by Shea Balik
Voice or no voice. Ha. Prophecy or no, Fritjof wasn’t about to involve himself with one of the chosen druids. Or anyone, for that matter. Love only destroyed and he wanted no part of it.
There was a tightness in his skin that just wouldn’t leave him be. Knowing what he needed, Fritjof headed toward the barn. The heat of summer diminished in the cooler interior of the wooden structure.
He’d expected to be greeted by nickers from the horses, but as it was the middle of the day, Hrafn would have already let the horses out to graze. Striding through the structure, he exited the other side that emptied into the main pasture.
Back outside, he shifted into his Fjord Pony. Already the itching of his skin subsided as the peace of being in his animal form descended. Taking a few steps, he quickly changed his gait into a trot as he raced across the large expanse of lush grass.
Soon he was joining the other horses, nuzzling up against them in greeting. For Fritjof, this was the one thing Aed had given them that he wouldn’t trade for anything. It even made being immortal worth it. Sort of.
Each of his friends thought so. He wasn’t sure why Aed had added this to the curse. Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure it was Aed who did it. That day of the raid, as everyone lay dead or dying, Aed, who had been mortally wounded, started another chant like the one he’d been trying to complete as fighting between the Vikings, Druids, and the Unseelie pets raged around him.
None of it Fritjof had understood, as the language was different than anything he’d heard before. Yet, when he’d started to curse Fritjof and his friends, the language melted away at times, allowing them to hear their fate.
Horror had filled Fritjof as he realized what was happening, but he’d been too stunned to remember it all. As the final words had left Aed’s mouth, he’d fallen into a heap, dead, yet none of them had felt any different. At first, Fritjof hoped that meant Aed hadn’t succeeded in his curse.
But before he could even feel the relief that was trying to flow through him, thunder clapped in the clear sky overhead. A voice boomed from above, causing them all to drop to their knees. Odin’s voice had rumbled around them, condemning them to the fate Aed had cursed them to.
A surge of energy had coursed through him and for a moment Fritjof thought for sure he’d been struck by lightning as everything within him stopped. No breath left his lungs, his heart halted, his blood froze in his veins. Then, just as fast as it had come upon him, he was suddenly gulping in air as he dropped down to his hands, willing the searing pain that had enveloped him to subside.
It did. Eventually. By the time any of them could stand once more, they all knew they’d been changed on a fundamental level. They also had no clue what that meant. But they would soon find out the hell that Aed had cursed them to endure.
And endure is exactly what they’d all been doing for the past twelve hundred years. It was only since Samhain that hope had been dangled in front of them. Eight druids would turn twenty-one – one on each of the ritual dates.
As Fritjof and his friends saved them, they would be given the chance at love. Of finding their happily ever after. Fritjof and his friends would be given the choice to pick love, or mortality.
Up until now, they’d all chosen love – Eirik, Ulf, Bjorn, Arne, and Hrafn. That had left Fritjof, Oluf, and Brandr, who hadn’t met the druid fate would offer to them. Except…
Fritjof shook his head, his short, Mohawk styled mane flopping from side to side. No way would he think about the fact that it had been him who had been sent to protect Wylie. He wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or not, but it had worked out that whoever saved one of the druids on their twenty-first birthday would be the one to fall in love.
But what happened when he didn’t believe in love? Would that mean he would finally lose his immortality? Fritjof didn’t fool himself into believing he would go to Valhalla. He might have spent more than a thousand years fighting the Unseelie pets and protecting druids, but he had failed when it had been most important – his father.
By letting him die, Fritjof had sealed his fate. He would never be allowed to enter those gates into Odin’s hall. Nor did he deserve it.
That restless feeling he’d experienced in the house with Wylie surged within him again. Determined to get rid of it, Fritjof took off, leaving the other horses behind as he jumped the fencing and raced up the mountain to the south of them.
Their home was nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains, making it a gorgeous place to live. But for Fritjof, who loved nothing more than running through the trees, it gave him a sense of freedom whenever life become too difficult.
With images of Wylie’s uniquely bright blue eyes and wide smile that could lite up the night sky, Fritjof was finding life to be too damn much at the moment.
It took miles of running for those flashes of soft lips and sounds of melodious laughter to finally melt away. His relief was short lived though, for as much as he’d believed forgetting Wylie would help, it had only left him lonelier than ever.
Apparently, childhood dreams weren’t something as easily dismissed as he’d once thought. He’d been lucky as a kid, Fritjof had known that. Of all his friends, his parents were hands down the pair most in love with each other.
They hardly ever fought and when they did, it always ended with both of them laughing and kissing. Then they’d go into their room and shut the door. More times than not, Fritjof wouldn’t see them again for several hours. Although, in fairness, many times that had to do with him being so grossed out with the sounds coming from their room that he’d leave to go play for as long as possible, just to make sure he didn’t return when they were still in their room.
But their fights were few and far between. Usually their home was filled with laughter and love. Fritjof never knew a moment of real sadness. Well, except with some of his friends. Hrafn’s home life had been the exact opposite of his, and Fritjof often felt terrible for his friend.
But in his own life, Fritjof had nothing but joy. Then they’d been somewhat forced into going on the raid that changed everything. For the first time, his parents fought for days. His mother not wanting them to go.
His father, who had no desire to go, told her he had no choice. It was a matter of pride. At the time, Fritjof had no clue what that even meant. It had taken him until he was much older to have any idea what that kind of pride meant.
Which was somewhat ironic. As a kid, he couldn’t understand why his father was forced to do something he didn’t want to do because of pride. Then, as he got older, Fritjof not only understood it, but often experienced it himself. Now, after being alive as long as he had, he couldn’t give a shit about pride. All it ever did was lead to pain and anguish.
Then again, so did love. An emotion he’d dreamed of finding as a child. Now, as an adult, he would walk away from that chance without even a little bit of regret.
Yeah right. What other line of bull are you going to tell yourself?
That tightness returned. This time not just affecting his skin, but his heart. Pushing himself faster, Fritjof could only pray he had enough energy to outrun the panic that was accompanying it.
CHAPTER 8
He was not surprised in the least when Fritjof left with a cloud of disapproval wrapped around him. It was the story of Wylie’s life, after all.
Refusing to allow anyone, not even the tall, sexy, intimidating, yet sweet, man make Wylie feel as though he were less somehow, Wylie forced himself to laugh at something Kegan had said about that last camping trip they’d gone on. He was impressed when it didn’t sound forced, especially since laughing was the last thing he wanted to do.
If Wylie thought it would do any good, he’d go to his room, pull the covers over his head and cry until… actually, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d stop. He wasn’t sure he could stop. Too much had happened and he wasn’t the least bit prepared for any of it.
He held back the snort that tried to explode from his nose. Those were the words he’d been saying since
he’d learned his sister was enthralled by an actual Goddamned Fae. Oh, he’d grown up on the stories, same as his friends. He’d always been on the fence about whether they were real or not.
No. That wasn’t entirely true. If he were being honest, he hadn’t cared one way or another. Unashamed to admit it, Wylie had always been too self-involved to worry about whether or not some mythical beings existed, especially since they hadn’t been seen for more than a millennia.
Talking with his friends and the Vikings sworn to protect them, Wylie learned that hadn’t been true, even back before he’d come face to face with that lie. They were very much alive, kicking, and coming into the human world.
He should know. The proof was upstairs sleeping in a room right next to the one he’d been given. The question then was, why he thought he couldn’t deal with being attacked by monsters he’d never seen before, his father not being his father, and his mother taking off, leaving him to care for his niece as if neither of them mattered?
Hell, he’d survived the Amazon all this time. Other than those scary as fuck pets, nothing could faze him compared to that. Talk about terrifying. Their little farm took the word minimalist to the extreme. Electricity was nearly nonexistent, as they had to depend on solar, which with all the trees that had surrounded their home, meant only a few hours of real usable energy each day.
Since the refrigerator wasn’t something they could do without, that meant all nonessential energy consumption was eliminated. What did that mean for Wylie? No hair dryer. No long hot showers. And definitely no Kardashians. They hadn’t even been allowed to have a TV, much less watch it.
Seriously, how did one live without the Kardashians? The first chance Wylie got, he was going to binge watch every episode he’d missed. God help anyone who tried to stop him.
“I still can’t believe a Fae was in the human world and got your sister pregnant,” Ryley said. Then he turned to his lover, Eirik. “And why didn’t any of you know this guy was here?”
There was an ever present smile on Eirik’s face whenever he looked at Ryley. Actually, it had been there the entire time he was holding Ryley. It just increased whenever Eirik looked at the man. “We don’t sense the Fae, kitten Only druids.”
At least that piece of information helped Wylie understand how in the world Fritjof had managed to find them, when they lived in the middle of nowhere. The Vikings just had to be in the vicinity of a druid to know how to find them. Fritjof had been given basic instructions on where he and his family lived, but there was no Google map to their farm, which would have meant he would have gotten lost, quickly.
Their ability to sense a druid’s location so long as they were somewhat nearby, had been like a beacon for Fritjof. Speaking of which, was the man going to stay away the whole night?
Wylie and the others had been talking for nearly three hours since Fritjof had left. But there was no sign of him. Why he was surprised, Wylie wasn’t sure. No one usually liked to stay around Wylie for long. According to some of the kids he’d gone to school with, he was too high maintenance.
“What about Fen?” Hrafn asked, who was one of the Vikings. He didn’t say much and every once in a while he could hear Teagan, who was apparently involved with him, explain things to Hrafn. “Should we tell him?”
“No,” Dermot insisted.
“I don’t see how we’re going to be able to hide it from him,” Teagan said. “Tess is here. Sooner or later Fen will show up and see her.”
Kegan let out a snort. “It’s not like we can hide who she is. Plus, if the Unseelie manage to open the Veil like they did the last time, they’re going to see her. Then what?” Kegan gave Dermot a long look. “Like it or not, we’re going to need Fen’s help to figure out what we can do to keep the Unseelie becoming aware of Tess.”
“Or the Seelie,” Cullen added. He looked over at Wylie. “Does the Seelie who got Mairi pregnant know about Tess?”
If he did, he hadn’t cared, which based on what his friends were saying, was unlikely. “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “She’d only been five weeks at most when the adults in your family put the protection spell on her.”
“I told you that’s what it was,” Dermot said smugly.
“Now isn’t the time for, ‘I told you so’s,’” Eirik said. “And I agree, we’re not going to be able to keep Fen from finding out about Tess.” Then his steely gaze landed on Wylie, showing in just that one look why he was the leader of this group. “Do you know who the Seelie are?”
He did, but Wylie wasn’t so sure it was wise to admit that. Even he knew how dangerous this particular Seelie was. If he ever found out about Tess, there was little doubt he would come for her. As half human, she’d never be allowed to live in the Fae realm. It was forbidden.
That meant her father would do whatever it took to keep the Veil open. As bad as his friends said things had been, they could be so much worse. A war humans would be completely unprepared for would be waged until every druid on earth was dead.
“No,” Wylie said just as Fritjof walked back into the house, sweaty and slightly breathless.
When those golden eyes met his, there was no doubt Fritjof knew Wylie lied. Everything within Wylie stilled for a heartbeat as he feared Fritjof would call him out on it.
But, before Fritjof could say anything, whether he planned to or not, Wylie’s survival instincts kicked in and he went into his drama queen mode.
“Well, I’ll be, you could use a shower, mister.” He fluttered his lashes, and kept his expression as light and flirty as possible. “If you need someone to rub all those muscles down, you know where to find me, honey.”
Then, just in case Fritjof might take him up on his outrageous offer, which admittedly, Wylie would love, but not at the moment since he didn’t want to take any chances that Fritjof would ask him why he’d just lied, he turned to Oluf. Oluf was the designated cook of the house, claiming it was his passion, more than a job.
“I’m sure Tess will be up from her nap anytime now. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to whip us up something for dinner?” It was five and living on a farm meant keeping earlier hours than others.
They were usually up by five in the morning and in bed by eight at night. Oluf was already starting to get up.
“In fact,” Wylie jumped up from his chair. “I should really go check on her.” He headed for the stairs that led to their rooms. With one more playful wave, he said, “Toodles.”
It wasn’t until he was safely on the other side of Tess’s door that he mouthed, ‘Toodles? What the fuck?’
With a heavy sigh, he turned to find purple eyes staring at him. Damn. Tess might only be five, but she was an observant five-year-old. And seemed way older than her age if anyone bothered to ask him.
“Are you okay, Uncle Wylie?” she asked even though he could hear in her voice that she damn well knew he wasn’t okay.
But no child needed to hear his problems. So, like he had downstairs, he plastered a smile on his face and lied his ass off. “Just hungry, sweetie. And you know how I get when I’m hangry.”
She giggled at the way he scrunched his face into a growly expression. “You’re so silly, Uncle Wylie.” She climbed down off the bed and walked right up to him. “And it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me the truth.”
Damn it.
Her own stomach grumbled at that moment, saving him from having to say anything more than, “Sounds like someone else might get a case of the hangrys if we don’t get you something to eat.”
Another giggle helped put Wylie in the right frame of mind. As much as others believed he was this happy-go-lucky person, he really wasn’t. His home life hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, even during the not so bad times of his starting to dress differently than his father – or who he thought was his father – wanted, then his sister getting knocked up by a Fae.
The thing was, he’d always believed life was what you made it. Which meant, if he wanted it to be fun and carefree, he need
ed to act that way. Strictly speaking, it had never really worked, but he was still hoping one day things would change.
“Alrighty then, let’s go downstairs and see what Oluf has managed to rustle up for us.” He took Tess’s hand and opened the door. “If we’re lucky none of it will have bugs, snakes, or rodents in it.”
Tess’s giggles had him beaming with pride at being able to make her happy, even though she’d just had her grandparents walk out on her a few days ago. So engrossed with his niece, Wylie hadn’t been watching where he was going and ended up slamming into the hard body of Fritjof.
A frown was on the man’s too handsome face, making him seem even more menacing than his already overly muscled body emanated. But the instant Tess squealed Fritjof’s name and flung herself into his arms, that frown morphed into the most dazzling smile that had Wylie’s heart melting.
Except… he sighed, probably too loudly since Tess whispered, “He’s just hangry because he hasn’t eaten.”
Then, to make everything that much worse, Fritjof laughed at Tess’s statement and Wylie was sure his entire body had become a living flame as his blood raced through his veins, causing every nerve ending to become electrified as he swayed closer to the deep, rumbling sound. Even his damn dick twitched as if trying to do a happy dance.
Was it wrong to hate his niece at the moment when just once, Wylie would like Fritjof to at least smile at him? Instead, it was like the man was constantly making him feel as if Wylie were a bug annoying the shit out of Fritjof.
The thing was, Wylie wasn’t even sure why he cared what Fritjof thought. It shouldn’t matter. He didn’t know the guy. Yet, though he desperately wished it didn’t, Wylie found himself still wanting some indication that Fritjof didn’t think he was one big disappointment.
Tess’s stomach growled again, causing another bout of laughter from Fritjof, although this one was more subdued. “It sounds like you both could use some food. Come on, pumpkin, let’s get you two to the kitchen and see what Oluf has prepared.”