Ragnarök Rising

by Nora Ash

  Annabel, apparently realizing what Grim had referred to, turned beet red and pulled away from me with a jerk, hissing some insult I didn’t care enough about to listen to.

  “I’m starting to think you like to play pretend, sweetling,” I murmured, not allowing her to squirm away from my gaze.

  “Saga, stop!” The growled command didn’t come from Annabel—but from Grim. He’d twisted around in his seat to stare me down, fury simmering just behind his blown pupils. “If one of these pricks catch her scent—”

  Either Magni’s mark would be discovered, or she would be fucked to death. I’d seen it happen before—some hapless omega dragged to the dais and forced to service every single man present until her body gave out. It wasn’t Grim’s words but the dark heat in his eyes that made me pull away from Annabel, sick dread churning in my gut. My youngest brother tried to deny his physical yearning for our omega, but judging from his blown pupils, her scent was getting to him already.

  “No need to look so dour.” Large plates of food were plonked on the table in front of us, followed by mugs and horns filled with foaming mead. Bjarni sat down directly in front of Annabel and flicked a copper coin at the serving wench who’d helped him carry the food. “We’ve got food, we’ve got mead, we’ve got a roof over our head… dig in!”

  Bjarni’d always been fond of the simple pleasures in life. It spoke volumes of his attempt to woo Annabel that he hadn’t added the serving girl to the list. I arced an eyebrow at him, but he only shot me a grin and grabbed the thigh-sized hunk of meat on his plate with a pleased hum.

  By my side, Annabel seemed to be taking in the serving size with a bit more hesitation. Bjarni’d gotten her a full leg of lamb, with a few measly root vegetables pushed off to the side of the plate. She’d eaten fresh kills roasted over the fire with no protest since we arrived in Jotunheim, but in all fairness, this particular hunk of meat was about half the size of her.

  “I can’t eat all this,” she said. “It’s way too much.”

  “I got you the most tender leg,” Bjarni protested, the look of genuine hurt making me bite back a snort of laughter. My blond brother was very particular about his food—a leg of perfectly roasted lamb from the hearth of Udgard was definitely a courting gift from him.

  Annabel opened and closed her mouth several times, undoubtedly wanting to bring up food shortage and wasteful spending, or whatever human argument she was used to considering. Finally, after a long look at Bjarni’s disappointed face, she sighed and grabbed the leg with both hands. “Thank you. It looks delicious.”

  Bjarni brightened and bit into his own sizable portion with a pleased hum. I envied his carefree attitude to life. In his mind, the woman he was planning to mate had accepted his courting gift, and that was the end of that problem. Whereas I… I had the blasted mating-bond shuddering in my chest, one moment humming with contentedness at being near the woman I’d claimed as mine… and the next tightening with suffocating agony when Annabel made her lack of trust in me clear.

  “Well, I’ll be damned! If it isn’t the Lokissons feasting on Udgardsloke’s meat and drink!” a booming voice echoes overhead.

  My heart stilled in my chest as a Jotunn sat down on the bench next to Bjarni, slamming his oversized mug of mead on the wooden long table. His beard was long and braided in two, but the dark brown hair tumbling over his shoulders was wild and unkempt. Over his back hung a long bastard sword, gleaming from within.

  “Surtr,” Bjarni said, offering the Jotunn a hearty slap on the back. “What’re you doing in Udgard?”

  “Gathering the troops. I’m traveling all across Jotunheim looking for volunteers for the army.” He nodded at my blond brother. “You three finally going to take on the Asir?”

  “We will. But we’ll have to catch up with you when you’re closer to the border—we’ve got an errand to run first,” Bjarni lied smoothly, taking a casual swig of his own mead.

  “And what errand would keep the Lokissons from joining forces with the mightiest Jotunn army to ever see the light of day?” Surtr asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “I know quite a few of us would be mightily unimpressed if you tried to pull a stunt like that god-lover Magni Thorsson.”

  “I suggest you don’t go making accusations that we’d have anything to do with Thor’s bastard,” I said, arching an eyebrow at the Jotunn. “We have little love for the gods, or the half-bloods who betray their Jotunn brethren.”

  “We’re taken the little one to our mom’s place,” Bjarni said, nodding his head at Annabel.

  For the first time, Surtr let his gaze slide over my mate. He arched both eyebrows in surprise. “Is that a human boy?”

  “Half-human,” I said, patting Annabel on the shoulder. “Grim got a bit too acclimated during our stay in Midgard. Sired a son. With Ragnarök coming, we need to get the little guy out of the way.”

  “Ha!” Surtr shoved an elbow into Bjarni’s ribs and leveled an amused look at Grim—who was busy shooting silent daggers at me over Annabel’s head. “Grim’s fathered a half-human bastard? Now I’ve seen it all! I thought his kind was too frigid to get it up, let alone produce an heir. Even if it’s a scrawny one.”

  “We were also surprised,” I said, offering Grim a smirk. “But lo and behold.”

  “And here I thought the ice-kindred procreated asexually,” Surtr guffawed. “Grim Lokisson a father, huh? And giving enough of a shit to pull the half-blood out of Midgard. Come here, boy. Let me have a look at ya!”

  Annabel shot me a wide-eyed stare, but there was no way around it that wouldn’t raise the Jotunn’s suspicion.

  “Do as you’re told,” Grim growled, not even bothering to look at Annabel. Father of the year, right there.

  Slowly, she got up from the bench and walked around the end of the table to stand by Bjarni’s side. She was so small next to him and Surtr, standing barely level with their eye-height while they sat, and the pang to protect her was nearly insurmountable as I felt her uncertainty in our bond.

  “Does Daddy teach you how to fight like a Jotunn?” Surtr asked, prodding at Annabel’s spindly arms with a finger nearly as thick as her wrist. “Or did you inherit his nefarious magic? You don’t look like much, but if those three’ve dragged you all the way from Midg—” His amused voice died mid-sentence, and every muscle in my body tensed when his pupils suddenly dilated, nostrils flaring wide.

  “You sneaky bastards!” Surtr said. The amusement was gone in his voice, washed away by a rich growl. “Trying to save such a ripe little omega pussy all to yourselves.”

  20

  Annabel

  Ice-cold panic seized my spine when the giant of a man grabbed me by the upper arm. Rage flared from Saga’s end of our bond and he shot up out of his seat, already halfway across the table before Grim caught him by the shoulder and yanked him back.

  “Will you keep your voice down? We’re not looking to share with all of Udgard,” Bjarni said, casually resting a hand on my hip. His warmth made my nerves simmer down just a smidge—even if the blatant intentions written all over the Jotunn’s face made my hackles rise.

  “Udgardsloke isn’t going to be pleased if he hears you’ve kept an omega from him. You know he claims a stake in any omega snatch that crosses his halls,” Surtr said, not taking his eyes off me. It was like being watched by a predator—and yet it gave me none of the pleasurable goosebumps I’d come to associate with an alpha’s attentions since arriving in Iceland. Only sick, cold dread.

  “He wants a piece at any pussy, regardless if it’s omega or not,” Bjarni said, still keeping his tone light, as if the subject bored him. “So let’s just cut to the chase—what do you want, Surtr?”

  The Jotunn smiled a slow, wide smile. “What do you think I want? It’s no fair you three get an omega all to yourselves—the least you can do is share her for a night. The way I see it, I get her for a full night instead of a quick romp while fighting off every other fucking alpha in here—and you get to keep your little knot w
armer for all the cold days ahead.”

  Bjarni narrowed his eyes in thought, rubbing his beard with the hand not still resting on my waist. “It would seem this requires further discussion. Perhaps somewhere more private?”

  I gasped in outraged. “Excuse me? You think you can just rent me out?”

  Surtr shot me a heated look. “I see you’ve yet to show her her place. I suppose I’ll help you out with that little problem, too. Teach her to hold her lip.”

  “Yeah, she’s a feisty little thing.” Bjarni smirked, slapping my ass with a large hand. “Saga, bring her in, will you? Grim, get us some mead. Surtr and I have business to discuss.” He got to his feet, casually silencing my protests with a warning finger on my lips as he held out his other arm toward the back of the room, eyes locked on the Jotunn. “Shall we?”

  Surtr glanced from me to Saga. “There better be no tricks, Lokissons.”

  Bjarni roared a booming laugh and slapped him on the shoulder. “And leave me to face the wrath of Surtr the Swarthy? Nah, man. She’s a good piece of pussy, but she’s not worth my life. C’mon. Unless you want to share her with the entire hall, we need to get moving.”

  I stared after the two as they disappeared behind a leather sheet suspended between two arched pieces of timber. Then I turned to Saga—and found him alone. Grim’d silently disappeared, undoubtedly to get the mead needed for the negotiations. “If you think I’m going to let that creep touch me—” I began through clenched teeth.

  “If you think I’d let another alpha have you, you still don’t understand what it means to be my mate,” he said gruffly as he walked around the table.

  “You seem plenty keen to have me fuck your brothers,” I hissed. “And right now, Bjarni’s apparently negotiating the price you’ll charge for me!”

  Saga sighed impatiently. “Fuck’s sake, it’s a ploy, Annabel. Grim’s poisoning the mead as we speak. We just need to play along until he passes out.”

  “And then what?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “There’s a storm out there.”

  “If Grim does his job, Surtr will be out for at least a day. He’s too busy gathering his army to hunt after a bit of pussy, so as long as we’re a few hours away once he wakes up, we’ll be fine. We can weather the storm overnight and set off in the morning.” Saga brushed his fingers along my cheek, then lowered his hand, casting a glance around us to make sure no one saw him fondle what was supposed to be his nephew. “I won’t let any harm come to you, sweetling. I swear it.”

  There was a lot I could say about Saga Lokisson, most of it less than flattering. But one thing I couldn’t deny, not with the quiet throbbing of the bond in my chest, he would never let me get hurt. “And what about Bjarni? If Grim’s poisoning the mead…?”

  Saga snorted and grabbed me lightly by the arm, leading me toward the leather curtain the others had disappeared through. “Don’t worry about him. Grim poisoned him so often while growing up, he’s mostly immune these days.”

  I blinked, mouth already halfway open to ask why on earth Grim had been poisoning his own brother, but Saga put his finger to his lips and pulled me through to a hallway, nodding toward another leather curtain. From behind it, Surtr’s booming laugh could be heard.

  Right. Time to play pretend.

  Saga pulled back the other curtain, revealing a small room with nothing but a wide, fur-covered platform. Bjarni and Surtr sat cross-legged on each side, shaking what looked like pieces of carved bone in a horn before spreading them on the furs.

  “Dice?” Saga asked, arching an eyebrow at his brother.

  “We decided to up the stakes a bit,” Bjarni said, a broad smile on his lips as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I win, we get gold. He wins, we join his army and go smack some gods over the head.”

  “Ha! Not a bad bet,” Saga said, smacking me on the ass to shoo me toward the side opposite Surtr.

  “Not so fast,” Surtr said, pausing briefly to let loose a burp strong enough to make the leather curtain stir. He snatched out an arm and grabbed me by the wrist, yanking hard enough to make me stumble a few steps. “I need me a lucky charm. C’mere, omega, and warm my lap!”

  I shot a panicked look at Saga, my instinctive response to search out my alpha for help, and the look on his handsome face spelled absolute murder.

  “Release her,” he snarled, closing his hand around my shoulder as if to tug me back from the Jotunn.

  “Don’t be silly, brother,” Bjarni said, a quiet note of warning in his otherwise carefree voice. “Let the man get a feel of the goods. Far be it from us to complain if he wants to sniff at her while we roll the dice. Just means we’ll get more gold lining our pockets.”

  “So possessive over a piece of human-grade omega cunt,” Surtr rumbled, an unspoken challenge in his tone. “Now why is that?”

  Saga stood frozen for a long second, and I felt his warring emotions roiling in our bond. Everything in him ached to attack the male who’d put his hands on me—and oddly enough, that calmed my own anxiety right down.

  Yeah, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, least of all this big goon. But we also needed their ploy to play out, which meant playing along.

  I placed my free hand on Saga’s chest, willing the fire in his blood to cool enough so he remembered what he’d told me only moments before. “It’s okay,” I murmured.

  “Ha! Look at that—even the girl knows she needs a good knotting by a real alpha,” Surtr, guffawed. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart, I’ll teach ya to take it.”

  Saga’s eyes narrowed to slits, but I saw reason slowly return to his gaze, overruling the instincts undoubtedly roaring to fight the alpha trying to lay claim to what was his. Without a word he released his grip on me and sat down next to Bjarni.

  Surtr gave another yank on me, and I fell into his lap with a startled squeak.

  “There ya go, princess,” the Jotunn laughed, letting his hand roam down my front. “Get nice and comfortable now.”

  It was impossible to ignore the hardness pressing up against me, and his oversized hands on my body made my skin crawl, but I gritted my teeth and dealt with it. Once he was knocked out, he was so getting more than one kick right in the balls.

  Grim appeared within minutes with two giant mugs of mead. He offered one first to Bjarni and then the remaining to Surtr.

  “Not so fast,” the Jotunn said, the hand on me finally leaving to snatch the mead Bjarni was already drinking from from his hand. “I know you Lokissons and your tricks. You’ve inherited far too many traits from that god of mischief who spawned you.”

  “Suit yourself,” Bjarni said with a shrug, grabbing the mug first meant for the Jotunn. “Now, are we going to roll some dice, or are you going to squabble over free mead?”

  They rolled dice and drank mead and laughed as if nothing was amiss for a good hour or so. I didn’t understand the marking on the pieces of bone, but from Surtr’s growing irritation, it seemed they kept coming up stalemate.

  One look at Saga’s face, tense with concentration, and it dawned on me that the outcome wasn’t by happenstance. Thankfully, Surtr was deep enough in his mead—and hormones from repeatedly sniffing at me, judging by the lewd comments he growled in my ear—that he didn’t notice.

  However, the third time in a row he rolled what looked like a bird to Bjarni’s four jagged lines and then two circles, he’d clearly had enough. Roaring with frustration he tossed the dice to the ground and put a hand on my back, shoving me forward and onto all four on the bed.

  “Enough!” he snarled, the richness of his growl drawing nothing but panic up my spine. “We can gamble in the morning—I’ve waited long enough for a piece of this cunt.”

  Thick fingers brushed up against the juncture of my thighs, rubbing suggestively, and I kicked blindly. But before he could grab my legs and keep me still, a loud crack rang through the room.

  Surtr swore, and I turned around just in time to see Saga swing at him again, this time impacting with his nose.
Blood spurted from the Jotunn’s face, and he retaliated with a mighty blow right to Saga’s gut.

  “Get off him!” I howled, rage reddening my vision as my mate smacked up against the nearest wall from the force of the impact and pain ricocheted through our bond. Something vibrated through my body, like an electric current, numbing my fingertips, but before the mounting tension could come to a head, Surtr snatched me by the back of my shirt.

  “Such fierce loyalty you two have,” he snarled, blood still flowing freely from his broken nose. “I wonder….”

  Strong fingers pushed my hair away and pulled down on my collar.

  I growl filled the small room as he bared my marks. “That… that’s Magni Thorsson’s mark! Next to yours?! You filthy traitors! I’m going to snap—”

  Before he could finish his threat, another crack sounded from high above me. Surtr’s grip on me slackened, and Grim yanked me away just in time to avoid getting squashed underneath the Jotunn’s giant body as hit the ground. He fell over like a giant oak, revealing Bjarni standing behind him with the leftovers of the mug he’d used to bash Surtr over the head with.

  “Well, fuck,” Bjarni muttered as I stared down at the fallen Jotunn. “Guess it’s time to flee through a fucking storm then.”

  “Is he dead?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately not. He’s got a thick skull,” Grim said, disgust pulling on his upper lip as he stared down. “Without the poison, he’d still be on his feet.”

  “We need to get out of here,” Saga said, voice still strained from Surtr’s blow. “He’s seen the marks—he’s not going to stop before she’s dead.”

  “And us along with her,” Bjarni muttered. “Fuck.”

  “And where do you suggest we go?” Grim asked, irritation clear in his voice. “He’ll be on us before we ever reach Midgard.”

  Silence spread between the three brothers for a beat, before Saga clenched his hands, drawing in a deep breath. “Magni. We find Magni. He’ll bring her to Asgard, and the gods will protect her. And we’re going with them.”