Weaving Fate (The Omega Prophecy Book 2)

by Nora Ash

  Annabel didn’t obey. Instead she looked me up and down, and when her eyes reached my crotch, her cheeks blushed a deep pink.

  “Let me guess—zippers weren’t a thing back in your day?”

  “Zippers?” I asked, following her gaze to my crotch.

  “For Chrissakes,” she muttered, taking a step forward and reaching for me.

  Something pulled deep in my gut, a sensation of suction that went straight to my balls as her dainty finger connected with the front of my trousers, pulling on the odd metal adornment there. She brushed over the linen fabric of my underwear in the process, and my cock reacted instantly, rising as if to reach for more of her warm touch.

  “Oh my god!” she croaked, releasing the trousers as if she’d burned herself. “Why are you all like this?!”

  I glanced to her from my bulge straining to burst through the now-closed zipper, but she’d already turned her back on me and was beating a hasty retreat to the other end of the shop.

  For a woman who’d been claimed by two alphas and let a third mount her, she seemed awfully shy about the natural desires her touch provoked. I was the one with reason to resent my body’s reaction, not her. She was an omega—a human omega. Divine alpha cock should inspire nothing but desire in her.

  I inhaled before I could stop myself, testing the air for her pheromones. I wrinkled my nose at the onslaught of scents hitting my nostrils; hundreds of prior patrons to the shop, the girl serving it, and Bjarni. But also her.

  I breathed in again, filtering out anything but Annabel. She smelled of warm honey and thyme, and just a hint of omega pussy.

  I shivered, swallowing a groan when my cock thickened further. Idiot. The girl was right—I was exactly as dumb as every other single-minded alpha who couldn’t keep it together when an omega looked their way.

  I stared at her across the shop as she fussed with Bjarni’s hair, wrapping it up in a bun and stroking at his beard to tame the wild strands. His eyes crinkled at the corners at her efforts, and he mumbled something to her that made her laugh, the pealing sound ricocheting around the shop.

  Something sick and angry rose in my gut as I watched them together.

  She wasn’t his, yet none would have known it from the way he acted around her. He had no right to pet her cheek, no right to press a kiss to her shoulder when she turned away to find her own garments.

  No right to look at her with such adoration and longing, I just knew he was thinking about the next time she’d need his essence to replenish her magic reserves.

  And neither did I.

  I clenched my fists until my knuckles cracked, the bite of my nails in my palms finally returning a modicum of sanity to my dazed mind.

  Yeah, I got why my stupid brother thought her some prophesied völve worth sharing with even our enemies. I was no stranger to the call of an omega’s cunt, but no one had ever drawn me like this girl did. The longer I spent in her company, the harder it was to keep my walls in place, even if I still found her intolerable.

  If a man wasn’t careful, that call could make him throw away his pride and convictions for just a taste of what lay between her thighs.

  Perhaps I’d been wrong. Perhaps she wasn’t a human, but an elf—a cleverly placed distraction to have Valhalla’s sons squabbling amongst themselves while Ragnarök ravished our world.

  I watched her closely as she came out from another dressing room in odd, modern garments, smiled at the shopkeeper, and paid for our clothes with the rectangular piece of plastic she’d insisted we create along with the passports. Then she returned to me, a careful smile in place as she approached—a silent plea for my obedience as she reached for my hair.

  I sat still while she dragged her fingers over my scalp, ignoring the zings of pleasure at her touch while she fastened my hair into a similar style as she had Bjarni's. She might have a golden cunt, but I was prepared for her influence now. She would not trick me like she had my brother.

  Thirteen

  Annabel

  Even with modern clothes and man-buns, Modi and Bjarni looked incredibly Viking, what with their huge frames, pale eyes, and red and blond hair. The fact that Modi refused to part with his sword didn’t help matters.

  “Please, you can’t go into an airport with a weapon on your belt! You’ll get us all arrested!” I groaned, turning to Bjarni for help. He’d packed his own sword away without fuss, even going into the airport to get us the necessary forms to check weapons as luggage, but seemed far too amused at my current predicament to interfere.

  “A warrior never leaves his weapon behind in enemy territory,” Modi growled, his blue gaze suspicious as he stared down at me, arms folded across his wide chest. “Do you want me to be trapped at sea, defenseless?”

  I rolled my eyes, and not for the first time in the past twenty minutes.

  “You’re a god! You don’t need a sword!” I hissed, keeping my voice low when I registered the puzzled looks from passersby. “Look, you’ll get it back as soon as we land. It’s a safety precaution—they don’t let anyone board with anything that could be used as a weapon. Please, Modi, we have to get to Seattle, and if we don’t get on the next plane, we might end up stranded here. They’re not going to be able to keep the airports open much longer with this weather.”

  “She’s right,” Bjarni rumbled, finally stepping the fuck up to help me with the world’s most stubborn god. “Amusing as it’d be to see you try to fight your way through security, we don’t have time. You wanna save that brother of yours? You need to check your sword.”

  It was kind of infuriating how easily Modi relinquished his stand once Bjarni weighed in. Sure, they were mortal enemies, but apparently it was much easier to trust him than it was the human omega who’d actually been born in an era with air travel.

  I kept my comments to myself, knowing all that mattered was to get all of us on that plane ASAP.

  It turned out to be somewhat easier said than done.

  Modi had kept it together quite well while we made our way through Oslo, despite what had to be a lot of new impressions coming at him at rapid speeds. However, when it came to making our way through the airport, things got kinda tense.

  Bjarni went through security first and I followed him, but when it was Modi’s turn, the metal detector went off and some beta male tried to take him off to the side to get patted down.

  I could already see the sweat on the poor man’s forehead as he indicated to Modi that he needed to spread his arms and widen his stance and only got a narrowed gaze in return.

  “Please. Do as he asks—he’s just doing his job,” I called out.

  Modi gave me a withering stare, but finally obeyed. Not that that put the airport employee at ease—he was shaking under Modi’s glare as he went about patting him down, and his relief that there was nothing of concern on the alpha was visible in his shoulders as he finally waved the redheaded Viking through.

  “Never have I heard of such absurd precautions for boarding a ship,” Modi growled when he reached us, his attention darting from us to the many distractions. “They think I’d bother concealing a weapon when it is so easy to toss someone into the waves?”

  Only then did it dawn on me that he still thought we were about to board a literal ship.

  “Uh… you do realize we’re going on a plane, right? As in flying? In an enclosed vessel? If you toss anyone outside, the whole thing is gonna come crashing down with us in it.”

  Modi’s eyes widened for a moment as he looked from me to Bjarni. “Truly? The humans have mastered flight?”

  “Eh, mastered might be taking it a bit far,” Bjarni said with a shrug. “But yes, most people cross continents with air travel these days. Unnatural, if you ask me, but faster than sailing.”

  The news that we would be traveling via air seemed to quiet Modi for a bit. I couldn’t really blame him—if you’d just learned about the wonders of aerodynamics, it probably took a few moments to come to terms with it. Even if you were a god.


  We wandered the airport, waiting for our plane to board. Both alphas seemed restless, their attention darting with every noise and their postures tense. I figured some food might help calm them down and brought them to the nearest burger place I could find.

  For once, paying the eye-watering airport prices didn’t make me bat an eyelid, though I did give a brief thought to where the magic balance on the card Modi had helped me create came from. And if there was a limit.

  “Eugh,” Bjarni grumbled as he bit into his burger, nose wrinkling in distaste. “One of the worst parts of the modern world—you’ve forgotten what real food is.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “Listen to you—Viking food critic of the year over there.”

  “He’s right,” Modi huffed, face screwed up in a similar display of distaste. “What is this? It tastes like… air and grease.”

  I didn’t bother arguing with them. I happened to like my greasy air burgers, and it wasn’t like there were any magic apple trees around.

  Despite their comments, the burgers seemed to go down well enough, followed by all three portions of fries. All of them. I didn’t get a single one.

  “How much longer until it’s time to board?” Bjarni asked as I came back from clearing our cheap plastic trays off the table.

  “About… two hours,” I said, checking the nearby clock he couldn’t see from his seat across from me. “You guys wanna go hang out in the lobby and wait?”

  He grimaced. “Nah, that just makes it worse. C’mon, let’s go for a stroll.”

  “Worse?” I asked, moving with him when he grabbed my hand, tugging me along. Modi fell in on my other side, silent but close. The way they flanked me, it seemed they were prepared for any random passenger to burst into the shape of a mountain troll and charge at us.

  “There’re too many people around,” Bjarni said, stroking his thumb over mine, though his focus stayed on our surroundings. “Too much noise. I don’t know a single alpha who doesn’t hate airports with every fiber of his being. Patrolling eases the discomfort a bit.”

  “Oh.” It wasn’t often I considered the downsides of being an alpha. They were big, dominating, and largely took whatever they wanted without much consequence. Most people I knew would have given their left kidney to have been born an alpha and live life on top of the food chain.

  But looking from Bjarni to Modi, it became clear that not everything was so simple. They had a boatload of instincts the rest of us didn’t have to deal with, and it was becoming obvious that said instincts were screaming at both men about this crowded, noisy place not being safe. There were too many people to easily determine who might be a threat.

  Bjarni’s hand in mine suddenly felt less like his usual urge to ensure my safety and more like he needed my touch to calm some of his unease. I squeezed his fingers, briefly wondering how many alphas suffered from anxiety. Not that any of them would ever cop to it.

  When I looked to my right and caught Modi’s tense frown, pity rose in my gut. Poor guy had to have it even worse than Bjarni—this was his first brush with the crowded reality of modern life, after all.

  I hesitated for a moment, not sure if the gesture would be appreciated, but in the end decided I was so used to his dismissive attitude that one more rejection wouldn’t hurt. So I reached out with my free hand and wound my fingers with his.

  He jolted, blue eyes darting from our surroundings to our interlocked hands, then to my face. I was fully bracing for a scathing remark, but he just stared at me for a long moment before returning his focus to the people passing us, his hand closing tight around mine.

  It was only when we boarded the plane to Chicago that I realized I’d made a mistake.

  “You booked us in coach?” Bjarni said behind me as the three of us stood in the narrow hallway between the rows of seats, blocking the passengers who desperately wanted to pass, but didn’t have the guts to get pushy with two huge alphas.

  Two huge alphas who were going to have an awful time trying to fit into the distinctly beta-sized seats we’d been assigned.

  “Coach?" he repeated with a shake of his head. "What have I ever done to you?”

  “Apart from kidnapping me?” I said, eyebrow raised in challenge. But my snarkiness died pretty instantly because despite his exasperation, he only looked mildly annoyed.

  “I’m sorry,” I relented with a sigh. “I’m not used to being able to splurge on first-class, and I completely spaced. I’ll ask the stewardess if we can upgrade.”

  We couldn’t. We were far from the only ones realizing this flight was probably the last one out of Norway for a while, and every first-class seat had been booked.

  I’m not entirely sure how my alpha companions managed to squeeze themselves into their tiny-by-comparison seats, but if I hadn’t been smushed in between them, I’d have laughed at the spectacle they made.

  Both men looked like overgrown toddlers, knees halfway up to their ears in an attempt at fitting in their long legs, and their displeasure was painted across their faces and emanated from their chests in aggravated snarls as the plane rolled toward takeoff.

  However, I was smushed between them, leaving me exactly zero room to expand my lungs enough to laugh.

  Takeoff wasn’t much better. Modi, who had the window seat, looked out at the engines in alarm when they powered up and yelped when the jet barreled down the runway and G-forces flung us back in our seats. I didn’t have time to reach for his hand this time—he grabbed for mine and squeezed it so tight my bones protested.

  “It’s all right. It’s just getting up to speed so we can take off,” I murmured. “Doesn’t Thor have a flying carriage or something? Something about some rams? This can’t be that much worse than getting dragged through the skies by livestock.”

  He shot me an ungrateful look. “Nothing about Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr is remotely comparable to this metal death trap. You do know that if we die, we’re all going to Hel? Valhalla’s ports are closed—not that there’d be anything honorable about plunging to our deaths encased in flaming wreckage.”

  I wheezed a chuckle—the most my poor ribs could expand. It seemed Thor’s other son was quite dramatic when the mood struck.

  “We won’t be doing any plunging—and generally, it’s considered good manners not to talk about hell and fiery death whilst aboard an airplane. Look, we’re already airborne. It’ll be fine. Just try to get some sleep, it’s a ten-hour flight.”

  “Ten hours in this herring barrel?” Modi growled, though his focus shifted to the window once more. “We should have gotten on a damned boat.”

  Five hours in, I was ready to agree with him.

  Whatever Ragnarök had done at ground level, it also seemed to add an unpleasant amount of turbulence to the air streams. More than one person had had to make use of the provided puke bags, and the stench of vomit permeating the air made me think I might need my own very soon.

  Bjarni had spent the last two hours leaned forward with his face buried in his hands, forehead resting against the seat in front of him, and to my right Modi leaned against the window, his skin an ungodly shade of green. No one was getting any sleep, and even though I was pretty hungry after my fry-less burger in Oslo airport, I didn’t dare touch the in-flight meal out of fear I’d hock it up on one of my already worn-out travel companions.

  Things didn’t improve when, from somewhere behind us, commotion erupted.

  Bjarni jerked up, head swinging back to assess the situation, but I didn’t have the energy to investigate—at least not until a girl in the seat immediately behind us screamed shrilly, and Modi gasped and straightened, eyes glued to the window.

  “What’s happening?” Bjarni asked, voice gruff and commanding.

  “Your brother has made his first appearance," Modi said flatly.

  For a wild moment, I almost expected to see Saga flying next to the plane, Superman-style, and I halfway threw myself over Modi’s lap to see out the window.

  But it wasn’t Saga that ha
d the entire plane so worked up.

  Far, far below us, gray fissures crested with white marked our location high above the Atlantic Ocean. And in the midst of the waves that looked flat from this height, a huge, snakelike body broke the surface in ribbons. I couldn’t see a head, but from how enormous the bends of the body I could see were, I didn’t want to.

  “What… What is that?” I whispered, my throat constricting as I stared at something so huge and so alien, my mind refused to accept it.

  “That is Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent,” Modi said. “Bjarni’s baby brother.”

  “Brother?” I croaked.

  “Loki has sired many a monster.” Bjarni’s voice was dark, angrier than what I was used to from him. “Jörmungandr is no brother of mine, blood or no.”

  “He is one of the signs of Ragnarök,” Modi said for my benefit. “During the three years of the Fimbulwinter, he will rise from the depths and spray his acid into the skies and seas. Metal deathtrap or not, I suddenly find myself thankful we did not board a ship to the Americas.”

  I breathed deeply, trying to control my panic as the great beast below once again disappeared beneath the surface, leaving white rapids behind. I’d thought the snow was bad enough.

  “What other signs are there?” I asked.

  Bjarni closed a hand around my knee, undoubtedly in response to the quiver in my voice.

  “Different prophecies have been spoken on the subject, and not all align. In Midgard, the lands will turn to ice and Fenrir’s offspring will eat the sun and the moon, casting everything into darkness. Fenrir himself will run across the lands, gorging on human flesh, spreading death and destruction until he succeeds in killing Odin.

  “The dragon Níðhöggr will gnaw at Yggdrasil’s roots until the Earth quakes and fire spits from within, and along with the mighty ship Naglfar, he will carry Hel and her army of dead across the ocean to finally defeat the gods in battle. And then there will be nothing.”