Guardians of the Portals

by Nya Rawlyns

  "Well, Mary Alice..."

  "Mary's good enough. Uh, yeah, don't get your fucking knickers in a twist..." She tapped at the touch screen and expanded the topo map displayed on the left-hand monitor. "You've got water on three sides, asshole. All right, hold on."

  "What's going on ... Mary?"

  "Um, one of the bright lights finally figured out there's a fucking body of water out there. Wants to know what to do about it." She mumbled something unintelligible and turned with a frown. "Car's coming down the drive."

  "And...?"

  "It's a Jeep."

  Gunnarr grinned. They had them. "Tell them to hold position. We need them all together."

  "Won't that give them, like, a tactical advantage ... sir?"

  He laughed out loud, startling everyone in the room. "They'll be too busy trying not to kill each other."

  Mary shrugged and returned to monitoring communications.

  Gunnarr stared irritably at the screens. He missed O'Brien. The man had insinuated himself into the organization. Without him riding herd on the ne'er-do-well's masquerading as tech support, his hands were tied. They'd lost control of more than thirty percent of their supply chain with the series of cock-ups caused by Trey and Kieran.

  He frowned at the girl popping gum and tapping at the keys with dirt-encrusted nails. She'd come highly recommended and he suspected he knew why—juvie no longer wanted to put up with her attitude, no matter how 'talented' she might be. She came packaged with 'a little problem with authority'. O'Brien would have sorted that from the get-go.

  He glared at the girl and growled, "Do you have them together yet?"

  "Nope."

  "And why not?"

  "Working it, Pops."

  Gunnarr felt close to a coronary but bit his lip and waited while she deftly managed three separate screens and kept a running commentary over the headset. It would help if she'd use standard English rather than the stream of acronyms substituting for...

  "Got it."

  "Well?"

  "Evac on two. No joy from ace. Players... Jesus, JD, you're in the wrong fricking quadrant. Yeah, well stick it up your ass. No, hold. Yeah, on three."

  His admin took his arm and pulled him away from the desk. "It's empty, sir—the house, that is. Hasn't been used in a while."

  "Well, then where the hell are they?" Good gods, what more could go wrong?

  "Our sources were sure, sir. They're nearby. We're sending teams on a search grid. We'll have them soon."

  Gunnarr said, "All of them. Alive, if possible." The 'if possible' raised an eyebrow on the admin who risked an 'um?' before backing off and turning his attention once more to the screens.

  Gunnarr sat heavily on a stool and pressed his hands against his eyes. Trey, what are you up to, boy? What has she done to you?

  The girl held up a finger and the room silenced. She listened intently and turned with a sneer to Gunnarr, "Got 'em. All of 'em."

  "How?"

  She grinned and mouthed, "Heat signatures."

  "How many?"

  She held up three, then four fingers. Gunnarr frowned as everyone clustered around the monitors, waiting for him to issue the go order.

  "Hold."

  Gunnarr pulled his aide aside and asked, "Do you have enough firepower for this?"

  "We should, sir. Unit two has hand-helds. One's going in light and fast like you wanted. Three's hanging back for extraction."

  "Remember Karl, Gunny has a veritable arsenal at his command. We found his stash up at Havre de Grace and it was enough to take down a fair-sized third world country. He's got to know we might be coming for them, though for the sake of Freyja I have no idea what he's thinking in putting those two bulls together. Unless..."

  His aide made to ask the question but he waved him off, keeping an ear to the chatter as Mary orchestrated the retrieval. His men were outfitted with night-vision goggles and unit one had already swept the area for booby-traps. There was nowhere to go on that spit of land unless Gunny had a hidden tunnel on the property—and he wouldn't put that past the man. That's why he had another team, operating independently of the main force, doing a sweep along the county road. So far they'd found no vehicles hidden away but there had been a rattle-trap of a barn with fresh tire tracks leading into the main aisle. Two men were keeping an eye on the building while the remainder canvassed the property to the south and east.

  "Found the Jeep. It's at a small cottage, bayside. Two men getting out. Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay." Mary chirped over her shoulder, "Old dude and one with a limp, looks like Special Forces?"

  His aide muttered, "That's them," and waved at Mary to continue.

  "Going in. Lights on. Living room probably." She turned to Gunnarr. "Whatdya want for them to do now?"

  Gunnarr growled, "Now we wait."

  His admin turned and said, "But, it's getting dark..."

  Frowning, Gunnar muttered, "Something's not right."

  "I don't understand, sir."

  "I need to make a call. Keep them in position." He leaned and whispered in the girl's ear, "If you want to stay here, you'll work this my way. You got that, girl?" He smiled as she popped her gum and gave him the bird. He might get to like this one.

  He eased past two techs plowing through the door and leaned against the wall, pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

  "Kyr? Yeah, it's me. About that plan I suggested..."

  ****

  Wolf's stomach lurched with phantom g-forces pummeling him almost into insensibility. He moved to shield Caitlin but she pushed past him and stood in the middle of the small room, arms clasped about her waist.

  Jake came through the door first, nodded at his daughter and the anxious man hovering behind her, and moved to the side. Trey limped through and sidled to the left, sliding along the wall, keeping his back protected and the three people staring at him like he was some specimen in a jar in clear line of sight.

  Wolf gazed at his rival with curiosity. The feral quality that had so struck him when he first met the man in Eirik's office years ago seemed even more accentuated now. He was clearly wounded, body and soul, but was no less dangerous for his disabilities. Sweat beaded on his brow and his hands twitched almost imperceptibly. Though he towered over the man and out-massed him by several stone, he had no doubt that Trey could take him in a fight. The man was a legend in his own time and he'd best not forget that no matter how good he was with a sword, he was now faced with the devil who would give him no quarter and show him no mercy.

  Trey peered intently at Caitlin, his pupils dilated and ringed in a strange silver blue. A small smile twitched the corners of his full lips.

  Jake walked cautiously toward his daughter, not sure what was being communicated amongst the three of them. He could almost see the lines of energy linking them through Caitlin. Of the three she seemed least affected, at least on the surface. If anything, he'd swear she was in some sort of trance, aware only of whatever bound her to the men tethered to her heart and soul.

  With horror he realized Caitlin was shuffling toward the Falcon, leaving Wolf to stare uncomprehending as the energies compelled her toward the man she supposedly hated and feared. Had he been wrong? He'd been so sure she would choose Wolf over the psychopath who'd tortured and nearly destroyed her soul. She'd carried so much anger for so long against the devil that he could not conceive that even the smallest shred of love could possibly exist.

  Was his daughter lost to him as was Kieran, both of them consumed by demons, caught in a downward spiral of compulsion and addiction? He moved closer to Wolf who seemed to have turned to stone, his face a mask of pain and something else...

  Trey pushed away from the wall and grasped Caitlin with his injured arm, unable to hide the grimace as pain stabbed his shoulder. She exhaled a soft breath on the man's neck as she collapsed against him, the tether binding them together burning red hot.

  Jake saw the small twitch as Wolf woke as from a dream, fighting his way to the surface. Time slowed as the ai
r gelled, crystallized into shards of glass, collapsing his lungs and stealing reason. Jake mouthed, "Oh hell no," as Wolf swung his right arm, the Glock already firing as he threw his weight against the giant. Jake glanced back at the Falcon, now forcing Caitlin to the side and reaching for his gun.

  He heard Caitlin scream as he lunged at the Falcon, his last thought to move his daughter from the line of fire.

  ****

  "Holy shit!"

  "What?! Talk to me, girl."

  "It's a fucking war. Yeah, move in. Jesus Christ. No, everybody, NOW!"

  Gunnarr felt the blood drain from his face. He'd prepared himself, had taken the calculated risk that the bulls might try to take each other out, all the time praying to Freyja that his son would prevail.

  "Wh—?" Mary held up two fingers. The room went silent as she listened intently, her eyes scrunched closed against Gunnarr's anxious presence.

  "He's coming out." She looked at Gunnarr and shrugged. "Just the one?" Now she had everyone glaring at her. "Um, do you...? Oh, okay, yeah, I'll tell 'em." She turned to her boss and said, "They said it's some dude called the Falcon. He's been shot ... but coming out on his own."

  "Are you sure? Tell me that you're sure." Gunnarr grasped the young girl's shoulders and squeezed until she yelped in pain.

  "Let her go, boss. He's okay. Took one in the head, flesh wound, bleeding like a bitch but he'll be fine."

  "The others, what about the asset? And Jake."

  "O'Brien's dead, boss. Found him by the door. Nobody else in the house."

  Nobody in the house? Where the hell did they go? They couldn't disappear into thin air. Shit. He turned to the girl but she was tapping furiously on the keyboard, muttering, "I'm on it."

  Water on three sides. Oh sweet Freyja. They had a boat!

  Mary leaned back and swore, "Shoulda seen that coming. They had a frigging boat, boss."

  "Can they follow...?"

  "Nah, they're in the wind. All they need to do is head south. You got all them rivers and creeks, Baltimore and Annapolis on the other side. Might even go north up the Susquehanna a ways." She shrugged.

  Gunnarr looked at his people with disdain. Somebody would pay for this screw-up. At least he had his son in custody. He sighed with a mixture of relief and a small amount of fear. Whatever had happened in that gods-damned confrontation, nothing good would come from it.

  The boy who had left him generations ago to throw in his lot with Eirik and the Althings had been a dreamer with a natural talent for the kill. That boy had grown into a dangerous man, a demon without a soul. That man had traversed hell and no one ever knew who or what had left him broken and bloodied. The healers had done their best, salvaging his leg, but not his black heart, now beating in the body of an automaton, bent on destruction. What a bonding would do to his fractured psyche no one could even begin to predict. And now ... this.

  Gunnarr exited the elevator and walked with heavy steps to his office. He entered and went automatically to the liquor cabinet, prepared to offer O'Brien a drink, single malt, a small indulgence the men had shared. With a start he realized he was alone. He sank to the couch and buried his face in his hands.

  He whispered, "I love you, my son, but I wish you hadn't..." his voice trailing off in sobs.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Six Months Later

  Wolf watched Caitlin pace the small garden, doing endless circuits around the clearing. She'd never be robust in health—the Hell Dimension and her shifting abilities ever a drain on her fragile resources. She shivered in the chill mountain air. He walked to the hooks by the back door and grabbed her wool jacket. He looked around the cabin and smiled at the small, feminine touches—throws, pillows, the odd collectible they'd scrounged from the Reservation, but no pictures. He had no family so the lack seemed natural.

  Tyr had been more than generous in helping them start over. They'd used a series of Portals to move through dimensions, wandering aimlessly, until Caitlin had finally begged to return to her world. She said she missed people, yet she hid in their mountain home, rarely venturing into Lander or Dubois unless it was to shop, and even then those foraging trips were rare. He'd gradually taken over those duties when he'd make the drive into town to his office.

  Over time his men had found their way to him. Finn lived at the base of the mountain with a Mexican-American woman and her three sons. He was the first line of defense. The rest had scattered about the Wind River Reservation, blending in and leading normal lives until the Althings needed their services.

  As Wolf stepped onto the porch, he took a deep breath. This was as close to home as he would ever find and he could be content with his circumstances but for the woman living out her life in quiet agony.

  He placed the jacket on her shoulders and gave her a hug. She placed a hand on his, sending a thrill of pleasure through his groin. He still burned with his need but he'd learned to control it.

  Asking, as he did every day, "Do you want to talk about it?" he no longer expected an answer, so he was unprepared for the slight nod.

  She shrugged into the jacket and walked to the porch. He eased down next to her—close but not touching. His head buzzed with possibilities but he tamped his excitement down. Tyr and their researchers had said it would take time, that her mind and body would heal and her shifting abilities should resurface. He didn't give a shit about that. He'd be satisfied with a smile, an easing of the weariness and pain that haunted her beautiful face. Even her hair had gone silver grey but she'd ignored it as she did virtually every aspect of living.

  "He's gone."

  Wolf's heart skipped a beat for he feared who she meant. He croaked, "Yes," and waited.

  Speaking softly, her words were a bare whisper above the gentle rustling of the aspen and pine. "It was an accident. It was all a horrible mistake. I shouldn't have gone to him. It's my fault. Wolf..." she turned, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I killed him as sure as if I had pulled the trigger."

  Oh sweet Freyja, all this time she'd been blaming herself for her father’s death! He wanted to hold her, comfort her but she sat contained, in a world of hurt he could not penetrate. He'd spent every day reliving that evening, the shots ringing out, Jake shoving him away, then the lunge for Caitlin. He'd seen the look of careful calculation, the grim smile as the Falcon swung the weapon up and fired. Jake was dead before he hit the ground. He remembered taking aim but the Falcon had clutched a shrieking Caitlin to his chest. He'd gone for the head shot and hit him, but it wasn't a kill shot.

  He'd thrown Caitlin over his shoulder and run for their lives when he'd heard what sounded like a small army advancing on the bungalow. He'd feared for Caitlin's life as she shut down, not eating or sleeping, going through the motions in a trance, slipping away from him. In desperation he had called Tyr for help. He was prepared to sell his soul to save the woman he loved beyond hope, beyond despair.

  There was plenty of blame to go around and he would have to live with his own actions. All he could do was keep her safe. He risked taking her hand, his thumb stroking her palm as she quivered, but she allowed the small gesture before withdrawing into her own world.

  Caitlin's head throbbed with the effort to mouth her agony, to give it shape and form and substance, to make it real. It had been surprisingly easy to shut the link down, to remove herself from Wolf ... and from him. She only needed to stop living and that seemed a small thing, the severing of her heart, such a tiny price to pay to give her gentle giant a measure of peace.

  Her kriger had proven his worth and she longed to cut him loose but no matter how much she withdrew, how often she chose to diminish his caring and concern, there was something that still bound her to him. She could not call it love for it was selfish and petty and unworthy. What she knew of love lay shattered and bleeding at her feet, that night, so many months ago. She'd tried to make sense of her father's death, her mother's choices and her brother's corruption, and it forever spun in an orbit about the demon who'd always own a
piece of her soul.

  She glanced sideways at the man next to her, sitting shoulders hunched, in abject misery because of her foolish heart. He lived in an eternity she could not fathom and had patience beyond human understanding. He deserved better.

  She grasped the railing and pulled herself up with her left hand and using the other to smooth down the jacket, mildly surprised that she could feel hips through the fabric. A weak laugh escaped her throat and Wolf stared in surprise. She held out a hand and helped him up.

  "It's chilly today."

  "Yes."

  She sighed at her ever loquacious suitor. He held the door for her but stayed back, unsure of what she wanted. She inwardly chuckled, as she'd grown to like the Viking warrior and missed his domineering ways. This shy man seemed riddled with insecurities that were all her doing. She hoped they could find some sort of balance in the time they might have together.

  The Vermont stove crackled in the center of the open space, with two sofas offset to either side, and Wolf's recliner facing it. She wandered over to the kitchen area. It always pleased her with its clean lines and stainless steel appliances. The center island separated the food prep area from the rest of the living room.

  "Are you hungry?"

  Wolf nodded, "I could eat." He slid onto the stool and watched as she prepared soup and sandwiches. The tension between them was palpable and she hadn't a clue what it meant. He never took his eyes off her, as if every movement had import. Hungry eyes.

  She slipped a disk in the CD player and set the music to low, a slow Latin beat, sensuous. She moved around to his side and took his arm. "Come dance with me."

  He stuttered, "I don't dance."

  "Oh yes, you most certainly do." She moved into his arms and allowed him to lead her haltingly around the narrow space. She'd forgotten how well they'd fit together as she nuzzled his neck and pressed her cheek into his flannel shirt. His heart thudded arrhythmically, stutter-stepping with his halting movements. She'd watched him train in the weight room at the back of the sprawling cabin, seen his grace and power wielding a sword or rapier, so it surprised her that he could be so awkward with her in his arms.