Valkyrie Reborn

by Allyson Lindt

  “That’s going to take a while.” And as much fun as it was to give Starkad a hard time, Gwydion was worried about Kirby. “Any guesses where she’d go?”

  There was a pause before Starkad said, “For cake. Not the grocery store variety. The more expensive the better.”

  “In the sweets-are-as-good-as-sex capital of the world? I’m going to need a better starting point than that.” Gwydion liked a good cupcake, but he couldn’t imagine giving up fucking, to have one.

  “She’s on foot. She’s pissed off and reckless. But she’s not stupid.”

  So... that didn’t narrow it down at all. “I’ll find her. When I do, I’m not saying anything nice about you on your behalf.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything else. And thank you.” Starkad’s gratitude was cut off by his disconnecting.

  Min was sitting up now. “What’s wrong?”

  “Lover’s spat.”

  Min rolled his eyes. “There are times I envy their passion.”

  “This shouldn’t be one of them.” Gwydion yanked on some clothes.

  “I’ll see you when you get back.”

  Min knew his presence could set off an already on-edge Kirby. He knew he didn’t have to say keep her safe. There was a lot that didn’t need to be said between him and Gwydion these days.

  And despite Gwydion’s flippant attitude, concern welled inside. He had to get to Kirby before death did. He couldn’t lose her. Not again.

  KIRBY

  Kirby had no idea where she was going, but she was fully aware that Gwydion was behind her. He might be an army doctor, but he was a poor shadow. She needed someplace she could confront him but still have witnesses. Mostly because she wasn’t in the mood to hide or fight.

  And there was a TRAX train waiting at the stop in the middle of the street. She hopped onto a middle light-rail car, ducked below window level, and doubled back so he'd look in the other direction when he joined her.

  He did exactly that, scanning the side of the train that he expected her to be on.

  She stepped up behind him. “You’re shit as a tail.” She kept her voice low, for his ears only.

  The asshole had the nerve to laugh. “Maybe I’m not worried about you seeing me back there.”

  “Maybe you should be. Were you waiting for me to walk through the lobby?”

  “Starkad called me.”

  Because of course he did. She stepped in front of Gwydion, used her full body to nudge him back into an empty seat, and straddled his legs. The perfect way to get people to look the other way while she patted him down for weapons. “You’re not endearing yourself to me.”

  “I did that last night.” He shifted his weight underneath her. That was either a large caliber handgun in his pants, or he was happy to see her.

  “That was sex. This is different. What have you got as a bribe this time, to get me to listen to you?”

  “Chocolate cake with ganache and strawberries.”

  Ice spilled down her spine, mingling with memories, and she slid into the spot next to him. She should be leaving. No one knew that about her. Not even Starkad. No one but Brit.

  “That’s fucking creepy.” Not how she should respond. Why did her mouth and heart work wrong around this man?

  “And here I was, trying to tone it down.” He was playful through all of this. Did he realize how close he was to getting hurt? Did he care? “I didn’t mean to put an abrupt end to Round Three,” he said.

  “Pretty sure we’d be on Four.” And now she was flirting back. It was official—she was losing her mind. “And it’s not happening.”

  “I’d assure you I’m not carrying any weapons, but you wouldn’t believe me unless you checked for yourself.”

  Kirby’s concern should be growing with each passing moment, and instead she was relaxing. She needed to keep her head in the game. “You’re not packing, because you could crush me with a single thought?”

  “I’m not armed, because I hate death.” His abruptly somber tone rang with vivid honesty. “And we’re here.”

  The train had stopped. The block looked like any other downtown, but a few doors down from the station, one of the shops proclaimed Gourmet Bakery.

  It was early afternoon, and the place was almost empty. It looked more like a diner than a bakery, with high-backed booths and laminated menus.

  They ordered at the counter. Gwydion had the nerve to look surprised when she got yellow cake with bananas and whipped-cream frosting.

  “I don’t like strawberries and chocolate.” She was lying. She adored both, or had until Brit ruined them for her.

  They grabbed their food and picked a booth near the rear of the dining room. One with a full view of the place, including all doors.

  Gwydion didn’t complain about sitting with his back to the door. Her skin crawled at the thought of being so exposed.

  She was slouched low so she could watch the front windows, but people outside shouldn’t be able to see her.

  “How do you know Starkad?” she asked.

  “I’ve worked with the organization in the past.”

  Funny how Starkad hadn’t mentioned he knew both the men she was with. “Did you know who I was last night?”

  “Yes. He talks about you.”

  Kirby didn’t know what to do with that information. Starkad shouldn’t be telling anyone about her. But there was a childish, stupid part of her, swooning because he talks about me?

  “I highly doubt your name is something he goes around broadcasting.” Gwydion picked at his cake—carrot with cream-cheese frosting. And raisins. Talk about ruining a perfectly good cake. “But he and I have a common enemy in TOM.”

  This conversation was putting her at ease, and that made her nervous. Everything about the setup of meeting him last night, of his following her today, was wrong. That he knew what her favorite dessert used to be and wasn’t bothered by her paranoia.

  Yet he was easy to talk to, and the sex... Amazing. She felt like she could be herself around him. Even the walls she kept in place with Starkad didn’t want to stay up. The entire thing made her realize how tired she was of hiding herself, both inside and outside.

  She didn’t want to talk about TOM or the organization or killing or hunting. A longing welled inside, to have a normal conversation. That didn’t mean she had to drop her guard. “Were you alive when cake was invented?” she asked.

  “At least in one of its incarnations. I mean, I wasn’t there. I was probably in China or Uruguay, or something. When was cake invented?”

  “You don’t know?” That was an easier response than admitting she didn’t have any idea either.

  “It’s not an important date on my calendar.” He sectioned off a forkful of his food and offered it to her.

  It was familiar to lean in and take a bite, as though they’d done this dozens of times. Oh, and it was good, too. Even for something with raisins in it.

  “I can tell you when Queen Victoria’s favorite lady-in-waiting lost her virginity.” Gwydion reached across the table and stole one of her banana slices.

  She should have been angry at the assumption, but instead it made her smile. “Was it to you?”

  “No, though she claimed it was. And I can tell you when John Smith’s birthday is.”

  “Who?” She didn’t know that name, aside from it belonging to half the population.

  Gwydion smiled. “No one you'd know. I served with him in the US Civil War. He was a great guy.”

  “So you fought for the North?” It struck her as funny. For most people, talking to a guy about being alive more than a thousand years would be surreal. Given her upbringing, this was as normal as a conversation could be. It was wonderful.

  “What makes you think I didn’t wear gray?”

  She shoveled more cake into her mouth. It was really good. “You didn’t call it the War of Northern Aggression.” A vivid image flashed through her mind. She was naked. Again. But this time, she was with Gwydion. Cotton bit into her bare
skin, and grass poked through the fabric instead of straw. The foul stench of horse shit and blood interrupted the fragrant scent of the bakery, and then vanished again. But a puff of joy lingered in her heart, like it had earlier. They were by a fire, close enough to the flames and each other to stay warm, despite the chill in the air.

  It was as if she’d lived that moment. The taste of the air almost overwhelmed her food.

  She took a giant swig of iced coffee, to wash the weird flavor away, and forced herself to stay in the now. “How many young maidens have you deflowered over the centuries? Or do you call them virgin sacrifices?”

  “I don’t keep track. And you don’t want to hear about that.”

  Part of her wanted to hear it, specifically to prove to herself he had flaws. “I might. Maybe I have kinky fantasies about watching a hot guy with another woman. I’d let you watch me with another woman.”

  Another scene flashed in her thoughts, like a fully-immersive movie. It was potent. Stronger than the underlying memory of being with Brit.

  “Noted. I’ll make a list, so I can take you up on a fantasy or two in the future.” Gwydion’s response helped keep her here.

  It was going to be a long list. The thought echoed in Kirby’s head on a strong thread of déjà vu, and she shook it away. “You assume there’s going to be a future.”

  “I’m kind of arrogant like that.”

  She shook her head, trying to rattle the odd imagery loose, and her gaze landed on the glass. Her gut clenched. Brit and Mark stood outside.

  Please let the lighting and new hair color be hiding me. She slid under the table and came up next to Gwydion.

  “What are you—”

  She pressed her lips to his, silencing his question. He leaned into the kiss without protest, bringing his hands up, to cup her face. Sparks of desire raced through her, signing in her heart and stealing her breath.

  When they broke apart, he didn’t move away. “Are we hiding?” he murmured. “This is all sorts of Cloak and Dagger and cliché.”

  Like most of Kirby’s life. She didn’t have a witty retort, though. She was too focused on trying to keep the rage and panic from surging inside. She didn’t want to taste her cake a second time. She dipped her head to Gwydion’s ear, to keep up the appearance of a couple making out. “Pair just walked in. I need to leave without being seen.”

  And then follow them, and kill them in private.

  “I’ve got you. I promise,” he said.

  And she believed him. She didn’t understand why, but she trusted him to do what was needed.

  A cell phone chirped, and Mark’s voice reached them. “Yeah... Hang on. Let me step outside.”

  This was perfect. “Is he leaving?” Kirby asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Follow him, please? And be more careful than you were with me.” She hated to make the request. It would put Gwydion in danger. The only reason she was okay with him doing this was because he couldn’t die.

  Besides, she couldn’t ignore the voice inside, telling her to confront Brit alone.

  The one berating Kirby for not having made up her mind yet—about whether to kill Brit or let her survive—was louder, and she loathed herself for that weakness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Now - Brit

  Brit stepped out of the line, to wait for Mark to return.

  The heat that met her back cranked her adrenaline to full blast and yanked her into the past. That explained the male half of the couple, who had just walked out the door behind her spotter.

  “Hello, partner,” Kirby whispered in her ear, pressing into her from behind. “It’s been too long.”

  This was familiar. Intensely close and intimate.

  Brit’s fingers twitched with the instinct of reaching for her gun. With her right arm in a sling, there was no way she’d get any sort of drop on Kirby. Not that she wanted to. Apology stuck in her throat. The desire to beg for forgiveness.

  But self-loathing held her back. She didn’t have the right.

  Her body remembered this closeness, and begged her to grind back into Kirby. Phantom want mingled with her growing nausea. “You sound and feel incredible for a ghost.”

  “And I look much better than you do.”

  “Always a matter of opinion.” Brit risked a look toward the front window, both at Mark talking, and to see her reflection. Apparently Kirby was a brunette now. And that asshole Mark wasn’t even glancing in their direction. “How long do you think your guy can hide from Mark?”

  “Not long if Mark is paying attention.” Kirby dug her fingers into Brit’s hip, hard enough to bruise. “He’s real lousy at following people. But he’s also immortal, so Mark can ditch him or cause a commotion failing to kill him. You and I will be done before then, regardless.” She nudged Brit toward the back door.

  Brit could almost read the strategic part of Kirby’s plan. There was no reason to struggle before she had a real out, and as soon as Mark dispatched that asshole, he’d come find her. She just had to pray Kirby killed her before then.

  She wasn’t going down that path. She’d worked too hard to survive this long. She also wasn’t going to beg for mercy or anything else. Defiance kept her cool mask in place, as they headed into an alley behind the cake shop.

  The instant they were clear of people, Brit’s chances of survival diminished greatly. “Sneaking away for a little one-on-one? Just like old times.” Her own betrayal made the teasing taste foul.

  “Not just like.” Kirby dragged her nose along the side of Brit’s neck. The feather-light touch would be enticing—it certainly called to the past—but the implied threat overrode everything else. “This time I know you’re a heartless bitch and the most incredible actress in the world.”

  The words hurt more than the dull throb in Brit’s ear. The love had been real. Not that it mattered now. “I never faked anything.”

  “See, I’d like to believe you, but... Actually, no. I’ll never trust another word out of your mouth. Not that there will be many more.”

  “You’re here alone.” Brit wouldn’t point out that Kirby could have killed her the instant they stepped out here, and walked away. The longer they stayed, the harder it would be for Kirby to do anything without getting caught.

  “I’m here with the god who’s trailing Mark.”

  “But not with Starkad.”

  Kirby moved her hand to Brit’s injured shoulder and squeezed.

  Brit had to bite the inside of her cheek, to keep from screaming in pain. There would be an advantage to drawing attention, but the downside was Brit getting caught up in the aftermath.

  “He said you’d killed yourself.” Hearing that from Starkad had devoured Brit. Saying it aloud now surged in her throat on a wash of bile.

  “I tried. That’s the last time I’ll make a mistake when it comes to you.” Kirby’s voice was flat and cold.

  “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?” That was more flippant and far more antagonizing than most of the things Brit could have said. But she was. She regretted what happened so much.

  Kirby applied the faintest bit of extra pressure to Brit’s bruise. Fuck, that hurt.

  “Nothing you say is going to change anything,” Kirby said. “Though, I’m dying—pun intended—to hear your beautifully tragic bullshit about why you did it.”

  Brit’s panic was growing. Kirby should have either killed her or left—or both. And where was Mark? This was going from bad to ridiculous. “Are you serious?”

  “What about this situation make you think it might be a joke?”

  “I did it because you were holding me back.” Even now, Brit couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth. If Mark heard... Why had she let him haunt her for so long? So once again, she made the same mistake she’d made years ago. She let Mark’s reality bleed into her words, and she hated herself for it.

  Kirby’s grip faltered, but she didn’t let go. “You really believe that.”

  “You were always stepping
between me and my potential.” Brit almost choked on the words. “You kept me from growing. From becoming more. Because you were terrified someone might be better than you.”

  “I... I protected you. I kept you safe.” Kirby sounded like she actually believed that.

  Brit blinked back tears. “You suppressed me. You made me a laughing stock. The girl who couldn’t stick up for herself, so she had to have her big, bad girlfriend do it for her.” None of that was Kirby’s fault. It was all Brit’s.

  “I loved you,” Kirby said softly.

  Once upon a time, that phrase made Brit’s heart soar. Now it was another reminder of where she fucked up. “Don’t say that. Please.”

  “You really think—” Kirby gurgled, then wheezed as she dropped her grip. Her knee landed in Brit’s back, but it lacked force.

  “Now, now. None of that, love,” Mark said.

  Brit spun, to see Mark had finally joined them. He stood behind Kirby, holding the thin, metal wire that dug into her throat. Blood seeped from the edges of the garrote.

  Brit watched, horrified, as Mark tightened his grip. Kirby kicked and twisted, doing everything she could to shake him loose. His training was the same as hers, though. He’d subjected her to physical-attacks-disguised-as-training for years. He knew how to side step and keep her off-balance.

  Should Brit do something? Help? Indecision warred inside. She didn’t know who she would side with. As she watched the life drain from Kirby, the terrified little girl she used to be crawled back, whimpering. Telling her to not let Kirby die. Step in. Save her.

  But this was Mark. He was stronger. He always had been. Brit could barely fight him on her best days.

  Kirby was right. I do need protecting.

  The unwelcome thought singed Brit’s mind, and she shoved it aside in a silent roar of fury.

  Kirby was unconscious. Then the life drained from her body, and her chest stopped moving. She was gone. Grief surged in Brit’s throat. She choked it back.

  Mark tossed Kirby’s body and the garrote aside. Blood pooled from the neck wound.

  “We need to go.” Mark reached for Brit.