Logan's POV
I keep my head down.
There are only three gods in the Moonhall—Thor, Heimdall, and Månnina—but their presence is enough to crush me flat against the packed earth. The weight of them presses on my bones like the sky itself is balanced on my back.
Or maybe that's just Thor and his meaty hand.
He seems to resent me for some reason and I let him hold my head in place and keep me kneeling. Not because I'm afraid— there's little left to fear when you've already died— but out of respect.
Also, I'm pretty sure the god of thunder is looking for the smallest excuse to roast me alive with a lightning bolt.
Thor's deep voice rumbles dangerously. "You may have stood before spirits, pup, but now you are in the presence of gods. It is only fitting that you kneel, is it not?"
I don't dare answer. Beside me, Fenrir bristles. My wolf doesn't need to be inside my skin for me to feel his fury. His growl vibrates through the floorboards, as ferocious as an engine.
