by Kendall Grey
“Agreed.” He leans close. His eyes swirl with serpentine undulations, capturing my imagination. And other things. “Why are you here, Astrid?”
I shift uncomfortably as fire encroaches like a low-broiling thief in the forge of my womb. “You asked me to come.”
“Not yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” His amused laugh caresses my ears, soft at first, but slithering lower, constricting around my throat, requesting—no, demanding submission. He nods to the glass. “Drink your wine.”
Kenaz seems to nod its agreement.
I feel compelled to obey. So, I do.
My lady bits are on yellow alert. Laguz rings a klaxon in my head. Resist, it whispers, the force behind the rune’s “voice” waning.
I want to refuse. I can’t.
My lids droop, weighted by Damien’s presence. There is only his mesmerizing green gaze. It shines like a spotlight on me, opening up my insides for his inspection. Will he approve of what he finds in there? I hope so.
Wake up, Loki! a distant, urgent voice demands.
When I open my eyes—when did I shut them?—Damien is watching me closely. Waiting. For what? Recognition of some sort? An acknowledgment? An awakening? A surfacing memory? If it were my magic, that’s how I’d play it. Dangle the carrot just out of reach and make the victim work for it whilst stripping information from him as he’s distracted. Smooth and cool and oh, so slick.
Magic? Who says he’s using magic? Surely not.
This carpet sure is thick. I grind my heels into it.
He slips the glass from my fingers and sets it on the table. “I never heard the story about how you got into Drag and Bone. You must know someone, otherwise you’d have never been placed beside me during the auditions. Or did you win one of those charity auctions? The Asgard Awakening team is forever partnering with the charities.” He speaks the last word with derision and rolls his eyes.
Hold on. I thought charities were good things. They help people. Why would he decry one?
Because he’s a sheep’s arsehole, Laguz says.
Kenaz shivers defensively, a shot over the bow at its sibling rune.
“I can be … persuasive,” I say, reclaiming a tenuous hold on my weakening foothold in reality. “How’d you get stuck judging the Drag and Bone pageant if you hate it so much? Surely you could’ve gotten out of your contract if you’d wanted to. I assume you have a lawyer.” My thoughts drift to Darryl Donovan, who could get me out of just about any trouble I might run into—accidentally or otherwise.
Damien resumes his wine and drains the glass in two long gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the swallows. His lips come away red. I want to lick the color off and dive between them for further exploration.
Laguz issues a sharp jolt at my hip. I tense but cover my surprise. Must … focus.
Thank you, my smart-arse rune pings.
“It wasn’t my choice,” he says. “Judging the contest was my penance for some shit the media pinned on me.”
“Oh? What kind of shit?”
“Apparently, I offended some ‘transgender’ people.” He makes little quotes with his index and middle fingers.
“How so?”
“I called a tranny ‘it’ instead of his/her/whatever’s preferred gender pronouns,” he says, injecting a smarmy, condescending tone into the last phrase.
“I believe the correct term is ‘transgender person,’ and if that’s what you said to him, her, or them, you probably deserved it.” Oops. Got a little truth on me again. This time, I rather enjoy it.
He shakes his head with a cruel, self-righteous smile. “I’m always amazed by how many people feel their rights are being infringed upon when others are simply exerting their own rights to speak freely. Take a pill and ease up. Idiots.”
I start to argue, but Laguz interrupts. Let it go. We’re here for the ring, remember? Tell him what you think after you recover it.
Do you sense it close by?
No. The trail is cold. Keep him talking. Maybe he’ll tip us off as to where to look.
Damien leans closer than I’m comfortable with. With Kenaz in the driver’s seat, my traitorous body responds with Yes! in forty-six unspoken languages as it sidles right up to him.
“Enough about me,” he purrs. “Let’s talk about you some more.”
He trails the tip of his finger down the column of my neck and dips it under my shirt, tracing my collarbone. I blanch and push him away under the guise of modesty. He would’ve grazed my stitches if I hadn’t stopped him.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, feigning coyness. I discreetly check out the suite under cover of three eyelash flaps. It’s hard to think with him so close. What are we doing again?
Searching for your gods-damned rune, Laguz thunders. Othala.
Right. I don’t see it.
Laguz’s annoyed sigh crashes like shattered glass on the rocks between my ears.
“You mentioned you were representing some queens,” Damien says. “What are their names? Perhaps I could pull a few strings. I do you a favor,” his fingers skip across my thigh, “you do me a favor. You know how these things go.”
“I know how bribery works, if that’s what you mean.”
He lunges forward. Eyes glued to my lips, he hovers an inch from them. The wine-scented heat of his breath makes me woozy. “Relax, Astrid. Let Loki make you feel good.”
I snap out of my swoon, hackles raised in alarm. “You’re not Loki.”
“No,” he says with a sly grin, “but I play one on TV. Come on, you know you can’t resist me. Asgard Awakening is the number one show in the country. Don’t you want to see what it’s like to be with a famous television star?”
No. “Yes,” I breathe, tipping my head back. The swell of his intoxicating pheromones infiltrates my resolve on a search and destroy mission I can’t afford to flub.
Fight him, Laguz says. Remember Gunnar. It would devastate him if you gave in to this asshat.
Damien dips in, taking a kiss without my permission. My first instinct is to twist away, but Kenaz holds me down. My body betrays me. As much as my mind and heart want to be gone from this jerk, my physical being cannot resist. Against my will, I follow where his lips lead. The steam from pressurized molten lava looking for a crack to break through fogs up my head. My hands fly out to grasp his tight shoulders.
Though the kiss takes me on a thrill ride, the destination isn’t where I want to go. My mind is engaged in a full-blown war with my body. Laguz versus Kenaz. I settle back and let them duke it out. I’m too weak to engage. I’ll accept whoever wins.
Damien plunges his hot tongue into my mouth, and I allow it despite the resistance screaming for me to shove him off. His wicked scent suffuses my head, demanding I conform to his desires. Lust swirls into a slowly building storm. The ache between my legs intensifies. He lowers me to the couch. I clutch his shoulders as he devours my will power. He’s on top of me. The kiss turns into a battle for possession of our souls. He thrusts against me. I open my legs to welcome him. He’s hard. I’m pliable.
I like this. I want him to fill me. I widen the gap between my thighs.
I need him like I’ve never needed anything before. Except maybe—
A chime from across the room breaks the spell, and my wits catch their second wind. The ding sounded like an email notification. I open my eyes and playfully push Damien away, but he chases me with his lips. Through our clothing, he’s waiting at my entrance, ready to break the door down.
“Stop fighting,” he moans into my mouth and thrusts his pelvis into mine. The scrape of satin meeting denim between us and the dueling pains in my shoulder and rib bring the reality of my situation into startling focus. “You know you want this. Submit to me, Astrid. Give me your body, and I’ll give you memories you’ll never forget as long as you live.”
I mentally snort. Which won’t be very long.
“I can’t breathe,” I say, struggling under his weight. “You’re hurting me.�
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He eases up enough to signal he won’t force anything, but he doesn’t roll off. I dart my gaze to the other side of the room where I heard the email ding. Through the door to a bedroom, I see an open laptop resting on the red-draped bed. The top right corner of the screen is illuminated with a notification. It fades to black.
Damien cups my chin and guides my gaze to intersect with his. “Let me make you feel good, and I’ll push one of your ‘boys’ on to the next round at the pageant,” he tempts. “You won’t regret it.”
Another dunking under the sea of pheromones washes good sense from my mind. His closeness is like falling under the thrall of a drug I can’t get out of my system fast enough. Between him and Kenaz, I’m stuck. I can’t fight them. I just have to weather the storm until it passes.
Take cover under memories of Gunnar, Laguz pleads, and keep Damien talking. I’m getting close.
I feel the rune’s power stretching toward the bedroom, searching. I reclaim another rung on the ladder of progress.
“The next round isn’t enough,” I say. “The boys want to go all the way to the top.”
“I can’t promise that,” Damien replies, nipping my earlobe. His breath is hot on my neck.
The pheromones double back, biting my scruff and dragging me down like a predator. Whiplash, anyone?
“No deal,” I whisper.
He pulls away to look at me with an appreciative grin. “My, you’re a stubborn one.”
“I do what I must.”
“So do I.” He invades my shores with another battering barrage of wet, tongue-driven kisses.
Get out of here, Laguz warns. You’re losing control. I can’t hold off Kenaz and search the room for Othala when you’re like this. We’ll come back when Drakkar is judging the pageant tomorrow. You can use Lásabrjótur to break in.
The fog lifts once again. This time I inject force behind my snub as I push Damien away. “I need to go.”
“You just got here. Stay,” he says. The force of the word blows through me like a Category 5 hurricane demanding I bend to its will. His command feels omnipotent, lent power by some form of magic I can’t defend against. This guy is no good, yet even as I recognize the imminent danger, Kenaz massages my skull, coaxing me to stay.
GO! Laguz’s shout shatters my doubts.
Thank the gods for my intuition rune. I shake off the spell—because that’s what this is, I’m now sure of it—and tamp down Kenaz’s desires.
“I have to go,” I repeat.
If Damien doesn’t get off me, I’ll knee him in the dumplings and run. Hulinhjálmur can make me invisible, but I don’t want to throw that card unless I have no other choice. I need him to believe I’m vulnerable. Perceived weakness gives me an advantage.
I sit up, pain ripping through my side. Damien eases back, but not enough. He hovers, keeping me pinned under him. Memories of my son Narfi’s intestines binding me to a rock in a cave crash before my eyes.
“I don’t take kindly to rejection.” Damien’s voice is as sweet as honey, but the words are concentrated poison.
I wriggle out from under him, nudging his legs off mine. I roll to the floor and hop to my feet, ready to bolt as the door flies open with a terrible crack. The protruding handle slams into the wall, knocking a dent into the velvet-covered plaster. Gunnar Magnusson fills the threshold, his head mere inches away from brushing the top of the frame. Jaw set, he’s bigger than he should be, arms taut with unrestrained fury, feet shoulder-width apart, thighs rippling under the strained denim of his jeans. His eyes are twin blue flames ready to burn the whole place down.
“The lady said no,” he growls and stomps inside like a berserker retrieving his club. A heat signature billows around him, burning the oxygen from the room. One of the hands balled at his sides drips blood on the plush carpet. I rush over to him. Two four-inch spikes of wood protrude from the door’s edge where he broke it. With his fist.
“No means no,” Gunnar Magnusson thunders. He doesn’t look at me as he asks, “Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.” I paw his heaving shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Damien Drakkar stares at me coolly. “You’ll pay for that.”
I’m not sure whether he means the broken door or snubbing his advances. Either way, I don’t owe him anything. “Oh, I think I’ve already paid you more than enough.”
As Gunnar Magnusson and I turn to leave, Damien says, “I get what I want. Always.”
Gunnar Magnusson whips his head around like a striking snake, points threateningly at him, and snarls, “Shut your goddamn mouth. If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I’ll end you.”
A shiver races up my spine, straightening it. That got Kenaz’s attention.
Damnnnnnnn. And Laguz’s too.
Gunnar Magnusson snatches my feather coat from the rack, curls an arm around my waist, and guides me out of the suite. I look over my shoulder, expecting Damien Drakkar to follow, but he doesn’t. He stands there, framed by the splintered entryway, watching us, a dragon denied its meal. Vengeance lights his stormy eyes. I shiver.
When the elevator’s metal doors slide apart, we step in. Gunnar Magnusson pushes the button for the lobby with a shaking finger. I toss my arms around his hard shoulders and inhale the tantalizing musk exuding from the skin at his neck. I like his so much more than Damien’s.
“How did you know?” I ask. My heartbeats slow, and I feel more like myself. My new self, anyway.
“I was right outside the door,” he says. “And I might’ve dropped one of Freddie’s listening devices into your purse.”
As understanding filters in, I pull away, furrowing my brow. “You eavesdropped on me?” Gods, he heard everything. I’m humiliated. Shamed. Embarrassed at my struggle to overcome Damien Drakkar’s charms. “I told you not to. You violated my privacy.”
He steps back. “I was trying to protect you.”
“I had everything under control,” I argue.
“No, you didn’t.” He gestures to my wounds. “He could’ve done anything he wanted to you.”
I thrust a finger under his nose. “But he didn’t. I had a plan. I was about to escape when you broke in like a brute. Stop treating me like a fragile butterfly, Gunnar Magnusson. I told you, I can take care of myself.”
“What were you gonna do?” He folds his arms over his chest. Blood from his messed-up hand leaves a red stain on his shirt.
“Kick him in the giblets and use my invisibility if I had to.”
The elevator door opens with a chime. I grab his injured hand and stuff it within the feathers of the coat to avoid unwanted attention. Wearing fake smiles, we exit the building, walk to the parking garage, and climb into the minivan in silence. Then the conversation resumes.
“Racking his balls would’ve just pissed him off,” Gunnar Magnusson says as he switches on the ignition and drives away, tires squealing. “Turning invisible would’ve outed you as something … different.” He runs his gaze from my face down to my chest and back.
“I knew what I was doing,” I argue.
“Didn’t sound like it,” he says, eyes on the road.
“What are you insinuating?”
He won’t look at me. “You were awfully convincing.”
“You think I was asking for it?” I squeal. “He used magic on me to—” I shut my mouth with a pop.
“Magic?” Now he turns to me. “Is he an Asgardian?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. But every time I’m around him, he … does things to me.”
“Things?” Gunnar Magnusson arches a brow. “As in …?”
I can’t lie, so I don’t deny it. “Sexual things.”
His muscles subtly readjust as if his entire body is assimilating this information. He doesn’t look pleased.
Since I’m confessing, I may as well put it all on the table. “The earthquake the other day wasn’t an earthquake,” I say.
He does a double take at me, and his ea
rs pull back. “Wait. That was you?”
I nod. At the time, I was proud I was able to literally rock the house, but now, all I feel is guilt. What’s wrong with me?
“What did he …? How did he …? Did he touch you?” He seems to scramble for the right words.
“He didn’t lay a finger on me in the auditorium. As for how he brought me to …” I stop myself from sharing the intimate details of my romp through sexual self-discovery, guided by the firm hand of a magical entity capable of inciting friggin’ earthquakes in my underwear. “I don’t know. But I think he used a spell. Then and now.”
I’m not attracted to him, I try to say, but my damn rune stave corrects me. “I’m sexually attracted to him.” I shake my head. “Shite. I mean, yes, he’s incredibly hot, but it’s not a natural interest. It’s magically induced. Powerful. But artificial.”
He glances at me. “Like Saga’s magic.”
“Yes,” I say, relieved. “Just like that.”
“Do you think he’s Saga?”
I consider the possibility. “I suppose he could be, but I doubt it. Frigg wants me dead. She could’ve killed me three times by now if she was disguised as Damien Drakkar. I can’t see her being that sloppy or going to all this trouble just to toy with me. Frigg has always been direct.”
“Someone else, then,” he says.
I nod. “But I don’t have any idea who. I pissed off a lot of people back in the day. It could be literally anyone.”
If Damien Drakkar is someone I hurt in my past, what’s his game now? He has my rune, and he’s using it as a lure to get my attention. What does he want with me? This isn’t about sex. Damien could have sex with anyone, and much as I’m loath to admit it, my prowess between the sheets isn’t nearly as legendary as someone like Freya’s or her twin brother Frey’s.
I run through other possible sex- or love-related gods who might hold a grudge against me. Maybe Lofn, the goddess of forbidden love? She’s Frigg’s handmaiden. Now that she knows my passion rune has returned to me, Frigg could’ve put Lofn up to chasing me down and appealing to my baser instincts. But Lofn was a kind, soft-spoken goddess, not an aggressive one, and I never had much interaction with her before.