Page 111 of Blood of Wolves

“No, thank you.” Leif’s pupils expanded, drinking in the darkness, and the underground chamber was as bright as daylight for him.

When he asked for the cell keys, they were handed to him, the guards darting furtive glances to one another, uncertain. Frightened. People were frightened of him now.

Good, the wolf thought, fangs flashing in the back of Leif’s mind.We’re strong. They should fear us.

He swallowed hard, and moved down the hallway.

All but two cells were empty: Erik had never been in the habit of keeping long-term prisoners. But even without occupants, the scents of the dungeon rushed up to meet him in a whole new way. The smell of straw, and human waste; of damp, and of despair. Emotions hadscents, now.

He passed the Sel general, who sat with legs crossed, hands resting lightly on his thighs, eyes closed, still smeared at the edges with purple paint. His too-white skin seemed to glow in the darkness; if he noticed Leif’s presence outside his cell, he didn’t react to it.

The musky scent of wolf drew him along.

He was growling, low and constant by the time he turned the key in the door of Ragnar’s cell, and let himself inside. He didn’t try to tamp it down, now. No sense pretending to be wholly human in front of the man who’d made him what he now was.

Without the hindrance of a lamp, his pupils could expand their fill, and take in the scene that greeted him once he opened the door. Ragnar’s cell bore the standard accommodations: clean straw for the earthen floor, and a bucket in the corner. Ragnar sat with his back against the wall, silver manacles and collar chaining him to secure rings set in the stone. The blood had dried on his neck, crusty and flaking, now; stiff and black where it had dried on his clothes. His head hung limply, but his gaze snapped up, vivid blue and alert through a screen of pale lashes. His nostrils flared, scenting. Leif had an idle wonder what he smelled like to the other wolf; for his part, Ragnar gave off a faint whiff of submission, something that, unlike a grin or a pledge of loyalty, couldn’t be faked.

Leif had bested him, fair and square, and Ragnar was acknowledging it with every inch of his posture, his gaze wary, as Leif settled to sit cross-legged across from him.

Leif didn’t speak, and, finally, Ragnar lifted his head, tipped it back so his blood-crusted throat showed, and said, “Come to fetch me to the headsman, finally?” His voice was hoarse from disused – and bruised-sounding. Leif had nearly ripped his throat out. He still wasn’t sure what had stayed him; what had kept him from killing him right there in the snow.

But…that wasn’t true. He knew. It was the same reason he was here now, and why he said, “No. I’m not going to kill you.”

Tawny brows lifted a fraction.

“You’re my war prize. I captured you, and your fate is mine to decide.”

Ragnar’s grin bloomed slow, sharp-edged and oddly satisfying. “Ah. The old ways. I didn’t think Erik would go forthat.”

Leif growled. “Shut up.”

Astonishingly, Ragnar listened. His smiled faded, and his gaze dropped. He wasn’t sure he liked the surge of delight that inspired in his chest. That sense ofyes, good. All of this alpha bollocks was grating.

He squared his shoulders, and said, “You owe us a debt. You owemea debt. I never asked for this. And now I’m…” He bit his lip rather than try to parse through his tangle of feelings on his new condition. He couldn’t appear weak and doubting in front of Ragnar.

But Ragnar’s gaze, when it lifted again, was oddly earnest. “You’re stronger now than you’ve ever been. Faster, more alert. You’re more alive than you’ve ever been.”

It was, unfortunately the truth. But it didn’t mean Leif liked it.

“I didn’t curse you, Leif,” Ragnar continued. “I gave you a gift.”

“One you never could have given me,” Leif snarled, “if we hadn’t managed to escape the trap you left us in.”

The brows went up again, and he visibly quailed back against the wall.

“You left us in a cell with the Fangs. You left us todie.” Leif could feel his fangs getting long in his mouth, felt the wolf pressing up close beneath his skin, ready to come out. Ragnar flinched. “You tricked us – betrayed us. Your own flesh and blood. And all for the sake of an alliance with the enemy. You conspired with them, didn’t you? Told them you’d kill us at the festival so they could march on Aeres unimpeded, and face a castle without a king. Right?”

Ragnar huffed. “Yes,” he bit out, with reluctance. “I did that.”

“Why?”

“I–”

“I don’t want to hear what you told Erik in the mountains. About getting to be king. That’s bollocks. Even if you wanted a throne, why this way? Why ally withthem? No matter how much you hate Erik, why would you conspire with theSels?”

Ragnar sighed and deflated. “I don’t hate Erik.”

Leif snorted.

---