Forged by Fate fotg-1

by Amalia Dillin

  She felt Adam’s frustration, his anger, and then his determination, and his knowledge that God could no longer stop him. It was involuntarily thought and he shoved the memory away just as quickly as it had come. But it was too late. She had seen it. The truth of it. She was not his.

  She pulled away from him and stumbled back into the stone wall of the cave, wrenching herself free of the memory and the thoughts and feelings that had followed. Adam’s possession. She would not be his.

  Adam frowned, “Eve?”

  She braced herself against the wall. “I’m not supposed to be your wife.”

  “You don’t even begin to understand what you’re talking about.” He was angry again and he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You are what I say you are, Eve. All of you are bound by my words, now. You’ll do as you’re told.”

  You’ll love me. She felt that same heat again, as it burned her cheeks and her body where his hands touched her, leaching into her through his fingers and his palm. Her heart began to race and she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even look away. He pulled her closer and she felt him hard and hot against her. It burned inside her, body and mind. His will, his command, searing itself in her thoughts, forcing its way through, trying to take root. You’ll love me, and you’ll want me as much as I want you. There’s no one here to stop me. God can’t save you. Just like He didn’t save Lilith.

  She shoved at his shoulders with a gasp, clawing at them, digging her nails into his skin.

  He jerked away. Blood beaded from a crescent moon on his arm and for a moment, he stared at it, his expression so strange, so different from anything she’d seen before. As if he could not understand, could not comprehend. Then he looked up, his eyes flashing with anger, his jaw set with rage.

  He grabbed her again, twisting her by the wrist until she cried out. “You’ll learn your place soon enough, Eve. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Adam threw her from him, and turned away.

  She landed on her knees, skinning her palms in the dirt. Tears pricked her eyes at the sting, but she climbed to her feet and ran from him. Ran from the heat and the desire he had flooded her with, but had never been her own, would never be her own. When Reu called her name, she didn’t stop. She didn’t care if he followed her. She didn’t care if she ever saw any of them again. She didn’t want to do this anymore.

  She didn’t even want to live.

  Chapter Fifteen: 903 BC

  Thor held the hand of his wife as the last breath left her, pressing it to his face. Even knowing she would be reborn, watching her die was the most difficult thing he had ever done. Without his power, he could not follow the journey of her spirit as it left her to find its new home. He could not close his eyes and search for the bright light of her immortality among men. He was even too old and too decrepit in this body to carry her to her burial.

  Soon, he promised himself, gently removing the ivory bracelet from her wrist. It was the only thing he would allow himself to keep, a token of their marriage, of their love.

  He closed her eyes for her and let in the women to prepare the body. Tora, his Eve, had not wished to be buried as a Chieftain’s wife had the right, in a hollowed oak beneath a mound of earth. She had begged him to send her empty body out to the water on one of the fishing boats he had built with his own hands, and let it burn. He had agreed. Her body didn’t hold her spirit; there was no point in treating it as though it might.

  He walked to the boat prepared for the funeral. It was nearing dusk, now, and when it fell, the night would cloak his features to the others. He waited on the rocks where they had spoken of their marriage for the first time. Long ago, he had passed the leadership of this village to the son Eve had born him, a fine man, with very little of his father in him. His hair was Eve’s, his eyes were Eve’s, even his build was slighter and less powerful than his father’s. Some trick of Odin’s, he was sure, to keep him from betraying himself with a godchild and exposing this village to Sif’s wrath and Loki’s treachery.

  It mattered little. Owen had been a strong man and a good leader, and Eve’s blood was as potent as any god’s—certainly more suited to life among men. Owen had never thrown lightning bolts in his rage, or spoken into the minds of others. He had never traveled through lightning to far-off lands or exhibited uncommon strength. All for the best. Owen’s people had never had cause to distrust him. Nor did they distrust his son, when he had taken the leadership of the village at Owen’s urging, or his grandson, who stood as priest and chieftain now.

  Owen lived a long life, like his mother, but each generation after aged less gracefully with the dilution of Eve’s blood. Even so, they were a healthier people, stronger in all the ways that mattered. Her granddaughters bore children more easily than any of the other women, and her grandchildren’s children and grandchildren rarely suffered from the illnesses which plagued the rest of the village during winter and spring. Even if they did not live a century at a time, they still lived longer; to sixty or eighty winters, instead of forty.

  One more task, and then Thor could leave them all in good conscience. The women carried the body of his wife to the boat, and laid her down gently. He stroked her silvered hair as it fanned out behind her head. They had wrapped her in old woolen blankets, the better to burn, and put sweet smelling oils on her skin. There was nothing of his Eve left here. Nothing more to tie him to this place, to this humanity he had taken and worn as a mask.

  Others had gathered behind him, called by Owen. They were silent now; the only noise the shuffling of their feet on the pebbles that littered the beach, and the hushed movement of the wind from the sea through the trees.

  Thor pushed the boat out into the water, wading with it almost to his waist before giving it a final shove. Then he turned his thoughts to home. To Asgard. To Odin, his father. He waited for the changes to begin.

  Thunder rolled from far off, and all at once, he felt the power he had lived so long without flood through him, lightning in his veins. His eternal and immortal youth returned with his strength, and he bade the wind blow the boat out deeper into the water. He watched it until it was almost lost to him in the dark, and then he looked to the heavens. Great storm clouds blotted out the moon and the stars, making the sea black. He called the skies down upon it.

  Lightning cracked through the darkness, bathing them all in white light and igniting the little fishing boat in the distance. Those behind him on the beach murmured in surprise, some even speaking brief prayers for his ears. Thor, god of thunder, god of the skies, bless us and protect us.

  These people had no need of his blessing, and they had been given the grace of his protection for some eighty years while he lived at Eve’s side. More, they had Eve’s blood. Was that not enough of a gift?

  He turned from the boat, now a mass of licking flames, and looked toward the shore and the people there. Owen stood before them all, staring now at his father with dawning comprehension. He was a wise man, a respected elder. Perhaps there was too much of his mother in him, for his perception often bordered on mind-reading. Eve had never whispered a word of heresy to her son, not wishing to make him an outcast to his people, and he had grown up loving his grandfather’s gods. Odin the Allfather and his wife Frigg, Thor the lord of thunder, Loki the mischief bringer, Heimdall the guardian, Freyr of the fields and fertility, Freyja, and Sif, the patronesses of fertility and women, beauty and prosperity. Never once had Owen had reason to believe his father was more than a man, until this moment.

  Thor wanted him to know, to cement his faith in a way that Eve had never been able. Truth was the last gift he could give the boy who had been his son. The gods were present. The gods were watching. The gods walked among men. The gods loved.

  Owen bowed his head.

  Lightning struck again dancing across the sea and dazzling the eyes of any who looked in Thor’s direction. He let it take him.

  By the time their sight had cleared again, he was gone.

  Th
or sat in the great hall of Asgard, his head bowed and eyes closed. It had been a full day since he had returned. Odin had not spoken to him except to welcome him home, not even going so far as to suggest he see to his wife. The old raven croaked at him from the back of the Allfather’s throne and Thor sighed, opening his eyes and staring into the mug of mead in his hand. So much for peace.

  He drained the mug and rose. Even if Odin had not said it, Thor knew his duty. Sif waited, and the longer he put off approaching her, the more suspicion would arise. Loki still had not returned from his expulsion into the world of men. His sentence would last another 18 years. It reassured him, nonetheless, that he need not fear finding the dog in his home, making love to his wife.

  His wife. His heart twisted in agony. He had left his wife in heaven to take one on earth, and she had been more goddess than Sif would ever be. True, Sif’s beauty had no match among mortal women. What he had seen of Aphrodite could not put his wife to shame either, though the Olympian was beautiful in her own right. Once Thor had looked upon Sif as the loveliest creature he would ever behold. But the eons had changed her, distorting her beauty into pride and vanity. What depth she had once possessed was gone, and that was made more apparent by the time he had spent with Eve.

  What a fool he had been to think a single lifetime with Eve would be enough. He could not prevail on Odin to change him again, and the only others with the power were Loki and Sif. Even if they would—an impossibility—they could only change his form, not take away his immortality. He would be lucky if he could spend ten years in her company before her people began to notice he did not age. And his temper alone would wreak havoc on the illusion of humanity. Storms rolling in from clear blue skies did not go unnoticed, even by the most oblivious of humans and gods.

  The cottage was dark when he got there, his goats not even stirring. Of course. He had not paid any notice to the darkness. Sif would be asleep. He shut the door behind him as quietly as he could and entered the bedroom.

  Sif was curled on her side in the wide bed, one hand beneath her flawless cheek, the other curled loosely beneath her chin. Her hair, long grown back, was neatly plaited in a braid, which coiled over her shoulder and disappeared beneath the blankets covering her. In sleep, she was as beautiful as the day he had first laid eyes upon her. There was no cruelty in the half smile which curved her lips, no vanity in the arch of her brow. He touched her skin lightly, trailing his fingers over her cheekbone and down her jaw. She stirred, rolling onto her back and falling into a deeper slumber.

  Perhaps it would be possible to be satisfied by his true wife once more. Perhaps if he simply turned his thoughts from Eve, he could love Sif again as he ought. He would try. He owed her that. He owed them all that much, to be content with his purpose in this world. His people needed him. Odin needed him. It was long past time he focused on the lands which belonged to the North.

  He did not disturb her by joining her in the bed, but left her to sleep and went back to the main room of the cottage. He sat facing the window and waited for the sun to rise. In the morning, he would make amends with Sif. For now, for the last time, he closed his eyes and searched for Eve’s presence on earth. He brushed her mind, a squalling infant, and soothed her cries, comforting her thoughts until she fell into a slumber.

  Thor sighed, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles, and withdrew. He buried his love for Eve away where Sif could never find it.

  The only thoughts he would permit himself now would be those involving his report to Odin. There was much to tell the Aesir of the world in which they lived.

  Chapter Sixteen: Present

  The manor overflowed with DeLeons for weeks after the wedding. Eve could only be grateful the Watsons had felt no need to stay. Eve’s parents left almost immediately. Mia however, begged permission to stay for another month, and under pressure from her mother, Eve reluctantly granted it. Garrit shrugged and gave her a room at the opposite end of the manor house, near his parents’ room, and Juliette promised to keep an eye on her. The portrait of Lady Anessa, Eve’s previous DeLeon incarnation, was removed from the hall for the duration, replaced with a framed photo from the wedding. There was no point in tempting Mia’s curiosity.

  “Won’t you go on a honeymoon, Abby? Didn’t Garrit plan some exotic vacation for you?”

  Eve stared into her coffee cup. Facing her sister first thing in the morning was a trial. With the addition of Mia’s unfailing ability to raise all the most awkward subjects, Eve was starting to hope Jean would marry her just so that she would go somewhere else for a while. Poor Jean. He wouldn’t know what hit him.

  “Unfortunately, Garrit’s business forced us to cancel it. Maybe in a few months.” Or never. Until they were sure Adam had given up on trying to infiltrate her life, an exotic vacation seemed incredibly unwise.

  Eve picked a fresh croissant off a platter and began pulling it apart. Mia had already devoured one, and judging by the dirty plate beside her sister, Jean had already come and gone. The crust was a bit rubbery. She could’ve made better breakfast breads, if the man Garrit had hired to cook while the manor held guests would let her near the ingredients or the oven. She wasn’t sure if that had been Garrit’s idea, or the cook’s.

  “What a rotten job, then. Even if he is worth a fortune.”

  “The kind of work that makes that kind of money usually is rotten. Money isn’t everything, Mia. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “Because you’re learning it so well now, what with being disgustingly rich.”

  “I didn’t marry Garrit for his money.”

  “That’s what everyone says when they marry rich men.”

  She sighed. “Mia, really. Do you really think Garrit would ever marry a woman who was only after his fortune? He’s not stupid. None of the DeLeons are.”

  Mia snorted, but then Garrit joined them, stopping whatever else she had meant to say.

  He kissed Eve on the forehead as he sat down. Plate, silverware, juice and water glasses were set before him by one of the staff. Eve had only allowed him to hire them on the condition that they did not serve her. Garrit took a danish, and the newspaper appeared by his elbow. He smiled at Eve, but she looked away. If she met his eyes she would only frown, and it really wasn’t his fault her mood was so foul. Keeping a staff when the manor was acting as a glorified hotel made sense, but it didn’t make her want to smile back and exchange pleasantries.

  He cleared his throat. “Bonjour, Mia. Are you enjoying your stay?”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful. Jean is taking me sightseeing today, in town.”

  “Is he?” Eve asked. Garrit glanced at her sidelong. She ignored him. “Did Jean happen to run that by his Aunt Brienne?”

  “Abby, you’re so ridiculous. Why on earth would he need to ask his aunt for permission?”

  “Oui, Abby.” Garrit smiled. “Why does he need Brienne’s permission?”

  She glared at him. “Brienne did mention that she needed some supplies from town. I’m sure that if Jean is going, she’d appreciate if he picked them up for her.”

  “Ah, naturellement.” He hid a grin from Mia by sipping his coffee, but Eve saw it and scowled. He cleared his throat again and opened the paper to the business section, seeming to have realized his error.

  “Abby said your job is keeping you from your honeymoon, Garrit.”

  He shot Eve a look, and she pretended not to notice. It was his turn to fend off her sister’s questions. “Oui. Regrettably.”

  “But I don’t understand. How could you let them keep you? It’s your honeymoon.”

  “I’m at the mercy of my clients. And while you would think a wedding and honeymoon are life events deserving some time off, not all of them are so reasonable. The rich rarely are.”

  “Your family is perfectly reasonable.”

  Eve winced. “Mia! Would you please mind your tongue?”

  “Non, Abby, c’est pas grave.” Garrit covered her hand on the t
able, squeezing it once. She wasn’t sure if it was a reassurance or an admonition. “We are rather well off, as far as these things go.”

  “It doesn’t mean it’s polite to comment,” Eve said.

  “But I’m his sister now! Aren’t I allowed to know the family secrets?”

  Garrit stiffened, and Eve busied herself grabbing Mia’s plate and stacking it with her own. “Help me with the dishes, Mia. Then you can go run around the countryside with Jean.”

  Mia sighed. “Please. You have people to do the dishes for you. Especially now, with everyone and their brother in residence.”

  The plates clattered to the table top and Eve prayed for patience. “Don’t be rude, Mia.”

  Mia’s mouth dropped open as if to argue but Garrit cut her off. “It’s all right.” He picked the plates back up and passed them off to one of the servants. “We are not easily offended by truth. And Mia is a guest.”

  “Which is it, Garrit?” Eve asked. Didn’t he realize how closely Mia skated around the truth? And if she did find out, through some carelessness of Jean’s or even their own, it would only make it all a bigger mess. “A guest or a sister?”

  His jaw tightened. “A sister who is staying with us as a guest. If she wants to help, she’s more than welcome, but as she’s never been here, it is only natural her first priority should be to enjoy the activities we have to offer.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “God, Abby. You’ve been so on edge. I thought marriage was supposed to mellow a woman.”

  Garrit pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mia, why don’t you find Jean? I’m sure he’ll be happy to get an early start. The traffic can be terrible, midday.”

  “Oh, fine. Not like I want to sit here in the middle of your first fight anyway.” She stood up and flashed a smile. “Enjoy making up.”