Finn

  I sighed inwardly as I saw the panic rising in Isla. My hand throbbed terribly, and as tempting as it was to simply tell her to calm down, I knew better than to say that to any woman, especially her. Her gaze darted back to Freya; worry etched across her face for both the snake and me.

  I snapped my fingers to get her attention. “Look at me, elding. Don’t worry about her.” The endearment slipped out before I could stop it, but I didn’t care.

  Wild fear flickered in her eyes, and my chest tightened at the thought of what she’d been through to reach this state; fear so sharp and consuming when there wasn’t even a threat to her in sight.

  “That’s right, breathe,” I said softly, demonstrating with a slow, deliberate inhale. Her eyes strayed back to Freya, worry still clouding her face.

  “No, look here,” I said, my voice firmer this time. Pain burned in my arm, but I couldn’t afford to let her spiral further. My commanding tone worked, her gaze snapping back to mine with a spark of defiance.

  There’s my girl. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “There you are, elding. Come back to me. Come on.”

  Confusion flickered across her expression. “Finn, she’s still—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Look. At. Me,” I said, cutting her off.

  She glared at me, frustration pushing through her fear. “And what?!”

  “Want me to tell you something I’ve never told anyone?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice despite the calm I tried to project. Anything to distract her. Freya’s coils loosened—just slightly, but it was a step in the right direction.

  Isla tilted her head, curiosity warring with confusion in her eyes. “Right now?”

  I nodded, praying she wouldn’t notice the tension in my shoulders or the way my neck muscles tightened from Freya’s grip.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Okay, crazy person, tell me,” she said, disbelief coloring her tone.

  She didn’t trust me—not fully—but she was distracted. That was enough.

  “I’ve never…” I paused, scrambling for something to say. I hadn’t thought this far ahead. My mind raced until, finally, inspiration struck. “I’ve never ridden a rollercoaster.”

  She blinked at me, her expression frozen for a moment. Then, to my utter surprise, a laugh burst from her. The sound startled both of us, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle it.

  And thank Odin, Freya finally relaxed.

  I stroked Freya’s smooth scales gently, murmuring, “Good girl,” before turning my gaze back to Isla.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes still wide with surprise, and the corners of her mouth quirked like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh again. She looked beautiful.

  And for the first time since we’d sat down, the air between us felt a little lighter. She relaxed back against the couch, looking back at Freya. I caught Isla glancing at me from the corner of her eye, her curiosity breaking through the haze of the moment. “What does elding mean?” she asked softly, her voice steadier now but still laced with uncertainty.

  My lips twitched. Of course, she’d latch onto that. “It’s Norse,” I said simply, brushing my fingers lightly along Freya’s relaxed coils.

  “And?” she pressed, her brow arching.

  “It means ‘lightning,’” I admitted, meeting her gaze.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of defiance flickering there. “Lightning?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmured, leaning back against the couch. “It suits you.”

  Her lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself. Instead, she crossed her arms, leaning against the armrest as if she could put more distance between us. “I don’t see how.”

  I smiled faintly, tilting my head to study her. Her snakes had settled again, though a few still flicked their tongues toward me, curious and watchful. I could feel the electricity between us, the sharp edge of her resistance and the heat beneath it. She didn’t see it yet, but that sharpness—the unpredictable energy that crackled in her every word, every movement—was what drew me in.

  It had slipped out earlier without me meaning to, but I’d seen it enough in fragmented pieces of our future. Elding. I’d called her that in every possible version of us that existed—if such a thing as fate could be questioned, this was one of those chicken-and-egg moments. Was it something I’d chosen for her, or had it been chosen by fate and I’m simply following what I’d seen?

  She didn’t know yet, couldn’t know how much weight the word carried for me. I wasn’t about to explain that, though. Not yet.

  Instead of explaining further, I simply said, “Yeah, you do.”

  Her eyes flickered with something—humor, maybe, or disbelief—but she didn’t argue. She just sank a little deeper into the couch, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the blanket as if grounding herself.

  It suited her, even if she couldn’t see it yet. She was elding. Lightning. Fierce, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.