Frozen

by Meljean Brook

  But even though it reminded me of that Erik, there was a difference now, too—a warmth that hadn’t been there a year and a half ago. Before, he’d made me laugh, but this was more personal. As if he knew my sense of humor well enough now that he felt comfortable teasing me—not just making some general, funny remark as he had before. As if he’d learned that much about me in the past eighteen months, even though we hadn’t talked about anything except different construction projects. Maybe Erik hadn’t been able to stop himself from paying attention to me any more than I’d been able to stop noticing him.

  Hearing him tease me now made me wonder what might have been, if the curse hadn’t screwed everything up. If he hadn’t tried to protect me by staying away.

  Then again, maybe the curse was the only reason he’d paid attention in the first place.

  Erik’s smile faded. “What is it?”

  Nothing. Just a burning ache in my throat and a hollow pain in my chest. “I hate this curse,” I said.

  Darkness moved across his expression. “Not as much as I do.”

  Maybe not. It had to be close, though.

  But I only nodded, because there was little else to do. And this conversation was veering toward ‘dwelling on things we couldn’t change.’

  “Why don’t you take me to the kitchen, then?” I picked up my bag from the sofa. “And show me where you keep the knives, just in case I need to stab the Hounds.”

  His eyes paled. “You won’t need to. I’ll never let them get to you.”

  God. Every time I suggested that the Hounds might, it was like watching some deadly, powerful warrior come to life within him—one who was determined to protect me. That wasn’t the curse at all, I realized. That was Erik. He’d been trying to protect me for more than a year, beginning the night he’d kissed me. But now his control was thin and I was seeing what he usually hid.

  If Erik’s nature was to protect me and the Ironwood witch’s curse forced him to hurt me, then that only made the curse so much worse—forcing him to fight against himself instead of focusing on the Hound. It probably hadn’t been so awful for his ancestors. What would they have cared if they fucked some random woman? A thousand years ago, many men believed that was all women were good for, anyway. Some still did. But not Erik. That was one of the things I’d liked about him from the very start. He hadn’t dismissed me just because I was female.

  But his need to protect me from himself and the need to protect me from the Hounds couldn’t co-exist. Not as he’d decided they would.

  “How are you going to stop them if I’ve shot you?”

  Erik stilled, staring down at me. A battle seemed to wage through him, his jaw flexing as if he kept preventing himself from saying what he wanted to. I could almost feel his need to reassure me again, to declare that the Hounds would never touch me…but he couldn’t promise that, because he wanted me to promise to kill him if we couldn’t get out of here.

  “The house will stop them,” he finally said and took my hand, leading me toward a short hallway. His fingers burned against mine. I barely had a moment to savor the touch before he pulled his hand away and shoved his fists into his pockets. “But if it doesn’t, you only need your gun. Shoot them as you would me.”

  I wasn’t going to shoot Erik. But I might shoot the Hounds. “Why didn’t you ask for my gun and shoot them all when we first saw them?”

  “Because it wouldn’t have done anything. It’s always the same. A Hound can only tear out my throat and rip off my head. I can only kill one with a spear and by ripping his jaws open.”

  Sickness roiled in my gut. Ripping his jaws open. Erik had done that only a few minutes ago.

  I tried not to imagine it—and was suddenly glad that the sheet of ice and the blizzard had saved me from seeing it. “But I can shoot a Hound in the head? Just like your uncle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you ask me to shoot them?”

  Erik stopped suddenly. A frown darkened his face. “I don’t know. I never even considered it.”

  That wasn’t like him. Coming up with solutions to problems was part of what Erik did—and he was usually very good at it. This would have all been over now if he had asked me to shoot the Hounds. I could have taken his truck and ran. Yet he hadn’t even thought of that?

  “You’re not slow, Erik.”

  “No. But I could only think of getting you into the house. Of protecting you.” His voice roughened. “Of how you’ll taste.”

  My breath stopped.

  Erik’s eyes closed as if in dismay. “Jesus. I didn’t intend to say—” His jaw clenched. “Forgive me, Olivia.”

  So telling me he wanted to taste me had just slipped out. That wasn’t like him, either. Apparently it wasn’t just his body that he had trouble controlling, but his thoughts, too.

  Erik must hate that. But the Hounds must love it. “That’s how the curse works, isn’t it?” He wasn’t really weakened. Just distracted. So focused on me that the Hounds could come up behind him.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, when you get to the point where your brain is stuck between you legs, let me do the thinking.”

  A short laugh broke from him. “We might have a better shot of getting through this if you do.”

  “We will get through this. And it makes sense that you didn’t have me shoot him,” I said. “You went into default mode. You’re the guy who is supposed to battle the Hounds, and the men in your family have for a thousand years, so it never occurred to you to ask me for any help. The house is here, it was built to protect anyone threatened by the Hounds, so it was the first and only route of action you considered. Your family planned for this, so you automatically followed that plan.”

  With his mouth flattened into a tight line, Erik nodded.

  Pissed off at himself, not at me.

  “Don’t beat yourself up too much,” I told him. “Even if you had asked me when we first saw them, I don’t know if I would have shot one. And definitely not in the head. I’d have gone for a leg—or a body hit, if that didn’t stop them.”

  But it wouldn’t have.

  “Don’t beat myself up. Right.” Erik suddenly stopped, looking down at me. His voice was rough. “I always dreaded meeting the woman who would trigger the curse. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. For both of us.”

  So I was the worst thing to ever happen to him. But Erik wasn’t the worst that ever happened to me. Killing him would be.

  I couldn’t answer, though. His words had reached in and ripped apart something in my chest, and I couldn’t breathe.

  “But I still wondered what sort of woman she’d be.” He spoke more softly now. “And you are incredible, Olivia. Searching for a fix. Trying so hard. And so brave in the face of all this. If I have to die, I’m glad it’s for you.”

  The breath that had been locked in my chest shuddered free. “You’re not going to die.”

  “I’ll fight the curse, Olivia, but even if we manage to get you out of here, you have to be prepared—”

  “Don’t say it.” I couldn’t bear to hear again that I would have to shoot him.

  His eyes closed. Jaw tight, he stood motionless for a long minute. Regaining control or fighting something else within him, I didn’t know.

  Finally he looked at me again, his eyes like hot ice. “I’m going upstairs to change. Then I’ll feed you. Just wait for me in the kitchen. I’ll show you the house afterward.”

  Silently, I nodded. My gaze followed his powerful stride as he turned toward the stairs and took three at a time. Wait for him.

  No problem. I’d wait for him a lot longer than he probably realized.

  Chapter Six

  So I was finally getting my dinner with Erik. When I’d called him up eight months ago and asked him out, this wasn’t really how I’d pictured it going. It was after midnight, and in the past twelve hours I’d only had half a protein bar; my hunger had returned with a growling vengeance, but anxiety held my throat so tight that
I didn’t know how I’d choke down a single bite. All the while, the curse would be hanging over our heads, a dead Hound lay outside somewhere, and two more were waiting to kill us.

  And Erik and I would be…what? Trying to chat while we ate? I couldn’t imagine how that would go, either.

  But this wasn’t a date. I couldn’t let myself think of it like that. We were essentially in the middle of a siege. So we were just fueling up, preparing for battle. Literally, in Erik’s case.

  Unfortunately, pizza delivery wasn’t an option this time. I didn’t intend to make Erik cook for me, though—especially while laboring under a curse. I could at least get started while he changed clothes.

  He was quicker than I anticipated. I’d only gotten as far as hanging my vest over the back of a barstool when he returned wearing a clean black t-shirt and jeans, his hair wet from the shower. He must not have spent much time drying off. Damp, the shirt clung to him as tightly as I wanted to.

  But this wasn’t a date. I pushed up my sleeves. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing. You’ll sit. I’ll feed you.”

  “I can help—”

  His pale gaze caught mine. “Olivia.” My name emerged on a growl, his voice tense and raw. “Let me take care of you.”

  God, the way he looked at me. His eyes burned with intensity, as if his need to feed me was as urgent as his need to protect me. As urgent as his need to fuck me.

  Heart pounding, I nodded.

  Erik turned away without a word, his shoulders rigid. Regaining his control again.

  When some of the blue faded from his skin, I eased onto the stool. The knife I’d dropped earlier lay in front of me. Erik’s blood stained the serrated edge.

  I slid it across the countertop toward him. “You’re going to use a different knife to chop stuff, right?”

  A smile softened the hard lines of his mouth. “Right.”

  With a flick of his wrist, Erik tossed the knife into the sink and crossed to the built-in refrigerator—and suddenly, I didn’t mind being relegated to the barstool. Not just because he was gorgeous, though that didn’t hurt. I didn’t even pretend to avert my gaze when he bent to slide open the freezer drawer and rummage around inside. Every single fantasy I had for the rest of my life would probably begin with Erik pulling steaks out of the fridge in his bare feet, a tight black t-shirt, and jeans that rode low on his hips.

  I’d never gotten a chance to simply watch him; I’d always been working or trying not to look. And I’d never seen him at his own house. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me that he seemed exactly the same here as in the office and on the job, where he always put every project in order before allowing anyone to dig a single shovelful of dirt. He approached cooking the same way. Every item he needed came out of the refrigerator and cupboards and was lined up on the counter, ready for use—a baguette, olive oil, smoked salmon, the steaks, and vegetables that I assumed would be tossed into a salad. Everything lay in order before he picked up a knife.

  But I didn’t just enjoy watching Erik because of the way he prepared for work. It was him, and how he filled the space he worked in, along with his easy way of moving that said he knew exactly what he was doing. On the job, that trait made people automatically look to him for answers and leadership; it was one of the first things that had attracted me to him. Now that same casual confidence was on display again. Of course he was at home here—but his familiarity with the kitchen told me that it wasn’t just a space in his house. He knew exactly how to put it to use. And it would be so easy to sit like this for hours, watching him do exactly that.

  It would be so easy to sit like this for a lifetime.

  My chest tightened. I shouldn’t start thinking of lifetimes and forever. Not with Erik. We’d both make it through the next few nights. We had to. But after the solstice, everything between us might go back to the way it had been before: with Erik glacial, and with me trying to forget him. He hadn’t given me any reason to believe that it wouldn’t.

  Except…we couldn’t return to how we’d been before. Because he’d left the firm. I wasn’t going back to work, either. Not after John Gulbrandr sent me here to be raped. It didn’t matter that I wanted Erik, and that if it came down to a choice between shooting him or having sex, I’d welcome a frost giant into my bed. His father couldn’t have known that.

  So after tonight, we’d have no connection at all. Not the firm, not a project. Only the curse. One night of fucking, once a year.

  But I knew Erik would sever that connection, as well. Or at least try to control it and prevent himself from coming after me. He’d figure out a way to do it, too—no matter what it took. He wouldn’t let something like this happen again.

  I just hoped to God that this time next year I wouldn’t be sitting around like a lovesick idiot, waiting for a frost giant to knock down my front door.

  Jesus. Forget next year. I was sitting around like a lovesick idiot now. He stood at the stovetop grill toasting thin slices of baguette, and instead of trying to find out more about the curse, I was admiring the impressive breadth of his shoulders.

  I needed to get my head on straight. “You said your dad wasn’t affected by the curse. Did he have to fight a Hound, too?”

  Erik glanced at me, then his attention returned to the grill and he flicked the little pieces of toast onto a plate. “He defeated one about thirty years ago.”

  When Erik had been five years old. “Did you see it happen?”

  “Yes.” His voice flattened. “He came during the summer. We were outside. It was quick.”

  And bloody, I imagined. But Erik didn’t describe it and I wasn’t going to ask. Instead I thought over the timeline while he worked at the other counter. “Is it a generational thing? Son versus son?”

  “Technically. But some of my ancestors have faced two or three in their lifetimes.”

  “For the same reason that you are—because the others come to avenge their fathers or brothers?” I asked, and Erik nodded. “Does the eldest-son bit apply to your family, too? If you had a younger brother, would he have to worry about the curse?”

  “He would if I died before fathering a son. Then my brother would be the eldest.”

  Just the suggestion made my chest ache. But Erik wasn’t going to die. This was all just hypothetical. “But you don’t have a brother or son.”

  “No. So if I die, the curse jumps to a cousin’s line. It’s happened before. The Gulbrandrs are sons of Odin’s sons, but not everyone has been the son of an eldest son. That uncle who was shot in the head—he was an eldest. Then the curse jumped to my line.”

  “So there really is no end to the feud. It just leaps to another branch on the family tree.”

  “Until Ragnarök.”

  Hopefully that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. “So your sons will have to fight a Hound, too. At least the oldest one will.”

  “Yes. And I’ll train them as my father did me—to protect them as best I can.” His shoulders stiffened. “But I sure as hell wouldn’t do everything the same way.”

  “Like sending me here?” And refusing to shatter his bones again.

  “Yes. And if my son begged me to help protect a woman that he—” Abruptly, Erik shook his head, cutting himself off. Body rigid, he stood utterly still, and his deep, ragged inhalations filled the tense silence. When he spoke again, the bleak pain in his voice twisted my heart into a knot. “I’d do it for him. But it doesn’t matter. I won’t be having a son. When I come after you, you’ll have to stop me, and my line will end.”

  No, it wouldn’t. But I couldn’t get a word past the lump in my throat, and I was suddenly glad Erik faced the other way. This was all hypothetical. I shouldn’t have been fighting tears. Thankfully, he didn’t seem in a hurry to turn around, and after a few seconds I managed to gather myself together again.

  But no more hypotheticals. At least none that included any scenario in which Erik died. “You said your family usually wins. So why aren’t the H
ounds wiped out by now? At some point, there just aren’t any more branches in the tree.”

  “You’d think so.” Erik glanced back, his pale eyes unreadable. “But the Moon Hound’s sons generate a lot of twigs. They’re born in litters of ten.”

  I sputtered. Litters? God. So awful, yet so funny to imagine. “Are you serious?”

  “No. I needed to see you laugh.” He slid a plate in front of me. “This should hold you until the rest is ready.”

  I glanced down. Five crostini formed a flower on the plate, each petal topped by a near-translucent slice of smoked salmon. Disbelief parted my lips. “You just made this?”

  But I knew he had. I’d ogled his perfect ass while he’d done it.

  “I did,” he confirmed. “I put it together, anyway. I had most of it ready.”

  “It’s so pretty.” A dollop of thick, herbed yogurt lay beneath the salmon. I spied the container on the counter—not store-bought, but something he’d mixed up. I touched my fingertip to it and tasted. Lemon and dill. Absolutely delicious. I hesitated before pulling the plate closer and digging in. “Are we sharing?”

  He shook his head. “I had a man-sized version for lunch.”

  Man-sized? I questioned that with a lift of my brows, because my mouth was already full and my taste buds were dying a happy little death.

  “A hunk of bread, a chunk of salmon. Nothing so dainty.” His diamond gaze settled on my lips. “All right?”

  I nodded—but the truth was, I didn’t know. When he looked at me like that, I didn’t taste anything at all. I could only see his wide, firm lips. I could only remember the slick heat of our kiss. God, I wanted him. I wanted him to come across the counter and fill me up, to ease the desperate hunger that would never be satisfied by food.