Dragged

by Kendall Grey

  Kenaz rekindles the passion Laguz stifled. Lured by Damien’s closeness, I shake my head.

  Loki, fight this, Laguz says. He’s trying to get to you with this weird sex magic. Don’t let him. Think about something else. Your friends, Huginn, Gunnar—anything but this charlatan.

  But silent Kenaz speaks louder. The rune understands Damien Drakkar. They speak the same mute language whose etymological roots harken back to fire, desire, heat, sex, and violence. All of those elements exert their forces on me at once, opening the door for whatever Damien has in store and welcoming him inside.

  “Come with me to my hotel, and I’ll refresh your memory.” His voice is as smooth as ice; his words are as seductive as flame.

  My nose twitches at the irresistible, lusty bouquet rolling off him. I inhale deeply. I need more. All of it.

  I can’t. “I can.”

  “Excellent.” He offers me his arm. I take it.

  He walks me behind the stage through the small army of drag queens chatting and commiserating. Appreciative glances bandy among them, but I only have eyes for Damien Drakkar. Not even a venomous glower from Helga Boomslang can tear my attention away from him. We don’t speak as we exit the building and climb into a waiting limousine.

  Something buzzes in my purse. I distantly wonder if I should see what it is. Nah. Not important.

  Laguz drones at my hip. It’s saying something, but I don’t understand it. Nor do I care.

  There is only Damien Drakkar.

  The air inside the limousine is thick with his scent. I can hardly breathe, yet all I want to do is keep inhaling him. I need him.

  The car pulls away from the curb. He pours me a drink. I don’t know what it is, but I swallow it in a couple gulps.

  “Slow down,” he scolds mildly. “We can’t have you passing out when I have so many things to show you.”

  I try to punch through the haze enveloping my brain, but it’s too concentrated. I can’t see through it to the truth. “Like what? Who are you? What do you want with me?” My voice sounds distant.

  “Patience. All will be clear once we get those clothes off and settle you in my bed.”

  Lids heavy, I lean into him and lay my head on his shoulder. “I’m tired.”

  He slips an arm around me and kisses my temple. “I know, my sweet.”

  I wake up some time later at the curb of the Armstrong Regency. I straighten and check my surroundings. Damien offers a hand and helps me out of the backseat. He’s wearing his dark sunglasses and black leather coat. Between the leather and his wickedly delicious scent, I’m officially addicted.

  As if in a dream, walking through rooms with filtered light diffusing its rays across my dull mind, I follow him inside the posh hotel, up the elevator, and into his new suite. I must be careful not to reveal I’ve already been here once today. If I can remember to be careful.

  Once inside the room, he slips my feather coat off my shoulders and takes my purse.

  Something tells me I should hold on to the bag, yet I let it go and watch as he hangs both on the rack by the door. The light snags on something attached to his finger. A ring. Its silver band is wide, and dull bone winks from its center. Pretty.

  Loki, a distant voice calls.

  I ignore it. Probably a telemarketer.

  “Would you like a glass of wine to help settle your nerves?” Damien startles me. It’s been so quiet until now.

  I frown. “What nerves? I thought you had to tell me something important.” I can’t remember what that is, but maybe he does.

  Loki …

  “I know how the fairer sex can get discombobulated when they’re this close to greatness,” he says pouring wine into a glass. He sniffs it like he did the first time we were alone together.

  Then his comment catches up with me. “Greatness? I am the epitome of greatness. And stop disparaging women. It’s unattractive.”

  “Gods know I wouldn’t want to appear less than perfect for you, my love.” His eyes glitter with mischief as he saunters over and passes me the glass.

  Loki …

  I shake my head, trying to clear away the cobwebs interfering with my thoughts.

  “Drink.” He nods to my wine.

  I stare at it for several seconds.

  Loki, his scent is triggering Kenaz’s fire and hypnotizing you, someone says. You must break free. Put Damien out of your mind.

  I blink. Inhale. Exhale. My side throbs with the movement.

  Yes! Laguz—I think it’s Laguz—says. Focus on the pain. It’ll bring you back.

  Inhale. Ouch. Exhale. Ouch.

  The smog polluting my consciousness fades a little.

  “Are you all right?” Damien asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  He takes the glass from my hand. The ring on his bird finger catches my eye just as another injection of heady musk infuses the air. The top of my head feels hot. I rub it.

  “That’s a beautiful ring,” I say, following its path as he sets the glass on the bar counter.

  “This old bauble?” He lifts his hand and studies it. “I found it in a snow drift somewhere in Iceland. It reminded me of you, so I kept it.”

  “It’s mine,” I say weakly.

  Is it mine? I think it’s mine.

  He lunges forward and crushes me to his chest with one hand while petting my hair with the other. “Hush, my darling. You’re hysterical. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Recognition fizzes to the surface of my liquefied brain. It’s definitely mine. “That chip of bone. It belongs to me.”

  I grab for it, but he pushes my fingers aside, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.

  “That hurts,” I gasp as my loose rib stabs me in the lung.

  Loki, concentrate on the pain. You have to wake up. I need you alert and ready to run.

  Run? I think. Why do I have to run?

  Because Damien Drakkar is very dangerous.

  But he has my ring.

  We’ll come back for it later.

  “Give in to your feelings,” Damien soothes. His scent swells like an inexorable perfume, driving harder and deeper into my nose. I drink it down like an elixir.

  As each breath fills my lungs, I want more and more of him.

  I curl my arms around his neck and lean up to smell him. “What feelings?”

  “Lust,” he whispers, rustling the air above my ear. The hot spot thrumming under my scalp spreads like lips curling into a sated grin midkiss.

  “I have lots of lust.” I smile too, remembering the nights when Sigyn’s doting kindness wore thin, and I turned to other, darker pleasures to keep Kenaz—the wicked side of my soul—satisfied.

  I never told you about the time Angrboda and I snuck into the forest behind my home while Sigyn slumbered in our bed with Vali and Narfi asleep on either side of her. I shoved Angrboda against an ancient tree and cracked a sizeable wedge out of it in the process. She laughed at the pain, the trickle of blood running from the back of her head, and attacked me with her mouth, razor-sharp teeth and all. She bit and tongued and tasted parts of me I didn’t know could survive such abuse. I bent her over and claimed her to the tune of her cackles. I knotted her matted black hair around my wrist and used it as a rein to guide her in our copious exertions, all the while mocking the fact that my wife was just beyond the trees, oblivious to what Angrboda and I were getting up to.

  Yes, that happened. Twice.

  There were many such adventures with Angrboda—and a few others, if I’m being honest.

  But that’s neither here nor there. The now is what matters.

  “Shall we cash in our chips and head for the bedroom?” Damien asks. “I have many things to show you.”

  “Such as?”

  He arches a brow. “Restraints? Ball gags? Toys? What does my beautiful Loki desire?”

  “I desire you.” I flap my lashes slowly up at him.

  He called you Loki, not Astrid.

  “And I you, my sweet,” he
says, leaning close, bringing another big whiff of his indomitable scent with him.

  I close my eyes and breathe …

  No, Loki, snap out of it!

  Nahhhhh …

  Damien’s fingers close around my neck and exert light pressure. A vein in my throat throbs at the contact with his ring.

  Ring …

  Something important about a ring.

  Loki, the urgent voice calls. It’s slipping away, out of earshot.

  “The bone is mine,” I say. My voice sounds distant too. “Give me the ring.”

  He tips my head back and angles in for a kiss that he doesn’t deliver. Lips flirting with the air above mine, he says, “I couldn’t if I wanted to. With a little help from an onyx stone I found, I placed a spell on it. The ring is stuck to my finger, and—short of amputation—not even I can remove it.”

  I don’t feel anything from the bone. Maybe it really isn’t important.

  “Now, it’s time for bed,” he continues, “though I’d prefer a tree in a dark forest in the dead of night with all the creatures watching us through glowing eyes. Those were always the best romps, weren’t they?”

  My brow furls. “What?”

  Recognition filters through the fog—vague, unformed, and wholly out of reach, yet achingly present.

  Damien sweeps me into his arms and gazes into my eyes. “This is the moment we’ve both been waiting for. Our reunion has been twelve hundred years in the making. Oh, how I’ve missed you, Loki.”

  He’s warm and beautiful and smells so freaking good …

  He flings the door to his bedroom open and flashes a grin at the oversized bed dressed in seductive red satin. “Mommy’s home,” Damien declares.

  “Mommy?”

  “Three times over,” he says. “Hel, Jormundgandr, and Fenrir. How could you forget your own children?”

  Shitting shits of shit-covered shittery, Laguz declares at the exact moment the unformed mess of details from my past fuse into a giant flaming turd and go splat!

  “Angrboda,” I moan.

  “At your service, lover.” He—she—grins down at me, kicks the door closed behind us, and carries me to the bed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I know what you’re thinking. You’re disappointed I tumbled into bed with my old mistress.

  I’m disappointed too. I wish I could blame it on female hormones, but that would be a lie. This one was all on me. The real me, thrashing to shake free of the shackles of this woman’s body. Loki—not Astrid—is a hundred percent culpable for my foolishness.

  But you have to understand something about Angrboda. She’s my weakness—always has been. We had a love-hate relationship. I loved having sex with her and hated having anything else to do with her. The feeling was mutual. But all she had to do was flash me a smile with those exquisitely serrated teeth or beckon me with a long, bony finger, and I was on her like white on snow. She had this way with me, like I was a block of ice waiting for her razor-sharp talons to carve me into any kind of pet she desired. Then she’d toss me aside for the next piece of arse that walked past when I told her I had to go home to my wife, which just made me want her more. I’ve never been able to resist her rejection. It was like a drug. So was her magic kitty.

  Eager for someone else to blame, I stab the top of my skull with an index finger in a lame attempt at reprimanding Kenaz. The haughty rune mocks me with a patronizing laugh. I can’t even get mad at Kenaz. This was my fault.

  If only I’d been stronger. I should’ve listened to Laguz.

  I take an Uber to the new hotel where the boys are holed up. It’s several miles away, and with screaming emergency vehicles and thick traffic, I have half an hour to reflect on my crimes and what to do next.

  Gunnar Magnusson texted me fourteen times, each message more urgent than the last. The rest of the boys left a combined twelve texts asking if I was okay.

  I’m not okay.

  It’s almost dusk, and San Francisco is alive with movement. People wander the steep, gravity-defying streets in search of their next meals, a cup of coffee, a bar. So many of them look happy, unfazed by quakes or climate change or threats of the end of the world. I wish I felt the same.

  I’m numb.

  Angrboda has my rune, and if she’s to be believed, magic prevents me from taking it from her. If I can’t steal Othala, is it even worth going forward?

  Head propped in a hand and elbow wedged against the car window, I watch the buildings pass. The disc jockey on the radio says a small aftershock just shivered through the ground. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  I could ask the Uber man to take me somewhere else. I could disappear and give my friends their lives back. I could ask Alex to dispel his cloak and let Odin and Frigg have me.

  After recovering two runes and locating the third, you’re ready to throw in the towel and roll over for them? That’s not the Loki I know, Laguz scolds.

  The Loki you knew was a god who could bounce back from adversity because he didn’t have to worry about falling over and croaking from a faulty heart. Or worse, I counter.

  No, he used guile to find ways around, over, and sometimes through his problems.

  I rub my forehead and close my eyes for a long moment. I’m tired.

  And I’m tired of you whining like a spoilt child.

  Leave then.

  No, the salty rune says.

  Why not?

  Because I refuse to let Kenaz win.

  Who’s the spoilt child now? I ask.

  Laguz huffs. Kenaz got you to submit to its whims. That pisses me off. But as much as I despise Kenaz, you need both of us to keep you balanced. Your equilibrium dipped in Kenaz’s favor this time, but it won’t happen again. I understand how the rune works, and I know how to check it.

  It wasn’t your fault, I think. I heard you calling, but I didn’t listen. Angrboda’s spell was too strong, and Kenaz and I let him get the better of me.

  I’ll call louder next time, the rune says.

  I don’t want a next time. I was weak. I can’t afford to be weak ever again.

  Then, let’s lay out the pieces and figure out how to put them back together, Laguz says. What do we know?

  I sigh and rack my recovering brain for facts. Damien Drakkar hired Alex to take me to the street where the Drag and Bone billboard ran so I’d see Othala on his finger and come here. Damien is Angrboda, and her sex magic is as potent as ever. Frigg wants vengeance on me for killing her son and destroying Nine Realms. Odin wants me dead to stop the cycle of Ragnarok, but as we’re blood brothers and he can’t kill me himself, he’s taking a hands-off role in my demise, preferring to give Frigg, Heimdall, or any other interested parties free rein to assassinate me. Assuming my heart doesn’t do it for them on Tuesday.

  Based on what we’ve heard from Muninn, Laguz says, Odin and Frigg have lost the connection they once had as husband and wife. Maybe we can use the degradation of their marriage to our advantage.

  Maybe. I run a hand through my hair. I got the sense Angrboda was buttering me up for something today, but I don’t know what she wants. Besides sex.

  I don’t either, Laguz says. I think the wise course of action is to question Alex about what he knows. He’s had at least one conversation with Angrboda via email. Maybe he’s talked to others as well. We need to find out who Alex is. He’s clearly from our time. Knowing his identity might give us new insights, especially if he proves sympathetic to our cause.

  I’m afraid he’s a rotten apple that’s going to spoil the bunch, I lament. He’s already swayed Freddie to his side. How long before he gets Darryl Donovan to join him? If Alex knows who Freddie and Darryl Donovan are and decides to tell them, I’m as good as dead. If they don’t kill me themselves, they’ll certainly turn me over to Heimdall or Frigg and let one of them finish the job.

  Patience. One step at a time, Laguz soothes. Everything will fall into place.

  I hope you’re right.

  Have I ever steered you wrong before?<
br />
  I sense Laguz sit back on its laurels with a smug smile, but I’m not feeling its confidence.

  When I get to the hotel, Gunnar Magnusson is waiting for me at the door of our new room. I told him to get one on the bottom level. No need to put undue stress on the man by stoking his fear of heights with a fiftieth-floor room.

  He pulls me into a warm hug and rests his chin on top of my head. I want to curl my arms around his waist and breathe him in, but I hurt too much—physically and emotionally.

  “You had us worried sick,” he says, easing away. “Come inside and tell us what happened.”

  Afraid to meet his eyes, I lift a hand to stop him. “I will, but I have to do something first.”

  He arches a questioning brow but doesn’t say anything as we enter the room. It’s much smaller than the other place. There’s no kitchen or living area—just two beds, a bathroom, small desk, and TV. I suppose if we’re using our own money, we should be conservative in our spending. At least until I can score more cash, which shouldn’t be hard with Hulinhjálmur on board.

  Alex, Freddie, and Darryl Donovan stand up from the beds they’re sitting on. They’re all dressed like men, which is jarring. Brings the gravity of my situation into focus.

  “Girl, where the hell have you been?” Freddie asks, flinging his arms around my back. Wiggles and Sparky circle his ankles, meowing.

  “You gotta answer your texts,” Darryl Donovan scolds.

  “I’m gonna load your phone with one of those tracking apps so I can see where you are at all times,” Freddie says as he pulls away. “You’re worse than a teenager.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  Huginn scuttles over and looks up at me with wonky, worried eyes. “I can tell something’s wrong.”

  I give him a subtle headshake that I hope conveys, I’ll tell you later.

  He nods. I pick him up and ruffle his feathers. “Who took off your battle armor?”

  “Gunnar. He’s been protecting me from the cats since you left. They’re getting aggressive about this tell-Freddie-who-he-is stuff,” Huginn clucks.

  “If she’d just tell him the truth, we wouldn’t have to keep hassling you, chicken butt,” Sparky says.