by Lauren Dawes
But what could entice the dark elf away? What would hold his interest more than Bryn, even if only for a second?
He turned to leave, but paused when he heard a familiar voice coming from behind him. Over his shoulder, he saw Korvain in an altercation with another male. There was a small scuffle and the dark elf started stalking behind the other man.
“Korvain!” a woman pleaded. “Please.”
“I’ll speak to you later, Taer.”
Loki watched the dynamic between the trio with great interest. They passed right by him and he ghosted behind the pair, following them down the stairs. Down on the first level, he let them get lost in the crowd just as Geri and Freki met him.
“What did you find?”
Freki shrugged. “We couldn’t gain access.”
“But we did overhear a conversation.”
Loki ground his teeth. “A conversation? How is a conversation going to get me what I need?”
“It was about you … well, about Thor really.”
Loki’s interest was piqued. “Yes?”
Geri said, “They know you’re still alive. Bryn was speaking to one of her security guards about it.”
Of course. Thor’s death had been reported, Loki’s message to Odin had been seen and now all of his enemies knew he was coming for them. “Good. They’ll be afraid.”
“But won’t they be extra vigilant now?”
“I don’t—” Loki paused as his gaze settled on someone standing at the door, speaking to the female who usually guarded the club. Both Geri and Freki turned to look at who he was staring at.
“Who is that?” Geri asked.
Loki bared his teeth. Rhys, the Mare who wouldn’t ever leave Galen’s side, was here. He must have found out his best friend was dead and that Loki had been responsible. He had no doubt the light elf was now out for his blood. “Another problem I don’t have time for.”
Chapter 11
Midgard – 806 AD
It had been six winters since Tove had been forbidden to practice sword fighting. She was now sixteen, and, according to her father, almost ready to wed. She had grown from a gangly child into a young woman. More and more people commented on how much she looked like her mother, and Tove loved hearing their kind words and their memories of her. She’d also learned to read the colors she saw around people. According to the priest, Tove had the ability to read people’s intentions and feelings by interpreting those colors.
“Sorry I’m late,” Soren said, hiking up the last bit of the slope. Tove had been waiting for him just outside the village in the same small grove they had been meeting at for six years. Soren had grown too. His broad shoulders and strong back had not escaped Tove’s notice, and just recently her stomach started to do this strange flip-flop whenever she saw him. She blushed as he leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek – something he’d always done – but now it seemed as if it meant more than just a greeting.
“It’s fine,” Tove replied, picking up the sword she had propped against a nearby tree. “Are you ready to practice?”
Soren placed his hand on hers, bringing her to stop. He stared at her for a moment before looking away. “I thought we could have a day off from fighting.”
Tove frowned. Soren’s aura, which was normally blue, was changing to a dark gray. “Okay,” she said. “What do you want to do instead?”
“Can we sit down and talk?” His tone was unsure. Tove swept her skirts up and sat, waiting for him to sit beside her. Soren lowered himself down and took her hand. She stared at their entwined fingers, trying to calm her racing heart.
“Tove, you know how I feel about you, right?” Soren asked, staring into her eyes. Hiding beneath a fall of his dark hair, his brown eyes were serious.
She gave him a small smile. “Like I’m your sister,” she replied. “Just as I love you like a brother.”
He shook his head. “No … I mean yes, I mean …” He sighed. Twisting his body toward her, he reached out and pushed some of the hair back from her face. “I do love you, but not like a sister.”
Tove’s heart was in her throat now. “What are you trying to say, Soren?” she asked, her whole body trembling.
He blew out a breath, his eyes switching back and forth as he searched her face. Then, very slowly, he leaned forward, his mouth pressing to hers. His lips were warm against hers, and when his tongue swept into her mouth, a thrill went through her entire body. Her hands found their way into his hair, and his went around her waist. He lowered her to the soft grass beneath them, deepening their kiss. His hands explored her body, gliding up her ribcage to the underside of her breasts. The ill-fitting dress provided no barriers, and for that she was happy.
Soren’s large hand cupped one of her breasts over the fabric of her dress, massaging and kneading it. It was unlike any sensation she’d ever felt before, but she found she liked it very much. Her legs fell open, allowing Soren’s hips to fall and fit against hers perfectly. She felt his hard body pressing against her, and she wanted more.
Tove let her hands trail over his shoulders and arms, feeling his muscles bunch and relax. She’d longed to touch him in this way, but had always been afraid that he wouldn’t welcome such contact. Her head fell back, allowing Soren’s mouth to trail over her neck and throat. His tongue darted out and tasted her skin and her breathing was too loud, even to her own ears.
Soren pulled away, licking his lips and touching her face with his fingertips. “I have wanted to kiss you for so very long, Tove,” he said, his voice hoarse. Surging his hips forward, he added, “I have also wanted to have your body pinned beneath mine for so very long.”
Tove felt the blush return at hearing his words. “Me, too,” she replied. Her hands skimmed over his chest, feeling the coarse hairs through his shirt.
Soren’s expression grew serious. “I love you, Tove, and I want you to be my wife.” He kissed each eyelid and then her nose. “Please say yes.” He dropped a kiss on each cheek and then onto her mouth. “Say you’ll be mine.”
Tove couldn’t believe how happy he’d just made her. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I’ll be your wife.”
Soren’s smile was both fierce and triumphant. He kissed her again and lifted himself off her.
“Where are you going?”
Holding out his hand to her, he said, “We have to go and tell my parents, and your father.”
They returned to the village and ten minutes later they were standing in front of Soren’s parents.
“Oh, that’s wonderful news,” Gaia said. She pulled Tove from Soren’s arms and wrapped her own around her. “I’m so happy for you both,” she whispered into Tove’s ear.
Tove squeezed Gaia a little harder, so joyful she felt she would break apart.
“What has your father said, Tove?” Reiner asked.
“We haven’t asked him yet,” Soren replied.
“He will be just as happy as we are,” Gaia said. “Go on now.”
They left Soren’s home, walking through the village hand in hand, showing everyone they were now together. “What do you think your father will say?”
Tove was giddy. “My father loves you!” she exclaimed. “He will agree to this, I’m sure of it.”
Climbing the steps into the hall, Tove led Soren inside. Her father was on the dais, listening to the problems of yet another farmer.
“My lord, my neighbor is stealing my pigs,” the farmer said. “I had seven not one week ago, and now only five remain.”
Halvdan looked grim … and a little distracted. He waved away the servant who was trying to refill his cup before saying, “It is summer. The wolves are starting to come into the villages, drawn by animal bones.”
“Yes, my lord, but—” The farmer tried to explain further, but Tove’s father cut him off.
“I must see proof that your neighbor is taking your animals. Until then, there is nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”
The farmer nodded in defeat and left the room, walking past
Tove and Soren. When Tove looked up, her father was looking at her … and at their joined hands. Halvdan stood up and came toward them.
“Tove, what is the meaning of this?”
Soren squeezed her hand and stepped forward. “My lord, I am here to ask to marry your daughter.”
Halvdan narrowed his eyes at Tove. “Has he made you an offer already?” he demanded in a hard voice.
Tove nodded. “He has. And I have accepted.”
Her father’s eyes clouded with rage, his lips twisting into a terrible snarl. “I forbid the union.” Reaching out, he took Tove’s arm and pulled her away from Soren. Tears instantly formed in her eyes.
“But why?” she asked, brushing the tears away. She didn’t want to cry in front of her father. She didn’t want to look weak.
“You are promised to another.” His reply was curt and cold.
“Who?” Soren demanded.
“Floki Dalgaard.”
Tove’s stomach fell. Floki was the son of a chieftain in the neighboring village. For years, the relationship between her father and his had been strained. It was obvious that her father thought their union would be a way to stabilize the uncertain future they currently had. Floki was at least five years older than her. He was a sniveling weasel, a man without honor and without reputation. She couldn’t believe her father would truly want her to marry him.
“Please, father, not him,” she begged. Gripping Soren’s hand again, she stood beside him, presenting a united front. “Soren and I love each other. We’ll be happy together. Why can’t I marry the man I love rather than the one I loathe?”
Halvdan’s shoulders stiffened and he refused to look at her. “It’s already been decided and agreed upon. Your consent is not required.”
Soren squeezed her hand gently, supporting her silently. Glancing at him, she sucked in a breath. “When am I to marry him?” she asked, not because she was accepting the ruling, but because she needed to know how much time she had to change his mind and prove what a bad match they would be. She would rather die than have to lie with Floki and bear his children.
“At the change of season,” her father replied, still not meeting her eye.
Summer was almost over. The change of season could only be a few weeks away. “And if I refuse?” Tove asked.
Turning away, Halvdan walked toward his chair. “I’m sorry, Tove, but it’s done and there’s nothing you can do to change it now.”
Chapter 12
Boston
Rhys had faded to Boston straight after talking to Odin. His beast was feeding on his anger, making him feel as if he was losing control – something he guarded and coveted the most. He was walking a razor’s edge of sanity, and the balance could be tipped at any point.
Out, his beast snarled inside his head. Rhys shut his eyes as he tried to silence the voice. If he didn’t get a handle on his rage, he would have to let it out. And without Galen there to act as a buffer, it would end in disaster. The last time Rhys had given up control, it had resulted in deaths on an epic scale. He simply wasn’t ready to let the animal have him. It could be days before the bloodlust wore off, and he needed all the time he could get.
Stupidly though, he had let his lust for revenge consume him. He had left to find Galen’s killer without even thinking about asking Odin for more information. He had no idea where to start looking, so he was walking the streets of Boston. As he looked around, he could see … no, he could sense a lot of the other beings of the Nine Worlds walking around, mingling with the humans. They all seemed to know where they were going, and it being a Friday night, he could only assume they were going out to socialize.
Following a group of light elves, Rhys ended up standing in front of a building which the humans seemed to ignore completely. He eyed it carefully, looking for something that would identify it further, other than just being a place for the gods and goddesses.
Reaching out his hand, he breached the magic that kept the building hidden from the humans and stepped inside. One moment he was standing on a Boston street, and the next it felt as if he was standing in an armory housing weapons from the past. He stared at the elven shields hanging beside dwarf-made helmets and suits of armor. It had been too many years since he’d seen anything like it.
Rhys forced his eyes to take in the room. Directly ahead of him was a U-shaped bar where a number of elves and giants were standing. He approached the solid slab of ash wood and looked over the edge. There was a dwarf pulling beers. When he felt Rhys’s eyes on him, he looked up.
“What?” he demanded, his top lip curling back from black teeth.
Rhys instantly liked the guy. “I’m looking for someone,” he said, leaning on his forearms.
“How is that my problem?”
“The All-Father, have you seen him?”
The dwarf slammed the beer he was pulling onto the bar top and glared at Rhys. “Why would Odin come in here?” he snapped in reply.
Rhys shrugged. “That’s why I’m asking. Have you seen him?”
The dwarf eyeballed Rhys for another few seconds before calling out to someone.
“What is it, Alistair?” a second dwarf asked when he arrived at the bar.
Alistair stopped glaring at Rhys long enough to turn to the other guy. “The light elf wants to know if Odin has been around here.”
“Why would he show up here?” the dwarf replied incredulously.
Alistair turned back to Rhys with a what the fuck did I just tell you look on his face. “Penn says he hasn’t been here.”
Rhys let his gaze slide to Penn. “Any idea where I can find him?”
The dwarves shared a look. “Try the Eye.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s on Tremont. Valkyries run the joint.”
Rhys nodded his thanks and stalked from the bar. With a thought, he was walking down Tremont Street. He passed by a dozen clubs, but none were called the Eye. For a brief second he wondered if the Valkyries had used a different kind of magic from that of the dwarves – magic that hid the location even from him. It was only a few minutes later that he came across a line of people waiting to enter a club. The line had snaked around the corner, and it was filled with Aesireans and elves, along with humans. Walking along its length, Rhys came to the front of the building.
There was nothing on the exterior to indicate what its name was, and he thought that perhaps he had the wrong place until he noticed two things.
The first was the protection rune carved into the stonework above the door. The second was the Valkyrie standing in the mouth of the doorway, her muscular arms crossed over her chest. Dressed all in black leather, the goddess radiated a fuck-off vibe that even Rhys could feel from where he was standing. This was the only lead he had. He needed to get inside. He looked back at the increasingly lengthening line.
“Fuck this,” he muttered. Striding forward confidently, he approached the Valkyrie. Her bi-colored eyes assessed him quickly, her inspection not going unnoticed by his beast either. It snapped impatiently, and he squeezed his eyes shut briefly.
“End of the line,” she said, her voice low and gravelly.
He tried to look over her shoulder. She moved to block his view. “I’m looking for someone,” he told her.
“End of the line,” she repeated.
He met her eyes and exhaled. “I’m looking for Odin.”
That seemed to get her attention because her gaze darted around his face. Once again, his beast balked at the scrutiny. Rhys could have sworn that he felt her in his head this time. The Valkyrie’s lips thinned and her jaw tensed.
“Why?”
“Have you seen him?” When she gave him a blank stare, he added, “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m just looking for the All-Father.”
“Why?” she asked again.
He shook his head. It was useless. She wasn’t going to give him an inch. He figured it was her loyalty to Odin that made her so protective even though they had parted ways a long time ago
. “I need him to tell me where Loki is so I can murder the bastard.”
*
Mav watched the light elf walk away from the club. She wouldn’t have thought anything of him asking questions about Odin at all, except that he had mentioned Loki in nearly the same breath. Didn’t he know Loki was already dead? Bryn had killed the Trickster god over a month ago.
“Mav? I need to speak to you ASAP.” Bryn’s voice crackled in her earpiece.
Hitting the comms button on her collar, she said, “You got it.”
Turning around, she looked for Mason, but he was nowhere to be seen. She frowned, and waved over the first bouncer she saw. The guy approached her slowly.
“What’s up?”
“Cover me,” she replied, stepping away from the door. She pushed through the thick sea of bodies to the other side of the bar where Bryn was waiting for her.
“We have a problem,” Bryn said tightly, turning around and leading the way down the hallway to her office. Korvain and Mason were already there when Mav stepped into the room. She shut the door behind her.
Bryn slumped down into her desk chair. “Loki’s still alive.”
Mav stood a little straighter.
“What?” Korvain demanded, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning against. “That’s not possible. I saw him die myself.”
“Believe me, I’m as surprised by this as you are,” Bryn said, turning to face him. She gestured to the twenty-inch flat screen TV on her desk. The news was playing, but the sound had been muted. Mav looked at the screen, seeing a story about a carjacking. She cocked a brow at Bryn.
“Give it a minute,” the other Valkyrie replied.
Mav turned her attention back to the news, and the image changed to a reporter standing outside what looked to be a parking deck. The shot changed again to a body draped in a white sheet in front of a red Mustang, the ribbon along the bottom of the screen stating that MMA fighter Thor had been brutally murdered. Mav’s eyes traveled up to the message written in blood on the windshield of the car.