Loki knew that given time she would come up with the answer. His little mortal was so bright. So unlike the other mortals he despised for so long. She almost had him forgetting his need for vengeance. Until Loki remembered that she denied him just as Signe had; then his anger would flare once more.
A flash of anger crossed her face, but before she could voice her anger the dream was shattered. It caused the entire dream to blur around him; the room cracking around the edges.
Loki sat up straight in the chair before the fire as the chimes of the clock upon the mantle woke him. His torso shimmered in the low light given off by the dying embers. He ran a hand through his night black hair as he tried to clear his mind. Standing he grabbed his robe from the back of his chair; he must have fallen asleep again. For the last twenty years he couldn’t get through an evening of reading without falling into the same odd dreams. Yet tonight it had changed, almost as if Loki had been controlling it.
He knew his words to the girl were true, his soul felt the pull of hers. Yet somehow she had denied him, pulling away. Causing them both pain from the strained mating bond between them. Loki snorted as the idea swept into his mind. If she was truly his and not just a dream he had made up, she wouldn’t have denied him. Those that suffered the pull of their Fatum Anima; because that’s what Loki thought it was he was suffering, they didn’t deny one another. They couldn’t, it would tear them apart to be too long without their other half.
Really, mated couples made him sick. They walked around acting as if love was some precious gift. When Loki knew it for what it really was. It was a poison; one that slowly took you over. First it creeped into your mind, making you act in ways you never would. Then when you least expected it, the one you ‘loved’ would rip your still beating heart out of your chest and laugh in your face.
Rubbing a hand over his sweat slicked chest, Loki thought maybe he had finally gone crazy. Isn’t that what the mortals believed about the gods? Though they weren’t gods at all; just a different species all together. Who could blame mortals for believing such a claim, living as long as they did, insanity was probable.
He moved toward the door and threw a last glance at his desk. His musings of the evening and the texts he had been reading would have to wait for another evening, right now his bed and hopefully a dreamless sleep were calling him.
Deep in the heart of Castle Malas, the eerie glow of candles bounced off the stone walls. They cast shadows around the cold dank room. Signe sat at a large wooden table, a leather spell book open before her.
The spell she was searching for had eluded her for the better part of four hours. There was no way she could go to the mortal shop Frigga ran without a masking spell. There was no way a regular glamour would hold against Frigga’s power. As her ice blue eyes scanned the pages before her, they landed on just what she had been looking for.
Pushing back from the table she achingly rose to her feet. A few of her joints popped in protest and the pain that radiated through her body had her hatred flaring to life. As the fire of the inflammation consumed her, Signe knew she had to move forward with her plan.
Ringing the bell for one of the servants she prepared herself. With a snap of her finger her golden gown morphed into jeans and a light lavender sweater. Her skin crawled from the feeling of synthetic fabric against it.
Signe grew impatient as she waited; her mind spiraling back to that morning a millennium ago. The memory threatened to drag her under, but a knocking at the door pulled her back.
“Come in.”
The lady in waiting entered the room, freezing in her tracks at the sight of Signe. She had only moments to take in the presence before her. Signe was nothing more than a shell of her former self. Where once her immortal countenance was flawless she was now withered and skeletal. Quickly, she cast her eyes to the ground, not wanting to offend her mistress.
“My lady?”
Signe moved to stand in front of the young girl. Placing her hand under her chin she forced the girl to meet her eyes. “Your sacrifice is honorable.”
Pulling back she held the trembling girls gaze and began to chant. The language she used was so old even if the girl had the time she would not have known what was said. The maid’s soft brown eyes grew wide as she felt a wrenching in her soul. All she could do was stand there spellbound by the low cadence of Signe’s voice.
She began to fatigue as Signe began to grow younger before her eyes. First all her wrinkles began to smooth out. Then her hands began to straighten as the arthritis left her joints. Soon the last of the girl’s soul slipped from her eyes and her limp body fell to the floor. Signe raised the hand mirror and smiled at the sight before her. The spell had worked, covering even the finest detail.
Stepping over the dead girl she pulled her now dark hair up into a bun. Then without a backward glance, she made her way to Frigga’s bookshop, in hopes of putting a little fear into Loki’s intended. Her plan was to keep them apart long enough to make the darkness take over Loki’s soul. Then she and the Acolytes would finally have the perfect fall guy.
Chapter 4:
The smell of sandalwood filled the small Academy bookshop Frigga had named The Nine Realms; it all faintly reminded Chantelle of her dream lover. Lighting the long slender white candles as her body swayed to the hypnotic sound of Led Zeppelin’s “The Immigrant Song”. Her ankle length skirt brushed the floor with each movement she made.
There was nothing that seemed to soothe her aching soul like the songs and tales of Norse mythology; especially the stories of a very badass God of Mischief. Maybe she needed to correct that line of thought, Loki wasn’t a god just a very powerful immortal, who mortals had dubbed a god.
At first she thought him cruel. Then upon further examination Chantelle realized that Loki, the God of Mischief, was only doing what he was created to do. Could you really blame the monster for what Dr. Frankenstein had created? None of the other Norse gods had even given him a chance to be anything but what he was born to be.
Chantelle felt as if they were cut from the same cloth. For even though he was a powerful immortal, the Norse tales made it clear, that Loki was an outcast. No matter how hard she had tried to fit in, Chantelle couldn’t. Her soul always seemed to cry out for something different. See, they were almost the same soul. But where Loki had lashed out at the world, she chose to burn within. It was far easier to blame herself than others. Surely, it must be her shortcomings that made her an outcast.
After all, it was her soul that ached. Ached as if it remembered she needed to be someplace else. As if the other half of her soul called to her from somewhere else. Whenever her heart and soul felt heavy, most times it was after one of her dreams; she would lose herself in one of her books. They seemed to soothe the burning ache.
Chantelle could only liken it to someone being told tales of their homeland. Her lost soul could almost feel the sun on her skin as she ran through the gardens of Asgard. She could almost taste the juice of the immortal’s the golden apples slide over her tongue as she took a bite.
The soft tinkle of bells pulled Chantelle from her daydream. “Frigga, you’re early.” A light blush painted her cheeks.
The older woman put her purse behind the counter and made her way towards Chantelle. Fussing over her the way a mother duck does a duckling. Once Chantelle’s appearance was fitting Frigga’s regal standards, she spoke.
“I wanted to make sure you were ready for this.” A worried smile graced her petal pink lips.
Chantelle moved over to the counter and pulled out an old black leather sketch pad. Hesitantly she beckoned her boss over. As Frigga came to stand next to her she opened the book. Chantelle leafed through the pages and the smell of old leather and prism colors filled the air around them like a cloud of magic.
She passed images of her younger self and the dream man; some of them in the library with a fire roaring and the man reading to her. There were a few of them in a garden, the man doing some form of magic trick. He would cr
eate illusion after illusion making her squeal in delight. How Chantelle longed for the dreams of her youth; a time when her dream man was her friend and nothing more.
Then she came upon the most recent image she had drawn and her heart fluttered; her soul expanding, reaching ever outward toward her magic man. As soon as she showed Frigga the page she felt her stiffen.
“My magic man is why I have to go through with this. Like it or not I need to know why he haunts my dreams.”
On the page before them was a man of about thirty. His pale angular face was framed by hair the color of midnight. But what was mesmerizing to her, were his jade eyes. They seemed to lay bare his soul.
“You drew this? I’ve never seen a more breathtaking image.”
Chantelle just nodded; then watched as Frigga traced the image with tender fingers. It was as if she was committing it to memory, or maybe it was bringing an old memory back to her. After all, Chantelle didn’t know all that much about Frigga. Maybe the man she had drawn reminded her of someone she once knew? Maybe even loved?
She watched as a traitor tear slowly escaped Frigga’s eye. Had the sorrow she had tried to express in his eyes come through? Maybe this man affected everyone the same way. Something about him made you want to pull him close and right the wrongs done to him and she didn’t even know what the wrongs were. It didn’t matter that he would be bad for her. Oh no, Chantelle just wanted to smooth the sadness from his lips.
She needed to stop thinking like this. He was nothing more than a dream. Even if he wasn’t, she would find a way to cast him from her dreams and life. She didn’t need anyone as dominant and all-consuming as this man in her life. Chantelle had responsibilities that could not be neglected. Especially, not for the whims of a man.
“Frigga, are you alright?” Her boss pushed at a stray tear.
“Couldn’t be better, dear.” Frigga made a sweeping gesture to the picture in front of her. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you could draw like this?”
Chantelle didn’t have an answer for her except that she never showed anyone her drawings. They were nothing more than a way to record her dreams. Besides who would want to see pictures of the same man in different settings? She was sure they would get bored after the first twenty.
She began to fidget with the hem of her blue tank top, “I didn’t think it mattered. After all, you hired me for my knowledge of mythology, not art.”
Frigga frowned at her. Even though they had become close these last few years, there were still things Chantelle wouldn’t share. Maybe things she never would.
Chantelle cleared her throat, breaking the spell that Frigga seemed to be under. “Besides, I never show anyone my magic man.” A light pink blush painted her cheeks, “Except Emma and Savannah. I don’t want too many people thinking I’m crazy.”
Frigga smiled an understanding smile that set Chantelle’s mind at ease. “How long did this take?”
“I did it this morning. I dreamt of him again last night.”
Chantelle carefully began to remove the page from the book and handed it to Frigga; a peace offering of sorts. Her way of saying she was sorry for not showing her sooner. For not letting Frigga know just how wrapped up in her dream world she was.
“Why do you call him your magic man?”
Oh, crap. She had hoped that Frigga hadn’t caught the fact that she spoke of him in the possessive. Most people didn’t. They would just smile and nod as if they thought she was crazy. But she had and now she needed an excuse.
“Well, there is something about him that reminds me of a song I like. It’s called Magic Man. And seeing as he is always doing some sort of magic in my dreams, I just thought it fit.”
It did. He only came to her in dreams; Chantelle had never met anyone like him. It really was as if the man from her dreams had known her, her entire life. So why not call him her magic man?
Frigga’s eyes scanned the image again. There before her in all its dark mahogany glory was her son’s study. His desk was slightly off center, just the way he liked it. Loki told her that was where it caught the light of the fire best. As always there was a scattering of books across its surface. Just looking at the image had Frigga longing for home.
As soon as Frigga had recognized the room she knew the truth. She had always felt Chantelle was the one; had even hoped she was. But she hadn’t been 100% sure. There was no way she could be until the girl went through her Emergence, or Loki said so himself. But this seemed to be proof enough; in the queen’s eyes the image before her sealed Chantelle’s fate.
“Another dream? Is this where you were?” She gestured toward the picture.
Chantelle nodded and her hair bobbed with her. Frigga flipped through the rest of her drawings. She could feel the embarrassment rolling off Chantelle in waves, though she didn’t know why. Chantelle was an amazing artist.
“Well, it’s a beautiful picture. I’m sure the dream therapy will help.”
Chantelle just shrugged, “I hope so. Or else I’m afraid I’ll dream of him forever and not know why.”
Frigga knew that wouldn’t be the case. Not if Loki had anything to say about it. She knew her son would soon be on the hunt for his mate and he wouldn’t stop until he found her. Soon, Chantelle would have all the answers she was longing for.
Chapter 5:
The small group was made up of three women and two men. They all sat crossed legged on the oversized pillows, each with recorders next to them. Chantelle and Frigga sat off to the side near Dr. Edna Stevens.
Chantelle watched the doctor out of the corner of her eye as she spoke to Frigga. There was something about the willowy woman that didn’t sit well with her. She looked angry, aloof, and stiff. Nothing like Chantelle expected a therapist to look; though it could just be Chantelle’s natural dislike for all doctors.
When her boss returned to her side she voiced her thoughts. “Frigga, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Chantelle gestured between herself and Dr. Stevens.
“I doubt there is anything to worry about, she comes highly recommended.”
Chantelle really didn’t care if she had won a Nobel Peace Prize, or if she found the cure for Lou Gehrig’s disease. There was something that unsettled her about Dr. Stevens. What it was she just wasn’t sure and her time to figure it out was up. Dr. Stevens cleared her throat and all eyes turned toward her. As soon as the shuffling quieted down Dr. Stevens began.
“Today we’re going to have our first therapy session. There are a few things you need to begin. Trust, your recorder and a safe word.”
Chantelle wanted to laugh when the doctor said they needed trust. Was this lady kidding her? There was no way Chantelle was going to be able to trust her if she didn’t stop throwing jealous vibes in her direction. Whatever the doctor’s problem was, it was some heavy shit. Maybe Chantelle reminded her of someone she didn’t like, or maybe the doctor just didn’t like young people.
Chantelle was the only one there under fifty and so it would stand to reason that jealousy and hatred were thrown in her direction. It wouldn’t shock her if that was the case; there were plenty of older women who despised younger women and for no other reason other than because they were young.
She should just forget the uneasy feeling she was getting. After all Frigga trusted this woman, maybe she should too. Dr. Stevens was supposed to be the foremost doctor of dream therapy and yet Chantelle still felt something was wrong. Maybe it was the way she spoke or the way she pronounced her words. But try as she might, Chantelle couldn’t place the feeling. Maybe it was just pre-session jitters?
“During this session we are going to figure out what your subconscious is trying to tell you in your dreams. Shall we begin?”
Everyone nodded in understanding; they were all more than eager to begin. It was very hard to find a reputable therapist in today’s day and age and here they were getting these session for a fraction of what they cost, thanks to Frigga.
“Who would like to go first?”
&
nbsp; All the hands in the room went up as quick as lightning. All except Chantelle’s and that was all it took for Dr. Stevens eyes to stop on her. Hadn’t she always told Emma it was better to look eager to join in? Lest the teacher think you were a reluctant student and calls on you when you didn’t want to be called on.
The room spun and a heavy sense of foreboding settled over her. Something was wrong here; she knew it. Her eyes darted to Frigga hoping for a way out. Her boss only nodded in encouragement.
“Chantelle, let’s begin with you. Please, everyone follow Frigga out of the room.”
Why was she sending Frigga away? Instantly Chantelle was struck with an irrational fear. One that told her she wasn’t going to like the outcome of this session. Her fear gripped her so tightly that Chantelle would have been happy to see even her dream lover right now.
When everyone had filed out of the room and the door was closed, Dr. Stevens turned toward her. “I hear you haven’t been sleeping well. Can you tell me a little about that, Chantelle?”
She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sitting across from her was a woman who obviously hated her. For what reason, Chantelle didn’t know and she really didn’t care. She just wanted to get this over with.
What seemed to bother her the most was that the doctor was going to think she was crazy, just like everyone else. No one had ever taken her dreams seriously. Her parents had cast it off as an overactive imagination. Her peers whispered behind her back, calling her crazy. It had scared her and it wasn’t until recently that she had told Emma and Savannah about them.
Ok, so maybe there were now three people in her life that didn’t think she was crazy, but everyone else looked at her as if she was in dire need of a “hug-me-coat”. Now, Chantelle wasn’t one to care what others thought, but what she did worry about was people gossiping and hurting Emma.
She looked into the doctor’s warm brown eyes and thought what the hell; if this didn’t work out she never had to see this lady again. Who knew, maybe talking about it would relieve some of the tension she was feeling now.
Mischief's Mate (The Immortal Mates Book 1) Page 3