MistUnveiled

by Nancy Corrigan

  “You should’ve finished your tea. It would’ve been easier for both of us if you weren’t awake.”

  She sucked in a rough breath. Everything bad that could happen to a woman flashed before her eyes.

  He knelt next to her and stroked a finger down her chest. “I don’t plan on raping you, Catherine. I don’t have time. My son will know by now that I’ve returned to Niflheim. You must die before he finds us. He thinks to claim you, but the eldest eldjötnar should get first choice of the treasure, don’t you think?”

  She stared at him wide-eyed. Realization struck. The man had to be Surtr, the leader of the fire demons.

  “I simply want the essence of Odin you hold.” He grinned. Fangs filled his mouth. “And I will absorb it with your last heartbeat.”

  The answer as to which Norse god her grandmother killed didn’t satisfy her craving for knowledge. The demon’s words shoved everything else out.

  He tugged her limp body into his lap. With gentle fingers that didn’t match the rough treatment he’d shown her a couple of minutes ago, he brushed her hair from her neck. She sensed his intent, wanted to do something to stop him, but couldn’t. She was trapped inside her unresponsive body.

  His hot breath washed over her skin. Her stomach turned. She tried to scream. It came out as a low, muffled groan. He scraped his fangs over her neck. Once, twice then he bit. Pain radiated outward. Her body seized. Fire raced through her veins. She was burning alive. She wanted to thrash, wanted to fight, to do something, but only her pitiful moans reached her ears.

  Tears leaked from her eyes, wetting her cheeks. The agony grew with each pull of his mouth on her vein. Her view of the floorboards above her grew blurry. Spots spread across her vision. Her heart stuttered. Her breaths grew shallower.

  She was going to die.

  This isn’t right. The eldjötnar is breaking the rules.

  The thought hovered in her head, stirring her anger. The gifted ones were supposed to pick their weapon. She had.

  Mist.

  Rune was her choice.

  The demon pulled away on a groan. Blood stained his fangs. She blinked and tried to bring his face into focus but failed. He remained a fuzzy nightmare.

  “I taste the power in you already. Rune woke it when he fucked you.” Surtr leveled glowing brown eyes on her. “Too bad he didn’t finish it.”

  By mating her.

  Regret added to the fear and anger. Another whimper crawled from her throat.

  Surtr released her. She clunked onto the hard floor. He licked his finger and ran it over her neck. White-hot pain spread in its wake. She screamed. The sound never made it out of her mouth. It reverberated in her head instead.

  “I will return soon to ease your agony. I must destroy the evidence you’ve gathered on us first. Besides, I’d rather not be present while your body decays. It’s an unpleasant sight, even for a demon. It is bad enough I will have to drink your rotten blood when I consume your heart.” He grinned at her.

  Like the mated demons had when they’d killed their women. Oh God.

  “But don’t worry, human. Your soul will live on here.” He thumped his chest. “You can join the bitch who birthed my sons.”

  He stood and walked away. She listened to the tap of his shoes against the wooden stairs. The distant sound of a door closing reached her ears.

  She lay there unable to move with his silk tie still jammed in her mouth. The reality of her situation hit her. She was going to die. Here. Alone.

  More tears fell. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted Rune.

  * * * * *

  Rune leaned against the wall in the library and listened to Francis, the veterinarian who’d helped Cat with the dying male a couple of nights ago. The old man went over everything he knew of the treasure that had been found. It wasn’t much, but Rune needed all the knowledge he could gather. The children of the mist had awoken too late as he’d feared.

  “How many years ago was this war?”

  Francis chuckled. “Not just any war. World War II.”

  Rune sighed and debated whether or not he wanted to use any of his dwindling power on the human. Although he’d fed from Ivan not long ago, he hadn’t been able to keep much of the nourishment down. The few drops of Cat’s blood he’d teased himself with had begun to alter his makeup. He feared soon he wouldn’t be able to feed on another being.

  A week ago he would’ve said such an occurrence was impossible. Not anymore. He’d chosen Cat or she had him. Their bodies would ensure they completed the union. The mating drive, his hunger and their growing emotional bond were all tied into it.

  The Wardens’ purposes given to them by the earth itself—to guard, watch and wait—no longer applied. The alternate outcome to Ragnarok had finally come to pass. He was to be a weapon.

  Cat’s weapon.

  The notion filled him with pride. Before he let it consume him, he pushed the emotion away and focused on the problems at hand.

  “What year was the staff found?” Maybe if posed his question a different way Francis would answer.

  The male’s brows pinched. “Forty-two or forty-three.” He shook his head. “I can’t remember exactly.”

  Rune inwardly cursed. Their treasures could be anywhere.

  Ivan walked into the room. “Would you like any tea?”

  Rune let his gaze settle on Ivan but kept the parlor door in his peripheral vision. It was the only way in or out of the room. He’d sealed all other entry points the eldjötnar’s smoke could enter.

  “No, tha—”

  “I’d love some.” Francis’s eyes widened. “And scones. Do you have any? Your wife makes the best pastries.”

  “Fruit tarts today. I’ll bring them right out.”

  Ivan disappeared and Rune groaned. He hated the ritual of eating. He could consume solid food but got nothing out of the act, not enjoyment or nourishment. He’d only have to throw it up later.

  Francis crossed his arms over his chest and studied him carefully. “Do you believe in the tales of the eldjötnar?”

  Rune nodded. “Yes, they are real.”

  “I never used to believe, even after people started dying. I do now.”

  Ivan entered, placed the tray on the table in front of the sofa and left. Francis took a tart and tea. He made quick work of finishing both. The cup clunked as he set it down.

  He wiped his mouth. “I’ve seen him move through the village. A pillar of fire and smoke that didn’t burn anything but left damage in its wake.” He waved a finger at him. “The damn demon is going to send us into the poor house if he doesn’t kill us first.”

  Rune frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Our cars, of course.” Francis scowled. He leaned forward, swayed and grabbed the arm of the sofa. “Anything that runs on gasoline is fair game to him. I saw him tonight. His burning smoke skipped from one exhaust pipe to the other.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Rune groaned.

  The plane’s engine trouble wasn’t a coincidence. It had been meant to stop them from leaving. So they didn’t get to the remaining gods? Or to keep Cat here? Either reason meant trouble. He moved to stand. The older male grabbed his throat then toppled over.

  Rune went to him. He pressed his fingers to the vein in his neck. Dead. He shifted his attention from the male to the tea, the same tea Ivan’s grandmother was drinking when he’d left Cat with her.

  He cursed and ran to the parlor door. He grabbed the handle. Searing heat met his palm. He threw his shoulder into the wood and broke it. A quick scan of the room showed Irene slumped over the couch but Cat was gone.

  The eldjötnar had taken her.

  Impossible. He snapped his teeth together. He should’ve known better. Nothing was impossible. Hadn’t he and Cat proved that? He should’ve insisted she stay with him, should’ve pushed her harder to mate him, should’ve… He shoved the regret away. It wouldn’t help bring her back. God, he prayed it wasn’t too late.

  He surveyed t
he room slowly. A human, mate or not, couldn’t take the form of an element. Their bodies wouldn’t conform. On that, he’d stake his life. But a gifted human? He didn’t have an answer to that question. Even if she could, ice still covered everything he’d sealed.

  He spun. There was no other way out. That I can see.

  He called the mist to him. Rolling waves of fog drifted into the room. A wave of his hand and he filled the space. Another flick of his finger and the door slammed shut. The cool caress of his element stroked him. Its comfort did nothing for him. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he held Cat in his arms again.

  The wisps of icy fog whirled around him, faster and faster. The wind whined. He waited a moment more until the mist absorbed his fear and understood its task. He had to find his mate before she was killed or the mist would lose a child, him.

  The walls trembled under the force of the whirling cyclone. He released his hold over the raw power. It rushed outward, seeking the entry point the eldjötnar had used to reach his woman.

  He turned and watched the fog disappear around the edges of a door disguised as one of the wall panels.

  “Fuck, no.”

  He’d failed in his role. He shoved the weak thought away before it took hold. He would save Cat. No other option was acceptable.

  He rushed to the panel and threw a shoulder into it. It splintered. He tumbled into the dark alcove. Stairs led down. He followed them into a dirt basement. The low roof didn’t offer him the room to stand. He crouched and ran the length of the house to another door. He pushed it open. A path led from it down the sloped side of the cliff.

  At the most, an hour had passed since Cat walked into the parlor. The eldjötnar couldn’t have gotten far.

  Unless he took her on a boat or plane.

  He scanned both the sea and air. Nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye. Frustration mounted. In his solid form, his senses weren’t much better than an average human’s. The last time Cat had run from him, he’d been lucky enough to find a dog who’d led him to her. He hoped to do so again.

  He sent out a plea for help.

  Within minutes, two huskies approached, tails wagging. They’d shared their blood with him and had lost their natural fear. He greeted them with a small scratch to their heads. The act wasted precious time. He wanted the rip the knowledge from their minds, but they wouldn’t understand the anxiety twisting his insides. It would be wrong to take it out on them. He also didn’t know if he could. To absorb their thoughts, he’d have to feed from them.

  He pushed urgency into the question he sent to them. They turned and ran across the stone path. They took him to the small landing strip on the edge of town. Only a few drops of oil marked where the helicopter he and Cat had planned to take had been stored.

  Fuck, no.

  He pivoted and surveyed the area. Nothing. He inhaled deeply in an effort to gain any lingering details scattered on the breeze. No familiar scents drifted to him, not Cat’s or the eldjötnar’s.

  Fear threatened. His heartbeat kicked into high gear. He closed his eyes, refusing to give into it, and sent another plea for help on the wind. Several minutes passed while he stood there with sweat trickling down his spine. Finally, a high-pitched whistling sound reached his ears. He peered into the direction the sound came from. Two eagles perched on a roof nearby.

  “Help me.” He stretched his arms to them. The birds had to travel with him while he searched for Cat if he had any hope of returning to his solid form quickly. He was too weak to do so on his own.

  Another piping sound carried on the breeze. They took flight and circled, waiting for him. He called a gust of wind and allowed his solid form to break apart. One with the mist, he absorbed its knowledge. He picked out the smells entwined in the air and focused on one. Cat’s exotic fragrance led away from the village, deeper inland. He followed it.

  He lost her trail twice. She was enclosed in the plane with the eldjötnar, so his only clue to her destination was the short exposure to the environment after they got off. He took some comfort in knowing they’d landed close. Otherwise he wouldn’t have a trail to follow.

  A small cabin came into view. No helicopter, but he detected the trace of both the demon and Cat. He willed his solid form to take shape. The dispersed pieces of his body collected slowly. The eagles helped. They flew in an ever tightening circle, gathering the wayward particles. The wind fought his efforts as it always did. Although the force did his bidding, nature favored the chaotic dispersion of his body. It wanted to keep the pieces that ultimately belonged to the mist.

  He held Cat’s image close and drew strength from the love he held for her. It added to the urgency riding him. He had to save her before it was too late. The last of his cells merged. He landed on the ground, feet first, and ran toward the home.

  He flung the door open. An empty house greeted him. He inhaled, hoping to catch Cat’s scent or the demon’s on the air. A faint trace of blood reached him. He followed it.

  Another set of stairs leading down greeted him. Cat’s fruity, exotic fragrance wafted to him from below along with the first hint of death. It was the same pungent odor that had first woken him from the death-sleep.

  No, please no.

  A wave of his hand and he erected a wall of mist around the home so the eldjötnar couldn’t enter. He took the stairs three at a time. A single bulb cast a circle of light in the dark room. Cat’s unmoving body lay under it. Red welts marked the spot on her neck the diseased eldjötnar had fed from.

  She writhed in pain.

  “Oh God.”

  He was too late.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rune stared at the woman he loved. He had promised to protect her. His very existence deemed him a Warden, a guardian of the earth’s treasures. Cat was the greatest of all, not just to the world but to him.

  A growl crawled up his throat.

  He’d failed her.

  Mist swept into the room. Rain fell. His element wept for him and Cat. Tender wisps of fog danced over him, over her. He waved his hand, scattering them. He would not grieve. She still breathed. He would save her or follow her to the grave.

  He ran to her side and dropped to his knees. Her chest rose and fell on quick breaths. Lines pinched the pale skin by her eyes. Her nostrils flared, but it was the garbled groan that hurt him most.

  She couldn’t scream.

  He tugged the wet silk tie from her mouth and tossed it behind him. She moaned.

  “Cat. Wake up, Cat.”

  No response.

  He scooped her into his arms. Her head lolled to the side, revealing the red sore on her throat. The sight made his throat squeeze. He ignored it and grasped her chin, exposing her unmarred vein.

  “I’m sorry, angel. I said I’d wait until we were both ready. The choice was taken out of our hands.” He kissed the spot below her ear. “I love you, Cat. I won’t lose you to death.” Even if I have to follow you there.

  He licked the spot he’d fantasized about feeding from and how he would’ve made the moment special. All those images had involved having Cat open and naked on his bed, not limp in his arms with dirt and cobwebs around them.

  “I’ll make this up to you. Promise.”

  He placed a chaste kiss to her skin then bit. Hot blood rushed over his tongue. Power twined with her essence. It seeped into his cells, infusing him with strength. A surge of pride welled. He’d been the one to stir her abilities. His touch had ignited the well of raw energy she carried.

  Eyes closed, he drank from her and did his best to ignore the sour taste of death working its way through her blood.

  The beat of her heart slowed with each draught. He kept swallowing and listened. The feeding of the eldjötnar had quickened the process of mating. Normally, it would take two or three feedings to drain her of blood so he could replace it with his. The demon had gorged himself on Cat’s essence.

  Rune waited until her heartbeat stuttered before letting his fangs slip free. He licked t
he spot, healing the wound and dragged his fangs across his wrist. Quickly, he tipped her head back and pried her mouth open. He shoved his wrist against her parted lips. Blood dribbled over her chin.

  He’d never witnessed a mating. They were done in private, usually in an intimate setting, but he’d heard tales of the act. Getting a female to drink was often the scariest part. There’d been cases where they hadn’t. Those deaths had broken their males. They’d died crazed, lashing out at everyone before succumbing to starvation.

  “Don’t do that to me, Cat.”

  He massaged her neck. The sluggish pulse under his hands reassured him. Her unresponsiveness didn’t.

  The tea had been tampered with. Whatever drug she’d ingested had left her unconscious. It was reassuring to know she hadn’t experienced pain with the cursed demon’s bite, but it didn’t help while he tried to save her.

  He kissed her cheeks, eyes, nose, any part of her angelic face her could reach.

  “Stay with me. Eternity, Cat. That’s what we’ll have. I’ll love you every second of it.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Don’t leave me, baby.”

  The lips wrapped around his wrist grew cold. The time between the weak beats of her heart lengthened. His eyesight blurred. Gods, he didn’t want to lose her. They’d barely had any time together. He craned her neck farther and massaged her neck. He’d force his blood into her. Anything, he refused to give her up.

  She groaned, the soft sound garbled with his flesh in her mouth. Her lips moved. The tip of her tongue met his skin. Tingles skipped down his spine with the simple touch. She licked. The small laps over his torn flesh ignited the lust he carried for her. She teased the wound a moment more before she latched on, sucking weakly.

  Each tug of her mouth came quicker, harder than the last. Fire raced through his blood. The pull on his vein connected to his cock. It lengthened. He wanted to bury his rigid dick into her core and pound into her. That was how he’d envisioned their mating, tangled in passion and love.

  He tugged her more firmly over his growing erection. Her arm flopped to the side. She was still too weak but not for much longer. They’d repeat the give and take of blood until he replaced every drop of hers. Each feeding would give her more strength. With both his essence extending her life and that of Odin adding his abilities, she would rise powerful. He knew it.