Fafnir Mythology Novels & Stories

He brought the glass to his lips, watching me over the rim with a dangerous glint in his eyes. I felt my throat go dry for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. I took a deep breath and opened the book in front of me, looking for distraction. But the words I found only deepened the weight of his presence beside me. Fenrir was not an ordinary wolf. Unlike the common Lupine souls that emerged with the first transformation, Fenrir was an ancestral entity, a primitive and voracious spirit whose essence could only manifest through a worthy vessel. To house Fenrir, the chosen one needed to possess an unbreakable soul and a body capable of withstanding the fury of a predator that had exi

He seems more interested now that he knows who the girl is. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. And if something isn’t done, the two packs are heading for war.” The councilmen start whispering to each other. “We have heard what you’ve come to report, but we will need time to look into these claims ourselves. But know we are taking this very seriously. A war between two large packs needs to be avoided at all costs.” Fafnir says. After that the meeting is dismissed. I can finally head home. I’m walking out of the meeting hall when Fafnir stops me. Fafnir is the third son of another large pack. He’s surprisingly younger than I thought he’d be, but still a bit older than I am.

Freya's POV I watched the scene unfold before me, my heart racing with anticipation. Brian's face turned red with anger as Brandon's words hung in the air. "Freya is my wife," Brandon reiterated trying to let this realization sink into Brian who still stood there flabbergasted, his voice firm and resolute.

Ruth kissed her crucifix at his words, though Jenna only shook her head from side to side. Ketil made the hammer sign of Thor, while Alaric stared up at him blankly and Sigurd looked away. He preferred Odin, the one-eyed god, who had been swallowed by the giant wolf, Fenrir. The Jarl’s son felt more attuned to the defender of Asgard, home of the gods. He, too, tangled with giants. This task would be equally as hard. They had to find these slave traders first. He judged there would be time enough later to establish the whereabouts of Saffron though, if he were honest, he didn’t hold out much hope.

That memory alone kept me from surrendering to the darkness. "Ronan is a tether to a world that will eventually hunt you down and destroy you," Fenrir snarled, his words dripping with venom and something that might have been twisted concern, as if he genuinely believed he was protecting me. He clapped his massive hands together, and the ground beneath me erupted. Jagged spires of obsidian rock shot upward, seeking to impale me like a specimen pinned to a board, like a butterfly mounted for display.

Last time I saw Fenrir, they were royal purple, like molten amethyst under the moonlight. Kassian’s wolf, Fenrir, is a stark contrast to Rowan’s Rune. Fenrir is larger, faster, stronger—an overwhelming force of raw power and ferocity that Rune, with his quieter, more agile presence, could never match. Yet, it isn’t just size or strength that sets them apart. It’s their eyes—those unmistakable marks of their deviance. Fenrir’s were a regal, commanding royal purple, while Rune’s shimmered a softer, almost ethereal lilac. Together, the Draven brothers were known for this rare and legendary trait. No shifter alive could mistake them—their wolves’ eyes were their signature.

“Your kind is familiar with runes, right?” “Of course,” Owen answers for both of us. I slept through that class in school. “The spell on the queen uses runes from Tyr’s aett; you’re familiar with Tyr?” Jonah pauses to check. “The Norse god of war. He sacrificed his arm to trap Fenrir,” Owen says. “That,” I agreed quietly. “Well, Tyr’s aett is all over her.” Jonah points his finger at Owen. “And you are bound with etheric chains.” Owen shakes his head. “I’m unfamiliar with the term.”

The night he’d created a mistake. He reached for it, but he was suddenly ripped so far away from it, he bellowed angrily. And then, he fell. Down, down, he dropped, until he hit…leaves and damp soil. Fenrir rose to his feet, looking around the unfamiliar forest. Where have you brought me? he asked the Goddess. To your son’s worst nightmare, a nightmare you created, she said in his head with an amused laugh. Repent. Redeem yourself, and I just might take you back home. Consider this punishment for even thinking of manipulating the things only I have control over.

Without a word, the warrior fell to the ground, writhed for some seconds and became still. Freya cackled in satisfaction, and then released a bout of fire to one third of the fifty, laughing when they burnt to ashes. Fikan. The flames on her hands. Fikan. Fire peculiar to the gods, alone. Fire fiery than hades. The knowing rang true in her mind.

I scoff at the petty threat. “Do you’re worst, Beast. I am Fenrir, the God Of Hell. She is too fucking young to understand. She won’t miss what she doesn’t have. I will return it to her when she is old enough to understand.” I bite back at him and he whimpers, not for me but for Gaia.