Now I was confused. “Speak plainly, ice imp.”
Loki chuckled again and shook his head. “Only a true believer can kill their own god.” He turned and gave me a grave stare. “If you went after the Jewish carpenter, you might wound him, but you couldn’t kill him, Northman. You do not believe in him.” He let the words sink in. “Just as one of his followers could not kill me because I am not his god. They had to recruit you deliberately.” He snorted a derisive laugh. “You’re probably one of the last breathing followers that we have in this ‘New World’.”
His head lolled away and for a brief moment I feared he had already passed. I stepped closer and he held a hand up. “I’m not dead yet, Northman.”
When he turned back, a thick, black stream of blood had trickled from the corner of his mouth and made him look less than human in that body.
“I don’t know what sin I might have committed to have the carpenter and his cronies seeking my head, but it was fun while it lasted.” He gave me a weak smile. “I admit, I found it exciting knowing that somebody was trying to kill me.” He glanced down at the bleeding bandages. “Well, it was fun until I discovered that you weren’t the average assassin.”
I inhaled deeply and simply stared at him. Words refused to form in my mind, but I had so much to ask him. I began to wonder, once my soul was returned, would Odin Allfather refuse to grant me entrance to Valhalla since I killed his adopted son? Would Thor forever hunt me for killing his brother? Suddenly these thoughts caused me great anxiety. I was working for a god I didn’t have to answer to. And what did he mean, “if” I got my soul back?
“Explain yourself. Why do you doubt they would return my soul?”
Loki laughed and this time, it was a deep and hearty laugh, causing him to cough violently, blood spraying across his body and the bed. It took him far too long to recover. I knew that his time was nearly done.
“Let me ask you a question, seeker of Valhalla: why would the carpenter have your soul?” He raised a brow at me and I felt my chest tighten again.
“What do you mean?” I said, though I was catching on to his intimation. I could feel panic starting to creep into my veins.
“For a Northman and true believer, you sure are stupid. No wonder our followers switched sides. They were too stupid not to.” He turned away from me, his face painted with disgust.
“Speak plainly!”
He turned back to me and his jaw was set. His teeth clenched either in pain or anger. Or both.
“You FOOL!” His voice sounded strong and for a moment I feared he would alert the guards. “Where do you think–"
His words were interrupted as the room erupted in brick and plaster. A deafening explosion blew the walls out and ripped the ceiling from the room. I was blown back through the bedroom door and crushed against the hallway wall.
I saw a bright light on the other side of the bed near Loki and a giant silhouette stood near, crouched over him. For the briefest of moments I feared that Grigori had come to steal my prize. If the angel destroyed Loki, they could cancel the contract and I would be left with nothing.
I crawled to my feet and picked my sword up from the rubble. I felt it vibrate in my hand again and I pushed off from the wall, launching myself at the traitorous angel.
I remember swinging the sword in a hard downward arc only to have the strike parried and my body thrown back against the hallway wall again. I swear, I thought I heard a bell ringing in my head again. But it wasn’t my head. It was the sword. It still rang in my grip as if it were a great church bell.
“Stand aside!” The voice boomed like thunder and it took a moment for my eyes to focus on the large man standing before me. I knew immediately who he was and I felt small. I felt frightened. I felt…ashamed.
Thor.
“Who dares strike against me or my family?” His voice boomed and echoed inside my head.
I prostrated myself to the floor and didn’t dare look up. I couldn’t even think how to answer him.
“Believe it or not, brother, he is one of our own.” I could hear Loki’s voice and I feared what was surely about to come. “Don’t hold it against him. He was deceived.”
“By whom?” His voiced reverberated through my body like thunder and I knew without a doubt why he was called the God of Thunder. I could feel my bones vibrate with each syllable.
I chanced a glance up and saw the mighty Mjolnir in his hand. It looked just like our ancient depictions portrayed it. My eyes continued up and there he was, in all of his magnificence. I found myself upon my knees, my eyes welling up in awe as I faced my most favored of gods.
“The carpenter and his minions.” Loki coughed again and I heard him groan.
Thor spun on me so quickly that I felt my intestines shift. “Why? How could you?”
My mouth was working again as if it had a mind of its own. “They promised they would return my soul.”
Thor stepped closer and stared at me. “You are a draug?” He sniffed the air and gave me a foul stare. “Draugar,” he stated.
I was crushed. It was bad enough that he had caught me about to kill his brother, but now he looked down upon me as if I were lower than pig shit, which is how I felt.
“I only wanted my soul, sire, so I might arrive intact to your halls…” I didn’t mean for my voice to sound so weak. Especially in his presence.
Thor shook his head. “If you are truly one of ours, then your soul dwells dormant in Valhalla. They could no sooner return it to you than they could remove your curse.”
Chapter 10
I STARED AT him open mouthed. Of course. How stupid of me. No wonder Loki laughed at me. I was one of theirs. How could I begin to believe that this angel of Heaven could return what he never had?
The gears in my head began to spin again. Why go to the trouble? They’d made a contract that they couldn’t hope to uphold their end. Why would they…
I turned and stared at Loki. Thor crouched beside him and lifted his broken body in his massive arms. “Come brother. We shall return to Asgard and they will repair you.”
“That’s a human body.” My voice sounded small in the ruined room.
“Aye. It is. And he is bound to it while on earth. If this body dies, so does he.” Thor stepped to what was left of the veranda. “Once they repair this mortal vehicle, Loki will be whole again. Then we will return the shell to its human and Loki will be dealt with.” He turned and glared at the lesser god in his arms. “Again.”
I opened my mouth to speak but with a flash of light, they were gone.
It took me a moment to realize what all had happened, but the sounds of the approaching and panicked guards snapped me back to attention. I jumped to my feet, ran across the room and leapt over the remains of the railing.
I hit the grass and rolled, darting for the brush and trees that surrounded the estate. I heard gunshots behind me but I was deep in the forested boundary without a single bullet hole to show for it. The sword made short work of any undergrowth or vegetation that stood between me and my escape route, leaving tiny wisps of smoke behind each quick stroke.
MY MIND NEVER stopped replaying the events, trying to uncover Grigori’s agenda. The entire drive to my hotel room left me with more questions than answers.
I packed on autopilot and began the journey back to Boston, my mind still trying to wrap itself around not only the events of the evening but also the possible motivation behind the deception.
I pulled into my driveway and had little to no memory of the drive back. I slid out of the truck and grabbed the bag of weapons. I stood in the entryway to my humble home; I felt my grip tighten on the satchel of weapons.
They had betrayed my trust, took advantage of my one weakness; the one thing no one wants to be without. They gave me shiny angelic weapons and sent me hunting down one of my own gods. I nearly killed him, and…for what? My soul already sat at the table with my forefathers in Valhalla, at least I hoped it hadn’t been booted. Only my body remained here, t
ethered to this rock like a ball and chain.
I felt my teeth grinding and my face felt hot. I knew anger when it struck me, but this was beyond anger. I was seething. I wanted to pluck a certain angel like a goose and roast him over a fire.
I marched into the house and rather than put the angelic weaponry away, I began finding places to tuck them away in my long coat. I had a feeling that very soon I’d be visited by the feathered freak and I wanted to be ready. If I couldn’t have my soul back, I’d relieve Grigori of his own. Well, if angels actually have souls. Or spirits. Or…whatever it is they have inside them. Hell, I’d settle for a set of intestines about now.
I no sooner kicked the duffle away when I heard him clear his throat.
“You failed.”
“You lied.” I turned slowly and the anger that I knew was painted across my features carried no weight with him.
“Your contract is void.” He held the parchment in front of me and ripped it in half.
“It was meaningless to begin with.” I stepped closer, hoping to get within striking distance. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
He raised a questioning brow at me. “We were prepared to hold up our end of the bargain.”
“How could you?” I couldn’t keep the snarl out of my voice. “You never had my soul to begin with.”
He actually scoffed. “I never said it would be your soul. I simply offered you a soul.”
He caught me off guard with that. I took a half step back, my mind spinning. “No. You said–"
“No, you inferred.” Grigori stepped around the coffee table and dropped the parchment pieces on the floor. “I only offered you a soul. I never stated that it was yours.”
“What good would somebody else’s soul do me?” I barked. My hand instinctively reached into my coat and gripped the short sword.
“A soul is a soul; next time read the fine print.” Grigori turned his back to me. I wasn’t sure if he was offering me a chance to strike or he truly didn’t understand just how angry I was. Perhaps he didn’t think I had it in me to slice into one of his kind.
“It doesn’t work that way.” I stepped closer, pulling the sword slightly from its scabbard. “If you had one yourself, you’d know.”
He turned on me and the look painted across his features were nothing but disdain. “Like my kind have any need for the filthy things. We were made perfect to begin with. It was the Master’s plan to create a sniveling, wanting, whining, and flawed creature that needed one!”
He sprung toward me and I fell back, avoiding his attack and drawing the sword in one fluid motion. I swiped the blade upward, feeling it vibrate in my hand as I followed through with the upward arc. Grigori tumbled over me and crashed into the wall next to my front door, blood spraying the walls from the gaping wound I left across his chest and shoulder.
His eyes were wide when he brought his head up to meet my gaze. I was already on my feet and lunged. I felt the sword sink deeply into his upper chest, pinning him to the wall.
He gasped, attempting to inhale for a scream when I twisted the blade and felt the hot spray of his blood splatter across my face.
Yes. I tasted it. And yes, it was much sweeter than the Nephilim; in fact, it was almost too sweet. I gripped him tightly and yanked the sword from his wound, my teeth sinking deeply into his pale, heavenly flesh.
He cried out and beat at my back in what must have been crushing blows, but my teeth only sank deeper and I drank greedily from him.
At the time, I had no thoughts, no intuition, no wonderment in what his pure blood might do to my cursed body. I only fed.
I continued to press him against the wall and harder to the floor, all the while he kicked and pounded at my rigid position. I felt him lurch from the ground momentarily and realized he had extended his wings. It was probably a defensive move, but he had no place to go. He was pinned and being drained by a cursed creature intent on sucking every last drop of life from his writhing form.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t immediately realize when he stopped fighting me. I never noticed when he went limp under me. I didn’t “feel” him depart from his heavenly body. I simply fed. And fed. And fed.
I fed upon his still form until nothing else would come from the gaping wound, a crushed and flattened juice box. I finally came to my feet and stood over him, I had drunk of his supernatural blood and was feeling every drop of it as it coursed through my own veins.
I reached down and gripped him by one of his wings and dragged him to the couch. Images of the Nephilim danced in my mind as I tossed his carcass over the back and let gravity pull what was left of him to the ground where I knelt beside him.
I continued to drink greedily from spots that tended to act as little pockets in a body; I even bit a chunk of chest muscle from him and chewed it, the entire time imagining the steak he had eaten in front of me the first time we met.
When he had nothing left to give, I collapsed against the back of the couch and belched. I was beyond full. I hadn’t drank that much since my first kill; probably not close to this amount.
Well, I realized, I hadn’t eaten since I drained the bags of blood in Florida, fueling my body for the battle against Loki. I stared up at the corpse next to me, its mouth open in a frozen death cry, its eyes wide and staring blankly at nothing. I smirked and slapped the face away from me.
I pulled myself to my feet and stared at his wasted flesh draped partly across my couch. I glanced about and saw the blood spattered along the walls and the puddle on the floor. I had to fight the urge to drop to my knees and lick it up. Although I was as full as I had ever been, I still wanted more. Angelic blood is addictive.
I STOOD OVER the hole I had dug near the same spot that I had practiced with the angelic weapons. It may have seemed overkill but I think I could have buried a horse in the grave I dug. My shovel moved so quickly as I made this hole that I imagined smoke coming from the metal blade.
I pulled his stiffening form from the back of my truck and dragged it to the hole. I crossed his arms over his chest then tugged at the wings and folded them over his body, enveloping him in a feathery cocoon. I considered kicking his jaw shut or perhaps closing his eyes, but shrugged it off. The only reason he was even getting a burial was because I had no idea how I would explain the stench of a rotting angel in my living room. My neighbors weren’t exactly close, but they were close enough.
I covered his body and shoved a makeshift cross into the ground at the head of the grave. If anybody stumbled upon the burial site and excavated, he was their problem, not mine; the authorities would be far more interested in the wings than they would the murderer.
I tossed the shovel back into the truck and pulled away, uncaring that I had just killed and drained a messenger of God. His words echoed in my mind. How his boss saw everything. Knew everything.
Well, good. Maybe he’ll spread the word to the other feathered assholes not to fuck with this Northman.
I drove back to my home and I felt invigorated. Not entirely unlike how I felt when I drained the Nephilim, Orel. Except this was different. This was…for the lack of a better word, pure. I could feel an energy rippling through my body at the cellular level. It was like every tiny bit of my being was being supercharged.
I had an antsy feeling when I stepped from my truck and stared at the front of my house. I felt like I needed to BE somewhere. I just couldn’t explain where. Or why.
I walked to the front door and paused, my hand hovering over the knob. Somebody was in my house. I could sense them. For the briefest of moments, I wanted to know who dared enter my home without permission. I wanted to know their intent. What happened next surprised me. Without thinking, I could “see” inside the dwelling. An image of two large men standing in my living room, their eyes examining the blood splatters and the overturned furniture, the smashed sheetrock by the door appeared in my mind. I knew who they were before ever speaking to them. They were angels. Dammit. I’d known all along I was being watc
hed.
I twisted the knob and shoved the door open. I stepped inside, my hand gripping the sword in my coat. I glanced around the room but it was empty. I could smell…something. Something familiar, but foreign, too.
I walked through the house and nothing was missing. Nobody was inside. Had I imagined it? Or had they done the >Poof!< disappearing act that Grigori used to pull on me?
I paused at the mess in the house and looked where I envisioned they had looked. The blood almost glowed in the low light. I sighed heavily and pulled the bleach from the cabinet. I had cleaning to do.
The entire time I wondered if these two beings were the ones watching me, partners of Grigori. Surely if they were, that means they witnessed the mess I’d made of one of their own. What was to keep one of them from poofing behind me and slicing my throat while I scrubbed Grigori from the walls and floor?
I closed my eyes and tried to sense where they might be. I came up with nothing. Whoever they were, wherever they went, I couldn’t home in on them.
As I scrubbed, I allowed my mind to wander. Orel’s blood allowed me to live in sunlight. Had Grigori’s blood given me the gift of sight? Or had I simply imagined what happened outside the door? I shook my head as the odor of the bleach burned my sinuses. I had smelled them when I came in. I know that somebody had been here. If what I saw was true, then they left the moment I turned the doorknob. Where they went, I could only guess.
But something told me that they’d be back. And probably at a most inopportune time.
IT TOOK LONGER than I had expected, but I removed every trace of Grigori from the house. I even hired a man to repair the wall. It looked as though it had never been touched when he was through.
The last few days had been quiet. No surprise attacks from Grigori’s people wanting revenge for their fallen brother. No dire warnings blazed into my ceiling. No burning bags of dog poop on the front steps. I was actually about to relax a bit and allow myself the chance to believe it was over.
Hunter II Page 9