Freyja's Daughter

by Rachel Sullivan

  The whole point of sex is pleasure.

  So I leaned back and let Marcus get me to the point. More than once.

  Marcus’s arm wrapped around me as we lay on a thick red and brown rug in between his couch and blazing fireplace. He trailed his pointer finger over my right hip and thigh in a circle, thankfully staying clear of my lower back, an area I allowed no one to touch and no human to see in the light of day.

  “Hey,” I said, my voice throatier than usual. “This won’t make things weird on a professional level, right?” I probably should have asked the question before we took each other’s clothes off, but I doubted we’d have given honest answers at that point.

  “Yeah, of course, it won’t be weird,” he said, the base of his voice rumbling against my cheek.

  I took a cleansing breath and smiled to myself.

  “You have interesting tattoos.” He drew invisible circles around the very tattoo I’d revealed hours earlier to a frustrated Hunter. “Is this a tree within a woman?” he said, gaze fixed on my thigh.

  “Yes it is. I’m impressed. She’s grounded, rooted to who she is. It’s a good reminder for me to do the same.”

  “As wise as the trees and as beautiful as all of nature combined,” Marcus said under his breath.

  I tilted my head up to look into his eyes. “Yes. Exactly that.”

  Marcus took the opportunity to lean in and kiss me. And I was thankful for the interruption. His deeper understanding of my own thoughts made my heart thrum and we couldn’t have that.

  When he pulled away, I asked, “What about yours? Any significance?”

  He licked his bottom lip. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s a manly tradition in my family. My uncles and dad all have similar tattoos, though I think my dad’s may extend past his shirt sleeve by now. I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

  I propped myself up on my elbow to look into Marcus’s eyes. The fire Marcus had lit after we’d transferred from the couch to the ground now warmed my backside. Orange hues danced across his face and glowed along his skin. Marcus ran his hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable talking about his family.

  Now it was my turn to draw shapes along his ink. “Which ones have the most significance to you?” I asked, against my better judgment.

  “This one right here.” He touched his left pec, right over his heart.

  “It looks a lot like a tree,” I said, shocked that I hadn’t noticed it earlier. But when a sexy man is naked in front of you, you don’t examine and critique his body art. You just see his whole body as art.

  “It is,” he said with a smile. “A tree without leaves or roots.”

  “It’s hard to have one without the other,” I mused.

  “Well it’s not done yet.” He kissed me. “So,” he said, changing the subject. “Does this mean I can tell everyone at work that the hard-ass bounty hunter is my girlfriend?” Laughter rolled from his smile.

  I pretended to shove him. “Ha! Well, that’d be difficult seeing as I don’t do relationships.”

  “Do you do second dates, then?” he asked.

  “I guess it depends what the second date is, and with whom.” I gave him a wry smile. “And how the first date ended.”

  “A buddy of mine from a precinct in Mill Creek was promoted, so he’s throwing a party at some swanky hotel in Bellevue. Do you want to be my plus one?” he asked.

  The idea of a date in front of a bunch of people I dealt with on a professional level did not excite me. But another date with Marcus did. Plus, networking with cops who could possibly do me a solid down the road wasn’t a bad idea. And I still hadn’t gotten Marcus’s jeans off, so technically my dry spell had yet to be broken.

  “Okay,” I said, hesitating a little.

  “Really?” he asked, surprised. “You’ll go with me?”

  With one simple nod I broke a cardinal huldra rule. No second dates.

  Five

  The elevator from the Westin Bellevue Hotel’s parking garage emptied me out into the front lobby where Marcus sat, waiting.

  “Swanky is one word for it.” I referred to the hotel decor as he kissed my forehead.

  Marcus wore black slacks and a fitted charcoal striped button-up dress shirt. I smiled inside, picturing the slew of sexy tattoos hidden beneath the layers. Was it me or did he look a little more pumped up than the night before? Swollen, like he’d just finished an intense workout enhanced by a magic protein shake.

  He pressed his hand to the small of my back and I pulled away to loop my arm through his. Male fingers across my bark brought up images of an operating room lamp and Hunters checking my patch with gloved hands—pretty much the opposite of what I wanted to experience tonight.

  “Another gorgeous view tonight,” Marcus said, eyeing me from my head to my feet and up again.

  When I’d gotten ready for tonight I had wished I hadn’t worn my little black dress the night before. I’d used up my wild card outfit. Thankfully, I had three sisters and three aunts with full closets and little dresses of their own. I didn’t fit into Shawna’s petite sizes, but Olivia’s clothing worked just fine. Tonight I wore her black dress complete with black, muted sequins sewn into the skirt. This dress always made me laugh with irony. The sequins reminded me of a mermaid. Not that I’d met a mermaid.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re looking on point tonight as well.”

  He lifted one eyebrow, probably over my word choice.

  “You just come from the gym?” I said.

  He shook his head. “No. Why do you ask? Do I stink?”

  “No. You just look…swollen. The good kind of swollen.”

  “I wish I had. Maybe then I’d know why I’m so damn sore.” He winced as he turned toward the ballroom where the event was being held. “I was this close to smelling like Icy Hot tonight.”

  A low stage had been set up at the front of the ballroom, and out-of-uniform police chatted while holding little plates of appetizers and long-stemmed wine glasses or short, thick whiskey glasses.

  I’d come into contact with more than a few cops in attendance while dropping off skips, though I doubted they’d recognize me with my hair down and in high heels. Marcus veered us toward the white linen-covered table of finger foods.

  “Sorry, I don’t see steak bites,” he joked.

  “That’s it,” I responded. “This party is officially over. I’m going home.” I pretended to turn and walk away, but Marcus grabbed me by my waist and wrapped his arms around me. Okay, so Marcus had no issues with PDA. I, on the other hand, did.

  I gently pulled from his embrace and pretended to be overly interested in the display of food. “No caviar either,” I said, keeping up with the game.

  “Oh well, I guess we’ll have to slum it. Abbey Smoked Brie, hardened sourdough, and red wine it is.”

  I let out a laugh as Marcus grabbed one plate for each of us and used tongs too little for his hands to place cheese and bread onto our plates.

  “Can I ask you a serious question, Faline?”

  “It depends,” I said with a serious tone.

  “What are you looking for?” Marcus turned and our gazes connected.

  “Bad guys?” I said.

  “No, I mean with us, with this.” He motioned to the two of us. “Long term, short term… I know last night you mentioned your aversion to relationships, so…”

  “That’s a really random question.”

  “Is it? I’ve been thinking about it since your comment.” He took a bite of bread with brie.

  I couldn’t help but watch his jaw move—the light stubble of beard threatening to grow. I thought I’d been pretty clear as to what I was looking for tonight: round two, to return the favor. Even if I wanted more than that, it was not an option. I had rules for a reason, least of all to avoid broken hearts, most of all to avoid outing the existence of my kind and getting Marcus killed in the process. The no-dating rule was for his safety as much as it was for mine.

  “M
aybe it is a random question,” he said after he swallowed his food. “But I don’t just leap into bed with any woman. There’s something here, and before it moves any further, I need to know your feelings.”

  I took my time. My tongue played with my teeth to keep from speaking. I didn’t want to answer him. I didn’t want to stop seeing him yet. But I also didn’t want a relationship. I couldn’t have a relationship. It would never work.

  “Honestly?” I bought one more second. “I understand what you’re saying. I feel it too, a connection. And I’d really like to get a room and see where that connection leads us tonight. But I’m not at a place in my life where anything beyond that is feasible. So seeing where it takes us long term isn’t an option.”

  I placed my hand on Marcus’s arm. His jaw clenched.

  “Yeah, I kind of thought that’s what you meant last night, but I needed to make sure.” He pulled his arm from under my hand. “The problem is, you don’t want anything serious, just a casual sexual relationship. Which I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. But, personally, I don’t have sex with a woman unless we’re in a serious relationship.”

  “Is there a particular reason for that?” I asked, a little dismayed.

  “Is there a particular reason you can’t be in a committed relationship?”

  Yes, but nothing I could share with him.

  We stood beside the food table in an awkward standoff.

  And this is why huldra don’t go on second dates, I could imagine Shawna saying.

  Marcus’s cell phone buzzed from his pocket, breaking the silence between us. He slid it out to check the screen. “I’ve got to take this. It’s work.”

  I gave a nod and thanked the universe for the distraction.

  He answered the phone without saying anything. I used my heightened hearing to listen to the man’s voice mumble something about his father on the other end of the line and then hang up. Marcus slid his phone into his pocket.

  “I’ve got to go,” was all he said before setting the plate on the tall circular table and turning to leave.

  “Wait,” I said. “So this, today, it’s done?” When he kept walking, I quickly caught up. “You brought me here.”

  “It’s nothing personal, I swear. There’s a work emergency I have to deal with. Stay, enjoy the party. I’ve just… I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later?”

  I took a breath and reminded myself that neither he nor I had a nine-to-five job. “Yeah,” I said. “I understand.”

  He paused long enough to give me a quick hug, before leaving the ballroom. I didn’t even have time to stiffen up in his arms.

  I headed toward the white ornate doors to leave, but realized I still held the appetizer plate and doubled back.

  “Hey, don’t I know you?” a man asked as I passed him. He stood at the table nearest the doors. He looked to be in his forties and wore khaki slacks and a blue button-up dress shirt with an ugly tie. His shirt’s buttons pulled taught around his belly. Silver strands sprinkled his hair at the temples.

  “You probably do,” I said, looking for another, less occupied, table to leave my plate and get out of there.

  “I’ve got it! You work for Dale, don’t you?”

  I paused long enough to give the man a double-take. “Yes. You’re the private investigator Dale uses every now and again, aren’t you?” I left off the part where Dale vowed to never use the man’s services again after a botched job left us without a skip by the trial date.

  “I am,” he said, straightening his tie. “Though, I dropped the ball on the last job I worked for him. Feel real bad about that. Not sure if he mentioned it.”

  His name came back to me. “Yeah, Brian, it put Dale in a tight place. Lost him a lot of money, too.” Dale had entertained the idea that Brian had been paid by someone else to not find the skip. I looked around the room of police officers. “What are you doing here, though?” Brian wasn’t known as the most professional PI. It had a lot to do with his willingness to stoop below the law to get what he needed. I’d also recently heard rumors that he’d started working for unsavory clients, locating people whose safety would be jeopardized if they were found.

  “Ah, well Rod and I go way back. Wanted to wish him well with his big promotion.”

  A uniformed police captain stood on stage and spoke into the microphone, calling the room to a toast.

  Brian grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter who walked the area offering drinks from a silver platter. I eyed my escape as the room quieted.

  “Here,” he said. I turned to an outstretched glass of champagne. “They’re about to make the toast and give a speech.”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks. I was just leaving.”

  “Well, I’m glad I ran into you then. Like I said, I feel really bad about how I dropped the ball with Dale and I was hoping to make it up to him.” Brian still held the drink toward me.

  I didn’t take it.

  “Make it up to him?” I asked. “How?”

  “You heard about the sting operation on that underground human trafficking ring?”

  “Yes.”

  Brian leaned in and lowered his voice. “I work for a client who wants to see your skip found just as much as you do.”

  I accepted the glass of champagne.

  “We can’t talk about it here, of course,” he said, eyeing the crowd of law enforcement.

  The police captain onstage called for a toast and I joined the others in the room with a raise of my glass. I gulped down its contents and returned the empty glass to the table.

  “Obviously,” I said, eager to hear any juicy details Brian could provide. Of course, he and I both knew nothing he could say would make up for the many thousands of dollars Dale lost from trusting Brian. Which is why I wouldn’t trust him either. But a tip was a tip.

  “I got a room up on the third floor. You know how police parties can get a little rowdy.” Brian took two steps from the table and waited for me to follow.

  I followed him from the ballroom, but made my intentions known in the hall. “Here’s fine,” I said, peering around the empty walkway. But rather than the white walls and bright paintings I’d noticed earlier, my vision faded as though darkly tinted windows encased me from behind and muted out the world.

  “You sure?” Brian asked. “You look like you could lie down. You okay?”

  I barely heard him. My head swam. I tried to speak, but my tongue felt too big to push words past. “Yessss,” I slurred. “I’m perfffectly—”

  My head pounded. I reached my hand up to rub my temple, but my muscles shook and my arm fell to the ground.

  In a haze, I blinked my eyes open to see what held my arms down.

  I cleared my throat and licked my lips. An odd taste…like pennies.

  I worked at sitting up. The room spun around me. Light from outside street lamps trickled through openings in the thick floor-to-ceiling drapes. A large white duvet-covered bed took up most of the room. A suitcase stand stood beside a flat screen TV.

  A suitcase stand?

  A hotel room. I was in a hotel room, on the floor between the foot of the bed and the TV cabinet. I blinked again. Oh crap. The light scent of testosterone played with my nose. Was there a man in the bed, sleeping? Had Marcus returned and changed his mind? Why couldn’t I remember?

  If it was Marcus lying on that bed, I was in no shape to have breakfast and converse with him. I not-so-silently stood to gather my things and tiptoe out of the room. My legs ached like I’d returned from a hard-core gym day. I peered down to see why. Black sequins littered the hotel room floor. The bottom of my dress was frayed and one shoulder strap had been completely ripped off.

  I spotted my little black clutch on the TV stand and grabbed it.

  “Marcus?” I whispered, hoping and praying it was Marcus who I’d allowed to ruin Olivia’s dress and not some guy I’d just met in the fog of…whatever fog I’d been in last night. I didn’t know why it mattered to me, but it did. Except, I di
dn’t remember getting drunk last night. And if I had, I’d never been so drunk that I’d blacked out. I didn’t think huldra were capable of that—alcohol didn’t last long in our systems.

  When no one answered my whisper, I crept toward the door. I’d figure it all out later, after a shower and a gallon of coffee. As I tiptoed past the queen-size bed, an out of place shape caught my eye. It was wedged between the bed and the wall, up near the nightstand separating the two.

  I gasped and flung my hand over my mouth.

  Blood. Lots and lots of blood pooled around a man who lay face down. I wouldn’t have known his pants were khaki if I hadn’t met him earlier. The shirt he’d worn, the blue button-up, now looked more mauve with strips of fabric missing from his shoulder blades to his belt. I bent closer to his body. Where fabric should have been, three craters dipped into his back. Blood matted his brown and silver hair.

  Instinctively, I reached up to touch my own hair. My fingers caught in the sticky tangled mess. His blood. It was in my hair. But how? My spinning head cleared. The penny taste wasn’t pennies.

  I had to find answers, and fast.

  My gaze quickly shifted around the room. No suitcase. No keys. Nothing to suggest Brian had been staying here tonight. Except, of course, for Brian’s body facedown beside the bed. Shit. As unlikable as the guy was, he didn’t deserve to die.

  I thought to call the police, to call Marcus, but I knew what would come next. Creatures like me don’t go to jail. The Hunters intervene and exact their own brand of justice that no human court would sanction.

  I hurried for the door, but stopped short when I passed the bathroom. A long full-length mirror stared at me through the open bathroom door. It looked like someone had dipped a sponge in brownish red paint and painted me with it. Dried blood cracked around my knees.

  With hesitance, I set my purse onto the marble bathroom counter and padded on bare feet across the tile. I swiped my fingers across my lower back and gasped. Tears escaped my eyes and cleared a path down my cheek. With a shaky breath I lifted my dress and twisted my body to view my back in the mirror.