by Susan Harris
Pulling out her phone, Caitlyn started to speak in French before she switched to English. “Don’t play coy with me, Chester. Have you or have you not been invited?”
Kenzie tried to hear what was going on, but Chester was muttering low. Caitlyn let go of an exasperated sigh. “I assure you that P.I.T has no quarrels with you and yes, I still appreciate what you did in assisting with the demise of Cain. All I ask is that you accept the invitation and perhaps suggest a fighter.”
Caitlyn glanced in her direction. “I’m sending in Kenzie.”
Chester’s voice was loud enough they all heard his response. “You’re sending in the slayer!”
Everyone looked at Kenzie, and she shrugged with a grin.
“Who else would we send, Chester? Even you have to agree she is well equipped to handle herself.”
Chester response was low, and Caitlyn lifted a hand to her forehead. “I’ll send her to you now.”
She hung up, sliding the phone into her pocket.
“What did Chester say?” Sarge asked. “Did he object to sending Kenzie?”
“Quite the opposite actually,” Caitlyn replied, much to everyone’s surprise, including Kenzie. “He just wanted to know, since he’s helping P.I.T out, would it be unethical to place money on Kenzie to win.”
Sarge shook his head as the rest of them laughed. Once the laughter had died down, everyone looked grimly at Kenzie. Having been starved of affection from anyone but Cain for years, Kenzie felt awkward with goodbyes or see ya laters.
“Is he at his bar? Cool…I’m out of here.”
Kenzie all but bolted out the door, pausing only to grab her scythe from her locker, and she made it pretty far, out into the darkness, before Caitlyn caught up with her. Kenzie looked at her great whatever aunt, and realized that she would have looked like Caitlyn if she had stayed with Cain much longer. Caitlyn looked jaded, like life had kicked her in the ladynuts far too many times and she was just done.
“You will be careful.” An order, not a request.
“I will.”
Kenzie’s heart went to her throat as Caitlyn came forward and embraced her, muttering something in French that Kenzie couldn’t make out, cursing the little French she had picked up in her ten years in Paris. Then Caitlyn stepped back, giving Kenzie her back as she walked back to the station.
“Caitlyn?”
“Yes, Kenzie.”
Kenzie swallowed hard, probably because she was bordering on inappropriate conversation with her relative when they barely knew each other. “Don’t let him win. Cain, that is. You pushing Donnie away means he’s winning, even when the bastard is dead. You suffered way more than I did. But what you are doing, closing yourself off, it’s exactly what he wanted–to see you alone, having chased everyone away. Don’t let him win, okay?”
Kenzie jogged away from the station, not sparing a glance back, and kept up the pace until she reached Supernatural Central. Striding into Chester’s bar, earning growls and glares as she went down the stairs where she had not so long ago killed a few vamps, Kenzie lifted her head, a smug smile on her face.
Chester stood at the bar, one of those margarita or martini glasses in his hand as Kenzie strode up to him.
“Hey Chester, what’s the story?”
“We must leave right now if we want to get you registered for the fight tomorrow night. We can only observe this evening and the man in charge wants to assess you first.”
“Then let’s blow this shithole and get going.”
Chester spluttered in indignation as he followed Kenzie up the steps and out the front door, pausing at the waiting Mercedes before she ducked inside. They travelled mainly in silence, until they pulled up by a house just off Fota, on the outskirts of Cobh.
As Kenzie made to get out, Chester dropped a hand to her arm. “Remember that you are going in as my fighter. You keep quiet unless you are spoken to. The wrong word out of your mouth might end us both. This is not a place to act the fool.”
Flashing him a grin, Kenzie showed her teeth as she said, “Dude, nice dropped the ole Luda on me. You’re not so bad for a dead guy.”
They made their way into what Kenzie assumed was an old abandoned house, but this place was fitted out! The downstairs had been gutted, an octagon ring complete with a cage sat in the middle of the ground floor. Hundreds of supernaturals gathered around the ring, roaring and shouting. Money exchanged hands as Kenzie slipped her hood up, following Chester like the good little minion she was supposed to be.
Sparing a glance up, Kenzie saw the more elite of the supe community were on the first floor, where the fighters readied themselves, giving the richest the chance to view the goods before they placed a bet.
Chester was led to a room just off the main area, and when they ducked inside, the hair on the back of Kenzie’s neck prickled. Reclined in a chair, dressed in a blue suit the same colour as his hair, ears pointed and eyes almost catlike, was the person running the show.
“This is the fighter you want to enter into my ring, Chester? This child?”
“This child is blood kissed and trained by the first of my kind, Cain. This child is also the very girl who took Cain’s head with her scythe.”
The man’s eyes flashed a bright blue as he inhaled. His body trembled as he spoke, and Kenzie felt dirty. “So much inner chaos in you, girl. How many have you killed for fun?”
“Not enough.”
The games master laughed. “That is what I like to hear.” To Chester. “The dance card is full for tonight. But go and mingle, Chester. Tomorrow your girl will fight. I have the perfect opponent for her.”
“Thank you, Felix. I’m bringing some guests tomorrow night, if that is quite alright?”
“The more the merrier.” Felix answered, his ears twitching as they exited.
Kenzie pulled out her phone, shot off a quick text to Caitlyn to tell her she was in, and that Chester had scored an in for them as well. Caitlyn messaged her back, telling her to keep her eyes open and look out for Erika.
Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she followed Chester up the stairs, leaning on the balcony to look down on the fight below. Chester turned to look at her.
“Are you ready, slayer?”
“I was born ready.”
Tristan da Cunha, a remote volcanic island in the south Atlantic Ocean, lying two thousand kilometres from the nearest inhabited land, began to rumble, the waves from the surrounding water crashing against it, thunder and lightning ripping through the skies. The ground shook, dislodging rubble and rocks from the mountain.
The volcano that had been dormant for years threatened to erupt from the force shaking the island. Storms were a common occurrence on the secluded island, yet this storm was like no other. It had been almost a century since a storm of this magnitude had struck any place on earth.
Deep inside the mountain’s cavern, lightning cracked through the rocks and illuminated the cave, which had been shrouded in darkness. The ground trembled under the weight of the magic, and the sound of ravens cawing mingled with the clashes of thunder.
As the mountain and the island trembled, a man with long white hair and beard lay on a slab of stone, a sword clasped in his hands as he lay unmoving on the cold stone. The thunder clapped harder and louder, and lightning continued to streak through the sky, a mirage of silver and gold.
A single finger twitched, and the ravens screeched in delight as slowly, testing, there came another twitch of fingers when the man gripped the sword tighter. The man’s eye opened, his other eye long since perished from where his daughter had plunged a dagger into the socket, divesting him of sight in his left eye.
Stretching out his tired limbs, Odin, The All Father and god of gods, sat up inside the volcano and ran a hand through his beard. Huginn and Muninn flew over his head as Odin swung his legs off the side and asked the birds, “Where is my daughter?”
They cawed their response, and Odin sank his sword into the ground. Lightning cracked and hit the swo
rd, filling his bones with power. Legs still weakened, he tentatively strode to the mouth of the cave, the ravens coming to perch on his shoulders.
At the foot of the mountain, a large grey steed pawed at the group, braying slightly at the sight of Odin, his monstrous teeth clamping together.
Odin was awake.
He was thirsty for blood.
And, he would make his daughter and all of her Valkyrie bend the knee for him.
Erika
After a fitful sleep, Erika was up before the sun set, a quick shower and breakfast resulting in too much time on her hands until her fight. She could trace to her sisters, spar a little with Marya, but truth be told, all Erika wanted to do was spill blood. The need to punch something or slice something raged inside her, brewing like a storm until she almost lashed out at the walls just for something to do.
Throwing herself onto the bed stomach down, Erika pulled out a novel and began to read. Her eyes had barely skimmed over the words before she felt that undeniable aura that was Loki saturate the room. Ignoring him for a few minutes, unable to concentrate on the words, Erika kicked the heels of her feet, slightly hitting her behind as she moved. Flipping over an unread page, Erika’s lips curved a little as Loki sighed.
“Are you going to ignore me all evening?”
“No,” Erika replied after a few minutes. “But if you’re gonna be rude and interrupt me while I’m reading, then you can at least wait while I finish the chapter.”
Closing the book and setting it back on the bedside locker, Erika turned her head to glance at Loki. With his hair slicked back, Erika could see all the angles of his features, strong jaw, almost feminine cheekbones that gave his smile a more devilish, sinful turn and eyes that held all the possibilities of the nine realms in them. Her heart skipped in her chest. Loki was not typically handsome, yet this man, this god, had charm in abundance and a string of broken hearts to prove it.
He sat in the chair in a relaxed pose, the way he always appeared, but even a tiger looked relaxed before it ripped out your throat. One leg was draped over a denim-clad knee, a soft green knit jumper that looked so soft, Erika wanted to stroke it, covered his upper body, and a cup of coffee was perched in his grasp.
“That’s just rude. Showing up to annoy me and not even bringing me coffee.”
Loki smiled and clicked his fingers, a steaming hot takeaway cup popping into his free hand. “Of course I would bring you coffee. Come here and get it.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Erika slipped off the bed, walking slowly over to where Loki was perched, electricity singeing her fingers as she took the coffee from him. Much like the other night, Erika sank down onto the chair next to him, but instead of putting her legs in his lap, she tucked them under her and slowly sipped her coffee. Once they settled into a comfortable silence, Erika looked out under her long lashes and chewed on her bottom lip.
“Have you nothing better to do than pester me?” she blurted out, unable to take the muted conversation any more.
Draining the last of his coffee, the cup vanished into thin air as Loki clasped his hands together. “I am simply making sure that you are unharmed.”
“And I told you before that I can take care of myself.”
Resting his chin in his entwined hands, Loki asked. “Is it so hard for you to let someone look after you, General? You injure yourself to protect Ever, but it puzzles you that I may care for your well-being?”
Erika ran her fingers through her hair, clearing her throat. “You don’t understand. Since I was five years old, it’s been drilled into me that my sole purpose in life is to keep Ever safe. My wants and needs are secondary to that. We are at war, Loki, and war is not kind to most who partake in it. You have lived your entire life as someone who was revered, worshipped, and coddled by most of the Vanir and Aesir.
“You wreaked havoc in Asgard and were welcomed back into the fold with open arms. I was beaten when Ever was hurt on missions, I was chained up and denied food and water when I gave a smart answer. While you had a warm and fuzzy relationship with your adoptive siblings, my sisters hated me for being better than them. The only person who has ever shown me any amount of kindness has been Ever.”
“And if I said that I cared?”
Erika tilted her head slightly to the left. “I would find it hard to believe you.”
“That is not any kind of life to live.”
With a shrug, Erika sipped her coffee, taking time to try and keep her eyes from betraying her cool exterior. “It is what it is.”
Loki dropped his smile, his face void of any emotion. “I have lived a thousand lifetimes. I both adore and despise Thor. I love Ever as much as one like me can. I have fathered children and lost them. I have frozen myself off and tried not to care. But what do I have to do to prove to you that I care for you?”
“And if I said I didn’t want you to care?”
Loki leaned forward in his chair, took the coffee cup from her grasp and set it down. He slowly slid his right palm up her leg, his eyes locking onto her so that she could see home imbedded in them. “I would say that you do not get a choice. You cannot dictate who cares for you. I would assume that, much to your irritation, those people you work with care for you as well. If you do not let people in, then you become bitter and twisted, a shell of who you used to be.”
Erika brushed off his hand, and sat up straight. “Look how well that worked out for Odin. He was fine for millennia, screwing anyone and everyone, adoring the children who were born. And then he fell in love with Frigg. When she died, he became bitter and twisted, using his grief to hunt and kill his only daughter. So, tell me, Loki, each has the same result. I’m better off as I am.”
Loki leaned back into the seat, setting his arms down on the armrests. “If Ever survives this, she will be happily mated to the wolf. What will you do then, when the war is won and Ever settles down to have pups?”
Erika flicked her hair off her shoulder. “We are immortal creatures. Someone is bound to start a war, and I will be there to lead the warriors of Valhalla into battle, as it was meant to be. Ever might be a Valkyrie warrior, but she is also my queen. If she decides to retire and have pups, then so be it. She needs to be alive to do so. Let’s stop with the hypothetical and just remember that as of now, Ever’s future hangs in the balance.”
Fingers tap dancing on the arm of the chair, Loki sighed. “But you can stop this mission of self-destruction and stop fighting. How can you protect Ever if we have buried your body?”
Angry with Loki’s presumptions that he knew her, body and soul, his words attacked everything Erika thought she was and how she wanted the world to see her. Rising to her feet, she pulled off the tee she had thrown over her fighting shorts and bra and strode forward. Loki did not move from his seated position as Erika stood in front of him.
“You know what?” she asked and climbed into his lap, her knees grazing his hips, her hands snaking up to clasp him by the throat. “I’m sick of talking.”
Succumbing to her hunger for him, Erika gave in to the wants her body had been building for centuries. Pressing her lips to Loki’s full pout, she nipped lightly on his bottom lip, holding it between her teeth before he opened up and kissed her back.
The moment his tongue lapped against hers, Erika groaned low in her throat and lost herself to the pleasure. Loki slid his hands up to cup her butt in a possessive hold. Erika arched her hips forward, relishing in the harsh growl that rumbled in Loki’s throat as she pressed the most feminine part of her against the hardness of his jean-clad erection.
Pulling back from the kiss, she leaned away and grinned at Loki’s kiss swollen lips. Slipping her hands from around his neck, she reached under his jumper and traced her hands over the planes of his chest and down his stomach muscles until she cupped him through the fabric of his jeans.
“Do you know how many times I’ve fantasied about having you in my mouth, defenceless, as I licked and sucked like my very own lollipop? I’m going to indulge in
that fantasy right now.”
Erika snapped the top button of his jeans and reached inside, Loki’s fingers snapping to her wrist just as she was about to slip her hand inside his jeans. She tried to yank her hand away, but Loki held her in place, with his grasp and with an invisible hand on her throat.
“Let me go!” she exclaimed, the emotions inside her threatening to derail her. “Either let me go, or fuck me. Just get it out of your system. Once you get what you want, I won’t have to deal with you. Stop being so fucking calm and just fuck me already!”
Horrified as tears began to stream down her face, Loki looked at her with such pity she hated him and herself in that moment. This time, when she yanked her wrist away, Loki let her go. She fled from his lap and faced away from him. Silent tears continued to flow and her body trembled. Loki wrapped his arms around her from behind, a kiss pressed to the side of her throat.
“There is a storm raging inside you, Erika. This turmoil of who you really are and who you think you should be are in constant conflict. You will crash and burn until it is the destruction of you. I do care for you, and as we all know from Odin, it is rather dangerous to give someone as old and powerful as me someone to care about. When I do have you, and I will, I want to be with the Erika that only I get to see; the real Erika.”
A fist pounded on the door twice. Before Erika could try to formulate a response, Felix opened the door and stuck his head around the corner.
“Valkyrie, I have a few investors here for an early meeting and they want to see some of my most prized fighters go at it. You up for a fight?”
Loki’s hands tightened around her waist, but Erika knew he’d made himself invisible. Stepping out of his embrace, Erika rolled her shoulders and turned to grin at the chaos demon.
“Hell yeah. I’m bored off my tree sitting around waiting for tonight’s party. Gimmie a second.”
Felix’s lips twisted into a smile. “Don’t you even want to know who you are up against?”