by Kate Pearce
“If you’re against the gods, why change the prophecy?” Bryn’s blond brows drew together, but at least she was listening. “The major deities are supposed to die.”
“And take the monsters with them—the great dragon Jörmungandr, the giant wolf Fenrir. The giants of Jötunheim want to use those monsters to rule the realms of humans and gods. If the gods die early, there’s nothing to stop them.” He swallowed hard, voicing the awful truth that had been choking him since that völva had turned up on his doorstep. “There’s no one to fight beside me.”
“So you think this is a big conspiracy?” Doubt dripped from her words, and her dark eyes searched his face.
“I can’t afford not to think that way, and one of the berserkers I found has collected some evidence that might convince even you.” His friends weren’t far behind him. He’d texted them the address once he’d confirmed that, yes, this was the woman they were looking for. Only then had he actually spoken to her. He was smart enough to know he’d need backup. Bryn never went down without a fight. “How can we not assume something might be wrong if five immortals haven’t heard from the deities they serve in decades?”
“Berserkers serve Odin, valkyrie serve Freya. That’s only two deities,” she pointed out.
“The two who rule the halls of the valorous dead.” He kept his tone as matter-of-fact as possible. Emotion was never going to convince her, just cold fact. “There’s been lots of war in the human world during the last hundred plus years, and more than a few of the dead warriors would have had some Viking blood in their veins. You think that wouldn’t have kept the valkyries busy, taking those fallen to Valhalla?”
Her gaze fell away. Ah, yes. She had no easy argument for that, did she? He almost wished she did. This wasn’t something he enjoyed being right about. And he was pretty damn sure he was right.
“If the giants win during Ragnarök, the gods become their slaves and humans become their food. You’ve lived among mortals for a very long time, and you still care enough to let your farmhands off to celebrate something as trivial as a birthday. You can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you, especially since former humans like us are as likely to fall into the brunch category as we are to fall into the slave category. A pretty shieldmaiden like you? Oh, they’d have fun with you.” He hissed in a breath and shook his head. “I’m not sure which would be worse—being eaten alive or being raped to death by a giant.”
She swallowed hard. “Don’t be an asshole.”
“The truth isn’t pretty, Bryn. You, of all people, should know that.” Yes, he was being harsh, but the picture he painted was all too feasible, and the thought of such a fate befalling the woman beside him made bile flood his mouth. He couldn’t stand by and just let that happen. Not ever. Deep down, he didn’t think she could stand by either. It wasn’t in her nature, no matter how idyllic her life was now.
“I…” She shook her head. “I need to go flying.”
When she moved to rise, fear gripped his gut. If he let her go now, he might never be able to find her again. He felt like he’d spent an eternity trying to catch up to her, which was an unsettling thought. Snapping his fingers around her wrist, he hauled her back down to the mattress, rolled on top of her, and made sure she didn’t think about going anywhere for a long, long while.
2
The next morning, Bryn snuck out of her own room, leaving Erik sleeping in her bed. Yeah, there wasn’t much dignity in creeping out like a misbehaving teenager, but it was the only way she was going to escape him. She carried her clothes with her, dressed quickly in the hallway, and tiptoed barefoot down the stairs, making sure to skip the second step because it creaked.
Before she went anywhere, she had to feed her horses, so she headed straight for the back of the house. As much as she wanted to fly off into the sunset, her ponies were counting on her to make sure they didn’t starve to death. If Erik and his Seer were wrong and the world didn’t end, she still had to make a living, right? Not to mention she loved the four-legged beasties.
After she passed the door to the living room, she froze, backed up, and did a double take. There were three large men occupying her space. One guy was flipped upside down and leaning up against a wall. Another was sprawled across the couch and looked to be taking a nap. The last one was sitting at a small table, using it as a desk as he hunched over a laptop.
His brows were drawn in a heavy frown and there was something oddly familiar about him, but it was hard to tell with the harsh glow of his monitor casting shadows on his features and only the weak pre-dawn light coming through the window.
“I assume you’re friends of Erik’s?” Not a difficult guess considering the guy standing on his head had a rune stone necklace dangling around his chin.
Couch-boy opened one eye, and a thick New Orleans drawl that practically oozed chicory issued from his mouth. “Yep. We heard a party going on upstairs, and we figured cock-blocking y’all was just bad form. So we made ourselves at home.”
“You’re out of milk now, love.” She looked down as Mr. Handstand started talking. This guy had a cute English accent. “Sorry about that. We’ll send Holm out to fetch more later.”
Since she had no idea which one was Holm, she just gestured at English and New Orleans. “Great. You can both get your feet off my sofa and wall.”
English dropped lightly to the ground and New Orleans sat up, swinging his legs around. Once upon a time, she’d known all of the berserkers in Valhalla. But she’d been wandering the human world for a long time, unable to face the man who was still sleeping upstairs. She’d been consumed with pain and rage for so long. Luckily, Freya had been understanding and given Bryn her way, only calling her back in when she was needed for a specific task. Of course, if Erik was right, the goddess’s prolonged silence might mean she was now dead or on the run from conspirators.
When nobody offered names, Bryn arched an eyebrow. “And you are?”
“Valbjorn Makan. Val.” English held out a hand to shake. His grip was firm, but he didn’t try to make it a pissing contest by crushing her fingers. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Ravencrest.”
New Orleans didn’t stand up, just gave her a nod. “Holm Sutherland.” He gestured to the last man. “And that’s Ivar.”
The man at the computer grabbed the sides of his seat, and that was when she realized he was in a wheelchair. He slid back and spun to face her. “Ivar the Boneless. You’ve heard of me, I presume?”
“Yeah. I’ve heard of you.” Coldness tingled in her fingertips and she felt the blood leave her face in a sickening rush. Well, that explained why he looked vaguely familiar. He was her grandson. Hers and Erik’s. With her platinum blond hair and his silver eyes, this man was a perfect cross between the two of them. She swallowed hard. “There’s coffee and bagels in the kitchen. Help yourselves.”
Spinning on a heel, she exited the room.
Ivar’s deep baritone followed. “We fed your ponies for you—I found a list in the office of what to feed all of them. Holm drew the short straw and had to muck their stalls.”
“Awesome. Thanks.” She didn’t pause, just walked to the kitchen, grabbed her ankle boots off the floor, and shoved her feet into them. Erik’s and her discarded clothes from the night before were missing, but she didn’t want to think about what might have happened to them. She didn’t want to think about anything at all. Out the back door, she headed straight for the barn. Keeping her mind deliberately blank, she checked the horses, found them properly cared for. Good. Then she went into her office, opened a window, stripped naked, shifted into her raven form, and launched herself skyward. She had to get away from here.
Her past had truly come to roost.
* * *
“So, you didn’t warn her I’d be showing up, huh? Real classy, Grandpa.” Ivar hadn’t even let Erik get all the way into the living room before the chastisement rang in his ears. Of course, he wasn’t moving all that fast considering he had to keep a grip on the towel around his wais
t.
He closed his eyes, partially because of the grandpa crack, and partially because, yes, he probably should have mentioned to Bryn that one of the berserkers he’d run across was their daughter’s son. They’d both been dead long before Ivar had been born, but that didn’t mean Bryn wouldn’t be bitch-slapped by their rather traumatic past when she met him. “Shit.”
“Never seen anybody go so pale so fast unless they were actually bleeding out.” Ivar crossed his arms over his muscular chest, narrowing eyes exactly like those that looked Erik in the mirror every morning. He should be used to it, but it was still unsettling.
“I get the picture,” he said shortly. “I should have told her that her long-lost grandson would be stopping by.”
Not that it wasn’t strange to be staring at his grandson and have the man look almost exactly the same age that he did—forever in their late twenties. It made it impossible to really think of him as a grandson, so Ivar had become something of a…not brother-figure, but perhaps a beloved distant cousin.
Dropping the attitude, Ivar sighed. “You think me being here will make it easier or harder to get her on our side?”
“With Bryn?” Erik scrubbed his free hand over his shaved pate. “I have no fucking clue. If I could predict her, my mortal life would have ended a bit differently.”
The other man spread his arms and shrugged. “Ah, but only those who die gloriously in battle get to hang out immortally ever after in Valhalla. Maybe she did you a favor.”
Erik cocked an eyebrow. “Is that how you think about the person who did you in?”
“Nah, but I took him with me.” Ivar grinned. “His God may have saved his soul, but Odin had my back, so I guess we’re both good with our respective afterlives.”
“Right.” Erik rolled his eyes.
Holm piped up from where he lounged on the couch. “It sounded like you two had one hell of a reunion last night.”
Yeah, like Erik wanted to share any details on that. Holm had a way of saying exactly the wrong thing in any situation. He spent his life with this foot in his mouth, which was probably why he preferred to hide away from other people in some backwater bayou in Louisiana. But he’d come to help when Erik had called, no questions asked. Erik appreciated the loyalty and vote of confidence, so he ignored the tactless comment and kept his focus on Ivar. “When did you guys get in?”
“A little after midnight,” Ivar replied.
Erik had vaguely noticed their arrival some time during the night, but since he’d only smelled allies, he’d let them take care of themselves and glutted himself on the feel and scent and taste of Bryn. It might have been his last chance.
“Where is she?” The sweet aroma of her was fading, as if she’d come and gone.
“I saw a blackbird fly out of the big barn a little bit ago. I’m betting that was her,” Ivar gestured at the open living room window, but he frowned at his laptop screen. The man was a gadget freak of the highest order. It was his research—aka hacking—that had made it possible to track down Bryn. She could have been anywhere in the world, living under any assumed identity, but Ivar had narrowed their possibilities down to a handful of women. They’d divided the list between them, and Erik had hit the jackpot.
“Yeah, that probably was her.” A chilly morning breeze came through the window, and Erik shifted his hold on his towel. Frosty balls were not the way to start the day. Nor was waking up alone, abandoned by your companion.
Holm grinned at Erik’s discomfort, which earned him a stony stare. “Think she’ll be back? Or has she flown the coop for good?”
Refusing to admit he’d wondered the same thing when he’d leaped out of bed, Erik managed a casual shrug. “Her farmhands won’t be back until tomorrow night. She wouldn’t abandon her animals.”
“Glad she has her priorities straight,” Holm drawled.
The words were mild enough, but Erik felt his hackles rise anyway, wanting to defend her. He told himself to get a grip and moved toward the door. “I’m going for a run—I’ll be back in an hour or so. Send up a flare if you need me sooner.”
“Will do.” Ivar gave a distracted wave, closing his laptop.
“Hang on.”
Holm’s voice made Erik turn back. “Yeah?”
The other man propped his elbows on the back of the couch. A shit-eating grin curved his lips. “Your clothes are in the dryer…you know, in case you were wondering. Val was nice enough to wash them for you.”
“Tell him I said thanks.” Where Val had taken himself off too, Erik didn’t know. Somewhere close by, from the intensity of his scent.
Ivar tucked his computer into the backpack slung across the handles of his wheelchair. “I’m going for a drive. I dug something up that I think could help us. I’ll be back whenever I’m back. You know how to reach me.”
“Sure, fine. Whatever.” Right now they were just hanging around waiting for the end times to show up, which was maddening and boring all at once. The völva had said it would be soon, but soon could be an hour from now or a week from now. Seers could be damn annoying when their visions didn’t provide real details.
He’d found exercise helped burn off the frustration in the last couple of weeks while he’d tracked down Holm and Ivar, both of whom he’d kept in touch with over the past decade or so. Ivar had known Val since they were mortals, so that had added another member to their merry band of misfits, and then Ivar had managed to unearth Bryn’s location. Still, weeks of uncertainty, not knowing when or even if he’d find the shieldmaiden before the apocalypse hit, had stretched his patience to the limit.
Discarding the towel on the kitchen counter, he shifted into his wolf form in the space between heartbeats, his body twisting and reshaping until he stood on all fours. Shaking from head to tail, he settled into the familiar form. He nosed out of the screen door and then shot off the porch at a dead run. He headed for the wide green path that cut between two pastures.
Every now and then, he caught Bryn’s scent. A glance skyward didn’t reveal a raven in flight, but he knew she was nearby.
The run let him think, and while he should be focusing on Ragnarök and saving the world, that tantalizing scent of Bryn kept his mind on her instead. Even when they’d first met, when he’d gone in search of her castle, she’d already been a legend. He’d just slayed a dragon and claimed the beast’s treasure and its enchanted ring—Andvaranaut—which could turn anything into solid gold. He’d been told if he bathed in dragon’s blood, he’d become indestructible, so he’d been cocksure and certain there was no prize beyond his reach.
He’d gone looking for further adventure and found Bryn. He remembered the first time he’d seen her, deep in an enchanted sleep, her tower surrounded by elemental fire. The castle had been little more than a myth then—one that said a man who knew no fear could pass through the fire and find a reward beyond riches within the stone walls. Many had tried and failed, but Erik had managed it. Looking back, he thought he’d been too young and stupid to know he should be afraid, but he’d found his greatest treasure nonetheless.
The moment her midnight eyes had opened and met his gaze, he’d known she’d own his soul forever. That was it for him. Done. No other woman would ever do.
Stretching his forelegs in front of him, Erik raced along the path as if pouring on more speed might help him escape the memories. The world became a blur of green grass and white fences, streaking past his vision. He came to the edge of Bryn’s farm and bolted into the woods beyond.
But there was no way to outrun himself, was there?
After they’d met, they’d talked for hours, days. He’d regaled her with his victory over the dragon, and revealed his one vulnerability where the dragon’s blood hadn’t touched. Of course, he hadn’t realized then that telling her meant he had two vulnerabilities.
She’d told him she was a valkyrie, and she’d displeased Odin by using her magical ability to choose the victor in battle to pick a man Odin didn’t favor. As retribution, the g
od had made her a mortal woman, trapped her in the tower, and cast a sleeping spell on her, so that any man who desired her might claim her virginity. Knowing she’d be defenseless in sleep, just before she’d succumbed to the god’s spell, she’d thrown out a ring of fire that would only let in a fearless man. If she was to be claimed by an unknown man, he should at least be brave enough to be worthy of her admiration.
Ah, Bryn. If only I’d remained worthy.
But, fool that he was, he’d craved more exploits and renown, so he’d given Bryn his ring as a token of his promise to return and asked her to wait for him. She’d agreed—not that he’d given her much choice.
More than once, he’d wanted to go back and slap the shit out of his younger self. He should have found the closest temple and married her immediately.
Instead, he gone to the royal court of Burgundy and offered his sword to King Gunnar’s service. There was fame to be found in their ongoing wars, and his reputation as a dragon-slayer and daring feats in battle made him a respected advisor to the king in short time. Unfortunately, it also drew the unwanted attentions of the king’s sister, Princess Gudrun. Erik had spurned her advances as gently as he could, but it was the king’s mother, Grimhild, that proved his ultimate downfall. Grimhild was a powerful sorceress, a völva, and she wanted the riches he’d claimed from the dragon’s horde to remain in her family. She concocted a vile potion that made him believe he was in love with Gudrun and wiped his mind of any other woman he’d ever met.
Erik had gone to Gunnar and begged for his sister’s hand in marriage.
Erik had spoken of his beloved valkyrie one too many times before the spell kicked in, and Gunnar had decided he wanted the legendary beauty for his own. So he agreed to let Erik marry his sister if Erik helped him claim Brynhild. They’d gone to her castle, where she’d kept that wall of fire burning so that none but her brave love could approach.