Bjorn Cursed

by N. J. Walters

  All her earlier pleasure vanished, replaced by a lurking fear that was never far from either of their minds.

  Driven by pain and instinct, he lifted her into his arms. There had to be a way for them to win. Their love was too precious not to be given the chance to flourish.

  As much animal as man, he growled and drove his tongue into her mouth, hungry for her, staking his claim.

  She plunged her fingers into his hair, gripped his head, and returned his kiss without hesitation.

  “Anja.”

  “I’m here.” With that promise, she stepped away, removed the scabbard, and tossed it on the table. The knife quickly followed. Eyes locked with his, she dragged her shirt over her head and flung it aside.

  All courage and heart, she reached for him.

  Hands on her waist, he lifted her high and latched onto one pert nipple, flicking the bud with his tongue. “Sweet.” As succulent as the first strawberries of summer, as potent as the honey mead he’d brewed long ago.

  Her hands were everywhere, stroking his shoulders and biceps, her nails dragging over his back. A fever of need consumed him. Keeping one hand on the back of her head, he melded their lips together.

  “Anja.” There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he was lost in the passion swirling around them, her name the only word he could find.

  A step brought him close to the wall. She gasped, her back arching when her bare skin touched the metal. Inside him, his wolf stilled. Danger! The warning blasted through him.

  He set her quickly on the ground and whispered in her ear, “There’s someone outside.”

  All the color drained from her face. She grabbed her shirt off the floor, yanked it back on, and dove for the weapons. The knife went back into the sheath. The sword she drew from the scabbard.

  It was too late to get her a gun and show her how to use it. He’d allowed himself to get distracted, to be complacent. To assume no one would find them.

  At least not this quickly.

  It wasn’t Odin or Freya. They wouldn’t hesitate outside.

  This was likely a werewolf looking to win the bounty. How had they been discovered? Maybe someone had seen them at the market. It had been stupid to stop, but he’d wanted to give her that, to share some of the wonders of the world.

  He dropped a hard kiss on her lips. “Stay here. Shut the door behind me. You can open it from inside, but they won’t be able to get to you.” At least he hoped they wouldn’t. Her phone was back at the house, but his was in his pocket. He pulled it out and gave it to her. “Use it if you need to.”

  Whoever had found them would have to die.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bjorn strode toward the entrance of the storage cellar. His wolf howled, demanding to be released so it could hunt down this latest threat. It was difficult to keep the beast in check, especially since nothing was holding him back now that Anja knew what he was.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and sniffed the air. Dirt, metal, and all the normal forest smells, but no wolf. Nor did he detect a human.

  He inhaled deeper, scenting something dark, tinged with supernatural power. The hackles of his wolf rose, a low growl vibrated beneath his skin. Whoever was out there was not a man or werewolf. They were other.

  As a member of the Forgotten Brotherhood, he knew of almost every paranormal creature in the world. The stench of the gods clung to this one.

  He yanked his shirt over his head, tossed it aside, and gave his shoulders a roll. One night with Anja. Was it too much to ask? He’d wanted to hold her close and sleep with her by his side. This was supposed to be a safe haven, a place where he could protect her.

  “I’m waiting.” The voice was male and deep. In spite of his words, Bjorn sensed no impatience.

  He strode up the bunker stairs, hoping Anja had shut the door to the vault as he’d instructed. While they’d been inside, night had wrapped her arms around them, the moon glowing high in the sky. His wolf flexed, ready to spring forward and fight.

  Hands by his sides, fingers slightly curled, he got his first glimpse of his latest opponent.

  The stranger stood at the edge of the clearing. He wasn’t frowning or threatening in any way. If anything, he appeared almost bored. Tall and broad, they were similar in size. And like him, the male had blond hair, but it was shorn much shorter. There were no visible identifying marks or tattoos. His hands were empty of weapons, but that didn’t mean he was unarmed, just that his weapons were hidden from sight.

  All the nocturnal animals had gone silent. No birds or insects flew. Even the air itself was still.

  “What do you want?” He could practically taste the power surrounding his latest foe. It was sweet and beguiling instead of bitter. “Who sent you?”

  The stranger shrugged. “You know what I want. I am the hand of justice for Freya. She wants the woman back.”

  Over my dead body. “She can’t have her.”

  “I will have her.” He continued on as though Bjorn had never spoken. “Whether you die or live is up to you.” His tone was flat, as though he had no care one way or the other.

  A low growl escaped Bjorn. The newcomer raised an eyebrow, the biggest show of emotion so far. He tilted his head to one side. “You are not human. Interesting.”

  “You did not know?” There was no one else around, he was certain of it. Freya had sent this one man to reclaim Anja. If she were alone, he would have been more than adequate. But she was not alone, not any longer.

  “It matters not. My orders are to bring Anja Knutson back to face Freya’s judgment and kill all who help her.”

  He seemed more machine than man, the complete opposite of Bjorn, who lived by his instincts. And right now, his gut was screaming there was more to the situation than he understood.

  “How did you find us?” He was stalling. Not because he was afraid to fight, but to give himself time to assess the situation. Instinct might guide him, but he also used his brain. It was a warrior’s most valuable asset.

  The stranger reached down to a pack at his feet and pulled out a woman’s tunic. “I have her scent. There is nowhere she can go that I can’t find her.”

  “Impossible.” Even he, the greatest tracker in the world, needed more than a simple scent to find a person in such a short time. It should have taken days, even weeks to narrow down her location.

  “Not for me.” He tossed the tunic aside. “Give her to me.”

  “What’s your name?”

  The corners of the stranger’s lips twitched. Not into a smile, more an expression of wry humor. “You are the first prey who has ever asked. I was born into the service of Freya. I need no name.”

  A pang of pity struck Bjorn. While he might have been cursed, his choices had been his own before and after. “You never question what you are sent to do?”

  “Never.” The word slammed down with a finality that was unmistakable. “Only the stupid or those with a death wish question the goddess.” Tilting his head to one side, he studied Bjorn. “You do not fear me.” The unnamed warrior took a step closer, seeming more intrigued than anything.

  “I’ve faced foes more powerful than you.” But Maccus and Asher had been trying to help him, had sought to save him. This one wouldn’t hesitate to slay him to get to Anja.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ve never failed in well over a thousand years of service.”

  “Anja didn’t escape Freya’s Hall.” Talking wasn’t his usual course of action, but he was reluctant to fight this man. If he’d been born into the service of the goddess, Bjorn couldn’t have met him, or even fought him, during his lifetime, but there was something almost familiar about him. “Someone took her. The gods are playing games and we are but pawns.”

  The warrior remained unmoved, not even blinking. “It has always been thus.”

  “And you do not care?” It
sure as hell bothered him.

  “It would not change anything.”

  The monotone was beginning to grate on his last nerve. That was likely the point—to goad him into doing something rash and stupid.

  “She will turn on you, eventually. There will come a day when you fail her, and you will be punished.” Failure wasn’t an option when it came to the gods.

  “If that day comes, I pray my death is quick and final.”

  Bjorn’s heart ached for the man. Not a reaction he’d expected. This was not a warrior fighting for glory or the afterlife, not a man protecting his home or family. He was as much a mindless creature as Bjorn had been at the beginning, when he’d reacted to Odin’s curse, allowing anger and his wolf to rule him. This man had withdrawn, cutting off all emotion.

  “How did you become Freya’s hunter?”

  “Do you think if we talk I will falter in my duty? It makes no difference to me.”

  “Call it curiosity.” What was he missing? There was something out of reach, something he couldn’t see.

  The warrior stepped away from the trees and into a shaft of moonlight.

  I’ve never laid eyes on this man before, but I feel as though I know him.

  It was confusing as hell.

  “I do not remember. It has always been thus. I know no other life.” The words were curt. “Step aside. It is time.”

  “I will not let you take my wife.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Yes, my wife. As I said, we are all of us pawns for the games played by the gods and those who would be gods.” Lucifer was a fallen angel in his pantheon, but in comparison to the others, he was just like them in terms of power. Bjorn threw back his head and howled, letting his wolf loose. The shift was instantaneous, his remaining clothes ripping as his body reformed and grew. His head reshaped. Claws erupted from his hands, which were now huge paws. Enormous fangs filled his mouth. He stepped between the man and the bunker, blocking the way.

  The warrior smiled, his eyes lighting with pleasure for the first time. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew a heavy war axe. “A werewolf? A worthy opponent.”

  A battle cry ripped through the night air as he attacked.

  …

  Anja pressed her fingers to her lips. Would that kiss be their last? Bjorn was already out of sight and moving quickly toward whatever or whoever was out there.

  Stay inside while he fought? Not bloody likely.

  She tucked the phone into her boot for safekeeping. Sword in hand, she left the vault and crept toward the opening, pausing long enough for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The lantern would only give away her position.

  Male voices drifted down to her, but she wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying.

  Bjorn would be furious she’d disobeyed him.

  Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her weapon. Too bad. They were a team. They’d fought alone before to a disastrous end.

  Live and fight and die together. That’s what he’d said, and that’s what she meant to do.

  There was nothing waiting for her in Freya’s Hall. Even if all was forgiven, all that lay before her were years of drudgery, years of loneliness.

  Better to go down fighting.

  The howl of a wolf made her heart stop. The return battle cry sent it racing.

  She rushed up the narrow metal steps, no longer worried about staying silent so as not to alert them to her presence.

  Bjorn and the unknown male were locked in mortal combat.

  The giant wolf struck the newcomer, raking razor-sharp claws across his midsection. A human would be dead. Another werewolf would have likely been shoved across the clearing. The stranger only staggered back two steps, and he was smiling.

  The wounds knit back together, leaving only bloodstains behind.

  Her mouth went dry. Her blood ran cold. Who was he? What was he? He was no wolf. Otherwise he’d be fighting in that form. Wouldn’t he?

  The battle-axe was an ancient weapon, but he wielded it as though it was an extension of his arm. The blade whistled through the air with deadly accuracy. Bjorn barely ducked in time to keep his head attached to his body.

  Terror squeezed the air from her lungs. Her husband might be a werewolf, but not even he would survive being beheaded.

  After their initial cries, the silence was unnerving. Both men moved with a fluidity of motion and a single-mindedness that was mesmerizing. It was a deadly dance of advance and retreat, each of them watching and waiting for some opening to strike down their opponent.

  She bit her bottom lip until it bled to keep from crying out. Any distraction would mean Bjorn’s death. For this warrior matched him in skill, cunning, sheer power, and determination.

  It was impossible for her to get a good look at him in the moonlight, but there was no denying his strength or abilities. He was tall and broad with a warrior’s battle-hardened body. His light hair was cut short and shone when a moonbeam caught it.

  He danced away from a swipe from the wolf’s giant paw and went back on the attack, metal flashing, axe whistling through the air.

  The way he fought seemed familiar, like something she’d seen before. But where?

  Lured from the safety of the stairway, she was drawn toward the combatants. The sword in her hand grew heavier with each step. She lowered it, her arm trembling.

  Pain pierced her heart, almost doubling her over. Rubbing her hand on her chest did nothing to ease it. Her heart was breaking. And it was more than her fear for Bjorn. Was this some trick to ensnare her? Maybe, but nothing could have stopped her from moving forward. Something in her soul compelled her to keep going.

  “Who are you?” She hadn’t meant to speak, but the words were ripped from her.

  Even though she’d spoken barely above a whisper, both men froze, their heads snapping in her direction. Bjorn shifted back to human. In that split second, they were both illuminated. Two sets of sharp blue eyes peered at her—one emotionless, the other filled with fury. They were the same height and build.

  I know him.

  Like a sleepwalker, she dropped her sword and stumbled forward, her free hand outstretched.

  Bjorn leaped to her side, grabbed her arm, and shoved her behind him. “Go back inside.”

  “No. Look at him, Bjorn. “It’s Sven. It’s our son.” He’d been a boy when she’d last seen him, but she recognized the curve of his jaw, his features, and his eyes.

  He was the image of his father.

  Bjorn shook his head and took a step back. “It can’t be.”

  With her heart ready to shatter into a million pieces, she stepped to the side, starved for the sight of her son. It had been so long, and he’d changed so much, but a mother knew. “Do you remember me? You swore to Freya you would, no matter what?”

  Then Morrigan’s words came flowing back. “It’s the prophecy.”

  “Anja.” The pity and concern in Bjorn’s voice didn’t dissuade her.

  “Listen to me. I know I’m right.” She had to make him see what she did. “The sun rises, cloaking your world in darkness. The wolf howls. The sun burns with rage. It’s not the sun in the sky, but our son.”

  And she was the key. If she couldn’t convince them both she was right, father would kill son or son would kill father. They would all lose and be plunged in darkness.

  The warrior lowered his battle-axe until the head was resting on the ground with his hands clasped around the handle. His cold stare bore into her, as though he was trying to read all the secrets of her soul. “I know not of what you speak, woman. You will come with me to face Freya’s justice.”

  Laughter bubbled up from inside her, but there was no humor in the sound, only sadness. “There is little justice to be found there, I fear.” She rubbed her chest, to try to ease the ache that threatened to swallow her whole. “
You truly do not remember? I’d hoped you would. Do you know Olga and Olaf, your sister and brother? They, too, were reborn. That was the promise I was given.”

  When her trembling legs began to buckle and she swayed, Bjorn was there, wrapping his strong arm around her to support her. “You’re sure? You’re sure it’s the prophecy, that this is our son?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “You have only to look at each other. You are mirror images. Lengthen his hair, give him a beard, and cover him in tattoos and he is you. He is our son.”

  Bjorn threw back his head and roared to the heavens. His pain and fury almost drove her to her knees. Sven took a step toward them, but quickly halted.

  “That is the revenge of the gods,” Bjorn muttered. “They would have me kill my son or him kill me. They would make you watch.” He pinned Sven with a dark look. “Then they would have you deliver your mother to her death.”

  “I have no mother,” Sven whispered. “No father.” There was no expression on his face, but his eyes told another story. “I was born into the service of the goddess.”

  He was so much like his father it almost hurt to look at him. “No, that’s not right.” Anja wanted to run to Sven, but Bjorn wouldn’t let her. He was her son, but not hers. “The goddess promised my children would be reborn to other mothers and have a chance at a life, since yours ended so young in blood and violence.”

  “Release me.” She looked up at Bjorn. “You cannot kill our son, and I will not let him kill you.” The words almost stuck in her throat. Acid burned in her veins. There was no way for any of them to win. “I will not burden him with this. I will go willingly.”

  “No.” Bjorn tightened his arms around her until she could barely breathe, his grip unbreakable. “I can’t live without you. I can’t. If you are taken, the world will run red with blood. I will search out the gods and destroy them or die trying.”

  “Bjorn.” The stark expression of pain on his face warned there would be no reasoning with him. Not this time.