Winter Lost

“I choose not to,” he said. “Most of the time. It’s another reason I do not use this self”—he waved his hands to indicate his own form—“much.”

“What about Ymir?” I asked. “Why does he know about it? Why does he remember it?”

“Someone told him,” Hrímnir said. “The spell that keeps it secret weakens as it nears its time for renewal. Ymir is powerful, and that power is ancient and deep. Now that he knows, he will remember until after the marriage. If there is another marriage.”

“Who else could remember once they found out?” I asked.

He smiled grimly. “That may be the right question. A Power, maybe. Someone like your Wayland Smith. One of the old gods. Odin or Thor.” He pronounced them like an American would have, not like Zee did.

I didn’t ask him about that. There was someone else who might not forget. Liam had officiated at the last wedding—and when we’d first met, he’d told me I reminded him of someone.

“I rather think that you will remember,” Hrímnir told me. “Mercy Coyotesdaughter.”

I stared at him.

“Go now, Mercy,” he said. “Go find my harp.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said. I made it to the door, hefting up the empty pack before I remembered. I turned to see that he had not moved from where I’d left him. “I’m going up to the main building to look for some eggs to bring back to the hot springs.”

“Electricity is off,” he said. “Likely anything in the house is frozen.”

I smiled at him. “I was just letting you know—I wasn’t asking permission.”

I shut the barn door behind me and cursed my tennis shoes all the way to the main building. He was right, it was very cold in the house—but the refrigerator was commercial quality and it had maintained its temperature. It was warmer in the fridge than in the house.

I found three dozen eggs, but there was only room for two dozen in my pack, once I had my coat jammed in it. Taking the second dozen eggs meant leaving my wet tennis shoes behind.

When I got back outside, the snowmobile was gone and the snow was once more falling heavily.

—

The trip back to the hot springs was a lot more miserable than the way out to the ranch had been. On the way, the wind had been at my back; now I was forced to travel against it. The driving snow bit at my eyes and nose in a way that disoriented even my coyote self. If I hadn’t had my mate bond telling me which way Adam was, I would have gotten turned around.

I lost track of time. I’d started out in a steady trot, but couldn’t keep it up in the face of the storm. I hoped that Adam wasn’t still up on the roof in this wind.

My eyes stung, and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself when I stepped onto the sacred land. The storm didn’t lessen, exactly, but the despair that had piled onto my back decreased remarkably.

I traveled maybe another quarter of a mile through the trees and into a clearing. Even through the blasting snow, I could see the lodge. I paused then. For a moment I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t smell anything but the storm, could barely see well enough to avoid running into a tree. But—

It coalesced from nothingness, blending in with the magic that saturated the land, then becoming denser with every breath I took until it stood in front of me, as real as the snow beneath my feet.

Garmr, I thought.

Looking at him, I understood the confusion about what exactly he was—dog or wolf, neither quite fit. He was nearly twice as tall as Adam’s wolf and more massive. The size of a grizzly, at least. His muzzle was broad and flat, more like our Joel in either his presa Canario form or the volcano demon dog he could become than a wolf. But Garmr’s heavy gray coat and his yellow eyes said wolf.

Other than his eyes, there was nothing obviously aggressive about his stance—and that he had taken form foursquare in my path. Hrímnir spoke to him, so he was intelligent. It was not an accident that he blocked my way.

I wondered if Garmr knew who I was and what I was trying to do. I wondered if he wanted to be bound for another hundred and forty-four years, or would rather break free to start a massive war that would destroy the world. He didn’t look particularly violent.

I, too, had unwelcome ties that bound me in uncomfortable ways. If I considered what Stefan, my friend the vampire, could do to me if he chose, the panic closed up my throat so hard I could not breathe.

I jumped sideways a hair’s breadth before he attacked, because I was not surprised that he’d want to stop me. That meant his jaws closed over the pack on my back instead of the nape of my neck. His jerk, a movement designed to snap my spine, still flung me powerfully to one side.

I had practiced this, though. I shifted to my human shape as my weight hit the straps and I twisted, then shifted back to coyote and twisted some more. Adam’s pack, even modified, didn’t fit as well as my own, and I was free of it sooner than I expected.