Knightmare: Nate Temple Series Book 12

by Shayne Silvers

  “Okay,” I replied, biting my tongue from asking the dozens of questions on my mind.

  Odin dipped his chin in gratitude for my agreement. “Many years ago, Thor got involved with the wrong crowd. I later learned that it was the same crowd your parents fought so tirelessly against.”

  My eyes widened, but I remained silent.

  “When it became obvious that I could not dissuade Thor, I decided that I could at least diminish his power, so I stole Mjölnir and his other possessions. And then I fled.” He locked eyes with me. “Yes. I, Odin, fled, disguising my identity as a butler to hide behind a man named Calvin Temple. That should tell you something about what kind of man your father was, Nate.”

  I shook my head. My parents had given Odin sanctuary? That was why he’d chosen to become my butler? Holy crap. I was beginning to comprehend the full scope of this nefarious group. If it was enough to scare someone like Odin—and entice someone like Thor—I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like them, and that I should be terrified of them.

  Maybe this was why Callie had been so cagey while talking to me in Fae. Maybe she had learned of this group.

  Odin cleared his throat. “There is much more to discuss, but it should wait. I believe Alex will soon need you in Fae. I only spoke now in hopes to remove any concerns you had about my motivations. I know I have lied to you Nate, and I was never as good of a man as Pan. But I tried, in my own limited ways, to teach you what I thought you needed to learn. I can swear to you that I’ve never had anything but good intentions for you. Strike me dead now if you doubt me. I will rest easy knowing that at least my cursed child, Thor, can no longer destroy everything I spent my entire existence trying to build.”

  He held his arms out, waiting. Not as a dare, but with his eye closed and his breathing calm.

  I studied him for a few moments, thinking.

  “I’m not going to kill you, Odin. I’m not sure I entirely forgive you—I have too many questions to make that kind of decision right now. Which leads me to something important. I do have two questions that I need to ask you, and I believe you can answer them very easily. Even if you do not want to. Consider them an olive branch.”

  Odin had opened his eye, listening attentively as I spoke. “What are your questions?” he finally asked me.

  “I’ll start off with a statement. Just nod if I’m right.”

  “Okay.”

  “Gungnir was stolen about six months ago, right? When you caught the Knightmare snooping around your hut in Niflheim, you assumed it was him. But you never found evidence of his theft, or evidence that he had a partner, right?”

  He nodded, knowing he’d already told me all but the timeframe. Internally, I cursed, trying to keep my breathing steady.

  “Is the Bioloki in Niflheim, by any chance?”

  Because out of all the realms Odin could have chosen for a safe refuge, he had picked Niflheim. A place that weakened gods with its toxic mist. What better place to deter any assassins from coming to find you when your cover as a butler had been blown?

  And what better place to put a prison for a god? Even if they escaped, the very realm was poisonous.

  Pandora had been upset that Odin had taken Ashley to Niflheim. He had to have known it wasn’t a good environment for an injured, pregnant woman, yet he’d still taken her there. He knew all about my Armory, and he hadn’t suggested it. Which meant he had a strong reason to want to be in Niflheim. Why else would he have given most of his powers to his pets—who were apparently immune to the effects of Niflheim. Odin hadn’t been weakened from losing Gungnir, he’d been hiding his godly powers in his pets.

  With his precious Gungnir gone, the only item worth protecting that I’d been able to think of had been this Bioloki.

  Odin had stiffened. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “But the only people who know where I stored the Bioloki are now dead.”

  I stared back at him, my mind a million miles away as I laid out the facts, trying to find a pattern. “You know who spent a considerable amount of time with dead people?” I asked softly. “And who recently hired a bunch of Knights?”

  Odin’s lone eye widened. “We…need to go. Right now.”

  Chapter 43

  Gunnar yanked open the door to the hut in Niflheim, still wearing the Nemean Lion Cloak. Odin shoved his way past to enter the back room where I had first seen Ashley. He stared down at the bed, clenching his jaws. Then he bent down and, with one hand, flipped it over to send it crashing into the wall on the other side of the room.

  Holy crap.

  Odin reached out and opened a trap door that had been covered by the bed. It opened up to reveal crude stairs, wider than I would have thought necessary. I shared a look with Gunnar, and he shook his head, letting me know he hadn’t known about it. We followed Odin down several flights of stairs to find a large metal door.

  Except it was wide open, the locking mechanism simply a knot of twisted metal, leaving a gaping hole where it had once been.

  I gave Odin a very flat look. “I’m guessing this isn’t supposed to be open.” Odin shook his head, pursing his lips. We followed him through the opening to enter a small room the size of a prison cell, and in the center was a large chest the size of a coffin.

  And the Knightmare’s missing sword was lying on the floor. Gunnar scooped it up with a growl, sniffing it. “It’s the same as the set from Hugin and Munin, but what is it doing down here?”

  I glanced back, remembering the busted hole where the lock had been on the door. “Looks like an impromptu key to me.”

  Odin had walked around to the opposite side of the coffin and flung the hinged lid open. I watched as he stared down in stunned disbelief. His eyeball looked like it was in danger of popping out from the socket.

  I made my way over with Gunnar to see for myself.

  A man was inside—hogtied and gagged from ankles to wrists with a thin, delicate ribbon—and his eyes were wide as he tried to scream at us in muffled panic. He wore only his boxers and the side of his face was covered with dried blood.

  My brain sort of shut down for a moment, unable to comprehend any of what I was seeing. Because my brilliant powers of deduction had never considered anything like this. I’d expected to find a book missing from a shelf. Not a dead man’s sword, a coffin, and a hostage.

  “Impossible,” Odin hissed. “This is not possible.” He was glaring at the ribbon and panting. I frowned at it, wondering why the man hadn’t broken free of such delicate restraints. “That is Gleipnir!” Odin cursed.

  I turned to him with a blank look and his cheeks darkened.

  “Fenrir’s bindings!”

  Okay. That name I had heard before. Fenrir was the giant wolf that was foretold to kill Odin in Ragnarok—the Norse version of the Apocalypse.

  Oh, and—fun fact—Fenrir was Loki’s kid.

  To prevent the prophecy—and Odin’s death—the Allfather had commissioned the dwarves to make a restraint that not even the giant wolf could break free from—a silken ribbon made of six supposedly impossible things—the breath of a fish, the sound of a cat’s footfall, the roots of a mountain, the beard of a woman, the sinews of a bear, and the spittle of a bird.

  It was stronger than any chain or metal.

  And I was looking at it.

  My heart began to palpitate.

  If this man was here, then that meant…

  Loki, the God of Mischief, was in the Armory.

  Gunnar snarled, pointing at the insides of the chest, which were covered in glittering, white stones. “Moonstones?” he demanded.

  Odin shook his head, speaking in a monotone. “Not Moonstones. These are very different. They have the power to conceal auras and energies. I call them Sensates—for their ability to deceive your senses.”

  I watched as his eye suddenly flashed quicksilver. He was calling on his ravens to search the Nine Realms for what we should have found inside the coffin—the Bioloki.

  Gunnar reached down and ripped the man’s gag
down. “How long have you been down here?” he demanded, already working to untie the ribbon.

  The man gasped in a lungful of air, panting as he watched Gunnar work. “I don’t know. I was watching you bond Geri and Freki when something hit me in the back of the head,” he admitted, obviously ashamed and furious. “I woke up here. I’ve been screaming—”

  “We need to go. RIGHT NOW!” I snapped, cutting him off. Gunnar finished with the ribbon, yanked it away, and then lifted the man out of the chest. I tore open a Gateway in the opening where the door had been, and then I reached back inside the coffin to grab the ribbon while everyone was distracted. Other than that, the chest was empty. I shoved the ribbon into my pocket as I grabbed Odin by the shoulder, snapping him out of his daze.

  Gunnar led the hobbling man through the Gateway, supporting his weight since his legs were probably cramped up to hell. And I shoved Odin ahead of me to follow them.

  Things had just gone from bad to worse.

  I stepped into the Armory, trying not to panic as I closed the Gateway behind me. I quickly stepped out in front of everyone and held out my staff to block them from stampeding, even though I felt like having a voluntary seizure.

  Although we knew Loki was here, we didn’t know what it meant. The conflux of events that had led me to assuming the Bioloki was in Niflheim had not led me to any outcome like this. I’d expected to find the Bioloki stolen to possibly be leveraged as a bartering chip against one of the players in this whole mess—probably Odin.

  So what the hell was really going on? Because if Loki was free, it seemed like the original evil plan was blown to hell, and that Loki was here on his own agenda.

  “Okay,” I said, quietly and calmly. “No one else knows. Act normal and follow me.”

  In varying degrees of bad acting, they all complied—each person having their own reasons to be terrified out of their mind.

  We each had friends or loved ones here, and Loki was strolling around in disguise, using his mastery of illusion in some manner that had fooled every single one of us. Whatever he intended, it couldn’t be good.

  I walked down the Hallway and found Pandora and Alice on a bench in the center of the room with the open balcony. Part of me felt a tremendous relief to find them unscathed, but I had other friends here who were still in danger. Pandora was braiding Alice’s hair, but she paused as soon as we entered, flashing us a dazzling smile.

  My eyes danced about the room, searching every corner as discreetly as possible. “How is Ashley?” I asked lamely, motioning with my hands for them—especially Alice—to play along.

  Because Alice was a Seer, which meant she was already seeing something in my aura that told her we were all in grave danger. Her eyes widened in horror, but she didn’t give us away by screaming or crying or anything.

  “Ashley…is fine,” she stammered.

  Pandora was no longer able to read my mind, though. She frowned quizzically at my strange hand gestures, not understanding what was happening. Then she glanced to my right and noticed the man in boxers holding a sword. Gunnar had given it to him, preferring his new hammer.

  She frowned harder. “Weren’t you just in the hot tub—”

  She cut off, her eyes abruptly widening as she seemed to finally read his mind. She jerked her gaze from face to face, as if needing to verify what she had seen.

  She pursed her lips, her eyes growing hard, and the wooden brush in her hand snapped in half. It had been a very thick brush.

  “Stay here with Alice,” I whispered, hoping to keep her calm. “Where is—”

  A scream echoed through the halls of the Armory. Gunnar’s shoulders bunched up and fur exploded down his arms at the familiar voice—his wife.

  Alice promptly gasped and then passed out, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions she was seeing from the Alpha werewolf. Pandora caught her and pulled the child close to her chest in a protective gesture. “Go!” she hissed, baring her teeth at the invasion of her most sacred place—her home.

  We all ran, Gunnar leading the way, but I was a close second.

  We skidded to a stop in front of Ashley’s door to find Drake nervously pacing back and forth, running his hand through his hair, obviously distressed about the sounds coming from beyond the door he was guarding.

  Ashley.

  He saw us and let out a gasp of relief. “I think it’s happening—” he cut off abruptly, his eyes darting over Gunnar’s shoulder to see his best friend. He cocked his head in utter confusion. “Wait a minute…”

  Because the Cowan he’d been working with since Niflheim hadn’t been the real deal.

  Cowan lunged past me and grabbed a fistful of Drake’s shirt. “Where is Cowan? The imposter!” the giant, muscular man growled, his face close enough to bite Drake’s nose off.

  Drake looked too startled and confused to use words, but his eyes flicked towards the door he had been guarding.

  Gunnar reached for the handle and simply ripped the entire door off—hinges and all—before flinging it back behind him.

  I used that tiny window of opportunity to cover my head from falling debris and darted through the opening before anyone else could beat me to it.

  Thick, pungent incense filled the air, and strange, wild magic danced all around me—enough to give me a sudden, mild buzz. So, it took me a moment to process what the fuck my eyes were seeing.

  Ashley—still wearing her blindfold—was lying on the bed, panting and screaming as she rode the pain of her contractions all by herself. And those contractions were close together, because I wasn’t sensing much of a break between them. The babies were coming.

  Now.

  Her midwife, Freya, was on the ground, the side of her head bleeding heavily, and she was trying to scoot back as fast as possible.

  Because Imposter Cowan held a very familiar spear high above his head, and he was already pulling it down to stab Freya in the chest.

  Gunnar threw Mjölnir from over my shoulder, striking Imposter Cowan in the back hard enough for his deathblow to miss Freya by an inch. He lost his grip on the spear, and he flew into the far wall with a thunderous crash, bouncing back onto the ground.

  Although I already held one of my own, I dove for the spear, recognizing it for what it was.

  Gungnir—Odin’s missing spear. Sweet baby Jesus.

  Gungnir was rumored to never miss its target, so Imposter Cowan had to be the worst warrior ever born.

  In his fall, Imposter Cowan accidentally dropped a familiar white stone—one of the Sensates from his prison—and he suddenly shimmered, revealing a different man entirely. He was tall, had long dark hair, and was built like an endurance athlete.

  In midair, my skin suddenly began to glow with golden light, pretty much confirming everyone’s running theory.

  It really was Loki.

  The Sensate was more powerful than I had been able to believe when Odin first described it. The stone had fooled everyone—Odin, Freya, Gunnar, Pandora, and even Alice, a Seer.

  Either that, or Loki was way better with illusions than I had believed possible. He’d shifted into a werewolf in front of Gunnar and still hadn’t been caught. God of Mischief indeed.

  The only thing I knew for certain was that he wasn’t a mama’s boy, because he’d definitely been trying to murder Freya. The question was why?

  Loki recovered quickly, though. He lunged out to grab the end of Odin’s spear and rainbow lightning began to form over his hands. He’d pulled Gungnir out of my reach, but I managed to grab hold of his pants. If I’d managed to touch his flesh, I might have stopped him from teleporting altogether.

  Every voice was screaming something different as I winked out of the room with Loki.

  Chapter 44

  We landed in a tangle of limbs, and luckily, I was on top. I reminded Loki of this by elbowing him as hard as I could, right in the nose.

  I felt cartilage crunch—thanks to my godkiller juice—and he gasped in pain. I used the moment of distraction to jerk my
staff and satchel clear, scramble to my feet, and get a quick scan of our environment before Loki could recover.

  We were in a large clearing with three car-sized boulders. A huge Medieval castle loomed before me, and I noticed a field of very familiar glass grass less than a dozen yards away. My eyes widened, putting two-and-two together as Loki climbed to his feet between me and the castle.

  Fae. Camelot.

  I reared back and kicked the God of Mischief right in the nuts—hard enough to lift him an inch off the ground—grabbed Gungnir, and then took two long strides before using both spears to pole vault over the nearest boulder.

  Because I remembered what Alex had told me about Mordred’s alarm system, and I was betting that system had a violent deterrent.

  Molten fire splashed into the ground behind me, hot enough to boil the very air. The force of the blast hit me at the apex of my leap and sent me flying to safety behind the boulder. I crashed to the ground, tumbling and rolling as I tried to maintain my grip on both spears.

  I stared down at them in my hands, shaking to see that I was still alive, and that I had Gungnir. It was a long way from a win, but it was also a long way from a loss.

  The game was still on.

  I waited a few more moments for the air to cool down before peering around the boulder. Scorched, glowing earth smoldered where I had been standing with Loki. Mordred stood just outside the ring of fire, glaring at the howling creature in the center of the blast radius.

  Loki was severely burned, his skin simply missing, cracked, or a melted smear on more than half of his body. He’d been hit with a Lokitov Cocktail.