, when it does, you let me know.”

She turned from the table and stepped toward another one when she stopped, and the hairs on her neck stood up. Her spirit woke up so suddenly that weird sensation passed through her. Like an electric wire had attached to every fiber of her body.

She turned slowly to find Fenrir standing at the bar staring directly at her. Was that it? Was he it? That feeling she’d felt so many times while at Odin’s? Had Fenrir been in the bar those times?

His gaze bore into her, and she wasn’t sure if she should go to him or run out the back door.

“Grace?” Odin beckoned her over.

Her feet felt like lead as she moved toward the two gods. She was still a good twenty feet away when Fenrir’s scent invaded her, making her mouth water to lick him to see if he tasted like oranges.

Stop that! Her cheeks flushed.

Again, he wore a heavy metal band t-shirt and low-slung jeans. Rings adorned his fingers that she hadn’t noticed before, and several earrings ran up his earlobes. But it was his hair that surprised her the most. He’d pulled it back in a bun, and she saw for the first time that the sides of his head were shaved short. Underneath the short hair just above his right ear, a deep jagged scar marred his scalp, running upward and disappearing into his long hair.

She growled, wanting to know who had hurt Fenrir.

Seriously? The dude is forever old. It could have been anyone.

The thought made Grace almost gasp. How the freak old even was Fenrir?

By the time reached the bar, she was hugging her tray so tight she feared she might crush it.

“Grace,” said Odin. “This is Fenrir. I think you two met last night at the Speed Dating event?”

Grace nodded, her throat so dry she couldn’t even swallow air if she’d tried.

“He’d like to speak with you,” Odin said.

Grace broke her gaze from Fenrir for the first time and looked at Odin. “I… uh… my break isn’t for another hour.”

Odin waved her off. “You can take it now.”

She looked back at Fenrir, who stood completely still, not moving an inch, like a living rock and roll god. In that moment, she pictured him holding an electric guitar and smashing it on the stage for thousands of adoring fans.

Grace’s skin flushed, and she nodded. “Let me just… uh… my purse-”

“You don’t need it,” Fenrir said, his voice rumbling like thunder even though it didn’t seem like he was yelling.

“Why don’t you take her downstairs?” Odin offered. “Take my room. No one will bother you.”

Fenrir looked to Odin and inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“I’ll send down some food.”

Fenrir looked back to Grace. She fumbled with her apron, trying to untie it, and in the process, dropped the tray to the floor. Before she could bend over and pick it up, Fenrir grabbed it and set it on the bar.

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