Bjorn Cursed

by N. J. Walters

  Lucifer sounded much like a god to her, and gods rarely paid for their offenses. She chewed on her bottom lip. “I appreciate all that you plan to do—”

  “But you think Odin will kill you even if the others find proof you had nothing to do with it?” her husband asked.

  “Yes. They do not like to be seen as fallible. They will need to place the blame somewhere. It is the easiest solution to their problem.”

  Bjorn growled, an actual growl that sounded exactly like an angry wolf. “If you’re going to see Lucifer, I’m going with you.” He was no longer looking at her but at Maccus.

  Her heart jumped into her throat. How could she keep him safe if he left her? If this Lucifer was so powerful as to consort with another god, she feared for Bjorn’s life. She also recognized the stubborn tilt of his jaw and the determination shining in his eyes.

  Her husband might have been brought to his knees and humbled by a god, but he was still a protective warrior at heart. Nothing would sway him from his task.

  Maccus stared at him, his black eyes rimmed with a golden light that was so bright it hurt to look at them. She finally glanced away, but Bjorn would not back down.

  “You’re a stubborn fucker.” The light faded until the rim around his eyes was a pale gold once again.

  “If it were Morrigan, what would you do?”

  The battle of wills between the two powerful men had the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Finally, Maccus dipped his head in acknowledgment. “So be it.”

  It was in their blood to protect those they loved. Anja understood this. Didn’t mean she always agreed or liked it.

  “It might not be possible,” Maccus told them. “I can enter Hell and Heaven. Not sure I can take passengers.”

  “Try.” Bjorn’s tone indicated it was a demand, plain and simple.

  Her heart jumped and then began to race so fast her chest hurt. “What are Hell and Heaven?” She thought she knew but wanted it spelled out clearly.

  “They are the places Christians call their afterlife.” Bjorn caught her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I will be safe.”

  She jumped up from her seat and shook her head. “You cannot promise such a thing.” Nothing was a given when you entered the realm of the dead. Sweat broke out on her body, and her voice rose slightly. “You are not dead.”

  “Neither are the Valkyrie.” He rose to his feet, legs spread, and arms loose by his side. His jaw flexed and a muscle under his eye twitched. “Not all who enter and leave those realms are.”

  “They have special dispensation.” Her throat ached with the need to yell at him, but she restrained, keeping it to a strangled whisper.

  “He’s been there before and come out.” He jerked his thumb toward Maccus.

  “I’m special,” Maccus began, only to be interrupted.

  “Hey, that’s my line,” Asher interjected. She thought it was an attempt at levity, but she didn’t understand it. The other women seemed to and smiled.

  “If we do this, it’s best we go now while your woman is here and has some protection.” Maccus pushed away from the table.

  “Be careful,” Morrigan warned. “I don’t trust Lucifer.”

  He snorted. “I’ve never trusted the bastard. I’m not about to start now.” Then the big man bent down and kissed his wife. It was no little peck on the lips, but a scorching kiss, one of possession.

  It was the way Bjorn kissed her. But instead of reassuring her, her man was still scowling.

  Why was he angry with her? She wasn’t the one about to recklessly take herself off to the nasty underworld of another pantheon.

  She folded her arms around herself and refused to acknowledge him, staring at his chest. Beneath the tight shirt were runes worn above his heart, ones he’d etched there to honor her and the children. They seemed to pulse with a power of their own, a palpable reminder of how much he loved her and just how far he was willing to go to protect her.

  “Let’s do this.” Maccus’s words jolted her.

  No matter how aggravating he was, she couldn’t send her man off like this. What if he didn’t come back? Her life was filled with enough regrets. Giving a sigh, she went to him. Ignoring the smile playing around the corners of his lips, she dragged his head down and kissed him. Every lonely moment, every ounce of love and anger she possessed was poured into the kiss.

  He dragged her into his arms, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her as though his life depended on it. And maybe it did. Maybe their love was what had brought her here. Their tongues tangled in a passionate dance.

  “Finish that later.” The sharp command broke through the fear and sensual haze surrounding her. Arms crossed over his chest, Maccus scowled.

  She eased her lips away and pressed her hands against Bjorn’s shoulders until he released her. “I’ll be angry if you die.”

  He caught her hands in his and brought them to his lips. “I know.” He brushed a kiss over her knuckles and released her.

  Maccus stepped over to the wall. Once again, protective symbols appeared on the previously empty wall, glowing with an intensity that was almost blinding. But she would not look away. This could be her last glimpse of her husband.

  Bjorn sauntered toward his friend. He wasn’t even armed with a sword or knife.

  “You need a weapon,” she called out.

  He glanced over his shoulder, his blond hair falling down his back. “No, I don’t.”

  Maccus raised his arms and huge black wings burst out from behind him. Anja gasped and flung herself against the far wall. What was he? The wings were black, yet not. They seemed to glow with some internal light all their own.

  Jo’s jaw dropped. Asher frowned and stared intently at his friend. Even Bjorn hesitated before standing right in front of his winged friend. At least she wasn’t alone in this. Only Morrigan seemed unconcerned. She gave the men a jaunty wave. “Hurry back.”

  Maccus wrapped his arms around Bjorn. Then there was a huge flash and a loud boom, much like when a bolt of lightning struck the ground. She flung her arm up to protect her eyes. When she lowered it, they were gone.

  Bjorn had disappeared, gone to the Christian underworld.

  …

  Even he hadn’t expected wings. Maccus was a fallen angel, so that meant no wings, right? Obviously not, since he had them.

  Bjorn hung on as the two of them were sucked into some kind of void. It wasn’t flying. It was like being surrounded by a nothingness that was suffocating.

  This is what Anja experienced. And she’d been on her own and not with a fallen angel.

  The lack of sound was deafening. Time lost all meaning. He gritted his teeth and held on. His wolf howled, not happy to be here and letting him know it.

  A roar built inside him. Just when he was about to release it, they were spit out of the void. He’d have landed on his ass if Maccus hadn’t grabbed him.

  “Shit, warn a guy next time.” There was rock beneath his feet and more surrounding him. It was dark, the area lit by torches that flickered. The air was dank and not at all pleasant.

  “There will be no next time.”

  Yeah, he got that. “These are extenuating circumstances.”

  “That’s the only reason you’re here.” Maccus turned in a circle and then chose a direction.

  He kept close behind, watching their back. In the shadows, something skittered. “Demons?”

  “Yes. They’ll stay back unless ordered otherwise.” He paused and turned down a narrower tunnel. “I have a history with them.”

  No shit. He couldn’t imagine landing in this place after being kicked out of Heaven. Being here gave him a whole new respect for the leader of the Brotherhood.

  Rotten corpses and bleached white bones lined their path. There were dozens of pairs of eyes watching them now. His wolf pushed fo
rward. Fangs dropped and claws ripped from the tips of his fingers. Better to be ready to fight than taken off guard. The demons were staying back for now, but that could easily change.

  The air was filled with a grayish haze, thicker than smoke but not quite fog. The foul taste of sulphur coated his tongue.

  “Nice place,” he muttered.

  “You get used to it.”

  The path widened and opened up into a huge room. It was like stepping into another world. Carpet covered every inch of the floor. Opulent tapestries hung from the walls, along with paintings that looked as though they belonged in a museum. The air was clear and pure, the light brighter.

  And seated at the far end on a monstrous chair made from the bones of the dead was the man himself—Lucifer. He leaned back in his throne, his legs extended, his ankles crossed. He held a chalice of some kind, the base resting against his stomach.

  “I don’t remember inviting you.” Lucifer’s deep voice reverberated through the space and sent a shiver of dread and foreboding through him. Bjorn ignored it and strode forward with Maccus by his side.

  “I don’t need an invitation,” Maccus stated. Bjorn wished he knew more about that, but it was too late to find out now. They all had secrets.

  Lucifer shrugged. “If you want to be a bad guest, that’s up to you.” The King of Hell turned his sights on Bjorn. “Now you do need an invitation.”

  “I’m with him.” He jerked his head toward Maccus, who was standing to the side with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “What do you know about my wife?” A ball of dread had settled in his gut and grew larger with each second he was away from Anja.

  Lucifer smirked and sipped from his chalice. “I heard you lost her.”

  Anger bubbled over. The wolf inside him jumped forward, wanting to destroy the prey before him. Bjorn’s head and shoulders morphed and the wolf snapped his sharp fangs before he could pull it under control.

  “Quite the temper you have there, boy. But you’re in my realm now. I suggest you hold it, or I’ll gut you.”

  Maccus cleared his throat. “Just answer the damn question so we can leave.”

  Lucifer sighed. “Fine. You always were a killjoy. I don’t know anything about your wife. Why would I?”

  He seemed outwardly sincere, but Bjorn could smell the lie. “Try again.”

  “I know who she is and how she died. I know everything there is to know about all Maccus’s little friends.” A not-so-subtle dig at the problems he’d been causing the Brotherhood the past year.

  “I told you what would happen if you meddled.” Maccus reminded him.

  “What?” Lucifer spread his arms wide. “I’m sitting here doing nothing, and I’m not sure why you’re asking me about his wife.” He pointed at Bjorn. “She’s dead. She’s not Christian, so she’s not mine. End of story.”

  Funnily enough, that statement rang true. When Maccus glanced at him, Bjorn knew he sensed it, too.

  “What do you know?” He kept the question open-ended, hoping Lucifer might spill something.

  The devil simply laughed. “Oh, I know many, many things. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “The more you fuck with us, the longer we’ll be here,” Maccus pointed out. “And I’m starting to get cranky.” He’d manifested several knives and was flicking them through the fingers of both hands.

  “I’m not sure what you want, but I can assure you I personally have done nothing to his wife. Not my domain. Outside my power. Now get out. I have a fresh crop of souls that need torturing.” An evil smile curled his lips. “Unless you want to join me.”

  Maccus flicked both knives in the air. They disappeared seconds later to reappear on his arms as tattoos. He strode toward Bjorn, wrapped his arms around him, and whispered, “Hold on.”

  The world dropped away.

  Chapter Seven

  Dread filled Anja when Bjorn disappeared. She jumped toward the empty space, as if she could somehow pull him back. But there was no way to follow, no way to get to him if he got in trouble.

  Morrigan wrapped her arm around Anja’s waist and guided her toward the table. “Why don’t you sit down? You look a little pale.”

  Her legs were weak, but she managed to make it to a chair and sink down. The symbols on the wall had disappeared along with the two men, leaving a blank space. Heart aching, she stared at the last place she’d seen her man.

  What if he doesn’t return? an insidious voice whispered. She shoved it aside, unwilling to listen.

  Asher pushed away from the table. “I’m going to use Maccus’s computer to clean up any video that might exist of you and Bjorn.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t quite understand what it all meant, but she did know he was doing something to help protect them.

  It was impolite, but she couldn’t help but stare when he dropped an affectionate kiss on the top of his woman’s head before disappearing down the hallway. From the tales she’d heard, she’d imagined a bloodsucker to be a ravenous beast attacking people for their blood, not a man capable of love and loyalty.

  What kind of a woman chose to love a vampire? Jo was a striking woman with hair as black as the night and unusual eyes—one green and one brown. She’d obviously been blessed by whatever gods she prayed to.

  And then there was Morrigan, with her fiery red hair and emerald green eyes. She was brave to tie herself to Maccus. She bit her bottom lip and shuddered. A male who could travel to the afterlife on a whim was one with great power. Studying the other women gave her something to think about rather than her missing husband and what he might be facing.

  Morrigan went to the kitchen and began opening the cupboard doors. The area between where the cooking was done and the table was open, so they could still see her.

  “This conversation calls for hot chocolate. It’s a mix, but it’s a good one.”

  “Chocolate?”

  Both women stopped and stared at her. “Please tell me you’ve had chocolate.” Morrigan stood poised with her hand wrapped around the metal jar she’d retrieved.

  Anja shook her head. “I’ve heard of it. We get it, but seldom. And all the newcomers fight over it. I’ve never attempted to get any.”

  “Now that’s my idea of hell,” Jo quipped. Then she bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you lived in hell or anything. Shit, I should just shut up now.”

  They’re as nervous as I am.

  Anja relaxed enough to manage a smile for Jo. “I understand what you meant. You obviously love chocolate so an afterlife without it would be hell.”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.” Jo put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Why do you even have food in the afterlife? I mean, if you’re dead and all, what does it matter?”

  Morrigan had filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. The appliances in the kitchen were odd to Anja, but she’d listened over the years and was familiar with many things. A smokeless fire and a permanent icebox were things to admire about humanity.

  “People need routine and the familiar.” How to explain it best? “You just said that an afterlife without chocolate was hell. It’s like that. But Freya has final say over everything. We eat, work, talk, and sleep. Some train to fight. Others take up creative pursuits. All can follow whatever path they choose.” All except those like her, who were in service.

  Steam rose from the kettle. Morrigan had been busy setting out mugs and scooping some of whatever was in the jar into them. Then she added water and stirred. The metal clinked against the glass.

  “People need a sense of purpose. Being in an afterlife doesn’t mean you stop feeling or caring or needing. You’re still living, in a way, just different from the one here on this plane.” Anja shook her head. “It’s complicated, but it’s much like living
in this world. It’s simply a different dimension and reality.”

  “Except you didn’t have your family.”

  Anja ran her damp palms over the smooth leggings she was quickly becoming accustomed to. Jo’s sympathy made her eyes fill, but she blinked back the tears. “No, I was alone.” And that was something she didn’t wish to discuss.

  “Here, try this.” Morrigan handed her one of the mugs. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

  While she retrieved the other drinks, Anja blew on the hot liquid. Curious, she brought the mug to her lips and sipped. Flavor exploded on her tongue, warmth seeped into her mouth. She took another sip and then another. It was sweet and rich and delicious. Both women were smiling at her.

  “I take it you like it?” Morrigan asked.

  “It’s incredible. No wonder newcomers fight over it when we get some at the Hall.”

  Morrigan pulled her chair closer and sat. “Wait until you’ve had a dark chocolate bar. If you think this is good, that’s orgasmic.”

  “I can see why the goddess likely keeps most of what she acquires for herself.” Unable to stop herself, she took another sip. What she really wanted to do was down it, but she was trying to make it last.

  “I don’t understand how you have a body if you died.” Jo shook her head. “That sounds really callous and cruel. I don’t mean it that way.”

  She set down her mug and reached for Jo’s hands, taking them both in hers. “You’re naturally curious. And it’s the way of the gods and goddesses. They can manifest the last known image of the soul if the body is destroyed. It’s just a physical vessel for the soul. If a soul is blessed with the gift of rebirth, they get a new body and forget their past life, so as not to interfere with how they live their new life.”

  She released Jo and gulped more of the soothing chocolate. “Tell me about Maccus.” She needed hope, something to cling to. The more time that passed, the more the fear inside her threatened to send her screaming into the night.

  “Maccus is a fallen angel.”