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| To say that Ragnar was pleased to find himself once more at the Sea Lion Shore, staring at the infection that he considered Wheeling Gull Isle to be would be the biggest understatement of the century. Ragnar was anything but pleased in reality. It was odd to think about how a month or so before it had been nothing more than an empty Isle. Harmless, inoffensive. It wasn’t the land Ragnar had a problem with: it was the wolves that dwelt upon it, though in reality it wasn’t the subordinates he had a problem with. Three of his own subordinates were Isle deflectors and he likes Sköll, Mees and Beric just fine. Well, Ragnar had his concerns about how Beric chose to treat their newest prisoner like she was something more than the dirt stuck between Ragnar’s toes — which for the given moment of time until her imprisonment was up: she was. She had committed a crime against Stavanger Bay and Ragnar was not the kind of man to let that slide with a wrist slap and a warning. Especially given that she came from the Isle. If at the end of her sentence she wished to stay in the Bay and become a respectable member of the pack that door was open to her…if she wanted it and if it was slammed shut before Ragnar got around to making it known, of which he was in no hurry to do. Yet, in the end it was the Isle's leaders that he had his bone to pick with.
He had once warned them and perhaps the very most infuriating part of the whole situation was that it had been Ypres who had heard the message. The grim warning. The fact that it would appear her wolves did not know of it told Ragnar that she had not taken it with the absolute severity it had deserved. That was fine. He would keep taking captives until his generosity ran out during which time he would just go straight to killing them. He was not sure how else to get it through to them that this wasn’t a game and his bite was worse than his bark sevenfold. He was unaware of their altercation with Silvertip Mountain, though through Mees he knew that they were at odds with the pack which, frankly, came as no surprise to Ragnar if only because Majesty had been a traitor of theirs. Ragnar had washed his hands of diplomacy. He had no more warnings to give them, no more ‘chances’. Today, they would realize he was serious or they would continue to pay the price for their own stupidity. Ragnar was not the kind of neighbors whose bad side one wanted to be on. Being on his bad side meant raids, kidnaps, killings. All of the above if necessary.
Ragnar had rather hoped they would simply leave each other alone. He had uprooted his pack from Horizon Ridge (for multiple reasons really) with the Isle being a major reason as to why. He was not disagreeable entirely. As long as they had sought to leave him alone and stayed away from his pack’s hunting grounds, he would return the courtesy. It had really been that simple. Ragnar should have known that life was never that simple. It was complex and full of mysteries that even Odinn with all of his knowledge could not unravel. Like the mystery of why Wheeling Gull Isle pushed at dangerous boundaries that he had grimly warned them not to push at. The first time Pump had acted as Ragnar’s buffer. He could not do anything because he answered to her. Ragnar answered to no one but his Gods now and unfortunately for the Isle wolves his Gods demanded blood just as Ragnar’s instincts did. Ypres was going to be held accountable for the actions of her wolves, not that Ragnar felt in any kind of mood to return Claire …if in fact he ever did. She was a pretty thing and he was always willing to add a slave to assist Nerian. Neither the girl or Ypres, however, needed to know that he had intentions of letting the girl go, eventually. By all means, Claire’s trespassing was an act of war but Ragnar was not his brothers. He was not so hungry for glory that he made foolish judgment calls. He tipped his head back and let out a simple call only alerting them to his presence on the Shore, his eyes and expression stoic but feirce, his face tilted so his scars were touched by the sunbeams, eyes of Caribbean ice cold and hard as gemstones. |