by Gwen Rivers
Saliva drips from his mouth, all his hackles stand on end. There is no recognition in his gaze, it’s all animal, all predator about to strike.
I take a step back and raise my hands to ward him off. Something wraps around my bare ankle. I glance down, see the serpent that had been coiled around Hel’s wrist now tethers me to her. She grips its tail, gives a yank. I fall to my knees and she drags me into the flames and down into the dark.
My head cracks against a stone floor and for a moment, all I see are stars swimming in darkness. The stench is overpowering, like rotting food left out to mold. I sit up, gagging from the reek of it. The air tastes acrid, as though we’re in a musty room that hasn’t been exposed to the elements since its construction a millennium ago.
“Forgive the deception. And the landing.”
“Deception?” I ask, rubbing at the sore spot at the back of my head.
“Your wolf sleeps still. An illusion to persuade you to come closer so my pet could ensnare you.”
Then a face appears.
Well, half a face.
On the left, she is a pretty young woman, probably about my own age. Long dark hair like a river of night, blue eye the color of the ocean, flushed apple cheek, aristocratic nose, and full red lips. The right side of her face is withered like that of a mummy, the skull visible through shriveled skin, the cartilage of the nose missing, the teeth exposed. Her body is covered by a cloak so there’s no making out her shape. I can’t tell if the disfigurement is isolated to her face or spread throughout her whole body.
I’ve seen plenty of fresh corpses. But none of them have moved. Or spoken to me. A scream tears its way up through my throat and I scramble away from the horror.
“Apologies.” It’s the same voice that came from the fire. That lovely hand and a skeletal one reach up to the hood on the back of her robe and tugs it forward, covering her face. “I forget that the living have such a negative reaction to my appearance.”
“Where am I?” I glance around the space. Logs burn green on a hearth. It’s the only sign of color in the room. The rest of the chamber—it’s too large with too many columns to be called a room—is gray, monochrome. The carved columns, the long table, the stone steps and dais atop them, even the throne is the same bleak hue.
Except it’s made from neatly arranged bleached bones.
“You are in my realm.” Hel glides towards the table, intentionally putting distance between us. “I would offer you something to drink, but that would trap you here forever.”
The snake releases its hold on me and slithers after her. “Why have you brought me here?”
“You need to know a few things.” Hel reaches down her living hand and the snake curls around her in a gesture that is almost loving. “I sent my sentries to Midgard to find you after I heard you were reborn. All but two have returned. I don’t suppose you came across them?”
I watch as she pours a ruby red liquid into a gray chalice and takes a sip. “Um no…” Then I recall the attackers behind the Shitty BanG. “Wait, the snake-like creature and the man-made of stone? They work for you?”
She dips her hood in what I suppose passes for a nod. “He was a golem, one of the protectors of the dead. The snake-like creature, as you call him, is a Naga. Not deep thinkers by any means, but they follow orders well enough.”
I scramble to my feet, keeping my back to the wall. “Why did you send them after me?”
“I wanted to see if the rumors were true, that an immortal queen had been reborn as a mortal. As I said, I can’t leave my home here, so the next logical step was to bring you to me. I also would like to offer you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
Hel sets down her goblet and turns toward me. The deep folds of her hood conceal her startling face. “An exchange. My information for the souls you bound to the Wild Hunt. They belong here, with me, not roaming the worlds.”
“Worlds?” Something else dawns on me. “Wait, did you say you sent your sentries to Midgard?”
Another bob of her cloaked head and a book appears in her hands.
With a start, I recognize my copy of Norse myths, the same one from my pack. “How?”
“Like the fair folk, I can grab what I need from other worlds unless it has a will of its own.” She opens the book, seemingly at random and offers it to me.
I take it. The book is open to a picture of Yggdrasil, the World Tree.
Hel’s skeletal finger points to the lowest realm depicted beneath the roots. “We are here. Here is your mortal world.” That boney digit moves up to the middle part of the tree, seeming to stop in the center.
I stare at it, information clicking into place. Laufey had called my aunts Norns, not Fates. Laufey for that matter was also mentioned in myths. I flip through the book, hunting for her name. There it is in black and white. The Needle of the Forest.
I look from the book up to the shaded space where Hel’s face should be. “She’s your grandmother, too, isn’t she?”
Another bob of fabric. “I’m his half-sister, by way of our father.”
“Loki.” I let out a deep breath as it all comes together. “Loki is your father. Aiden’s father.”
A soft chuckle escapes her, though it holds no humor. “Sire is perhaps a better word, as he is a selfish short-sighted ass that thinks only of his own glory. But yes, we are biologically related, Váli and I.”
“Váli?” I ask, frowning. “I don’t remember reading about him.”
The book in my hand starts flipping pages all on its own.
“I have duties to attend to. I’ll leave you to read.” A hand—her human one—lands on my shoulder. “We’ll talk again soon.”
With a start, I wake as something strikes my foot.
I jerk fully awake in my armchair and blink at the dying fire. On the four-poster Aiden sleeps soundly. Had it all been some sort of nightmare?
I stare down at the book at my feet, open to one of the last chapters, regarding the punishment of Loki, the trickster god.
Slowly, I reach down and pick it up. After one final glance at the fire, I sit back to read.
It’s a tragic story, the gist of which does tickle my memory. After much duplicity and trickery, the other gods decided they’d had enough of Loki’s foolishness. As punishment for his involvement in the death of the beloved god Balder, Loki is captured, and his entire legitimate family brought to a cave in the Underworld. There, Váli, the older son by way of his wife Sigyn, is transformed into a wolf. The crazed beast shredded the younger son, Nari. The boy’s entrails are used to bind the trickster god to the rocks beneath a venomous serpent. Sigyn is given a bowl to hold over her husband’s head, to keep the venom from striking him, but every time she turns to empty the bowl, the venom splashes the god and the worlds quake from his agony.
The book says nothing about what happened to the wolf who’d been forced to murder his own brother. It assumes that he had been killed, too.
I stare at the figure on the bed. What if he hadn’t? What if he managed to escape? Had to live with the horror of what he’d done, what had been done to him.
Aiden said he’d been born a god. And his transformation to a wolf had been a punishment, though not for anything he’d done.
Kill me, please. The Aiden in my dreams had begged. I don’t deserve to live.
Guilt. That was why he’d allowed himself to be chained, beaten, violated. Guilt over murdering his little brother. Was that also why Laufey had been banished by the other giants? Because of her son’s wicked deeds?
It explains so much, Aiden’s self-loathing, why he doesn’t like to talk about where he comes from or who his father is. Why Laufey, with all her power, fears the wolf within him.
If it killed his little brother, it’s capable of anything.
Setting the book aside, I stand and stretch my throbbing back muscles. My head feels too light, as though it will float up off my shoulders at any sudden movement. Aiden groans in his sleep, thrashing against the
vines. Is he dreaming of the scene I just read about?
So many questions, I have so many questions and only he possesses the answers.
Why did you bring me back? I think at him.
The thrashing stops and his brow furrows. Nic?
Yes. I take his hand, trying to forge a connection that will draw him out of his self-imposed prison. I’m right here. We’re at your grandmother’s.
Sweat beads his brow. It’s not safe for you.
What isn’t?
Me. That one-word echoes through my mind. It pulses like a wound, throbbing with anguish. I’m losing control.
Of the wolf? I tamp the thought down before I can project it to him, not wanting to mention the beast or what it might do. I can take care of myself. I squeeze his hand again, hard. Remember? I’m a badass hunter of men.
His lips twitch as though a smile is trying to break free. Yes.
I hesitate a moment, fighting the impulse to brush his lips with my own. So many years fearing my gift, that I would unintentionally hurt someone with a gesture of affection. But never have I allowed fear to dictate my actions. I kissed Aiden before and he didn’t die, both in the dream and in our reality.
Slowly, I lean down and press my mouth to his.
Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. I pull back.
His eyes flash open, the green glowing in the dim room and Aiden’s wolf looks out at me. There is no sign of recognition on his face. We are two predators, sizing each other up. Its gaze falls to my lips and a low growl fills the space between us.
I want to back off completely, the sound is clearly meant as a warning. But instinct, my well-honed instinct, screams that I don’t want to give him an inch.
“Back down,” I say, my own words a growl.
He bares his teeth, a snarl ripping past his lips.
“Nic?” Laufey appears, wearing a long white dressing gown, an edge in her voice.
He jerks at the sound, the warning rumble ripping through the quiet room.
“I got this,” I say to her, my eyes still locked with his. “Stay away.”
“He’ll kill you.” She is convinced of this, I can hear it in her voice. “He killed his own brother.”
“He won’t hurt me.” That’s what got him into this state, burning me. To save me, yes, but the act also brought the wolf out to kill the threat that harmed the one it protects. I’ve seen it in the veterinary clinic, mother dogs injuring the humans that would help them to protect their pups. I know it, my instinct knows it. I need to convince the wolf I’m not in any danger, so it releases its hold on Aiden. “Just stay back.”
Thankfully, she does. In the quiet, I hear her bare feet scraping against the floor as she retreats.
“Now it’s just you and me,” I say to Aiden’s wolf.
The snarling stops, though his unblinking stare doesn’t waver. I press my advantage and climb up onto the four-poster beside him and throw one leg over him, my body pinning his. He growls again but the sound is less of a warning this time, more like an automatic response. I grip his hair with my hands and pull lightly, staring down into his eyes and think the words at him even as I say them out loud. “Let go.”
He raises his face, though he can’t go far, not with the vines and me pinning him in place. He moves towards my neck and for a terrifying moment, I think I’ve made a mistake—that he’s going to rip my throat out as I saw him do to the snake creature. But his goal is the hair that has unraveled from my haphazard braid. His chest rises once on a slow inhale and when he breathes out, I can feel the tension leave him entirely.
We stay that way for countless moments and then he sags back against the bed. I breathe in his cedar and sage scent, feel his chest rise and fall beneath me. After a while he sighs, the sound human, not the animal. I look up. Sweat beads his forehead as though a fever has broken. His features are pinched and exhausted, his stubble rough but there is a stillness about him. The tension seeps from him, his rigid posture sags and his lids flutter closed.
“Aiden?” I ask, just to make sure.
“Yeah,” the word is hoarse, his throat dry.
I release the grip I have on his hair and call out to his grandmother. “It’s okay. He’s back.”
She and Fern bustle in, recrimination for the foolish chances I took from Laufey, a flurry of multitasking from Fern.
“Girl, you don’t have the sense the gods gave an opossum prick,” the giantess snaps at me. “Stubborn, foolhardy child.”
“I think I’m growing on her,” I say to Aiden.
A dry chuckle escapes, but then morphs into a series of coughs. I realize I’m still sitting on him, completely nude beneath the borrowed dress that has ridden up to mid-thigh. My face flames. In front of his grandmother and her significant other no less.
Aiden catches my gaze, amusement in his eyes. The coughing grows worse. Oh yeah, he picked up that nugget of thought all right.
Carefully, I slither off him as Fern—part of her anyway—arrives with a cup of water.
Laufey releases the bindings and helps Aiden sit upright so he can drink.
I slink off the bed, surreptitiously shaking the fabric of my dress back down, then make my excuses. “I’m beat. See you all in the morning.”
“Nic,” Aiden reaches out and takes my hand. “Thank you.”
His calloused palm on my skin feels… right. I shrug out of his hold. “Night.”
Picking up the book and the afghan Fern had given me to cover it, I head for the stairs without a backward glance.
“She’s such an odd, prickly sort,” I hear Laufey grouse.
“That she is.” There’s a note of whimsy in Aiden’s voice. “I wouldn’t have her any other way.”
You don’t get to have her at all, I mentally correct him and stomp to my room.
Downstairs the coughing fit resumes.
Chapter 17
Past and Present
I am in the kitchen of the little stone cottage in the meadow. Time’s almost up. The signs of the change are everywhere. The weather has turned chill, the morning dew is slowly being replaced by light frost that is gone the instant the sun kisses it. At night Aiden and I see the fog of our breath when we walk the forest path back home.
Autumn approaches.
Never have I been so reluctant for the change of seasons, to see the return of my strength, the waning of the daylight hours. It means loss, the loss of this haven. No more lazy days lounging in bed. No more plunging into the cool mountain lake at the top of the ridge or running naked through the fields to dry off. No more time.
My hands are covered in flour and I hum a tune without words as I plunge them into the bread mixture. It is something I’ve seen the mortal women do when they go about their daily chores. It’s easier to pretend than it is to face reality.
The back door swings open and Aiden comes in, carrying an armload of firewood. He wears only jeans lifted from nearby mortals, his sweat-slick skin betraying the labor he’s put into building up the fire. It isn’t necessary. He could easily conjure flames perfect for my baking project, just as easily as I could wave my hand and collect the deadwood of the forest and transport it to our hearth. But he’s abiding my command—to use no magic unless it is necessary.
To see if we can live as the mortals do.
I eye his body hungrily, my teeth sinking into the fleshy part of my lower lip as I watch the shift and pull of muscles beneath his skin. He looks like a god, a fire deity when cast in shadows from the flickering firelight. I can never tell him this, he wouldn’t appreciate the reminder of where he comes from. But I see it and remember for him.
He turns, catching me staring and smirks. “How goes the task?”
I frown down at the bowl of glop, lift it up in my hands. It slithers through my fingers in a gelatinous mass. “Does this seem correct?”
He moves forward, wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my shoulder. “Not in the slightest.”
I sag, dropping the mess back in the
bowl. Another meal, ruined. If we truly were mortal we would have starved by now. “I don’t understand. Even the dullest human peasant is capable of making bread. Why not I?”
“You were born to be a queen.” His lips brush the exposed skin of my shoulder. “No one taught you how to live without magic or servants.”
I turn in his arms until we are staring each other in the eyes. “Do you think it’s wrong for me to want to do this? Be honest.” The last two words come out equipped with the ring of command.
He hesitates, and I can see the wheels turning in his clever mind. “I think you are who you are. Pretending to be something else won’t change your nature. Nor would I want you to change.”
“A diplomatic answer,” I grumble. His knuckles brush the underside of my jawbone, wiping away the flour that had somehow wound up there. I grip his hand, holding it tightly. “It’s our last night.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
Aiden looks away, his gaze on the fire. “You must.”
I shove him away. “Why must you always remind me of my duty and obligations?”
He squares his shoulders, lifts his chin. “I am consort to the queen. It is part of my role to support her highness, and help her rule in whatever way I can.”
“The queen.” Not me. My title, the only thing anyone ever sees, ever wants of me. Frustrated tears well up and I turn away to hide my pain. By tomorrow night, I will shove it all down, will be haughty, cold, unaffected. Everything the Unseelie Queen ought to be. The Ice Bitch.
But summer has spoiled me. Tricked me into thinking that I might be more than just the figurehead. That my value might come in who I am, not what I can do for someone else.
Aiden enfolds me in his arms again, pressing his body flush against mine. “I’m sorry I caused you pain.”
He didn’t. I would never give him that power over me. “My situation causes me pain, not you.”
He hesitates. “Is it the others?”
The other men, the Unseelie nobles that once a month, line up by the dozens for their shot at impregnating the queen, becoming consort and father to the heir. My stomach turns over when I think of the last ritual, held two weeks before the end of winter.