by S. T. Bende
“We aren’t giving up,” Lornara said firmly. “We just need to regroup. Has there been a time—any time at all—in the last few months where you’ve felt any more like yourself? Or has it just been one huge fog?”
“I’ve felt better this week. Well, intermittently. I blacked out when I got back from Asgard—after Balder…” I shook myself. “But I felt a shift when I woke up yesterday—like the weight in my heart had lifted a few degrees. It’s worse again today, but I guess you can see that.”
“We can only see what you want us to,” Elsa reminded me. And I wondered for the hundredth time if they really didn’t peek. I would have.
“Did anything change in Arcata today?” Lornara’s curls tumbled over her shoulder. “Protests at the university, artist festivals in town, maybe an influx of tourists?”
“Nothing’s going on in town. We’re lower on numbers here at the compound, but usually Freya responds well to a quieter environment so I don’t think that’s it,” Elsa said.
“Lower in numbers?” Lornara asked.
“Brynn, Henrik, and Tyr are dealing with a situation in Alfheim,” Elsa explained. “And I asked Mia to get her brother out of the house so we could work on Freya. She took Jason on a drive up the coast to show him that big fern gully from one of their favorite movies.”
“Mia’s brother is here?” Lornara blinked at Elsa. “Interesting.”
“No, not interesting,” I countered. “He didn’t get Mia’s awesome gene.”
“How long has he been here?” Lornara asked.
I shrugged. “A few days?”
“He arrived yesterday,” Elsa offered.
“Around the time Freya came out of her post-blackout fog?” Lornara raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
Elsa’s eyes widened. “Yes.”
“Mmm.” A silent communication passed between the two healers.
“Mmm, what?” What are they driving at?
“And has Jason been staying at the house while he’s been here?” Lornara ignored my question.
“He has. But…he’s not a…and she’s…it’s not an option.” Elsa crossed to the window and stared outside.
“Maybe Ragnarok’s changed the rules. Maybe the restriction will finally be lifted.” Lornara ran her hands through her hair.
I growled in frustration. If they didn’t loop me in, somebody was getting a pillow to the head. Or worse.
“Freya,” Lornara said cautiously, “do you have…do you have feelings for Jason?”
“Jason?” My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Are you insane? He’s the most arrogant being I’ve ever met. And that’s saying a lot, considering I know Thor.”
“Are you sure?” Elsa turned from the window.
“One hundred percent,” I declared. And I meant it. Jason Ahlström was arrogant and egotistical and didn’t play by any of the rules that kept the mortals’ society from imploding. He didn’t seem to care one iota about the safety of others. And he had zero respect for boundaries. His “uptight” demonstration in the basement had proven as much. Jerk.
“Hmm.” Lornara tilted her head.
“Hmm, what? Why are you both looking at me like that?”
Elsa’s gaze shifted to Lornara, who gave a slight headshake. “No reason.”
If they were suggesting that Jason had anything to do with my improved—and now regressive—health, then they were sorely mistaken. “Look, even if I did have feelings for Jason—which I most emphatically do not—it wouldn’t matter. I’m under contract.”
“The Norns prohibited you from uniting with your own perfekt match, ja. But doesn’t that contract include a clause allowing for a removal of that restriction when the time is right?”
“Elsa, don’t go there,” I warned.
“I’m just saying with Ragnarok here, maybe this time—”
“Don’t. Go. There,” I growled.
Elsa’s delicate hand flew to her chest. “I’m sorry. I only meant—”
“I know what you meant. And I can’t go there again. Sorry.”
“I understand.” Elsa’s voice was barely a whisper. “Lornara, I think Freya’s had enough for the day. Let’s set some crystals around her room and give her some space.”
Lornara gave Elsa a curious look, but didn’t ask so much as one question. She simply reached into her bag and withdrew a tied satchel. She loosened the ribbon, before crossing the room to dump the contents into Elsa’s palms. “Set these at the corners, in pairs. I’ll place complementary stones at the windows and beneath the bed.”
The two of them set to work, quickly decorating my room with magic rocks. Elsa kept her head bowed as she worked, hastening around the room without making eye contact.
Remorse coursed through me. “I’m sorry, Elsa. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed. I know how difficult that situation…” She looked up. “Well, I know it still hurts. I’m sorry.”
I forced a thin smile, not wanting to hurt Elsa any further. “I’m fine.”
Ignoring Lornara’s worried glance and Elsa’s pitying frown, I pushed myself to my feet. “Thanks for trying, but Elsa’s right—I’ve had all the healing I can handle. I’m going to sleep this off, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” Lornara picked up her bag and opened my bedroom door. “I’m going to stick around for the rest of the day, so just call downstairs if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” I folded my hands together, nodding politely at the fairy as she flitted into the hallway. Elsa moved to follow, but I called out before she slipped through the door. “Elsa, a word?”
Elsa paused. “Lornara, I’ll meet you downstairs,” she said. When the flutter of Lornara’s wings were no more than a whisper, Elsa stepped back into the room and pulled the door closed.
“I was out of line,” she apologized.
“No, you were right.” I wrung my fingers together, hating the way my post-Helheim self continued to behave toward my friends. “It still hurts. And I don’t know how to make it stop.”
“I do.” Elsa met my gaze. “Before you can release your pain, you have to embody it. It doesn’t mean you’re forgetting—it means you’re evolving.”
“I can’t.” I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“I’m here if you change your mind,” Elsa reminded me. She bit down on her bottom lip.
“Spill it, Elsa.”
“If you are going to change your mind…” She exhaled. “Well, you might want to do it soon. Time’s running out.”
“I know.” My too-thin smile returned along with the tornado in my gut. I didn’t bother asking whether Elsa meant Ragnarok or my health; we both knew that time was running out on all fronts.
And unless I could make peace with my past, I was in for one Helheim of a fall.
**
Sleep was a welcome relief. I awoke to the sun sitting low outside my window and a savory aroma permeating my room—tomatoes and basil coming together in a perfekt dance of sweet and tangy. The Alfheim team must have sent Henrik straight to the kitchen on their return. My rumbling stomach served as a not-so-gentle reminder that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast—ten hours ago, if not more. I climbed carefully out of bed, expecting either hunger or my condition to render me lightheaded. But to my surprise, the heaviness in my heart had lifted once again—a testament to the marvel that was Henrik’s cooking. Bless. With a grin, I threw on skinny jeans and a flowy, sleeveless top, and hurried into the hallway.
“That smells incredible,” I praised as I reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner to head to the kitchen. “Henrik Andersson, every day I thank Odin that your mother passed on all the family recipes to someone with such a brilliant gift—”
I stopped at the sight of the brown-haired, indigo–blue eyed mortal stirring sauce atop the stove.
“Don’t let me stop you.” Jason waved one hand. “Do go on about my gift.”
“I thought you were Henrik.”
“Nope. He and Brynn offered to cook when they got home—well, Henrik did. Brynn just laughed. But Elsa called and said she and her friend Lornara needed to talk to them, so they headed over to the cottage for dinner.” Jason tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and set it on a plate. Then he poured the sauce over a pan filled with fried chicken and noodles, and put the whole thing into the oven.
“Uh-huh. So, it’s just us, Tyr, and Mia for dinner?” I asked. Jason had clearly eaten with Tyr before. The pan could have fed ten.
“It’s just us for dinner. Tyr took Mia out for pizza.” Jason added a dash of garlic salt to a frying pan where green beans simmered in oil. Gods, chicken parmesan with green beans was my favorite of Mia’s meals. It was her grandmother’s recipe—apparently, Meemaw had shared it with both of her grandchildren.
Dim flashes pulsed in the back of my brain, and I wondered for the umpteenth time why the subsidiaries hadn’t tapped into the resonance of Jason’s perfekt match, already. I’d sent them the signal days ago, and followed up with a tersely worded call. They’d claimed they couldn’t access the signal, the only reason for which would have been Jason’s pairing with his match being somehow vital to the realms. Or…
No, Freya. No ‘or.’ You do not get matches. You just make them.
“Isn’t Forse eating with us?” I threw out my final lifeline, knowing full well that where Elsa cooked, Forse ate.
“Brynn said something about Forse checking in on his mom. It’s just you and me, love.” Jason shot me a wink. “Lucky you.”
“Maybe I already have dinner plans.”
“You don’t. Brynn told me.” Jason carried two plates from the cupboard to the table.
I made a mental note to have words with Brynn.
“Well, then, maybe I don’t feel like eating with you.” I rested one hand on my hip.
“Please. My chicken parm is legendary. Most girls would die to have me cook it for them.”
I appraised him coolly. “I think you’ll find I’m not most girls.”
Jason paused in front of the silverware drawer. His eyes moved slowly from my sleep-tousled hair to my bare feet and back up, lingering just a moment too long at the deep “V” of my neckline. I hurriedly folded my arms around my ribs. “No, Freya. You are definitely not most girls.”
Harrumph.
“Put these on the table for me.” Jason reached into the drawer and held out a fist full of flatware. “Gotta check on the bread.”
“Fine.” I took the silverware, ignoring the spark that shot up my arm when our fingers touched. And the way my heart pounded when he walked away. And the way my cheeks warmed when he bent over to check the oven.
“About five more minutes.” Jason straightened up. “Were you staring at my butt?”
“What?” I said indignantly. “No.”
Yes.
“Mmm-hmm.” One corner of Jason’s mouth pulled up in a smirk.
“I wasn’t!” I insisted. I whirled around and stormed to the table, placing utensils haphazardly beside the plates.
“Hey, go easy on the flatware. Just sit down. If my butt didn’t impress you, my dinner sure as hell will.”
Oh, gods. I was never living this down.
Jason waited until I’d dropped into a chair before stepping closer. His thigh brushed against my arm as he reached across the table to light a candle. When did we get a candle?
Before I knew it, we were seated opposite each other, the space between us filled with steaming platters and an air of tension.
“Cheers.” Jason raised his glass, a challenge in his eye. “To a night to remember.”
“You wish,” I muttered. But I begrudgingly raised my own glass and said, “To dinner.”
Jason smirked. “So that’s what you call it in Sweden.”
Oh, honestly.
With a wink, Jason brought his glass to his lips. I did the same, then allowed him to place a generous portion of chicken parmesan onto my plate while I dished up green beans. The bread basket steamed between us as I raised my fork to my mouth, and tried not to moan as I took my first bite.
“It’s good,” I mumbled around a mouthful of sauce-drizzled chicken.
“Glad you think so.” Jason grinned. “Better than Mia’s?”
“I don’t—”
Jason sat up straight, his face wiped clean of amusement. “Seriously, I need it to be better than Mia’s. We’ve got a bet going, and I cannot lose.”
“Why are you two so competitive?” I forked another piece of chicken.
“Just are. Now tell me.” Jason placed his forearms on the table and leaned closer. “Is there too much basil? Is the sauce too wine-heavy? Does it need more sugar?”
“You made the sauce from scratch?” I balked. No guy I knew had ever made sauce from scratch—except for Henrik, for whom cooking was therapy. I was impressed.
“Freya, focus for me. What does the sauce need?” Jason studied me intently.
“Hmm…” I chewed, giving myself time to think and totally ignoring the fluttering in my stupid stomach. “Maybe oregano? Another tangy thing to offset all the sweet.”
Jason’s gaze shifted from my face to the corner of the room. He stared at the ceiling, seemingly in thought. “Yes. Oregano. And…ah!”
“Ah, what?”
Jason didn’t answer, just stalked across the kitchen, rummaged through the spice cabinet, and returned with two small jars. “Close your eyes.”
“I was told to keep both eyes open around morally questionable boys.”
“I’m not morally questionable.” Jason rolled his eyes. “Between Mama, Meemaw, and Mia, I couldn’t put a foot out of place. Bless their hearts.”
Indignation ricocheted in my chest. “So, I suppose leaving an underage girl in the middle of a college bar to fend for herself was something they’d have approved of?”
“What?” Jason dropped into his chair, his quest for the perfect pasta sauce apparently forgotten.
“And I suppose ditching said girl because she wouldn’t put out was in line with the enlightened view of women you picked up from your mother, grandmother, and sister?”
Jason’s jaw went slack. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Does the name Rayn Vindahl ring a bell? Tall, blond transfer student you hit on about a year ago. About eighteen years old?” Actually, Rayn was circling eight hundred. But Jason didn’t need to know that.
Jason frowned. “Rayn…oh. Oh.”
“Oh’s right, buddy. How many girls have you put in compromising situations because they refused to sleep with you?”
“Is that what she told you?” Jason placed the spice jars on the table—oregano and red chili flakes. “Wait, how do you even know Rayn?”
“It’s a small world.”
“Yeah, well, she wasn’t very honest with you.” Jason ran one hand through his chocolate waves. “Rayn approached me in that bar. She wanted me to go back to her place, but she was completely blitzed. Wouldn’t have remembered a thing in the morning. That’s not how I work.”
My eyes narrowed. “Ja, right.”
Jason shrugged. “Believe me or don’t, but it’s the truth. I’d never sleep with a girl who didn’t know what she was getting herself into. I told Rayn she needed to sleep off the alcohol—took her outside and called a car to get her home. But once she realized I wasn’t going with her, she bolted back in the bar. Probably hooked up with some other guy, I don’t know. I didn’t see her after that.”
My head buzzed. I scanned Jason’s body language for telltale signs of dishonesty, but his eye contact was steady, his voice didn’t tremble, and his hands rested easily atop the table, no tension in his veins. Either he was really good at lying, or Rayn was in serious violation of the valkyrie code. She hadn’t made captain rank, and accordingly was prohibited from dating—and most definitely from propositioning the subject she’d been sent to investigate.
“Wait, is that why you don’t like me?” Jason’s eyes widened.
“You think I hit on your friend?”
“I thought you hurt my friend,” I corrected. Or put her in a compromising position. Or…My thoughts were all mixed up. I was going to have a major sit down with Rayn when I got back to Asgard.
“Well, I didn’t hurt your friend.” Jason leaned back and crossed his arms. “Now can you stop going all ice queen on me?”
I pursed my lips together. The truth was, what I’d thought happened between Jason and Rayn was only part of why I didn’t like Jason. The other part was because I kind of did like him—he was the only member of the household who didn’t treat me like I had one foot already in the grave. But the last time I let myself actually care for someone he’d…
He…
“Freya.” Jason nudged my foot under the table. “Can you turn off the ice queen?”
I shot him a glare. “I’m not an ice queen.”
“Prove it.” The competitive spark flickered in Jason’s eye. What was it with the Ahlströms?
“Excuse me?”
“Prove you’re not an ice queen. Take a walk with me after we finish eating, and don’t roll your eyes, or glare, or do anything other than just be nice the whole time. I dare you.”
“Jason, that’s ridiculous. I don’t—”
“Man.” Jason shook his head. “Couldn’t even get through one sentence without an eye roll.”
“That’s not true! I—”
“And there’s the glare.” Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “You suck at this.”
I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but the sparkle in his eyes caught me off guard. Despite my misgivings, I was enjoying Jason’s company. And I was certainly enjoying his cooking.
“Fine. But if you’re going to be so difficult, I’m going make it worth my while.”
“I’m listening.”
“If I win, you get your sister and her boyfriend to treat me normally. Like you do. I know they’re worried, but the way everybody walks on eggshells around me is driving me insane.” If Mia and Tyr backed off, the others would follow.
I hoped.
Jason leaned back in his chair. “Do I get to ask exactly why they worry about you so much?”
“No, you do not. Do you accept my terms?”