Arctic Dawn (The Norse Chronicles Book 2)

by Karissa Laurel

  I shook my head and turned away to bury my attention in the plate of food. “Not special. Important, maybe. You were dedicated to preventing my death. You gave me Mjölnir to hold for you after I recovered it from Helen. You said I was the only one you could trust with it, and it might be good for others to think it was still lost.”

  Thorin’s brow creased as he thought about my words. “But my brother knew I had it?”

  “You had to use it once, to protect us, and he said he could feel its power. I don’t understand how that works.”

  “The hammer speaks to Thor’s blood kin. We all hear its voice. But why did I use it if I wanted to keep it a secret?”

  “You fought Skoll with it.”

  “I did?”

  I told Thorin what had happened in the desert. He listened, enraptured, but nothing I said ignited his own memory of the event. His brow creased again. “If I was protecting you, how did my brother get you?”

  “Long story. You sure you’re up for it? You probably need to rest.”

  Thorin readjusted his position on the couch, sitting up straighter and hardening his face. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

  I poured another glass of wine and took a huge gulp. Then I turned to Thorin and said, “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Solina Mundy. She had had a twin brother named Chapman Mundy. He used to work for you.”

  I talked late into the evening, stalled by a million interruptions—Thorin asking questions or requesting more details. I switched from wine to water once the alcohol and the warmth of the fire softened my focus. At some point, I pillowed my head on my hands and leaned against the sofa cushion next to Thorin’s leg. At some point, his hand found its way to my hair, his fingers combing through the loose strands—so intimate and so unlike him. I said nothing, for fear he might take his hand away.

  “I can hardly believe it,” Thorin said after I finished recounting my story. “It all sounds too fantastic.”

  I didn’t move an inch, not daring to break our connection. “You’re a god. Everything about your existence is fantastic.”

  “We shouldn’t stay here much longer,” he said in non sequitur. “The location is compromised. Too many people know where to find you.”

  I waved toward the door. “Where should I go?”

  “Where do I live, now?”

  I raised my head up at that, and Thorin’s hand slipped away. “You don’t remember that either?”

  Thorin’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he struggled with his memory. “I remember a place on a mountaintop. Lots of snow. I’m not sure how old the memory is. Does it sound familiar to you?”

  “I was told such things were sacred to your kind, and you don’t give their locations away easily. I’ve never been to your home.”

  “Never?”

  “For all we’ve been through together, we barely know each other. Well, I barely know you, anyway. Not the personal stuff. But I trust you. You’ve risked your life for me. You’ve killed my enemies.”

  “That’s a lot.” Thorin slid his fingertips under my chin and urged me to look up at him. “Trust is what’s most important.”

  “I have trusted you with my life almost from the first day I met you, but I’ve never trusted you with much more than that.”

  “Oh?” His brows arched in question. “Nothing in your story suggested I’ve been cavalier with your feelings.”

  “You’ve never had a chance to.”

  Thorin chuckled at my petulance. “Despite everything you’ve told me, everything you’ve been through, you chose to stay here, alone, with me. That tells me all I need to know.”

  Thorin let me talk him into taking one of the bedrooms and moving from the confines of the sofa. He tested his weight on the mattress, and the springs groaned in protest.

  “Maybe we should go to your store first.” I leaned against the doorjamb. “Going somewhere familiar might jog your memories.”

  Thorin leaned over and unlaced his boots. “I have a store?”

  I huffed. “What do you remember?”

  Thorin kicked off one boot and went to work on the other. “When Baldur first found me up on the mountain, I couldn’t even remember my name, but after he started talking, a lot of old memories came back.” He kicked off the second boot, stood, and peeled off layers, starting with a bulky wool sweater.

  “I regret that I don’t remember your brother,” he said, the words muffled by his thermal shirt as he pulled it over his head. “I especially regret not remembering you. But our kind heal quickly. In the morning, I would be surprised if I haven’t mostly recovered.”

  Thorin shed layers down to a thin undershirt that hugged every line, every curve, plane and valley. That too came off, leaving him bare chested and me dry throated. It went against the laws of everything good and holy for a man to look that fine. I turned away.

  “This place has some sort of bathing accommodations, correct?”

  “Y-yup, um, down the hall.” I pointed dumbly, still looking anywhere but at him. “There’s, uh, there’s a-an extra towel or two on the shelf in the bathroom. You can use my soap and stuff.”

  The floor creaked as Thorin stepped closer, pausing in the doorway beside me. His scent filled the space between us. I did not inhale and savor it. I swear I didn’t.

  “Thank you,” he said, his words low and gruff.

  I swallowed. “No problem. Least I could do since you saved my life and all.”

  Thorin didn’t move or say anything. I sensed he wanted me to look at him, to see him rooted in place so close to my side… Too close, too warm. I swallowed again, steeled my nerves, and pried my eyes from the ceiling. Once he had my full attention, Thorin let a charming, devilish smile curl at the corner of his lips. “Good night, Miss Mundy.”

  “You call me Sunshine.” The words came out raspy.

  “Do I?”

  I nodded.

  Thorin smoothed a loose hair from my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. Every function in my body stuttered to a halt. “Well, good night then, Sunshine.”

  Thorin slid past me, and his touch warmed me from head to toe. It lit fires in my cheeks, and champagne bubbles fizzed in my veins. He padded down the hallway into the bathroom, and the moment the door shut behind him, I broke from my daze and fled down the hallway back to the safety of my room.

  What’s going on with him? I wondered as I slid under the quilts on my bed. A little amnesia and all his personal constraints disappear?

  I turned off the lamp on my bedside table and stared up into the darkness. No problem. I have more than enough inhibitions to cover us both.

  Chapter Thirty

  Whether I meant it to or not, my hearing tuned in to every creak and groan of the house, every noise Thorin made—the abrupt cessation of running water, the rattle of shower curtain rings sliding across the metal rod, something clattering in the sink. A moment later, the bathroom door creaked open, and heavy footsteps crept down the hallway. His bed squeaked as it accepted his weight. I imagined I could hear his breathing, but it was only the wind.

  I lay awake long into the night, holding my breath, listening, picturing Thorin with his hands tucked behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember. When I had roomed with Val, he acted sleepy in the mornings, but he had also wanted to hide his godhood. Maybe, like eating, sleep was optional.

  Before that day, I had never caught Thorin sleeping, or even tired for that matter, but the recent trauma must have tested even his stamina.

  I had never allowed myself to think too long or too hard about my feelings for Thorin. Recent revelations proved my emotions had grown beyond superficial attraction. But even before my exposure to the dangerous world of immortal gods, I had trouble with relationships, particularly the romantically inclined ones.
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br />   Once, when Mani and I had gotten into some petty fight, he told me everyone called me an ice princess—ironic, considering my heritage. The reputation was justified when I looked back on it. I never felt superior to anyone as gossip suggested. Mostly, I was afraid—afraid of rejection, afraid of being hurt, afraid of losing. Until Mani died, my feelings had been unfounded. I never really knew loss or heartbreak, nothing to make me dread forming attachments.

  Perhaps I’d been composed with the memories of a life-before. Maybe they were ingrained in my DNA, and maybe those memories struggled to dictate my life. Over the centuries, Sol must have suffered a great number of hurts and lost many loves. Did her fears whisper in my atoms?

  I knew one thing for certain: losing Mani was the single most horrible experience of my life. If I cared for Thorin a fraction of how much I had cared for my brother—and I suspected the amount was much more than a fraction—then letting Thorin get past my defenses was a huge risk. Failure was too great a threat, and success posed its own separate hazard.

  Any relationship I built with Thorin had a limited shelf life from the start. One way or another I would die—by sickness, old age, or wolf. Thorin was immortal, I was not, and that created a formula for certain disaster.

  I would do well to remember that.

  I slid into sleep at some point and dreamed of Asgard for the first time since having left Thorin in Idun’s garden. All subsequent attempts to initiate interdimensional travel or arouse precognitive visions had resulted in nothing more than a headache. My insight asserted its own will and ignored my demands for obedience.

  I strolled through my orchard, grabbing at apples but never plucking them free. Like a ghost’s, my fingers passed through the fruit, encountering nothing solid. I strolled up and down the rows, not quite lost but unable to find my way out.

  I maintained my calm at first, but time passes in a peculiar way in dreams, and I realized I had wandered the orchard for hours without reaching Idun’s house or the wrecked city of Asgard. A cold drop of panic trickled down my spine.

  Up and down the rows, ducking through trees and looking for something familiar, I ran faster and faster until I tripped and sprawled face-first on the lush green grass. I rolled over and examined the scene, expecting to find a root to blame for my fall. Instead, I had stumbled over a scroll. To discover such a thing in the middle of an apple orchard seemed perfectly rational, as strange things often do in dreams. I picked up the scroll and unrolled the parchment.

  On its aged and deteriorated surface, I recognized the outline of a genealogical chart, one similar to those I had studied at the Aerie’s library when I helped Skyla search for the grimoire. The chart tracked Baldur’s lineage and Nina’s reincarnations and the births of their offspring. If the Valkyries possessed a match to that record in the physical world, then they had stored it somewhere other than the library because I had looked through every scroll in the Aerie’s collection without ever finding one like that.

  I traced my finger along notations until I arrived at one marking the birth of the most current children and grandchildren of Baldur and Nanna, aka Nina. Three daughters had been born over two decades. The first, Thea, died as an infant. The second, Embla, was still living. And a third, Kara, died after giving birth to two children: one boy, named Paul, and one girl, named…

  Skyla Frigga Rodriguez.

  Thorin’s voice ripped me from my dream. Frantic and hoarse, he roared in the language Baldur had used with him—Asgardian, perhaps. A cold sweat broke over me, and my heart climbed into my throat, fluttering like a bird trapped in a chimney. Someone had found us.

  I eased out of bed, tiptoed through the darkness, and pressed my ear against my door. Something heavy crashed to the floor as Thorin railed against his attacker. But why go for Thorin instead of me? I eased my door open and peered into the dim living room, where the dying fire provided the only light. After finding nothing alarming there, I ventured out, stepping like a cat, listening hard enough to make my ears hurt.

  Thorin went silent. I hurried forward, balancing on the balls of my feet, hoping to sneak to his room in silence. Thorin roared again, and something else crashed. So much for stealth. I dashed the last few feet and pounced into his doorway with my fire crackling, ready to burn, devastate, and consume whichever of my enemies dared breach the sanctity of my little cabin.

  Instead, I found Thorin, feral, raging, and naked except for his iron bracelets and torc. I would have felt embarrassed for him if I thought it bothered him… or if he hadn’t looked so completely magnificent. He appeared to have fixated his attention on fighting a ghost or maybe a whole legion of them, the way he swung his weapon. He had reduced his nightstand to kindling, and an old upholstered chair lay on its side, beaten to within an inch of its life.

  “Thorin.” I stepped farther into his room.

  Thorin spun on me, Mjölnir raised high. He said something in his ancient tongue. I didn’t understand it, but the way he forced his words through gritted teeth made me step back and reconsider.

  “Thorin?” I said, speaking in a low and soothing tone. “You’re dreaming, having a nightmare. I need you to wake up, okay?”

  I reached behind me, feeling for the light switch. I kept talking, hoping to soothe him and ease his agitation. “You’re with me now, and you’re safe. You’ve fought bravely, but it’s time to give it a rest.”

  Thorin stepped closer, baring his teeth. The light from my fire reflected in his eyes, and shadows daubed his face so he looked like a hellish fiend. I slid one foot back, preparing to retreat if he decided to attack, but it came up against the wall. I had run out of room.

  “It’s time to let that demon go,” I said. “We’ve got plenty more to chase after, and I need you to be cool about it, okay?”

  Thorin stepped closer yet, still clutching Mjölnir and panting, ribs heaving like bellows. His breath coursed over me, hot and humid.

  “Thorin, please, you don’t want to hurt me.”

  Apparently, he disagreed. His hand flashed to my throat and circled it, squeezing.

  “Thorin!” I gasped and choked. With a ball of fire gathered around my fingers, I swung and slapped him across his cheek. “Wake up!”

  Thorin fell away, blinking and shaking his head as if aggravated by a bothersome gnat. I found the switch and flipped on the overhead lights. He blinked again and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Still pressed against the wall, I waited for an indication that he had gathered his wits—what little of them remained, anyway.

  Thorin looked around the room, taking in the damage, and turned his gaze back on me. “Solina?”

  My lungs froze, and my muscles tensed. I couldn’t have blinked if my life depended on it.

  “What happened?” he asked, looking around the devastated room. “What…?”

  Something inside me thawed, and my systems came back online. “Thorin?”

  He looked back up at me, his eyebrows raised. His gaze focused on me in a way it hadn’t before, sharp and full of familiarity. “Sunshine?”

  Relief coursed through me, as swift and powerful as a tidal wave. “You remember?”

  Thorin blinked again. “Why wouldn’t I?” He glanced down and noted his nudity. His head shot up, and his eyes locked on mine. “What’s going on, Solina?”

  I breathed a huge and gusty sigh and wiped away my pending tears before Thorin noticed. He’d hate to think I was crying over him. I cleared my throat and put on a neutral face. “Bad dream, I guess.”

  Thorin noticed Mjölnir still clutched in his fist. He flipped his wrist and turned it back into the golden pendant. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  I shook my head. “Not so much. I can dish out almost as well as I can take.”

  Thorin stepped closer, and I tensed. He noticed, and his brows drew together. His gaze dropped to my neck. He rea
ched out and brushed his fingertips over the bruise forming beneath my jaw. “I did this?”

  I mimicked his gesture and touched my fingers to his cheek, displaying an angry red welt in the shape of my hand. “And I did this.”

  Thorin caught my hand on his face and held it there. His eyes, dark and glittering, bore into mine. “I worried about being able to protect you, but I didn’t think it would be from myself.”

  I swallowed, but my voice still came out gruff. “I’ve been ravaged by a wolf, converted to pure energy and back, and I’ve been nearly frozen to death. This is nothing.”

  “Still, I am sorry.”

  I stiffened my spine and moved away from him. “C’mon, put on some pants, and let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll make us some tea. It’ll calm our nerves.”

  Without any hint of self-consciousness, Thorin crouched and dug his pants out from somewhere beneath the bed. Maybe he didn’t care, but I turned away and gave him a moment of privacy. I started down the hall, and he fell into place behind me, still zipping zippers and fastening buttons.

  In the kitchen, Thorin leaned against the counter and watched me rifle through the cabinets, looking for my box of chamomile. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you with Baldur?”

  I found the tea and set about filling a kettle with water. “Someone had to wait for you. I’ve lost too many people already. I don’t want to lose any more. Besides, Baldur is only focused on Nina. They’re both a little…” I swirled my finger around my temple to insinuate their current mental state. “What else should I have done?”

  “You should have run. Kept moving. Staying in one place too long is dangerous. You shouldn’t risk yourself.”

  “You’ve told me that before.”

  “I see you didn’t take my advice.”

  “I told you that I don’t automatically do everything you tell me.”