by Nora Ash
I heaved another sigh and placed the plate in Loki’s bound hands. It wasn’t going to be the most dignified way of eating for him, but so long as he propped the plate up on his knees, he’d manage. It was a fair few steps up from being literally frozen solid face-down in the snow.
“Thank you,” Loki said, his voice gentle. “Daughter.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t even try it. I’m not falling for your tricks again. I didn’t ask for you—I asked for him. He’s got a good heart, despite who sired him. I don’t want him regretting anything once you’re a head shorter and won’t be capable of eating ever again.”
His lips curled up in a wry smile. “I suppose that’s fair. He always was surprisingly gentle—considering the mother I sired him on. Hard as nails, that Jotunn bitch. At least he got her fighting prowess.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gentle,” I said, eyes narrowing as a compulsive urge to defend my mate rose along my spine. “If more of you asshole gods considered it a boon, perhaps you wouldn’t be so busy trying to bring about the end of the damn world.
"Why? Why are you doing it? Even if you survive, what’s the point? To rule over a dark mass of nothing? Please, enlighten me.”
This time, Loki was the one to sigh. “I told you—I have nothing to do with this.”
“Several prophecies and a very pissed-off god-king suggest otherwise,” I said. “And I saw one of your other sons on our way here—big, serpent-like. Enjoys devouring ships and laying waste to the world. Ring a bell?”
“As I’m sure you’ve learned by now, prophecies can be manipulated. And I am not responsible for my offspring’s actions.” He motioned with his plate toward Bjarni. “Clearly. Did you know Odin has one of them in his stables? His own steed came from my loins.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry… are you saying Odin’s riding one of your sons? Like… like a horse?”
Loki snorted. “Well, it isn’t often people refer to Sleipner as a simple horse, but yes. Odin is more than happy to claim my spawn as a boon if it suits him. But if they’re trouble? I’m apparently behind it.”
“A horse? You fathered a horse?” I was still having a really hard time getting past the whole equine-son thing. “And a ginormous sea-serpent? I… I’m sorry, I know you’re a god and there’re different rules, but how do you even…? Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.”
“Ah. Mortal morals,” he said, a small smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. “I’m pleased they’re not a hindrance when it comes to who you yourself share your body with. From the sounds of it, having multiple mates comes very, hmm, natural to you. Not a lot of human women would be able to enjoy themselves with more than one alpha. I admit, I expected this arrangement I established with your ancestors to be more of a burden than it appears it is.”
A flush of embarrassment heated my face at the confirmation that he’d heard me with Modi and Bjarni.
“You know nothing about my mate bonds, and I’ll thank you to not speak another word of them,” I hissed. Angry that I’d let him get under my skin again, I stood and turned to leave.
“Annabel,” he called.
I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. Bound on the ground and surrounded by snow as he was, he still looked every inch a dark god, charcoal hair framing his eerily glowing face.
“I am not behind Ragnarök. I swear it on my own life. There’s a traitor in Asgard.”
I stared at him. There was absolute sincerity in his dark eyes. But he was the trickster god—how could I ever hope to determine if he was just manipulating me again?
“This sounds like something you should tell Odin once we get to Asgard,” I said.
He chuffed a laugh through his nose. “If history has proven anything, it’s that Odin cares little for finding the truth if it means losing out on a chance to blame me for whatever threat is at Asgard’s gates this time around. I fear your mates might be similarly afflicted, blinded by hatred and skewed perception. But you. You hold no such preconceived notions, hmm, little omega?”
I blinked. “Are you telling me everyone hates you for no good reason? After you’ve just manipulated me into thinking I would lose my mates? After you killed Arni and Magga? Told your own son he and his brothers are on their own?”
Loki grimaced. “I know I’m no conventional hero. I’m the God of Mischief, after all. But I have no reason to want to bring forth Ragnarök, and if you don’t listen to me, all your efforts, all your sacrifice will be for naught. You might live—you might not. But your world will be gone. Your friends, your family. There is a traitor in Asgard. Left unchecked, they will succeed in their evil purpose.”
“And you just happen to know who this traitor is?” I asked, eyebrows raised in mock-surprise. “How very convenient.”
“I do not,” he said, somewhat to my surprise. “But I know how to reveal them.”
“Let me guess—for the low, low price of your freedom?” I folded my arms across my chest. “How come you haven’t revealed this traitor on your own a bit sooner? Say, before the Fimbulwinter hit and that serpent son of yours started paddling around the Atlantic?”
“I’ve been unable to access Valhalla for many years now. And to be frank, so long as I could secure my own lineage, I wasn’t too concerned. Obviously, that has changed now.”
He held out his bound hands, a sardonic slant to his lips. “My offer is simple: once you have displayed my successful capture to the god-king and as a result my sons are free from his retribution, you will free me. Once you have done that, I will tell you how to reveal the traitor.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “And what guarantee will I have that you won’t just take off without revealing a thing?”
Loki gazed over my shoulder toward the fire. When I twisted to follow his gaze, I saw Bjarni watching us like a hawk. A small bubble of warmth grew in my gut at the confirmation that he would always look out for me.
“I will tell you at a… more opportune time,” Loki said lightly, his focus returning to the wooden plate hosting his rapidly cooling breakfast. “You can think on my offer until then. I can only hope that you will see the wisdom of my words.”
Twenty-Eight
Modi
The furs were empty by my side when I woke up again sometime after dawn. Empty and cold.
I caught myself stroking the skins where Annabel had slept, her scent still lingering. Hers and Bjarni’s.
I wrinkled my nose, but the smell of alpha wasn’t unpleasant. Perhaps because it was so thoroughly intertwined with my own and mixed with copious amounts of omega fluids.
Tentatively I prodded the bond connecting me to Annabel—and through her, Bjarni. It hummed peacefully in response, followed by an immediate tension.
Annabel. She felt me awaken. And where she had been calm, she was now anxious.
I swallowed a frustrated growl. What had I expected? That giving in to my instincts would have quelled the nightmare of confusion and pain between us?
Please, Modi. It was sex. Nothing more.
Just instincts.
The snow was still tumbling from a gray sky in thick flakes when I exited the flimsy tent to take stock of the camp.
Bjarni and Annabel sat on the near side of the fire, her in his lap, undoubtedly to protect her from the cold trunk serving as a seat. They both looked at me when I appeared, Annabel’s pretty face drawn with trepidation and Bjarni’s relaxed.
On the other side someone had rebound Loki with his hands in front of his body, and had even shoved a mug of something hot and steamy into them.
“We are pampering the World Breaker now?” I asked as I strode toward Bjarni and Annabel. “I thought you had given up on the ties of blood after his betrayal.”
“More names?” Loki asked, arcing a sardonic eyebrow over his mug. “I suppose World Breaker sounds better than The Betrayer. If you must.”
“Don’t look at me,” Bjarni rumbled. “I’d have been happy to leave him frozen solid until we r
each Valhalla. Our soft-hearted mate thought that would be too cruel. Something about being better than that.”
I glanced down at Annabel and caught her gaze before she managed to look away. Heat rose in her cheeks, a flicker of embarrassment stirring our bond. Not for what she had done for Loki—for what we had done last night.
Judging from how she was cozied up to Bjarni, it did not seem she had such reservations with him.
“Soft-hearted?” I repeated, breaking our eye contact as I stepped away and toward the fire where a plate of bacon and beans was warming. I might not be Bjarni Lokisson’s biggest fan, but I had to hand it to the man—not many would be able to cook up such an inviting meal mid-Fimbulwinter, with only the sparsest of provisions available.
“Foolish, more likely. Do not fall for the trickster’s words of pity. I do not want to have to hunt him down again because of your inability to do what is necessary. He has earned everything that is coming to him and more.”
Annabel did not respond, but I felt the flicker of embarrassment turn to hurt, then anger. Bjarni only sighed.
Better. It was much easier to deal with the blasted bond when her end reflected nothing but that nasty temper of hers back at me. She was my reluctant mate—we had fucked, it felt good, and in the bright light of day there was no room for confusing emotions. Anger was easy. Painful, but familiar.
I would take anger over regret any day of the week.
The trek back to the human settlement of Seattle took longer than our journey out. The snow was thicker on the ground, making walking a slower, more arduous task, especially for Annabel.
Bjarni led our small group, Loki in tow with a firm grasp on the rope around his wrists. Annabel followed, leaving me to bring up the rear, carrying our tent and supplies.
To the little omega’s credit, she did not complain as she struggled through the snow, and she was smart to stay directly behind Loki and his Jotunn son, but the snow was still deep and tricky. I watched her fight her way through the harsh terrain, her pace slowing gradually despite her best efforts, and gritted my teeth.
If she had been any less stubborn, I would have picked her up and slung her over the gear on my back to save her the struggle, but thanks to our little moment on Bifrost, I had a good inkling that it would not be well-received.
Not that I should have card. She was slowing us down. I should have grabbed her, hoisted her over my shoulder, and ignored her displeasure. The end.
To Hel with the stupid bond aching in my chest at the thought of another harsh rejection from my bitter mate.
Just as I increased my stride to catch up with her, Bjarni paused and turned, frowning when his gaze landed on Annabel.
“I’m sorry, sweetie—I should have realized you’d be struggling. Come, let me carry you.”
“I can walk just fine,” she replied, though there was a distinct lack of fire in her rebuttal.
Bjarni gave her a patient look. “Yes. You’re a very capable woman. Now stop making a fuss, hmm? What kind of a mate would I be if I knowingly let you struggle?”
Yes, what kind of mate indeed?
I glared at him as he walked back to Annabel, pulling Loki along with him, and picked her up despite her token protests. He settled her against his chest, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck, before he turned back around to resume the trek.
Acid seethed in my veins as I followed, but I pushed it down with an iron hand. It was bad enough he had shown me up without even trying—bad enough I was jealous at how warm and comfortable her weight would feel against him. I was not about to let either of them feel my petty envy in our blasted bond.
It was deep in the night when we finally made it to King Street Station. The large settlement of Seattle was as dead as it had been on our arrival, the only humans we spotted on our way through the white-blanketed streets through windows in the odd, tall houses lining them.
It was not a surprise then that the station also lay silent amidst the howling winds, but when I jogged up the stairs to open the door, they were locked.
Too eager to get out of the weather to be denied entry, I sent a bolt of lightning through the lock, melting it off so I could push through.
Darkness and the echo of the door slamming open was all that met us.
“Well, this isn’t looking promising,” Bjarni rumbled as he put Annabel down, looking around the large, silent room. “Did you spot anything outside? Anything about the service being disrupted?”
“All I saw was snow,” I said.
“And that big sign saying all transport has been canceled on the orders of the governor,” Loki said mildly. “Looks like we’re staying in the great city of Seattle for the duration of this little blizzard.”
“What sign?” Annabel snapped, her attention turning to the trickster god.
“He’s lying,” Bjarni growled, though I saw the flicker of unease in his eyes.
“By all means, go check if you don’t believe me,” Loki said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll just stay he—uff!”
His voice died on a huff when Bjarni yanked him along by the rope, heading back toward the doors.
“Watch her,” he said to me. As if he needed to.
Annabel looked at me as silence spread once more, and I forced myself not to rub at my chest where our bond hummed out of tune. It was the first time we had been alone since I woke up with her in my arms in the tent, the tension between us thicker from a full day’s separation.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, because leave it to my primitive alpha instincts to breach the gap. Right then, feeding her seemed like the best way to break the tension. Or maybe a nice fuck. Despite my own exhaustion from the long trek, my dick gave a spasm at that particular thought. Gods dammit.
“Too anxious. If Loki isn’t lying, then… then we have no way of getting back to Norway and Bifrost. If the trains aren’t running, then the planes definitely aren’t either.” She wrapped her arms around her body, looking so vulnerable I almost crossed the distance between us to wrap her up in my arms. “Modi, what are we gonna do? If we can’t get back to Asgard. Odin’s gonna…”
She did not finish that sentence, but she did not need to.
“We will find a way,” I said. “If all else fails, I can call on Thor. Even the Fimbulwinter will not stop Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr. He will come for us.”
The frown on her forehead eased to a small crease, and she nodded. “Good. That’s good.” Then, giving me a hesitant smile, she asked, “Is that offer of food still open?”
Some of the tension in my gut eased. I swung the backpack over my shoulder and rummaged through it for some of our packed provisions. It was not a warm meal, but it was sustenance. I nearly purred when she, eyes closed from exhaustion, bit down on the sandwich I had provided, accepting my role as her alpha; her provider.
Idiot instincts.
The doors banged open behind us, and I spun around, ready to ward off an attack—but it was only Bjarni, dragging his father along by the golden rope.
“The trains won’t be running until the snow lets up. The sign said all transport across the continent is halted—even ships. Fuck!” Bjarni spat, kicking a row of seats.
“It’s okay—Modi has a way for us to get back,” Annabel said, looking to me. “He can call his father.”
“Uh… how about we just wait it out?” Loki asked, the grimace crossing his face more uneasy than I had seen him before.
I chuffed a derisive laugh. “What is the matter, trickster god? Not too keen on facing Thor, are we?”
“We’re not waiting out the fucking Fimbulwinter,” Bjarni growled. “If Thor can get us back to Valhalla in time, then that’s what we’re doing. Call on him—we can rest once we’re in Asgard.”
I nodded and undid my outer clothes to get at the ring adorning my right bicep, a birth gift from my father—my connection to him across all nine worlds. I had never had reason to use it before, but it had stayed with me from my first breath,
a constant reassurance of my ties to my home.
Pressing my hand against it, I channeled the lightning in my blood, letting it sing through the gold until I felt the magic connection open.
Father, we are in need of your aid. We have captured Loki but are cut off from returning to Asgard.
I waited, the other end of the link lying dormant for a breath. Two. Three.
Father.
Another breath, and then I felt a click within the magic, felt a touch of consciousness before it died, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.
I expelled a harsh breath, my eyes snapping open.
He had… He had rejected me?
He'd heard my plea, and he'd… rejected me.
Brown eyes focused on mine, their depths the only thing keeping me grounded as the Earth itself seemed to fall from underneath my feet.
“Modi?” Annabel asked, concern evident in her voice. Gloved hands closed around my wrist, the chill of them slowly bringing me back to my body. “What’s wrong? You feel…”
Our bond. She felt everything I did. I stared at her, knowing that the most intimate, the most painful moment of my life was laid bare to her—and through her to Bjarni, my enemy.
I breathed slow and deep, until my steel grip was back, forcing the depths of my despair down.
Finally, I freed my wrists of her grip and stepped back, unwilling to see the hope break in those pretty eyes.
“Thor is not coming,” I said. “We are on our own.”
Twenty-Nine
Bjarni
I frowned. “What do you mean, he’s not—”
Annabel’s hand on my arm quieted me. She shook her head just in time for me to catch on to why our bond echoed with pain: Modi.
“Thor’s not coming?” Loki repeated, the glee in his voice like nails on a chalkboard in the quiet hall. “How peculiar. Seems he’s really not bothered about bringing the so-called Betrayer to justice. Could it truly be he’s too busy knocking Jotunn skulls and drinking mead to save his little bastard?”