by Nora Ash
“I suppose you don’t,” he said, the softness waning for cold indifference. “You gave in to your supposed Fate without question. You accepted four mates for the sole purpose of fulfilling a prophecy that was doomed to fail from the start.
“The day you were born, Annabel Turner, I felt your arrival into the world. You call me to your dreams because your soul recognized mine long before we met in flesh. I know you because you are my soulmate.”
Nine
Grim
The dark-haired omega gaped up at me. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, the similarity to a fish not entirely flattering.
“S-Soulmate? What are you even…? What?” she finally managed to say.
I didn’t respond. There was no point.
“I don’t understand what that means!” Her eyes were wild, as if some part of her did understand, was murmuring the horrid truth to her even if she refused to listen.
“It means that were you not the one Fated to stop Ragnarök, had Verdandi not woven your thread with five godlings to save the nine worlds, you and he would still be twined together by the very essence of your souls,” Mimir said, his tone thoughtful. “What an interesting twist. I never would have suspected. Yet you took her life? Whatever foul magic you have found to sever her ties with her other mates, you must know that nothing will ever break a soulmate bond.”
“It is unimportant,” I said, shrugging as I turned to look at the talking head. He had rolled a few yards when Annabel dropped him and was now upside-down atop some sharp-looking rocks. “My brothers’ survival is the only thing that matters to me.”
“But dear boy,” Mimir said, his eyes widening. It could have been comical, but I felt nothing but vague dread—like I had since I realized what Annabel’s second truth would force me to reveal. “If she stays here and you return—or worse, if she expires in this place—your own soul will be rent. You won’t simply die, you’ll—”
“I know,” I interrupted him. “I have made my choice. Don’t waste your breath attempting to sway me, prophet. I understand the consequences.”
“I don’t understand,” Annabel said. “At all. You’re… saying what, that I’m… That you’re meant to love me, but you have chosen not to?”
I heaved another sigh and looked back to her. I should have let my bones stay broken. “Love has nothing to do with any of this. I am not a tool for Norns, or gods, or prophets to wield as they see fit. That is what I have chosen.”
She blinked at me. Twice. “What happens to you if I die here?”
“His soul would be ripped apart,” Mimir said softly when my silence made it clear I wasn’t going to indulge her curiosity. “Your other mates would die painfully, but their souls would still be whole. He would be turned into… something lesser. Something dark and foul. A shadow who haunts the living, swallowing their souls in an eternal hunger to fill the void left by his other half.”
Annabel blinked again, horror growing in her gaze. Horror, and anger. “You would rather become a literal monster than mate me? You’d rather turn into a grotesque shell than so much as attempt to stop Ragnarök? Are you mad? Are you entirely insane? Do you think, even for a second, that your brothers would want this—that they could live with the knowledge of what you’d become?”
I didn’t answer her. She would never understand, and even if she did, it changed nothing.
“Grim!” Her voice cut through the crashing of waves behind us, and I glanced out at the rough sea. The forests of Hel weren’t the only places monsters lurked. While I’d been trapped under the Nightmare, my dreams had been of serpents rising out of frozen water—horrible, coiling flesh and poison rendering me immobile as I watched Annabel drown under a thick layer of ice, forever dooming my brothers to Hel.
“Remove the ring, Annabel,” I said, keeping my voice calm and reasonable. “I would rather save my brothers before I let you be eaten by whatever monster crosses our path. And so would you.”
She gaped up at me, unshed tears making her eyes shine despite the dullness death had caused. For a brief, relief-inducing moment, I saw the first sliver of a crack in that iron will that lay behind.
But then she bared her teeth at me, lip curling as she shook her head. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” she repeated. Then she got to her feet, wobbling before she managed to straighten her knees. I stared at her as she walked over to where Mimir’s head had fallen, bent, and picked him up.
Gently she brushed his cheeks free of sand and dirt, and skimmed over what looked like the start of a bruise forming on one temple with a featherlight touch. “I’m sorry I dropped you.”
“Couldn’t be helped,” Mimir chirped. “Though I must say, even Hel looks better right-side up.
“Are you okay?”
He chuckled. “I’ll be fine. It takes a lot more than a roll over some rocks to shake me. Now that time a pack of mountain trolls kicked my head around like a ball for a day…”
“Annabel. The ring,” I snarled, my patience waning. Even a stubborn human couldn’t be this thick-skulled. I knew her heart far better than I’d ever wanted to. It was weak and soft. She cared too much for her mates to risk their deaths.
“Where to now?” she asked, not taking her eyes off Mimir.
“West,” he said. “But it won’t be as easy as the boat.”
“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” she replied, glancing at the remains of the rickety rowboat I’d destroyed.
“I suppose we don’t,” he agreed.
“West, then.” She turned to the narrow path that had brought us down to the beach and began walking. Despite the surety in her steps, her exhaustion made her stumble.
And yet she kept walking. Away from me.
“Annabel,” I growled. “You’re being foolish. Whatever escape he has promised you, you won’t find it. You will die out there without protection.”
She stopped and finally looked at me. Her eyes were hard—and determined. “Fine. I will remove your ring, Grim Lokisson. On one condition.”
I lifted my brows. “What do you want? More truths?”
“No. I want you to feel exactly what it is you’re throwing away. I want you to truly know the pain you’re inflicting on me, on your brothers, on Modi and Magni. You say you know me? I don’t think you do. Whatever this soulmate connection you claim we have is, clearly it isn’t worth a damn to you. But I know one thing that is. I know one way of showing you that I am strong enough to stop Ragnarök and save not only your brothers, but you as well.
“I will remove your ring and return your magic to you, Grim, after you claim me as your mate.”
Ten
Grim
“Claim you?” I stared at the clearly insane omega, the roar of blood in my ears almost making me believe I might have heard her wrong. But I hadn’t. The anger on her face spoke the truth more clearly than her words ever could. She wanted me to suffer. She wanted revenge for what I’d done to her—what I would still do.
She was more devious than I’d given her credit for.
“Yes. If you want your powers back, if you want to protect me, you will claim me. So I guess the question is: How badly do you want to ensure your brothers live?”
I would give anything for my brothers’ lives. I had given everything. But this? No.
Stars above, not this.
“Are you that desperate for a fuck?” I sneered.
Annabel laughed, a derisive sound that grated against my skin. “You can attempt to shame me all you want. I am not bargaining with you. This is not a negotiation. It is the only way I will remove the ring. Agree or don’t. You have until my next heat to decide.”
“You’re bluffing,” I said, wishing my throat wasn’t dry with the knowledge that no, she wasn’t.
“Watch me.” Casting another dark look in my direction, she turned back around to the path leading back up the cliff and into the woods.
I bared my teeth at her back, a snarl forcing its way out of my
throat, but Annabel simply kept walking. Away from me.
West.
I pushed myself to my feet, falling in behind her. I should have kept her bound with my powers. Should have hidden her away in some cave and sealed the entrance until I could return to my brothers and break their bonds to her. But I hadn’t. There was no way out of Hel for the dead—everyone knew as much. Even Odin’s wife Frigg, the god-queen herself, had been unable to save her son from my sister’s clammy grip.
And yet Mimir had known of one.
I clenched my hands into fists at the memory of Annabel clawing her way across the stony beach toward the rickety old rowboat. The oceans surrounding Hel were vast and dangerous beyond measure, yet the prophet had wanted her to cross them in a wooden rowboat, though no doubt some ancient magic had been woven into its timber, allowing a dead woman and a bodiless fool to escape.
Wherever he was guiding her now, I would stop her. After the trick they’d played on me with the Nightmare, I would have had no qualms leashing Annabel in whatever cave we came across—and perhaps I’d find a nice, deep well for the talking head she was carrying.
But now? I could physically restrain the girl, easily even, but not continually—not for long enough. Eventually I would succumb to sleep, and knowing her, she’d take advantage the moment I closed my eyes.
So I followed her, waiting for my moment to stop whatever desperate plans Mimir had for this second attempt at escape. Annabel would never leave Hel, and I was not going to let down my guard again. All I had to do was stay alert—and make sure she didn’t get herself killed—without the use of my magic.
Claim her.
I suppressed a shudder. There was a time I had accepted my father’s plans for my brothers and me to mate the unborn omega he had bargained for. It would supposedly secure our survival, and I knew once my mark was on her neck, I would never have to interact with her again. Bjarni and Saga had been pleased enough at the prospect of a submissive omega mate that I knew I would be free of any obligations toward her.
Then she had been born. And my soul… my soul ached. My dark, twisted spirit tried to open, tried to welcome its other half into the world, but it was too cold, too dead.
I’d known then that claiming my promised mate would be my destruction.
And still I’d followed my brothers’ plans, helped them scheme and plot to get the girl to Iceland, because I would break myself apart a thousand times over to ensure my brothers’ survival.
All the way up until he showed me the truth.
The dark spell that had been woven around my mind that day caressed the inside of my skull, talons digging in ever so slightly. He didn’t like it when I thought about him.
It didn’t matter; I’d known what I’d doomed myself to when I’d accepted his bargain—an eternity as a dark thing. A shell. It was nothing worse than what would happen to me if I claimed Annabel.
Claim her.
Even if he hadn’t shown me the fruitlessness of stopping Ragnarök, I finally understood the impossibility of mating the girl when I saw her with her four mates that last night in Valhalla. She gave herself so willingly to them all, how she loved them so completely.
And instincts I thought I had buried centuries ago came roaring back, filling me until I thought they would shred through my skin, until all I wanted was to rip apart the four alphas who had taken parts of her soul, parts of my soul.
The sickness I’d felt as an adolescent while my body burned and hungered for the woman I hated most was nothing compared to the horror of knowing that if I claimed Annabel—if my sick, twisted soul reunited with its other half—I would kill my brothers to keep them from her.
“We need to find shelter.”
Those were the first words I had spoken since we left the beach—the first any of us had spoken for several hours.
Annabel ignored me and kept walking. Pride. One of her many, many flaws. Her pace was slow, her feet unsteady against the forest floor. She was on the brink of collapsing from exhaustion, thanks in part to her attempt at running from me this morning and from healing my shoulder and ribs. She’d used every drop of her magic, and perhaps a touch of her own essence, to do so. And yet she pressed on, too stubborn to admit defeat. Or weakness.
“Annabel.” I increased my pace for a few steps to catch up to her, halting her with a hand on her shoulder. She shivered at my touch, as if my innate coldness seeped through her leather armor. “We cannot stay out in the open once night falls. Not without my powers.”
She hesitated for a moment, and I could practically sense her urge to argue. But then, by some miracle, her shoulders slumped.
“Fine,” she said. “We’ll rest.”
If I had been able to feel anything but frustration and dread, I might have found some faint amusement in what my brothers always assumed would be a weak-willed omega woman taking the lead. Perhaps I might have felt regret too that a woman strong enough to bring four boisterous gods to heel would wither away in the darkness of Hel.
* * *
Lighting a fire without magic or flint was difficult. By the time a spark finally caught the tinder, my hands had blisters, and I was cursing the tricksy omega bitch under my breath every time my gaze caught the ring on my thumb. But we needed a fire to keep the night creatures at bay, and so I’d spent the better part of an hour rubbing a sharpened stick between my palms.
I shot a glare in Annabel’s direction. She was leaning against one of the large rocks that made up our shelter for the night, head back and eyes closed while Mimir droned on about one of his old adventures with Odin, back when he still had legs.
She was barely conscious.
How much longer would she be able to keep going? She regained some of her strength while she slept, but every morning she seemed just a bit weaker than the day before.
Perhaps her reason for the bargain she’d suggested was not entirely to exact revenge on me. Maybe she realized she needed her magic back as well if she were to have any chance at escaping Hel—and me.
I bit the inside of my cheek as I weighed my options. No doubt she would insist on her ludicrous terms until she was so weak, she would have to consider other options. If I waited her out, maybe she would restore my magic in return for her own.
Of course, that meant I would still have to lay with her.
A full body shudder traveled up the length of my spine as uninvited images of Annabel writhing naked echoed in my mind, and that hated, primitive heat curled in my pelvis.
Desire.
I forced it down and locked it up tight. Anger took its place as I stared at the half-sleeping girl, at her full, soft lips and the curve of her breasts. But my anger wasn’t directed at her; this was my flaw, not hers. Another “gift” from Loki’s side of my family tree.
True Mistborn never surrendered to baser instincts. Gods did.
But I had other gifts from my father—much more useful ones. Patience. Treachery. I could wait her out until even her impressive stubbornness would have to surrender to the reality of her situation. I needed my magic back more than I needed whatever shreds of dignity I had left.
Once she was weak enough to beg for it, I would trade my powers for hers. There was no need to claim her. She would have to bend on this long before I.
Annabel’s stubbornness really was impressive.
Three days later, she was still stumbling west through the forest, tripping and falling over roots and stones because she was too tired to lift her feet properly.
I was starting to suspect she’d rather keel over dead than beg for my help, and I was running out of time. We’d come across several signs of trolls in the area, but had so far managed to avoid direct contact. However, I wasn’t willing to gamble and see how much longer our luck might last.
“You know,” I drawled when Annabel fought her way back to her feet after yet another tumble, “this whole escape plan you two have would probably be a lot easier if you weren’t tripping over your own feet every five yards.”
“You sound like you are about to sell me the cure to all that ails me.” Despite her snarky tone, her breath came in small huffs, weakened by her exhaustion.
“I suppose that is one way to look at it,” I hummed.
“What do you want, Grim? I’m too tired for games.”
“You know what I want—my powers back so I can protect you. I suspect you might want your energy back. And, as a bonus, your own powers,” I said, careful to keep my voice neutral.
Annabel jerked to a stop, her head snapping around to stare at me over her shoulder. “Wait—are you suggesting sex?”
The sheer shock on her features was somewhat… surprising. And possibly insulting.
“That is how you restore your magic, is it not?”
She stared at me for another moment, then guffawed and turned back around to the path ahead. “Now who’s desperate for a fuck? The answer is no. I’m not removing your ring until you claim me. I told you, it’s non-negotiable.”
I gritted my teeth and forced my temper down. “I want you to imagine what’s going to happen to your beloved mates if you die here, Annabel. Really, truly picture it. The agony they will suffer—the despair. The eternity they will spend down here without you, knowing your soul has been reduced to nothing but a husk for Hel’s use. Who knows? Perhaps they will willingly give up their afterlife and join you in oblivion just to make the pain stop.”
I saw her move her free hand to her chest, but she didn’t respond. Without a word, she continued walking.
“Do they truly matter so little to you?” I asked. “I thought you loved them. Did the Norns make a mistake after all? Or is it that you truly see them as nothing more than a means to an end? Casualties in your arrogant belief that you can stop what has been foretold for eons?”