by Lauren Dawes
‘What?’
‘Your clothes. Take them off.’
Korvain stood up to his full height, dwarfing Bryn for a moment, and slid the leather from his upper body. His black tee was stuck to his shoulder, a small hole through the fabric. She turned around to check on Eir’s breathing and pulse rate, and when she turned back around again, Korvain had shed the shirt from his body before planting his ass back down. His weapons harness was slung over the back of the chair. She frowned. She hadn’t even seen that he’d had one on.
She looked more closely at the wound. ‘Gods, you’ve been shot.’ Bryn looked over at Eir again, wishing she would wake up. She was the one qualified to look after the sick and injured, not Bryn. The Valkyries were once dubbed the demi-gods of death for a good reason.
Bryn looked through the kit again, pulling tweezers and more gauze out, lining it up on the table. Leaning in closer to Korvain, she probed the entry site with her fingers. He hissed again, but didn’t flinch.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll try and be quick.’
‘It’s fine,’ he ground out. ‘Is there an exit wound? It might be a through and through.’
Bryn pulled him forward, highly aware that his face was trapped somewhere in her cleavage. Putting that out of her mind, she found the exit wound by softly pressing the flesh of his shoulder.
‘Through and through,’ she murmured, loading up some gauze with saline. She pressed one to the front of his shoulder and another on the back. She stood there putting pressure on the wound, their breaths matched in pace and depth.
She suddenly felt very self-conscious, painfully aware of how she felt about this male, about the way her heart fluttered restlessly against her ribs.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured. The words were barely a whisper, but they drew her attention back to him. She stared at him, transfixed by his harsh face and large body, his bare chest. There were scars there, a lot of scars. Her mind skittered back to how he had comforted her in her office, by how he stroked her hair. He was such a contradiction.
With his uninjured arm, he reached up and brushed some stray stands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear. His fingers lingered there, warm against her already heated skin.
He traced the planes of her jaw, rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip when he reached her chin. Bryn’s heart pounded in response, her mouth going dry. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, Korvain’s feral eyes watching—waiting.
Keeping the pressure on his shoulder, she leaned in closer until their faces were less than an inch away.
She felt his warm breath on her cheeks. She could smell only him and she wanted to taste only him. Their mouths had barely brushed when Eir suddenly started coughing; great hacking coughs that shook her entire body.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ she moaned. Bryn pulled back, dropping the gauze and running for a wastepaper basket to park under Eir’s head. Eir threw up quietly into the container while Bryn stroked her back gently. When she looked back at Korvain, he was shrugging his jacket back on.
‘I should go.’
Bryn nodded. It was for the best. ‘I still want to—’ she stopped, pausing at the hungry look in his eyes.
‘Yes?’ he asked in a dark, sensuous tone.
She swallowed the blush. ‘I want to bandage your shoulder up before you go. Can you wait ten minutes?
’
Chapter Seventeen
Odin woke up feeling like Hel. He sat up, throwing his legs off the side of the bed and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. Staggering up to a stand, he pulled the blinds up and looked down at Boston Common from his bedroom window.
The humans were swarming around like they always did; phones pressed to their ears, coffee cups clutched in their hands. It was no wonder they stopped worshiping him—even the gods who replaced him weren’t being worshiped as much anymore. They spent all their time worshiping easy communication and a caffeine rush.
Odin stepped back from the window and set about getting dressed for the day. After showering, he padded over to his closet filled with designer suits, all perfectly tailored, all perfectly appropriate for the god he was. He put on a dove grey single-breasted with matching vest and a blood-red tie.
When he was dressed, Odin stepped out of his building and breathed in deeply. He had come into the habit of going for a walk in the mornings. He found it cleared his head of the dreams that were coming with increasing frequency. Scanning left and right, he stepped off the curb in between the cars parked outside his house. A strange smell suddenly assaulted his nose. It smelled faintly of rot with the metallic edge of blood. His eyes narrowed at the car that had been the source of all the noise last night and peered inside; past the reflective glare of the sun and the dark tint.
‘Gods,’ he gasped, bringing his hand to his mouth. It was Rota. Rota was behind the wheel of the car, her head tilted back at a strange angle that exposed her throat. Her skin was grey, her eyes were still open; staring unfocused at the roof of the inside of the car.
Glancing around to ensure he at least had some privacy, Odin faded her bloated body back into his house, forcing himself to calmly walk back inside, too.
Rota must have been dead for a couple of days at least. A large dark brown stain bloomed on the front of her chest, and when Odin pulled the side of her shirt away from her body, there was one bloody feather laid over the hole where her heart used to be.
Odin sat back on his heels, his mind reeling. It had started. It had started and he was powerless to stop it. Climbing to his feet unsteadily, Odin had only one thought and that was to get to Bryn. He faded to the club on Tremont, slipping down the alleyway. Standing before the giant metal door, he knocked loudly.
Nothing happened.
With a quiet snarl, he tried again; hammering his fists against the steel until the skin split over his knuckles.
‘Yeah?’ Bryn’s crackling voice asked. Odin looked at the small box where the sound had come from.
Pushing the button he said, ‘I need to see you.’
There was an immeasurable amount of silence before the intercom buzzed back to life. ‘I’ve said all I need to say to you.’
Odin got in close to the box, shielding his words with his body. ‘It’s about Rota.’
Silence dropped between them. Bryn cleared her throat, her voice angry when she spoke. ‘You better not be fucking around with me here.’
‘I’m not.’
A few seconds later there was a click and Odin stepped inside the club that bore his name. Bryn was standing in front of her office door, arms defensively crossed over her chest.
‘I didn’t expect to see you so soon.’
‘Believe me, I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.’
She moved out of the doorway so he could slide inside the room. ‘I didn’t invite you back here to yak it.’
‘Of course not,’ he replied dryly. Odin unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down; legs crossed at the ankle, his black angora socks covering the distance from his ankle to the end of his trousers.
Bryn had walked around to her side of the desk as he got settled in. Planting both palms on the top, she leaned in. ‘What about Rota?’
He looked up from his socks, holding her blue gaze. ‘I found her body.’
Her eyes narrowed on his face. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she spat, standing up and putting her back to the wall.
‘It’s true. I found her body this morning in a car parked in front of my house.’
‘How convenient.’
‘Bryn, I swear to you that’s the truth.’
She laughed darkly. ‘You really are the father of lies, aren’t you?’
Odin’s mood darkened. ‘I apologized for that.’
‘No amount of apologizing will make up for what you did to me, to all of us.’
He bit back the growl sitting at the back of his throat. ‘Bryn, I need you to come with me.’ He continued despite her disgusted look. ‘I need you. I don’t think
you’re safe here. Not anymore. Come home with me. I can protect you there.’
Her chin lifted in defiance. ‘I don’t need your protection, Odin. I need protection from you.’
‘Bryn.’
‘No! Take your lies and your deceit, and get out of my life. I knew you were cruel Odin, but not so cruel as to kill your own creations to serve your agenda.’
Odin tried once more to reach for her, to let her see reason, but Bryn lashed out.
Her whole body shook as she summoned her golden sword—the sword he had had crafted just for her hand. Her blade was silky like molten gold and one of the only things that could mortally wound him. That was the price he had paid to have them created. Odin stood up quickly, buttoning up his suit jacket.
‘Didn’t I teach you not to draw your weapon unless you planned on using it?’ he asked callously.
Bryn’s arm was held down by her side, but her knuckles were white around the hilt. Anger burned in her blue eyes. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was low, threatening. ‘So I suggest you leave before I do.’
Odin retreated from the room, closing the door behind him. He knew she wouldn’t have come with him, but he couldn’t tell her the real reason yet. He had lied to her once about her parents. If he also told her about how completely they were bound to each other’s fates, she would kill herself just to spite him.
* * *
Bryn ran a finger over the tattoo on her neck, her sword fading from her hand. She hadn’t wanted to threaten Odin, but if he’d stayed in her office for a minute longer, she was in very real danger of throttling him. Her whole body was still shaking with anger. How dare he come in and tell her that he had found Rota’s body. How dare he use her like that.
Her legs gave out from under her, slamming her back down into her old office chair. Odin truly was the father of lies, yet deep-down she still wanted to be by his side. She was like a stray dog kicked to the side, but still craving a master. She was being ridiculous. She had been the one to leave him, and she would have done it ten times over again.
The day he had come for her was so clear in her mind. It was the day of her eighteenth birthday...
The man who had come to claim Bryn was handsome; as handsome as Davin—the boy who lived in the next village. Her mother had let him into the house and sat down; shaking her head saying ‘no, no, no’ over and over again. Bryn stared at him openly, looking at the shiny black orb next to his remaining luminescent green eye.
‘Do you know who I am, Brynhildr?’
She shook my head. ‘No, sir, I do not.’
‘I’m here to take you away from this life. I want you to come and live with me.’
‘Live?’ she laughed. ‘Sir, I live here with my father and mother.’
He sat beside her, turning his body toward hers. She didn’t feel frightened even though Mother was trembling terribly in front of them. ‘Your father said you can come with me, and your mother,’ he paused and looked over at her. Their eyes met, and she wailed, burying her head in her hands. ‘Your mother also agreed to let you live with me.’
Bryn shook her head. ‘I cannot be your wife, sir. My parents will not allow me to wed.’
‘I don’t wish to wed you, Brynhildr.’ He took her hand gently. His fingers were soft. She had never met a man with soft hands before. Her father’s had been calloused from working hard since she could remember. ‘I wish to give you a job.’
‘A job, sir?’ She had always wanted a job—to feel useful. ‘What kind of job?’
‘I want to have a special group of women who I can send out with my very important messages. They must be very beautiful and very hard-working.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Clearly, you are very beautiful, but are you hard-working?’
She nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, sir. I work very hard. Just ask Mother. She can tell you.’
The man didn’t look at Bryn’s mother, but she did. Mother was still holding her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. Why was she so upset that Bryn was being offered a job?
‘If you want this job, you must come with me now, Brynhildr.’ The man said, standing up and offering her his hand.
Bryn glanced from him to her mother. ‘Mother, don’t be upset. I want to work. I have always wanted to work as Father does. You’ll see! I’ll bring money home and buy you the best meats and skins and—’
Her mother stood up and drew her close, crushing her to her chest and suffocating the words on her tongue.
‘It’s time to go,’ the man said, taking her by the wrist and pulling her away from her Mother. Tears trembled in her eyes. Bryn kissed her on the cheek.
‘I shall return, Mother.’
She followed the man out the door, stopping him suddenly. ‘Sir, I know not your name.’
He took her hand, a strange burning sensation passing between them. It felt as if her body was filling up with white-hot light, burning through her veins. Bryn gasped, closing her eyes, fighting the wave of nausea, the acrid taste of bile twisting up her throat. Her eyes flew open once more as if forced. The world began to shift in front of her, shattering like glass and falling into a thousand pieces. She screamed out as softly spoken words trickled into her ears...
hreinasta blóð sem rennur í gegnum minn æðar
ég deila gjöf eilífs lífs með henni
hún skal ekki aldur
hún skal ekki visna og deyja
hún verður að vera ódauðlegur
að eilífu við hlið mér
Her heart pounded frantically against her ribs, beating against the prison of bones. When she opened her eyes again, she feared the world would be awash with flame, feared it would be changed—shattered—but the world was just as it had been before. It had not fallen apart. The man stood before her, holding her up with strong hands.
‘What happened?’ Bryn asked. ‘Who are you?’
He smiled at her, a warmth filling her chest at the sight of it. ‘I am Odin and you, Brynhildr, are now my daughter. I have just given you your immortality.’
Bryn hadn’t known the true meaning of the words he had spoken. But she knew them now.
Purest blood that flows through mine veins,
I share the gift of everlasting life with her,
She shall not age,
She shall not wither and die,
She will be immortal,
Forever at my side.
That had been the last time she had seen her mother alive. Bryn had been bound to Odin, and told there was no possible way for her to return to her parents, or her former life. She had hated him for a long time afterwards, but soon there were other women who had joined his group of messengers. Bryn had wondered whether Odin had tricked them, too.
A bitterness grew inside her, a resentment, but her bond to the All-Father made it impossible for her to truly hate him.
Chapter Eighteen
Darrion closed his eyes and tapped into Korvain’s energy. His blood came through the bond loud and clear, telling Darrion he was somewhere near China Town. Following the tether binding them, Darrion faded to within a few blocks of Korvain’s location and headed north east toward the pull of his blood.
He slowed when he felt the throb of Korvain’s presence. Looking up, his whole field of vision was taken up by one building. It was at least four stories high, made from the signature red-brick many of the buildings in Boston were made from. There was only one door at the front and no windows. Above the door, the rune for protection was carved out of the stone.
Clearly, the building was warded against gods fading in and out, so he couldn’t get in that way. Walking along the length of the façade, he found the cool shadows of an alleyway just wide enough for one car to fit through at a time.
Ignoring the smell of garbage and stale piss, he walked down silently until he reached another door. He kept his distance, placing his back against the wall of the building beside it while he surveyed the entrance.
The door was the same as the one out front; smoot
h without a handle in sight. Next to the door was a small intercom. Darrion’s eyes drifted up to the camera positioned to look down at the door. Closing his eyes, he focused on his assassin. Korvain was in there. He could feel it.
The sun was no longer than an hour old, not yet strong enough to heat up the day and burn away the chill of the night. He scanned the surrounds for somewhere to wait where he wouldn’t be seen. There was a BMW X6 parked around the back of the building. If he lay on the ground and looked under the car, he could still watch the door and stay out of sight.
No sooner had he gotten himself in position did he see another man show up, looking over the door like it held all the answers to his questions. Darrion thought he was human, but the fucker was too tall to be straight human. He inhaled, the familiar sent of Aesirean god on the air. Darrion bit back a nasty snarl.
The god’s pale eyes were calculating, like he was constantly thinking about his next move. His hair was long enough that it curled near his ears.
His attention was suddenly on the door, his shrewd eyes narrowing, zeroing in on one point. Darrion had been too distracted to hear it, but someone was coming. The god faded away from the building with a curse.
The steel door groaned as it was pushed open from the inside. Korvain’s broad frame filled the space. Darrion delighted in the fact that he looked like shit. There was dried blood caked to his face and a hole in his leathers. As he stepped from the doorway, Darrion could tell his knee was bothering him, too. He took a second to wonder whether those injuries had come from killing the Valkyrie.
The Mare glanced both directions before fading from the alleyway. Darrion followed, trailing their bond back to Korvain’s house. Darrion reformed directly behind the bastard, turning him around with a firm hand on his shoulder.
The Mare spun around, palming the karambit from the holster under his jacket. When he realized it was Darrion, his body didn’t relax an inch, but at least he lowered the weapon.
‘What are you doing here? Did you follow me?’ he snarled, his dark eyes churning.
Darrion ignored the questions like he always did. Instead he looked over the Mare’s face and hands, seeing the blood—hoping.