by Nora Ash
The way Saga and Magni had been acting while she was off finding Loki, I very much doubted my brothers would survive it if she got herself hurt in this place. And if they died…?
Teeth clenched, I jogged off in the direction the pull from her called.
* * *
I’d moved through the forest for nearly an hour when an unmistakable roar rang through the trees.
“Odin’s beard,” I hissed just as bright light flashed between the tree trunks a few hundred yards up ahead. Another roar, angrier this time, had me sprinting toward where Annabel’s unmistakable magic ripped through the forest once again.
I arrived at the flat-bedded creek just in time to see Annabel standing in ankle-deep water as she lifted her right hand to fire another blast of magic into the body of a humongous troll on the other bank. Mimir’s head was tucked tight underneath her left arm.
The monster bellowed as her power struck his already singed chest, making the smoldering bald patch around his nipple wider. His face contracted in fury as he patted at the embers in his fur, froth dripping from his tusks.
“Dammit! Why isn’t this working?” Annabel’s voice was shrill with fear.
“Because troll skin is impenetrable to magic, you ignorant fool,” I growled, leaping forward just as the troll lunged off the bank toward the omega. My dark magic wrapped tight around its enormous body, yanking it off its trajectory and into the creek. The forest shuddered around us as it landed with a thud and a splash that sent a good amount of water cascading over both banks. It soaked me, but I didn’t pay the wetness of my clothes any mind; my focus was purely on the troll.
Abandoning one dagger, I clutched both hands around the handle of the remaining one and used all my strength and the weight of my body to thrust it between the troll’s ribs. But just as I impacted, the monster jerked and my blade dug into bone.
The troll roared, its pain granting it enough strength to shake free of my magic’s hold. Before I could reorient, a hand the size of a small boulder struck me in the side. I heard a distinct crack, followed by a lancing pain that seemed to bloom all the way through my left side. I stumbled on the slippery river rocks with a groaned curse.
The troll swung again, and I only narrowly managed to dodge out of the way before its fist connected with my head. It hit me in the left shoulder instead, shattering the joint with another crack.
I managed to bite back on the dark fissures threatening to take away my consciousness, pulling strength from the pain as it fueled my battle rage. Before the troll got another chance to hit me, I tightened my magic around it like a fishnet. The beast struggled against my bindings, but I kept my focus ironclad.
A gleam of metal from the stream revealed the location of my discarded blade. I did my best to protect my injured left side as I rolled up on my knees with a grimace, reaching for my weapon with my right hand. Only when I was once again armed did I force myself to my feet and turn to face the troll.
It was lying on its back in the creek again, muscles straining against the dark ribbons of my magic. Living in Midgard for all those years had dulled my senses, had made me forget the lessons I’d learned in my youth. It wouldn’t happen again.
Baring my teeth at the creature, I straddled its chest and pushed the tip of my blade against its thick skin, this time using the tendrils of my magic not binding the troll to help me push down. My broken ribs and shoulder made me hiss with agony, but I kept my focus, and the knife slowly slid through its flesh and into its heart.
Beneath me, its great body lurched a final time with a shout that shook the trees lining the stream. Then, finally, it stilled.
Breathing heavily, I sagged against the troll’s chest, hand still wrapped around the knife. For every rapid pulse of my heart, the adrenaline left my system, allowing the pain from my broken bones to overshadow my relief at bringing down the monster.
“Why did you follow me?”
Annabel’s sharp voice pulled my thoughts halfway from my misery, and I looked at her over my uninjured shoulder. She still had Mimir tucked under one arm. The other she had raised out in front of her. Light glowed around her palm.
I barked a laugh, instantly regretting it when my ribs were forced to expand around my lungs. “Are you going to kill me, omega?”
She could, I realized. I was too weak to shield myself from an attack for long, thanks to the troll’s fists, and inexperienced as she may have been, I wasn’t a fool. She’d taken down Loki. She was powerful. And very, very angry.
“I’m thinking about it,” she said, a snarl on her delicate features that made her look more savage than any omega had any right to. “Fair’s fair—you killed me, after all. So, I’d like to know why you saved me from that… thing.”
I blinked slowly. She was trying to weigh whether my reasons for saving her were noble enough to spare my life. I wheezed out another laugh.
“I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. I have not turned honorable, and I do not have regrets. I saved you from the troll because you are still tied to my brothers. If you are hurt, if you die here… they will feel it. And their lives will be forfeit. So I will remain by your side, and I will protect you until Ragnarök has shattered the nine realms and I can break your bond to them.”
She stared at me, her dark eyes hard. I remembered their chocolate-brown color from the world of the living, the eager shine in them as she’d looked over my horse, Draugr. She’d been a different person then. Softer. Innocent.
“You won’t make it here on your own,” I reminded her. “Even with your magic, you’re nothing but a lamb in this world, ripe for slaughter. You can hate me as much as you like, but I know how tight those matebonds bind you. Just the thought of the agony they’d go through at your death… You won’t risk it, even if it means sparing my life.”
Annabel narrowed her eyes at me, and for a moment the light in her palm flared brighter. With a scoff, she closed her hand into a fist, the light dying down. She spared me another hard look before she turned on her heel and stalked off into the woods.
Grimacing, I forced my aching body upright and followed her.
* * *
She walked until nightfall, only occasionally exchanging a few words with Mimir. When the gray light faded into darkness and it became impossible for her to see with her human vision, she finally stopped below a small hill.
It wasn’t a bad place to make camp—the overhang from the hill provided some shelter from wandering night terrors, and the thick layer of pine needles littering the ground would make for a somewhat soft bed.
Not waiting to be asked, I gathered up a few sticks and fallen branches and set about making a fire to keep away the worst monsters that prowled in the darkness. When I came back to the hill with a collection of tinder, I saw her huddled next to Mimir, speaking low but urgently at the severed head.
“How much longer until we’re there?” I caught her whispering.
Mimir cleared his throat and shot a look in my direction, bushy eyebrows raised. Annabel looked over her shoulder and clammed up, lips pinched with irritation.
So there was a point to this trek through Hel’s woods? A destination? I didn’t say anything as I pulled the flint from my pocket and lit the fire. She didn’t need to know I’d heard her, and neither did that tricky prick of a prophet. What scheming had he pulled her into? Something that had given her a sense of purpose, clearly. A harebrained plan to escape, perhaps?
Once the fire was going, I slumped back against a large rock and closed my eyes against the pain still radiating through my body. If something did cross the barrier into our little camp, I’d be hard-pressed to protect Annabel like this, or from whatever folly Mimir had roped her into. Broken bones took me a few days to heal, even in the human world. In Hel? Nothing healed here.
“Why am I not hungry?” Annabel’s voice made me open my eyes again. She was looking at Mimir, brows pulled into a frown. “We’ve walked all day, and I’m not even thirsty.”
“You’re dea
d,” I reminded her, the constant pain in my shoulder and ribs making me less patient than usual—which, according to my brothers, was already not one of my virtues.
She shot me an ungrateful look.
“Your body does not need nourishment here,” Mimir explained.
“That makes no sense. I’m tired, and I had to pee this morning,” she said, frowning deeper.
“Your body still carried some leftover processes from when you were alive. As for the urge to sleep—even Hel cannot quell your spirit’s need for rest,” Mimir said.
“Don’t go drinking from Hel’s rivers or eat any berries you come across,” I said, irritated with myself that I hadn’t told her sooner. “It is not nourishment you will find in either.”
“I guess that makes sense,” she mumbled. “Why would the Realm of Death sustain life, eh?”
“Precisely,” Mimir said. He smiled broadly, looking very much like a satisfied teacher whose pupil has finally clocked on to the finer points of his tutelage. Gods, how I wanted to kick his head like a ball, an urge I’d had to repress whenever I’d been reminded of his idiotic prophecy.
“So… what exactly happens if you die again in this place?” Annabel asked. I didn’t miss how she eyed me as I winced and cradled my ribs. “How can you be extra-dead?”
“Better you don’t worry about that, plum,” Mimir said mildly. He yawned wide. “We should all get some rest before the light returns. Or what constitutes as light in this dreadful place.”
Annabel flattened her lips, clearly frustrated at getting brushed off, but before she could snap at the prophet, I said, “You have your body still. Once it dies, only your soul will remain. And it too can die. It can be shredded into pieces, torn asunder, or eaten by the nightmares wandering these lands. What remains, Hel herself will enslave.
“You have seen the great siphon in the sky? It is made up of her army—broken souls having met their final death here, funneled into her palace where they will await her command to descend upon the lands of the living in the final days of Ragnarök. They are said to be aware, even in that state. No one can really tell for sure.”
Annabel shuddered, wrapping her arms around her midriff. “This doesn’t sound much better than the Christian version of Hell.”
I shrugged. “My sister has made of her realm what she saw fit.”
The omega blinked, straightening as she stared at me. “Your sister? The Queen of Death is your sister?”
“A daughter of Loki,” I said, poking a stick at the fire before throwing it onto the burning logs.
“Of course,” she muttered. “Man, that guy has fathered a lot of bullshit.”
I didn’t miss her look in my direction.
“How on Earth have Saga and Bjarni turned out so well? Their mother must have been a literal angel,” she continued.
I stiffened at the mention of my stepmother, muscles tensing from memory alone before I could quell my body’s reaction. When I glanced up at Annabel, it was clear I hadn’t managed to hide it.
She stared at me, mouth partway open and eyes wide as if she’d just remembered something important.
“What?” I snapped.
“Bjarni told me… she used to beat you. When you were a kid.” Her voice was… not gentle, but less hateful than it had been.
I glanced at the prophet, who was looking from Annabel to me with eyebrows raised in apparent interest.
“So?” I arched a brow at her, feigning disinterest. “Jotunns are not known for their nurturing spirits.”
“You didn’t want to see her when we were in Jotunheim. Your brothers made fun of you for it. They never understood, did they? Saga… During that trial to get into Asgard, he had to face his worst fears. One of them was not being able to protect you and Bjarni. But he never protected you from her, did he? He never saw the need.” She was staring intently at me, as if my answer was somehow important to her.
I narrowed my eyes. “There was no need. I don’t know what your obsession with one Jotunn bitch is, but it will do you no good. My stepmother was a vile woman, but she did as Loki tasked her to do—she raised me into adulthood along with her own sons, and that is all there is to say about the miserable cow.”
“Hmm,” Annabel hummed, narrowing her eyes too. I didn’t like the shrewd look sliding over her face. When she got to her feet, I followed her movements as she walked around the fire and sat down next to me. Without a word, she poked me in my shattered shoulder.
I hissed in pain and bared my teeth at her. “Careful. I need you alive, not necessarily conscious. Injured or not, my magic is still far stronger than yours.”
“And yet my magic can heal. Yours can’t.” She tilted her head as she took in what damage she could make out through my clothes. “I have a proposition for you, Lokisson.”
“I am not helping you get back to Asgard,” I said flatly.
“I know.” She prodded at my shoulder again, gentler this time, but it still hurt like a bitch. I caught her wrist with my uninjured hand, growling a warning.
Her attention slipped down to where I touched her. “You’re still cold,” she murmured, surprise in her voice. “I can’t feel the warmth of the fire, but you’re still… so cold.”
“He’s not dead,” Mimir helpfully supplied.
I ignored him. “What proposition do you have for me, omega?”
She looked back up from my hand. “I can heal you. But… at a cost.”
I wanted to tell her that I didn’t need her healing, but while I certainly could be stubborn to a fault, I wasn’t unaware of how precarious my situation was. So instead I gritted my teeth and ground out, “What cost?”
She gave me a sweet smile that held just an ounce of malice. “I want you to tell me truths. Let’s keep the number classic and say three of them. No trickery, no half-truths, and I get to dictate what they are.”
I arched another eyebrow at her. She’d definitely learned a lesson or two while in my father’s company. “And how will you know if I am telling the truth?”
“You will do a spell. Swear a blood-oath. Whatever hocus pocus ensures you can’t lie.” She glanced at Mimir. “I’m assuming such a thing exists?”
“Indeed,” the bodiless prophet agreed. “It is pretty simple magic.”
I glared at him before returning my focus to her. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight, and I once more remembered how beautifully, earthily brown and full of life they’d been before I took her here. “Why? What possible good could that do you?”
“I’d just like to know a bit more about my killer. And you’re not the most forthcoming of people, ya know.” She smiled at me again, just a small tilt of her lips. She was definitely planning something. But… magic or no, she was a mortal stuck in Hel. Dead. Nothing she could do would ever endanger me or my plans. If she wanted to dig around in old wounds and exact some small revenge for what I had done to her, it was a price I’d pay without a second thought to make sure I could protect her if need be, thus keeping my brothers safe.
“Fine. You can have whatever truths I can provide—after you’ve healed my injuries.”
I slid my hand up her wrist, twining my fingers with hers. My magic came willingly, almost eagerly, wrapping around our combined hands, tugging at me to drape my very essence around her—that same nauseating urge I’d felt since she was nothing but a newborn spawnling.
I gritted my teeth, pushing down instincts I wanted no part of, and focused on the spell. “Three truths I shall give you. Three answers you may request. Set my bones and strengthen my body, and your questions shall be answered.”
My power sparked in my blood, flaring between us before snuffing into nothing but a leftover hum in my hand.
Annabel glanced to Mimir, who nodded—always an interesting movement for a bodiless man.
“Yes. That should do it, my pretty plum,” he said. “But please do keep in mind that your magic resources are somewhat low after that nasty troll encounter.”
A look passed betwee
n them, and I narrowed my eyes at the confirmation that they definitely had some sort of plans which required Annabel’s magic to function. Bjarni and Modi had told us what it took to refuel her powers. No doubt she still had plenty of strength left to heal my injuries after that depraved reunion she and her mates had indulged in the night before I lured her away.
But if healing me would drain her just enough to weaken any attempts at escape? Well, that was just a bonus.
I released my grip on her hand and straightened up. “Well? Do you want your truths, omega?”
“Of course.” She let her gaze slide over my shoulder and down to my ribs, attempting to evaluate the injuries. “I need to be able to touch your skin.”
I reached for the hem of my tunic, but the movement sent jolts of anguish through both my shoulder and ribs. Grunting, I clutched my hands around the fabric, trying to anchor my swimming vision. Odin’s beard, that hurt.
“Let me,” Annabel said. She got to her feet and grabbed for my tunic, carefully edging it up my torso and over first my good arm, then head before she eased it down my injured left side. I was somewhat surprised by her care—she could easily have made it hurt, but chose not to.
One glance at her face now focused on my damaged body, and it was clear she’d let those soft omega feelings sweep away some of her anger, at least for now. She worried her lip as she narrowed her eyes at my shoulder, her slim fingers dancing across my skin with featherlight touches.
I hated it. Hated every gentle brush of her palms and her small hum of concern when I hissed from pain. I’d killed her. I was going to break her matebonds and leave her in Hel for eternity—and still she was so achingly gentle as she handled my broken body. It was… irritating.
“Get on with it,” I growled, shifting away from her careful exploration. The movement made my shoulder pang, but it was better than Annabel’s touch.
She pinched her lips and sent me an admonishing glare. Again she grabbed for my shoulder, firmer this time, and then her magic welled up and into me.