Married. Wait! What?

by Virginia Nelson

  “Fenris!” I cried.

  In slow motion, he hit the ground, eyes open, body unmoving. His beautiful eyes held mine, and I stumbled toward him. One moment he was twenty feet away, and the next I fell on my knees beside him.

  “Fenris,” I whispered, touching his head, his face, his hands. He wasn’t in his Jötnar form, but his eyes flashed white, broadcasting his attempt to cover himself in it. A flash of pink caught my eye, and I stared at my hand. Blue. Pink. White. Pink. Terrified, I scanned for the twins. I found them, still as statues, staring at Fenris then over my head.

  I followed their gaze and sucked in a breath. Beings, ten feet tall at least and so deep a white they were nearly blue, watched me. Their white eyes held no awareness, no fear, no compassion.

  The elders.

  One of them held Freya before him. His fingers dug into her shoulder, and she winced, easing one shoulder toward the ground as if she could dislodge his grasp.

  “Live or die, human? What do you choose?” His voice was breathy, cracked and tremulous. Old.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  White eyes changed to blue then back to white again. “Your husbands and their mother. Do they live or die?”

  Husbands. Twisting, I glanced behind me. Grim and Raynor tried only to protect me, and had put themselves in danger.

  They grimaced, teeth bared. Lines of pain etched along the corners of their eyes and mouths. As they lay unmoving, white smoke curled from their bodies along the black line of charred flesh visible through their clothing.

  A small quiver of movement when they breathed and a cry thanking some Norse god from Freya left me boneless, collapsing against the snow-covered ground.

  “Live.” I gasped. “I want them to live.”

  “Betha.” The first sound in my name stuttered as Fenris regained control over his voice. Turning my head, I met his eyes and saw the refusal there.

  “Then you die.”

  I didn’t know who spoke, but I did see the icicle, as long as a sapling, fly through the air toward me. A concussive wave left my body as I attempted to block it with my arms. The ice shattered into shards, reflecting back to the elders.

  Lightning struck again, this time behind me and then between me and Fenris. It struck continuously, scorching the ground, melting the snow and leaving huge puddles of mud and muck at each point of impact.

  Inside, the magic I’d only begun to discover was out-of-control. I tried to grasp it and fling it at the elders. I didn’t care if I made a giant snowball, as long as it destroyed those things trying to harm my husbands.

  But it didn’t work like that. The more I searched for it, the farther away my power felt until I finally cried out, “Stop! Take whatever you want, just stop hurting them!”

  Time stopped, and faster than my eye could follow, the elders surrounded me. “You choose to die?”

  Of course I didn’t choose to die. I wanted to live a long and happy life with these men. In the short time we were together, I’d fallen in love with them. With them, I could have had a future I’d never anticipated. Their acceptance of me, and joy in me, were more than I’d ever let myself believe I deserved.

  This world needed more people—men—Jötnar like them.

  “I choose for them to live. Whatever that means,” I finally got out, and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

  But it never came.

  Frigid air blew through me, through my bones, absorbing my magic and pulling it through my skin in a rush of snow and ice. I cried out and heard Fenris, Grim, and Raynor’s answering yell. The wind rushed past my ears, louder than a train until it all stopped.

  And there was nothing.

  12

  Fenris

  Never had I been as angry and helpless. The elders surrounded Betha, who lay unmoving on the melting snow and mud. I could make out one pink hand, but their huge forms, tall and thick, blocked her from view.

  Mor stood a ways off, hands covering her mouth, immobile. The snow turned to rain, plastering her hair to her face. Her eyes were wide, horror-struck, but I couldn’t give her more than a cursory glance.

  Betha was so small compared to them. I raged at my body, unresponsive and weak as it was. Every ounce of power and magic I possessed poured into my muscles, but nothing happened. If I could have screamed, I would have.

  When they touched her, massive bodies bending and lifting, I thought I might explode into a million fragments of ice. Across the landscape, I heard my brothers cry out, but the sound was only in my head.

  Now we had a connection. Now came the ability to communicate across distances.

  Stop them!

  Don't touch her!

  And Raynor’s agonized refusal, No!

  Bright light erupted from their circle in a burst of power that blasted across us, sending my mother tumbling to the ground with a yell. Then the light was gone.

  And they were gone.

  My fingers twitched, then my arm, my toes, my legs, my hips. From the outside in, my body came alive. But inside, I was dead.

  “They took her,” Raynor observed harshly.

  “Move,” I commanded. I didn't know where they went, but I wouldn’t stand around, aching. If there was a chance she was alive, I would find her. We would find her.

  “Let's go!” Grim bounced on his feet, anxiousness giving his body a frenetic energy that changed him from white Jötnar back to human.

  “She’s gone.” Mor’s voice was a whisper across the clearing. Eyes fixed on the smoldering remains of our cabin, she stumbled in the muck. “I'm sorry. She’s gone.”

  Mor was a powerful Jötnar female. She had the vision and foresight we lacked. But I couldn't believe her.

  “No, Mor.” My voice broke. “She's alive.”

  “They sent her back.” Sitting in the melted snow and leaves, her pale face paling further, she apologized, “I'm sorry.”

  “Back to the plane? Back to where?” Kneeling, Grim frantically gripped my mother’s shoulders and shook her. “Mor. Where did they take her?”

  A sad smile touched her lips, and she lifted dirty fingers to Grim's cheeks. “You had to fight for her, but she had to fight for you, too. All Jötnar warriors battle for their skaoi.”

  From the woods, an elder appeared. “Freya.” He held out a hand, palm out, waiting.

  “Good luck, my boys,” Mor whispered, and she and the elder disappeared in a wet, freezing blast of wind.

  Jumping to his feet, Grim sprinted into the forest. The plane. It was the logical first place to start. My magic, so unreachable before, hummed at the surface. I absorbed it, shrouding myself in ice, and used the power coursing in my veins to push myself. Overtaking Grim, and with Raynor on my heels, I returned to the spot of the plane crash, only to slam to a halt.

  The plane was gone.

  In its place was a large depression in the earth, surrounded by broken tree limbs and small pieces of metal and glass. But the plane? Gone.

  “No,” Raynor gasped. His hands went to his head, grabbing hunks of hair. “No!”

  My thoughts spun. Mor said they took her back. Back.

  “Where did she come from? Why don’t we have a map?” Grim cried.

  “Boston,” Raynor cut in, barely above a whisper. “She’s from Boston.”

  “Boston is huge,” Grim replied in disbelief.

  “We don't know her last name,” Raynor went on.

  It didn’t matter though. I had a place. I had a first name. I would find her. Deep inside me was the connection that had formed when Mor bound us. Like a spider, I pulled on it, waiting to feel an answering tug when I reached the end of the line. Closing my eyes, I focused all my energy on Betha, on finding her. On and on the web stretched, across distances I’d never traveled, until finally I found it.

  It was moving even farther away, but it was there.

  “We’ll find her,” Grim said, voice stronger now. “Find her, get a piece of land far away, and set out.”

&nbs
p; “The elders?” Raynor asked. “What do we do about them?”

  “Kill them,” I answered.

  Grim barked out a humorless laugh. “Oh, good idea, brother. We fared so well only moments ago. I’d like to repeat the experience.”

  “We train,” I replied.

  “Betha…” Raynor reminded us.

  “She is safer far away. Where would we bring her? Would we stay with her in a human city, where the people are packed together, one on top of each other?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t mind being on top of Betha,” Grim muttered, but I ignored him.

  “We must do this so she has a safe place to return to. She is ours, but we are hers. She loves us and won’t forget us.”

  Our love was real, and it was strong. We’d be together. But first, my brothers and I had a battle to win.

  13

  Betha

  There was no gentle nudge into consciousness, not for me. The last thing I remembered was lightning bolts and ice spears. Panicked, I attempted to block whatever weapon was aiming to kill me.

  “Whoa! Calm down! You’re alive. You’re fine!”

  “No!” I cried out, slapping and smacking at the hands attempting to hold me in place. “No!”

  “Betha, you’re in the hospital. You’re safe.” Eventually, the deep, even tones made their way to my brain, and I opened my eyes and gasped.

  “Ottawa.”

  “Ottawa?”

  “In Canada,” the nurse went on. “You’ve been here for twenty-four hours. We’re getting ready to transfer you to Boston.”

  “Transfer?” I asked. Apparently, all I could do now was repeat words. “I don’t want to go to Boston. I want to go back—” Go back where?

  “Am I alone? Is there anyone else with me?” Were my husbands here?

  “You mean the pilot?” The nurse shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. He was killed in the crash. You’re something of a celebrity now. Out in the wild for seventy-two hours. Nearly frozen solid. But you’re fine now.”

  Seventy-two hours. Was that it? It felt like a lifetime. I met three men—three men who turned into giants and married me. Well. If I was going to be technical, Freya married me to the giants—but wait. Hold up.

  “How hard did I hit my head?” I touched my forehead, running my fingers along my skin and down to my ear.

  “Hard enough to be unconscious when we found you until now.” The door opened and she peeked over her shoulder. “Oh good. The doctor’s here. She can answer your questions.”

  Stepping to the side to make room, a small woman with dark hair introduced herself. “I’m Dr. Lamonte. Let’s take a look at you.”

  Words and questions stuck in my throat. I did as she asked, turned my head to the side, followed the small light she shone into my eyes. Answered questions about the year, my name, birthday. All the things I should.

  Until she asked me what I remembered.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. I moved my arm tentatively; it was a little sore but not bad. I examined my hands, looking for cuts, bruises, broken nails. Anything.

  “Short-term memory loss is not uncommon,” she soothed. “You may not ever remember details of the crash or what happened. You had a severe concussion and brain swelling.”

  “Brain swelling?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Lamonte replied. “You’re lucky to be alive. Stranded out in the cold. Wrapped around that camera there. Even unconscious, you didn’t want to let it go. You had it twisted around your chest and arm.”

  My camera. Swallowing hard, I stared at the black bag she pointed to. I hadn’t thought of it after Grim and Raynor brought me to the cabin, and I always thought of it. Always kept it with me.

  “You found me in the plane?”

  The doctor nodded. “Yes. Do you remember anything?”

  Slowly, I shook my head, a small ache beginning behind my eyes. “I thought… I saw…”

  Lifting one smooth eyebrow, Dr. Lamonte waited. “It’s not uncommon for hallucinations to occur when your brain or spinal cord have become inflamed. Not to mention the lack of food and water. You may never know how you survived that time, but the important thing is—you survived. Your family and friends are waiting for you. Your employer is even sending the medivac to bring you home.”

  “Home.” I was back to repeating. It was all in my head. A hallucination born out of starvation and dehydration and hitting my head falling from the fucking sky. There was no Grim, or Raynor, or Fenris. I’d made them up.

  They were never real.

  Chest hurting, I pressed the heel of my hand against it, rubbing roughly. My throat tightened, and I took a deep breath. I couldn’t cry over people who never existed. I couldn’t mourn something that had never happened.

  Oh God. But it felt real. It hurt like it was real.

  Dr. Lamonte’s eyes caught mine, and I fought for control.

  “Emotional dysregulation is common after a brain injury, Betha. Please don’t be embarrassed.”

  I nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “When do I leave?”

  “Soon as the helicopter lands. There’ll be a doctor on board.”

  “Okay,” I whispered, sinking back into the pillow. “Thanks.”

  “Take a nap,” the doctor directed. “Let your body heal.”

  “Okay,” I repeated, closing my eyes. But it wasn’t my body that needed to heal. It was my heart.

  Days passed in a blur. I went home, was admitted to Brigham and Women’s Hospital, met my parents as they wheeled me into my room, let my mother pray over me, and generally imitated a slug.

  Jeb turned up at my bedside with a cameraman, taking photos of me while I grimaced and gave a thumbs-up. I was alive. No thanks to him and his cut-rate puddle jumper. There wasn’t much wrong with me, except for having made up three husbands who turned into giants, so there was no reason for me to take up a bed.

  I was released from the hospital and went back to my parents’. My apartment had never been more than a way station between assignments, and I didn’t care enough to fight with Ma or Dad about where I should sleep.

  That was how I found myself in my old twin bed every night, rehashing details of events that never happened. I lingered over faces which never existed and encounters I’d never had.

  I was like Dorothy returned from Oz, alone and having lived through an adventure no one else could understand.

  “You’re very mopey,” Ma observed when I joined her and Dad at dinner.

  “I’m healing,” I answered.

  “You’re a solid girl, Betha.” Stabbing a fork in my direction, her gaze took in my oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. These weren’t my clothes. They were Dad’s, and the truth was, they weren’t that roomy. “I’m sure you’re fine by now. Your dad and I were discussing it, and it’s time for you to move back into your apartment. Jeb is calling every day—”

  “Which you’d know if you answered the phone,” Dad mumbled.

  “I’m tired. I need my sleep.” Sleep was the place where my fantasies were the clearest. It got harder and harder to wake up. Their faces were fresh in my mind. Daytime meant the end of fantasies, and the knowledge that I’d made them up.

  “You need a job,” Dad reiterated. “To pay your rent.”

  “You know what? If you want me to go so bad, why don’t I just leave now?” I retorted, not believing they actually wanted me to leave. They wanted to light a fire under my ass, fine. Admittedly, I had been down, and I’d been here a week, mostly asleep. Certainly not any help.

  “Finish eating,” my mother commanded, pointing a fork at the stringy beef sitting in slowly congealing gravy on my plate.

  I sat. Bluff called.

  “You can leave after dinner.”

  14

  Raynor

  A month had passed, and Betha was finally within reach. We’d done as we’d set out to do: trained tirelessly to challenge the elders.

  When we’d finally arrived, ready to both rescue our mother and go to war, we’d been
sabotaged.

  Entering the village, clad in armor and ice, we’d met the elders. The first elder dropped his form, something I’d never seen, stepping forward in furs and leathers, sword and shield clattering to the ground. The second elder followed, until all ten stood, vulnerable, faces grinning and eyes dancing.

  It could have well been a trap; I’d seen how fast the elders moved. One misstep from us could equal death.

  Fenris had attacked first, swiping the magical broadsword at their exposed skin. They’d shielded themselves in ice, but merely blocked his advances.

  Grim added his magic to the fray, but they blocked his as well, and then, mine.

  We’d trained as a unit, and we moved as one. Relentlessly, we attacked, only breaking to allow one of us at a time a second to breathe before redoubling our efforts.

  “Enough.” Mor’s voice carried over the cacophony. “Boys. Enough.”

  Her voice made me stumble, but Grim was there, stepping in where I allowed myself to be vulnerable. “Mor!” he cried, charging toward her.

  None of us had realized then what was happening. Mor had stopped him with a wave of her hand. “Boys. I’m fine.”

  Panting, Fenris had approached, protecting Grim’s back.

  “Fenris,” she spoke quickly, as if she could tell how tightly wound my brothers and I were, “we wanted you to come here. It was a test of your resolve. No skaoi is won without a battle. A battle you fought, and continue to fight. But it’s over. You’ve won.”

  “A trick.” Grim’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “What have they done to you?”

  Mor had lashed out with a gust of wind so strong Grim rocked back on his heels. “Nothing. Stop being hard headed and listen. Betha is yours now. She fought for you, and will add her strength to yours. You’ve won her. Go to her. Bring her home. She’ll be welcomed to the Jötnar with open arms.”

  It had taken hours of discussion and proof from both the elders and our mother that we weren’t being misled. Eventually, we had come to believe them, and with our mother’s blessing, and her promise to oversee the building of a home for return Betha to, we’d left.