And then I remembered that he had abandoned his pack to protect them from Thor. The four werewolves in front of me were his new pack.
Ashley spoke up, her voice as clear as a struck bell. “Fine. But Gunnar still goes with you. To keep you safe.”
I grunted, wanting to laugh out loud. “He had one eye to begin with, and even that one is now half-blind. I’ll be lucky if he’s operating at twenty-five-percent.”
Freya spoke up, changing the topic. “This Armory,” she said, drawing every eye. “It is safe?”
Ashley nodded. “Safer than any place I know.”
Unfortunately, I had to agree. Not that I was voting for it, but she was right. Only specific invitation would let someone in, so as long as they didn’t open the door for Thor, they would be as safe as babes.
But me letting someone in gave them the ability to potentially take weapons out—which was not acceptable. I’d have to lay down some heavy rules to even consider it.
Freya shared a long, silent look with Odin—who was no longer watching the storm. He finally nodded, and whatever they had decided, it seemed to bolster his spirits somewhat. Freya turned to Ashley and Gunnar, a smile of anticipation on her face that made me decidedly uneasy.
“Then we have a solution. My husband will temporarily cure Gunnar, and we will go to this Armory. I will be able to care for Ashley without looking over my shoulder every two minutes.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Cure Gunnar? Just like—”
“How?” Gunnar demanded, looking suddenly eager.
“Make an offering to Odin,” she said. “Honor him.” Then she slowly turned to me. “And in return for these noble gifts we provide, you will kill my son and try to find Gungnir,” she said, hitting me with the look.
I burst out laughing this time, shaking my head in disbelief. “Oh, is that all? You sure you don’t want me to pinch Heimdall’s ass as well?” I blurted, shaking my head. “And unless you have some kind of direct lead on Gungnir, forget about it. Mordred is my next priority,” I said, choosing not to elaborate on the risk to Gunnar’s soul if Mordred didn’t die soon. Ashley had enough to worry about already.
Not liking my response, Freya gave me another look, and this one was…lookier. It still didn’t compare to Ashley’s look, though.
I noticed Alice murmuring under her breath, and I turned to find her studying Freya’s look entirely too studiously for my liking. I hurriedly stepped between them, shushing her back.
She was way too young to learn that kind of power. She was already enough of a handful. Case in point, she kicked me in the ankle. Hard. I ignored the willful little demon spawn. And Freya’s look.
Gunnar turned to Odin, cleared his throat, and then spoke in an authoritative voice. “I demand your help, Allfather.”
I winced at Gunnar’s choice of phrasing—which had definitely not honored Odin nor implied an offering.
Odin did not respond.
I turned to check on him, and then blinked to find he was staring off at the storm again, his eye entirely silver now—even the white sclera. And his face was slack, like he had fallen unconscious.
Thunder rumbled ominously, like a long, hungry growl. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I realized that the steamroller of black clouds had covered a third of the distance. Much faster than I had originally estimated.
“Call me crazy, but I don’t like the weather in Niflheim,” Drake said nervously, staring out at the storm. “I suggest we head to the Armory sooner rather than—”
Gunnar took an aggressive step forward, cutting Drake off, and the Wolf King didn’t look remotely pleased by Odin’s silence. “I swear that my pack will follow all the old traditions,” he growled. “We will show you honor, Allfather. My pack will worship the old ways. Worship you, Odin. But you must first honor me—now—or I will not have a pack to honor you with!”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what Freya meant,” I mumbled under my breath. Proving my point, Odin still did not respond.
I felt a tugging on my shirt and glanced down to see Alice studying each face before her, looking as if she had just come to understand the meaning of life.
“Gunnar is right,” she whispered adamantly. “This is supposed to happen.”
I scowled angrily. What good was a seer if she only saw things you didn’t want her to see? I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a slow three-count. Finally, I opened them, accepting that the only thing my arguments would accomplish was to delay the inevitable.
Who Gunnar prayed to was his business, but I would never let him hear the end of it. He had chosen to worship my butler, after all. I definitely still had some questions that needed answers, though.
Odin suddenly snarled, snapping out of his daze to grip his knees with both hands. He was shaking. “Thor,” he cursed, pointing up at the approaching storm. “He is hiding within the storms of Niflheim. If I hadn’t thought to check with Hugin and Munin, I might have missed it entirely,” he snarled, sounding embarrassed at his failure. “He must have sensed me healing myself. Gods damn it all—I didn’t think that was strong enough for anyone to notice!”
Chapter 21
Freya shot me a very dark look, as if to make sure that I understood that Odin wouldn’t have had to self-heal if I hadn’t beaten him so severely. That the inbound Thor was my fault.
I ignored her—very pointedly—by studying the black clouds. The thunder was a constant, rolling growl, and fingers of lightning tickled the land as it crept towards us.
Odin’s eye momentarily shifted to that chrome-like silver and then back again. “Thor knows we are in Niflheim, but he still searches for our exact location. Hugin and Munin will try to mislead him, but he knows their games well. We might have five minutes.” Odin abruptly turned to Gunnar, as if only just now hearing the werewolf’s request. “I agree to your terms, Wulfric.”
“Before Gunnar does something he regrets,” I said, butting in, “I want to hear details.”
Odin nodded, keeping his eye on Gunnar. “I funneled almost half of my power into my wolves. If Geri and Freki agree, I can temporarily bond you to them. They already see you as part of their pack, which is no small praise,” Odin said meaningfully, and I recalled a time when I had caught Gunnar having a private conversation with Odin’s wolves. I’d asked him about it, but Gunnar had told me he wasn’t allowed to discuss it. Curious…
Was their pack relationship similar to how Odin’s ravens were on my family crest?
Odin continued. “You will see as they see, and your strength will blossom with the addition of theirs. They will remain by your side like ghostly specters, empowering you, but they will not be able to act in the physical realm until the bond is broken. I will still have the strength to aid Freya with your pups but doing this will leave me weakened—less capable to protect your wife,” Odin explained. “But with the Armory to protect her…”
I slowly turned to Geri and Freki. Odin’s wolves were no longer struggling, but were instead staring at Gunnar very, very intently. Almost hungrily.
“Do you accept?” Odin asked.
Gunnar was already nodding. “We have Drake and Cowan to help keep my wife safe. Defense will not win this battle. Thor must die. Nate and I will make certain we kill your son, Allfather.”
“What did you mean by temporarily?” I asked, picking apart his explanation.
Odin remained focused on Gunnar. “Twenty-four-hours. If your wife doesn’t give birth on her own in that time…Freya will need my full strength for our best chances at delivering your pups.”
“No rush to sell your soul, Gunnar,” I urged, not entirely sure that swearing such a committed oath to Odin was worth such a short-lived gift. “Think of your kids.”
Gunnar faced me squarely, gritting his teeth. “I. Am!” he snarled. He took a slow breath, unclenching his jaw and dialing back the murderometer. “Do not stand between me and my decision, Nate. I gave you an alternative, which you refused to consider. As a result, this
is going to happen. Unless you have suddenly changed your mind about giving me my rightfully-earned Horseman’s Mask, then stop stalling. Each breath brings Thor closer to my wife and unborn children.”
I sighed defeatedly, and then weakly motioned for him to proceed. Because he was right.
Gunnar turned to Odin. “I accept your terms. Let’s do this, Allfather.”
Ashley nodded. “If it gives my husband the strength to disembowel Thor, that will suffice.”
Odin dipped his head to each of them, showing no paternal instinct for Thor’s demise. None whatsoever. It was enough to make me want a hug.
Alice, the all-seeing little whelp, suddenly wrapped my leg in a hug, squeezing tightly. I sighed, mussing up her hair playfully. “Thanks, Bones.”
She beamed up at me before taking a step back.
I gauged our shot-clock, mentally preparing myself for Thor’s arrival in less than five minutes. “Hurry the hell up, Odin. We don’t have all day, you lazy bastard,” I said, pointing upwards, because the black cylinder of clouds blanketed the whole sky now. “And for the record, Hugin and Munin suck at distractions.”
Odin rolled his eye, and Freya frowned at me as if I had spoken in tongues, not catching my rapier wit.
“Come forth, Gunnar,” Odin commanded officiously. “Let them bite each of your wrists. It will hurt. A lot. You must remain standing.”
Gunnar took a confident step forward to meet his fate.
He almost ate it on the second step, his ankle rolling on a loose stone. I slapped my forehead, muttering under my breath. Gunnar remained upright, tore off the cloth around his eyes and, with his lone eye clamped firmly shut, he awkwardly shuffled over the rubble.
I sensed Freya frowning at me, but I pretended not to notice.
I considered telling her that her hastily retied toga was crooked, but thought better of it. Barely. Instead, I walked Gunnar over to Geri and Freki, pausing as I glared down at them. “I know a shifter bear veterinarian in Kansas City. She’s never neutered a wolf, but she’s always open to new experiences.”
They curled their lips up at me, but Gunnar placed his palm on my forearm. “They have done nothing wrong, Nate,” he said in a calm voice, sensing how close I was to the edge of my resolve. Although he didn’t say it, we both knew how to get him out of this bond with the wolves.
Give him a Horseman’s Mask.
But…I just couldn’t do it. He was my best friend, and he was about to be a dad. He’d already died once when I’d let him get into a fight that was well above his pay grade.
I wasn’t doing that again.
He’d been in my non-Fae life for about as long as I could remember, going back to my earliest, fondest, childhood memories.
I could still see young Gunnar hopping out from our treehouse with a wooden sword, battling unseen pirates while taunting their captain—laughing as he cockily threatened to chew off the captain’s peg leg if he didn’t surrender.
Someday…
I wanted Gunnar to recreate that pirate adventure with his own kids. If anything happened to him, I didn’t think I could do as good of a job at teaching them how to be pirates.
Because…
Pirates wore eyepatches, man. He was halfway there already. There was no question that I would step in as their godfather and play pirates until the timbers were shivered, the sun set at our backs, and we found all the hidden treasures, but…
Figuratively, his boots were too big to fill. And I would never be able to even fake the size of his heart.
Because I was born to scare monsters, not inspire kids.
And Gunnar was born to raise little heroes, god damn it. It was his special purpose. And every part of me screamed that giving him a Horseman’s Mask right now would ruin all of that.
I hung my head, let out a breath, and released my magical restraints from the wolves. They jumped to their feet, backing up a few paces.
Gunnar faced them without fear and began slowly peeling off his gauntlets. He handed them to me without looking, and said, “Step back, Nate,” in a bold, eerily calm voice.
I accepted the gauntlets with a grunt, shot the wolves one last glare, and then followed Gunnar’s advice, taking a few steps back. Not wanting to drop the gauntlets, I shoved them into my satchel, checking on the clouds again.
I watched, transfixed, as Gunnar extended his beefy forearms like he was doing nothing more dangerous than visiting his tailor. His eye was scrunched up to avoid even this level of dim light, but the quartz eyepatch that was fused into his skin glittered like a night sky full of stars, reflecting the flickering lightning in the dark clouds above us.
His jaw was completely relaxed.
No one moved, but everyone held their breath. Without warning, the mythical wolves lunged, simultaneously clamping their massive jaws down over each of Gunnar’s forearms.
He grunted but stood firm. The wolves clenched their jaws tighter, jerking their heads like dogs do when wrestling over a toy in a game of tug-of-war—and Gunnar was the prize.
Blood spurted from Gunnar’s forearms, dripping down the wolves’ fangs and muzzles, splashing down to the rocky ground.
And Gunnar stood tall.
Ashley gasped lightly, cocking her head as she fidgeted with her hands—likely smelling the fresh blood in the air but obviously unable to see anything. Alice was suddenly beside her, hugging her and squeezing her hand. Ashley’s face crumpled as she sagged against the door, freeing her supporting hand to clutch Alice closer.
She was going to be the best, scariest kind of mom.
A low growl slowly began to bubble up from Gunnar’s lips as he tugged back against the wolves, countering their movements—almost as if he could sense their lulls before they could.
But he didn’t try to break free or escape. His boots remained firmly planted in the now bloody stones.
Geri and Freki’s muzzles were liberally splashed with blood and I felt my rainbow staff slam into my hand from across the clearing, crackling with popping arcs of electric, multi-colored light. I’d subconsciously used my magic to retrieve it—obviously concerned by the amount of blood painting the trio.
The wolves squeezed their jaws and I thought I heard bones crunching. My staff flared as wind whipped around us, the air practically screaming. Alice was clutching Ashley’s thigh in a tight hug while Drake and Cowan did their best to shelter the woman and child.
I turned to Grimm, shooting him a meaningful look. I murmured two words under my breath, mouthing them slow enough for him to read my lips through the raging storm.
He nodded carefully, scraping one of his hooves across the stone in three exaggerated motions.
I nodded, confirming his follow-up request.
We’d done quite a bit of combat training in Fae—there had been nothing else to do when I wasn’t practicing my Fae magic, and we’d come to the brilliant conclusion that a Horseman should probably know how to work with his horse, especially when it was too loud to talk—like a battle.
I turned away from Grimm, cupping my hands around my mouth—careful not to drop my still-glowing staff. “This is taking too fucking long!” I shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear.
The storm was practically on top of us now, making it appear like night had abruptly fallen. Bolts of lightning began to strike down all around us, surrounding the area in a cage of electricity. And they didn’t fade away, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was unnatural.
Odin was rocking back and forth on his heels, supported only by Freya’s hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were wide and panicked as she stared up at the skies, knowing full well that she and Odin were in no position to battle their son, Thor—especially since their lovely son apparently had his sights on Asgard’s throne.
I hadn’t been able to process that little tidbit yet, baffled by the sheer number of pies Thor was jabbing his fingers into.
Laughter rumbled out from within the rotating, horizontal column of black clouds, and I was about a
millisecond away from incinerating the wolves from the inside out with starlight when Gunnar roared loud enough to make my ears pop.
Louder than even the screaming wind and lightning and godly laughter.
“I. AM. WULFRIC!” he roared, and then he squatted, jerking his arms down and back, yanking the attached wolves along with him at the moment their footing was the least stable. I saw the flesh of his forearms tear, but he didn’t react to the pain.
He was too busy exploding upwards and forwards in a lunge, swinging his arms—and the wolves—ahead of him.
Geri and Freki whipped forward, directly towards each other. Their heads cracked together with a resounding thunk and they released Gunnar, stumbling and tripping before falling to their sides, their eyes spinning wildly.
My best friend was panting, illuminated from behind by the sporadic bolts of lightning like he was some crazed blood demon, his forearms shredded with gaping tears. His fists were flexed, emphasizing the thick veins pulsing beneath his tanned skin, and his teeth were squeezed together so tightly that he was on the verge of shattering them.
Whatever this ritual entailed, it apparently still wasn’t over yet.
“God damn it!” I cursed.
Thor took my suggestion literally.
A bolt of lightning as thick as an ancient oak slammed into the creek bed, sending rocks flying in every direction.
Chapter 22
Luckily, the bolt connected about a dozen feet away from Gunnar’s side. Gunnar didn’t even flinch, too focused on Geri and Freki before him. He continued to mutter under his breath as if unaware of the shitstorm that had just touched down. Freya was still supporting the dazed Odin, but her eyes were as wide as saucers.
Because, like me, Freya was aware of the wild, savage, giant of a man stepping out of the light. Thor’s long, greasy, red hair and knotted, chest-length beard looked to be stained with old blood and white ashes, and it was held together in places by an assortment of mismatched silver bands, giving him a primitive, tribal flair, a la Jack Sparrow meets ZZ Top. His face was scarred, and his eyes flickered with lightning.
Knightmare: Nate Temple Series Book 12 Page 13