Redeemer (Night War Saga Book 3)

by Leia Stone

With a fierce cry, I cracked my light whip against the invisible barrier that had knocked me down. I lashed at the energetic dome until arcs of color shot across its clear edges. The barrier rippled, but didn’t break. Arugh. So long as it was intact, I couldn’t get inside, and Tore couldn’t get out. And Nott was pulling him closer and closer to the path of the eternal flame. A fresh wave of terror coursed through me. A few more feet and Tore would—

  “Enough!” Vidar thundered. He ripped himself from Nott’s grasp and pushed her back. Tore was able to scramble a few feet away, but it wasn’t long before Nott had both Tore and Vidar in her energetic clutches again. She pulled them toward the flames, her once-sickening smile now a grimace of pure, unadulterated hatred.

  Nothing we did would ever free Nott from her inner demons. She’d just keep killing, keep destroying, until there was nothing but darkness in every realm she touched. Gud Morder may have been the only thing that could stop her, but nothing was worth losing the demigod I loved—not even the destruction of the one goddess in all the realms I had cause to actually hate. Shoving my hand into my satchel, I withdrew the piece of my weapon and held it high above my head.

  “Here,” I cried out, my voice raw. “Take it. Just give me Tore and his dad.”

  Tore and Vidar’s journey toward imminent death slowed as Nott tilted her head.

  “No, Allie.” Vidar spoke vehemently. “Two lives are not more important than millions. Even if you love them.”

  Nott bared her teeth in a sickening grin. “A trade? I rather like that,” she purred.

  “No,” Vidar said again, this time with more fortitude. “I won’t allow it.” He wrenched himself to the side, somehow breaking free of Nott’s hold and launching himself at her feet. She stumbled backward, raising her hand over her head and whipping Tore upward. I shoved the piece of Gud Morder back into my satchel, freeing both of my hands to do whatever was needed as soon as this stupid block was lifted.

  “Arugh!” Tore flew through the air. He struck the surface of the dome at the apex of his trajectory, shattering the energy shield before hurtling downward toward the eternal flame.

  “Tore!” I cried out. My arm stretched forward, and without thinking, I wrapped my light whip around his ankle, pulling him away from the fire so he landed hard on an icy patch of non-flame-ridden snow. Thank God. Nott continued to wrestle against Vidar while raising her arm toward Tore. Tore’s body stiffened, once again under Nott’s dominion. I pulled back on my whip, engaging Nott in a game of energetic tug-of-war. She let out a roar, and Tore moved away from me. No! My whip weakened the farther he drifted, and my chest clenched as I realized Nott was regaining control . . . and Tore was heading straight for the eternal flame.

  “Tore!” Vidar released his hold on Nott and flew at his son, closing the space between them in one powerful leap.

  “Vidar, no!” I screamed. “The fire!”

  But Vidar didn’t flinch. As he shoved Tore hard enough to free him from Nott’s energetic grasp, the night goddess’s pull latched on to Revenge. And before I could send my light whip in as a lifeline, Vidar was drawn right into the green flames. His shrieks echoed across the encampment, their pain-filled tenor sure to haunt my dreams from here to forever.

  Oh, God. No. No!

  “Father!” Tore roared. He rolled to his feet and clawed his way toward the fire.

  “Forgive me, Son,” Vidar rasped. And with one final, pleading look, he crumbled into himself, eviscerating into the glowing, green light.

  No.

  Tore acted so fast, I barely registered the movement. His right arm shot over his head, and with a flash of silver, a dagger soared through the air. It pierced the soft skin of Nott’s neck with a quiet rip, and Nott let out a shriek that rivaled Vidar’s. The eternal flame flickered, then died out, and Tore barreled toward her with a wail. My hands flew to my chest as I picked up on the pain, loss, and absolute agony that resonated from behind his normally bulletproof energy shield. Tore was hurting. And Nott was going to pay for it, big time.

  Nott pulled the dagger from her neck and turned on Tore. The steady stream of blood pooling on her chest didn’t slow her in the slightest. Her pale arms flung outward as black feathers dotted her skin, and by the time Tore reached her she’d already transformed into that stupid flock of birds and taken to the sky. Tore leapt up, his hands wrapping around one of the winged monsters. He slammed it hard against the ground, its frantic flapping only a minor impediment as he raised his sword and drove the tip straight through the bird’s chest. Shrieks from the airborne flock caused the Liv to die out in my chest, and my hands flew to my ears as I fought to block the deafening sound.

  “Tore, be careful!” I shouted. But he was lost in a world of pain, jamming his sword into the demonic piece of Nott until its wings stilled and its cries were silent. I scanned the camp for additional hostiles, only to find our team obliterating the few remaining attackers. When the last clang of a sword echoed across the snow, and the surviving members of Nott’s freaky flock had disappeared into the sky, I moved carefully to Tore’s side. “That bird is dead,” I said unnecessarily. “But the rest got away. What does that mean?”

  Tore pushed himself up. His entire body was covered in dirt, and soot, and blood. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I hope it hurt like Hel.”

  Oh, Tore. His voice sounded so hollow, so lost. He turned to the spot where the flame had taken Vidar, moisture pooling in his eyes as he studied the black ash that was all that remained of his father. He crossed to the pile and knelt down, placing one hand beside the ashes, and the other over his chest in tribute.

  “He sacrificed himself. For me.” Tore’s voice cracked. “He’s never performed a selfless act in his life, until . . .”

  Tears crept down my cheeks. “Sometimes it’s hard to show love,” I offered. “But it doesn’t mean that love’s not there.” I knew that much to be true from my early days with Tore.

  My protector gave a perfunctory nod, his gaze not shifting from the black pile atop the snow. “Goodbye, Father,” he said quietly. “May your sacrifice earn you a seat at Valhalla.”

  I crossed the icy earth to kneel beside him. Placing one hand on his back, I sent a silent thank you to the morally questionable deity who, in the end, had saved the demigod I loved. No matter what he’d done in life, Vidar had acted with honor in death. And for that, I was grateful.

  “Goodbye, Vidar.” Mack’s deep voice came from beside me. I looked up to see him taking a knee. He was quickly joined by Bodie and Johann, who placed their fists over their chests in tribute. Astrid and her warriors followed, each taking a knee and bowing their head.

  “May the ære with which he died be his legacy,” Astrid offered. And she wiped the black blood of her night elf conquest from her cheek before placing her own fist atop her heart.

  Tore tilted his head back and screamed at the sky, “Heimdall! Bifrost!” That was it—no request, no additional words. Just the bare minimum communication. I sensed it was all he was capable of saying through his grief. I totally understood.

  ‘Scarlet,’ I summoned. ‘We’re leaving.’

  Tears pooled in my eyes as I scanned the encampment, where the bodies of the attacking inmates lay strewn in piles across the yard, and the guards paced calmly along what was left of the icy barrier. Tore had been right—they didn’t care what happened within the camp’s borders, only that none of its occupants attempted escape. I half expected them to come after us when the brilliant light of the Bifrost dropped beside us, but they continued their pacing. They’d considered us visitors all along.

  The whoosh of wings from above revealed Scarlet swooping down with Greta on her back.

  ‘Trondheim?’ my dragon questioned.

  ‘Yes. Take Greta back to the safe house,’ I affirmed. ‘I’ll be right behind you with Tore.’

  Scarlet flapped toward the Bifrost, entering the rainbow and soaring upward as I placed my hand on Tore’s back.

  “Come on, Protector
. It’s time to go home.”

  Tore swiped two fingers through Vidar’s ashes before resting them lightly atop his heart. “Goodbye,” he whispered. He took my hand and guided me into the rainbow. My own heart broke all over again as he stared stoically ahead, and I gave his hand a gentle squeeze—the only comfort I could offer.

  The rest of our group silently filed inside the spectrum of colors, and a single thought flittered across my mind as the wind of the rainbow transport whipped my hair across my face.

  Vidar is dead.

  I snuck a look at my boyfriend’s tightly clenched jaw, and reached up to wipe the lone tear that laid a track down his cheek. He said nothing as the Bifrost pulsed, just wrapped an arm around me and held me close while the rainbow sucked us back to our safe house, and, I hoped, into a whole new beginning.

  ***

  Mack slipped into full Zen mode the moment we touched down in Trondheim. Since shock and grief overrode our hunger, he unplugged the crock pot and transferred the chili to the fridge. While he worked, he calmly suggested Bodie secure the piece of Gud Morder in the safe, sanguinely instructed me to heal Greta’s still-injured leg, peacefully requested that Johann and Astrid check the protections around the property, and serenely directed the warriors and Mel to the Asgard-bound Bifrost. He was so intent on maintaining a calm home front, he even sent Lela off to walk Killer and feed Scarlet before personally setting Tore up in his room with a pot of tea and a plate of Ophelia’s cookies. Since it was now past midnight, I assumed Tore’s mom was sleeping peacefully, unaware that her memory-wiping ex-husband had just sacrificed his life to save their only son from the Goddess of Nightmares—er, Night. I could only imagine the kind of wounds that nugget of information would awaken in her if we told her what had just transpired. God, our life was intense.

  I’d set Greta up at the kitchen table with her own cup of tea, bag of ice, and heavy dosage of the Liv. The blue energy ran along her propped up leg in a slow, steady wave, moving between two charged crystals I’d placed at her hip and foot. When I was confident the drip would hold long enough for me to check on Tore, I squeezed Greta’s shoulder and walked across the kitchen. Mack intercepted me, blocking my path with his massive form.

  “Let Tore be, Allie,” he advised.

  “Let Tore be?” I questioned. “Greta’s leg is setting. And I want my boyfriend to know he’s not alone.”

  “Think about what you just said.” Mack leaned against the doorframe with a sad smile. “Do you really believe Tore thinks he’s alone?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I know he knows he has us, but . . .”

  But he’d just watched his jerk father die in a demonic fire. That had to scar a guy.

  “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Mack assured me. “In the meantime, let him sit with his grief. A soul as prideful as Tore’s won’t want to fall to pieces in front of his girlfriend.”

  Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.

  “But isn’t the whole point of my having the Liv to keep others from hurting?” I tried one last time to get through to Mack.

  “The point of you having the Liv is to help others embrace living,” Mack corrected. “Pain is a part of living in a body. You have the gift of healing, yes. But to deny others their experiences is to deny them the opportunity to grow; to expand their consciousness; to more fully come into the wholeness of their spirit.”

  My god-brother had just gone full-on existential ninja. And here I’d just wanted to give my boyfriend a hug. Jeez. Maybe Mack had a point.

  “He will come. Let him grieve.” With that, Mack stepped lightly over the floorboards to open the cherry-wood cupboard. He pulled out a mug, and raised an eyebrow to me. “It seems that in taking care of others, we forgot to make tea for ourselves. Care to have a cup with me?”

  “Sure.” I sighed. Mack had a good point—he always did. But I hoped Tore would seek me out sooner than later. It killed me to know that he was hurting and I wasn’t there to help him.

  I slumped into the chair beside Greta’s and drummed my fingertips on the smooth, wood surface of the table.

  “Mack’s right.” Greta reached over and placed her hand atop mine. “Holding space for Tore to grieve is the most loving thing you could do for him.”

  “I guess.” I watched Mack’s expansive back pivot from the sink to the stove. He placed the now-full kettle on a burner before carrying two empty mugs and the box of assorted tea bags to the table.

  “How are you, Allie?” he asked as he sat. “You weren’t injured in the battle?”

  “Physically, I’m good. Mentally . . .” A shudder danced along my spine. “I’m going to need all the therapy. Know anyone good in Trondheim?”

  “It was a lot to take in,” Greta agreed. “I’d only ever been to Helheim once before, and it was only to the outlands on a retrieval mission. I’d never seen the camps . . . or the guards.”

  “Good God, those things were horrible.” I shuddered. “But they were nothing compared to watching Vidar . . . well . . .”

  The whistling of the tea kettle made me flinch.

  “To watching him pass.” Mack folded his hands and bowed his head before rising to tend to the kettle. He brought it to the table, and filled his mug and mine before tilting his head at Greta. “Top-off?” he offered.

  “I’m good, thanks.” She waved him away with one delicate hand.

  When the kettle rested on a trivet, and Mack and I had chosen tea bags from the box, my god-brother raised his mug in tribute. “To Vidar,” he offered. “May his soul ascend in ære.”

  “To Vidar,” came a thick voice from the doorway. Greta, Mack and I turned our heads in near-perfect synchronization. My heart leapt at the sight of Tore leaning on the doorframe. Lines of grief were etched deep within his face, tugging his eyes down at the corners and setting his lips in a frown. But he was standing, and he’d sought us out. Just like Mack had said he would.

  “Tea?” I offered. When Tore nodded, I jumped up to retrieve an empty mug. I returned to my seat and hurriedly lifted the kettle, sloshing hot water in my haste to provide what little comfort I could. By the time I’d opened the tea box and unwrapped a bag of his favorite minty blend, Tore had lowered himself into an empty chair. He wrapped shaky fingers around the steaming mug.

  “Vidar lived a wretched existence,” he said. “But in the end, he chose love. He died with ære. Valhalla will receive him, which means a piece of his soul will charge our weapons. For better or worse, he’ll always be with us.”

  “To your dad.” I raised my mug to Tore’s, and Greta and Mack did the same.

  “Skål,” they said in unison.

  I drank, not registering the burn of the too-hot liquid. Helheim had overwhelmed me, so I couldn’t fathom what it had done to my boyfriend. The scars Tore and I had incurred weren’t the physical kind, and I knew there was little I could do to ease my boyfriend’s pain. But right then, and in all the days that followed, I would give him every bit of support I could as he struggled to set his world right again.

  And then I’d murder Nott.

  ***

  “Allie?” Tore’s throaty voice came through my closed door.

  I hurriedly shrugged into my sleep shorts and tank top before cracking open the door with a breathless, “Yeah?”

  Holy mother of all things Asgardian. My heart thudded to a standstill as I took in the sight of my favorite protector. Tore stood in the hallway wearing nothing more than plaid pajama bottoms. His long, blond hair fell over thick, muscled shoulders, and his hands were clasped tight in front of eight distinct abdominal muscles. Who had that many abs? For that matter, who looked this good after a night fighting the undead?

  Tore freaking Vidarsson, that was who. Demigod of Hotness.

  “Can I sleep in here?” he asked.

  “Um, sure.” Like he ever had to ask. But I kept my voice nonchalant, opening the door wider and stepping to the side. “Come on in.”

  “Takk,” he murmured. He shuffled toward
my bed like a tranquilized bull, dropping to sit on the edge and tucking his legs beneath the sheets in one seamless movement. I stood by the door, unsure of what to do. After tea, Tore had announced he was wiped out and headed to bed. I’d waited another half hour until Greta was well enough to walk to her room with a barely discernible limp. Then I’d turned in for the night. Since Tore and I hadn’t talked beyond toasting his father, I had no idea where he was emotionally. And I had no idea what role he wanted me to play in helping him through his grief. The only things I knew for sure were (a) Tore Vidarsson was in my bed—shirtless; and (b) Tore Vidarsson was in too much pain for me to allow the possible ramifications of point (a) to play out the way I so very much wanted them to.

  The universe had one majorly sick sense of humor.

  “You coming?” Tore grunted. He lifted the sheets, and my heart fluttered as the tension in my fourth center eased up. Whatever he was going through, Tore still wanted me beside him. That thought alone filled me with warmth, and security, and just the teensiest bit of lust.

  Down, lust. Not tonight.

  “Of course,” I murmured. My bare feet crossed the floorboards in record time as I made it to the bed and tucked myself in. My arms wrapped around the tight muscles of Tore’s bare back, and I snuggled into him with a contented sigh. “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you, too.” Tore positioned his palm on my lower back. Pulling me closer, he placed a soft kiss on my forehead. His torso shuddered as he drew a slow inhale, but the tense muscles relaxed with each subsequent breath. Within moments he was breathing peacefully, the bare skin of his chest rising and falling rhythmically against the thin fabric of my tank top. My own consciousness thickened with exhaustion, and within moments I was drifting off, wrapped safely in the arms of the Demigod of Revenge. Demigod of Revenge . . .

  Tore’s title flickered on repeat across my mind, and my final thought before sleep overtook me made me shiver: If the God of Revenge had just been murdered . . . was I sleeping in the arms of his successor?

  CHAPTER EIGHT