by Kate Pearce
“Maybe you don’t need or want my forgiveness, but you have it anyway. I just wanted you to know that.” He stroked his thumb back and forth across her knuckles, his expression far kinder than she deserved.
Her throat closed and nothing but a strangled squeak emerged. She’d never realized how much she needed that forgiveness. Or that he was the only one left alive who could give it to her. Yes, she was a shieldmaiden; she was supposed to be fire and brimstone and revenge served on the cutting edge of a sword. At least, that was what she used to think, but time gives maturity and perspective. And guilt could eat away at a person. So could pain.
Erik had abandoned her—perhaps not purposefully, but he had—and then he’d betrayed her. Maybe he hadn’t understood the true depths of his betrayal, but he’d known he was doing something wrong.
None of that absolved her of what she’d done. Or what she hadn’t done.
A single tear tracked down her cheek. “Thank you.”
He hauled her into his arms, pressing her face against his chest. She resisted, but he refused to let go, just crooned soft comfort into her hair. All her pent-up grief came exploding out. The dam burst inside her, and shuddering sobs wracked her body.
“I didn’t want him to die.” The words rose to an agonized cry, a truth she’d never confessed to anyone. Ever. Some people might have congratulated her on killing the boy who would one day harm her child, but she’d never think of it that way. Very un-Viking of her, but she’d have found another way to protect Aslaug. She would never have wished death on Sigmund. “I loved him like he was my own.”
“I know, hjartað mitt.” He stroked her back, his voice rough with emotion. “I know.”
And maybe he did. Maybe this man was the only person who could truly understand.
7
The next morning, Bryn took Rogue out for a joyride. She felt lighter than she had in her entire existence. Which was insane, because as far as she could tell, Earth might be destroyed at any second, and she might very well end up a giant’s sex slave or midnight snack. The future wasn’t looking so rosy, but the guilt that had plagued her for centuries was a little less awful today than it had been the day before.
She’d take it.
So she saddled up her favorite horse and let him do what he loved best—race the wind. Who knew when she’d get to do this again? With Greg and Tom back, her workload was much lower, and she took shameless advantage of being the boss. The guys were happy enough that she’d let them both bail on her at the same time to go see their mom that they didn’t protest. Family was something Bryn had only had for a few short years, so she wanted them to enjoy that precious gift while they still had it.
Generally, she tried to look after the guys who worked for her. Since she didn’t age like a mortal, she couldn’t keep hands for more than a decade or so without it being really obvious that she wasn’t quite human, but she did her best by them for as long as they stayed. Even if she wasn’t all touchy-feely with her people, she did care.
And, when the time came, she would do everything in her power to stop those who wanted to bring on the apocalypse.
But this morning was all about cutting loose and having a bit of fun. She bent over Rogue's neck, stretching with him at each long stride, letting the wind whip past them. The scent of grass and cut hay filled her nose, Rogue's hooves churned up dirt as they pounded along the path. It was freeing, the closest she got to flying in her human form. She felt a grin tug at her lips. She was doing that more often in the last couple of days, and she had Erik to blame. Or thank.
The fence posts whipped past, small white markers that told her how far they'd gone. Miles, almost to the woods at the very edge of her property. She could press further, do a full lap around her farm, but Rogue's breathing had become labored. The horse was game to run, which was what had made him so successful on the track, but she leaned back and began pulling his speed down.
“Good boy!” She patted his neck firmly, while he whuffled a breath. “That’s my good boy.”
A breeze curled around her, and she didn’t know why, but it sent icy fear sleeting down her spine. Rogue shook his head, dancing nervously on his delicate hooves, shimmying his hindquarters in a semicircle. Did he sense something was wrong, or was he just picking up her unease? Shading her eyes, she scanned the area. Was it one of the berserkers in wolf form? That would certainly freak out a horse, and the raven within her wasn’t thrilled about being hunted either.
But that was the feeling. She was being hunted, eyes were on her, staring at her. The intent felt menacing, a threat.
She saw nothing, but she had too much experience to believe that meant there was nothing. Her instincts didn’t play tricks.
Which told her it was definitely not the time to hop off her mount and go check out shadows in the dense woods. Nope, it was time to get the hell out of here. Wheeling Rogue around, she kicked him into a gallop, heading straight for the stables.
She never made it.
A flash of light blinded her. Time stretched, became elastic, and a single heartbeat lasted an eternity. She saw nothing, but her other senses sharpened. Searing agony up her right side, the hot metallic scent of blood, the ear-piercing sound of Rogue’s scream.
Beyond all that, she heard something even more terrifying. Whooping, jackal-like, maniacal laughter. It echoed like a thousand deranged animals cackling in sync.
Oh, shit. She only knew one being who laughed like that.
Loki.
He’d escaped, and now he was here.
It was the last thought she had before unconsciousness sank its vicious claws into her, ripping her into the abyss.
* * *
A sharp gust of wind blew across the stable yard, and an acrid scent hit Erik’s nose. His head came up, his nostrils flaring as he tried to catch the smell. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn’t immediately place it, just a nagging memory that tugged at the back of his mind. But he had a lot of years of memories to try to filter through. Whatever it was, he didn’t think it was good. A prickle of unease sent urgency coursing through him.
“Val, Holm,” he called. Only a screen door covered the entry to the kitchen, so they could easily hear him, but he was more interested in what they could smell. He wished Ivar were here too, but the man had left at the crack of dawn to track some lead. “Do you know what that scent is?”
Holm poked his head out, sucking in a deep breath. His brows snapped together. “Loki.”
Yes, that was it. Odin had once taken Erik to see the chained giant. They’d kept their distance, but Odin liked to see for himself that Loki stayed put. That trip meant Erik knew the giant’s unique scent. Gods help them all, Loki had escaped.
Someone pushed Holm from behind because he stumbled onto the back porch, and then Val stepped out too.
“Wind’s coming from the southeast.” Val squinted at the serene green fields.
Nauma edged outside behind the guys, concern in her voice. “Isn’t that the direction—”
“Yeah.” The direction Bryn had gone riding. Hours ago. Erik was already moving, heading for Bryn’s beat-up farm truck.
“I have a bad feeling,” Nauma said softly, but his enhanced hearing picked up her words. Val made a harsh noise, and Erik recalled what Nauma’s feelings meant.
His blood went cold, and he started to run.
Ripping open the truck door, he was relieved to see the keys in the ignition. Thank the gods. He fired it up and shoved it into gear. Two jolting thunks, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Val and Holm had hopped in the back.
“Erik!”
Nauma’s shriek snapped his head around. The woman pointed, and Erik saw a cloud of dust coming their way. The pounding of hooves made the air rush from his lungs. Bryn. He sent a grateful prayer up to Odin, sliding out of the truck to meet the horse.
But Bryn wasn’t riding Rogue. Stirrups flapped like wings, and the stallion’s coat was lathered with sweat, foam around his mou
th.
Erik held up his hands. “Whoa,” he soothed. “Whoa, boy. It’s all right. Come to me.”
Rogue stumbled to a stop and Erik grabbed the dangling reins. The stallion’s ears flicked, his head bobbing, his hindquarters dancing in a circle. When he swung around, Erik saw a small gash on the horse’s neck, and blood splattered over the saddle and down Rogue’s long leg.
The stink of horse sweat almost covered the truth—most of that blood wasn’t Rogue’s, it was Bryn’s.
He knew. He just knew that whatever they found wasn’t going to be good. He looked at the other men. “You armed?”
Val patted his pockets. “I’ve got all Ivar’s goodies with me.”
“Don’t so much as take a crap without them,” Holm agreed.
“Good.” Erik laid a calming hand on the stallion’s nose. “I think we’ll need them.”
The farmhands came pelting out of the barn. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“Rogue came back without Bryn,” Erik replied as calmly as he could, though his fingers trembled and his belly roiled with unease. Something was very, very wrong. But spooking the mortals wouldn’t help the situation. “The horse is injured. Take care of him. We’ll go look for her.”
“I’ll come with you,” Tom said sharply, the same suspicion on his face that he’d worn the night before during their introduction. “Greg can look after Rogue.”
“Fine.” Erik handed the reins over and returned to the truck. “I’m driving.”
Val and Holm clamored into the bed, their backs against the cab. Nauma stood by, fingers balled in her caftan, her features pinched.
Erik met her gaze, conveying a wealth of information without putting it in words. “Would you be useful once we get to the scene?”
She swallowed. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Hop in.” He held the door open for her.
Sliding to the middle of the bench seat, she folded her hands in her lap. Erik climbed in behind her and lit out of the yard with the kind of gravel-spitting speed reserved for times when someone was shooting at him. Rogue had left a fairly clear trail to follow—kicked-up clods of dirt and the lingering scent of blood.
Within ten minutes, he was pulling to a stop along the path. Val and Holm got out, and Holm went right for the flattened spot of grass Erik had noticed. While the man was terrible with words, he had the kind of tracking ability that was so accurate it was eerie. He wandered the area for a few minutes, his keen gaze taking in everything.
Tom opened his mouth. “What’s he—”
“Quiet,” Erik ordered. “Let him concentrate.”
“This is where she landed.” Holm knelt and skimmed his palm over the crushed grass. “I think she was unconscious by the time she hit the ground.”
“How can you tell?” Tom demanded.
“No signs of struggle.” Holm’s fingers fanned out to encompass the area. “She didn’t try to crawl. No footprints to show her walking or running anywhere.”
Nauma pointed. “Those are footprints.”
“Too big to be hers.” He brushed his hands down his thighs, rising to his feet. “Looking at everything, I think she was hit with something, maybe a bullet, maybe just a thrown rock. Both she and the horse were injured. She fell off—either before or after she passed out—and someone grabbed her and carried her off.”
“It would probably have to be a man, then. It’d take a bodybuilder of a woman to lift Ms. Ravencrest.” The mortal shook his head. “If there were trespassers, she would have called us before she approached them. She always had her cell phone with her when she rode.”
That was when Erik realized he didn’t have his phone with him. He’d left it on the nightstand in Bryn’s room. Shit.
Val slid his hands in his pockets. “Might have been a long-range rifle. Maybe she didn’t approach them. Maybe she never saw it coming.”
Tom strode forward, his gaze on the ground as if he could read the same signs Holm had seen. Pointless. Tracking like that was as much a gift as it was years of training. Holm was the very best.
“More than one person, do you think? Or just Loki?” Erik turned to Holm.
The other berserker considered for a moment. “Loki alone. I think he teleported her or we’d see tracks leading away as well. There’s only the set that approached her after she went down.”
Erik switched his focus to the völva. “Nauma?”
“I’m not getting anything,” she whispered. “Just a very bad feeling. Like…doomsday bad.”
Doomsday. Ragnarök. “Shit.”
Tom came back to the group. “We need to call the police.”
“Right.” Erik nodded. What else could he say? Trying to dissuade the man from alerting the authorities when his boss had gone missing was a good way to make him ask questions that couldn’t be answered. “I don’t have my cell phone with me.”
Holm blinked. “Me neither.”
“Nor me, mate.” Val patted his pockets again.
“I don’t even own a cell phone.” Nauma winced. “Though I’m guessing Ivar’s going to change that when he finds out.”
“No question.” Erik returned to the truck. It was time to call Ivar and see if he had any way of tracking a person that had been teleported.
“I’ll call.” Tom pulled out his phone and dialed. He relayed the pertinent information, and Erik began to pace the length of the pickup. Every little delay to keep up appearances for humans was one more minute where Loki and his allies had Bryn. An unconscious, wounded Bryn.
Unfortunately, Erik had been around long enough to know the possibilities of what they could do to her were as endless as they were horrific. His stomach turned and he had to clench his jaw to keep the wolf inside him from howling with rage, with pain, with the suffering of its mate having been stolen. Every instinct within him screamed to hunt the bastards down and rip their throats out. It took conscious effort to keep his fangs and claws retracted.
The moment Tom had hung up, Erik hopped into the truck. “I’m heading back to the house to wait for the cops. One of us can bring them out here when they arrive. You guys can stay put or come with me, but I’m leaving now.”
His deadly mood must have shown through the veneer of civilized calm because everyone piled in without a word of protest, including good old Tom. At the main compound, Tom went to check on the horse, the other immortals stayed at the truck to talk, but Erik needed a moment alone. He headed into the kitchen and looked around, more lost than he’d ever been in his life. Two days ago, he’d barged into Bryn’s world. They’d made love here on this floor. Last night, he’d thought they’d made a real breakthrough, and there’d been a glimmer of hope, a single glimpse of a second chance for them.
To have it snatched away so soon…gods. Emotion threatened to drown him, but he couldn’t let himself get dragged under now. Bryn was counting on him.
How long had they had her? An hour? More? How long had it taken the horse to get back to the house? Had the stallion taken a direct route or wandered before he’d come back? The scents had been fairly fresh, but that meant within the last few hours.
Hours.
It only took half a second to end a person’s life. The things that could be done in minutes…
A hard hand clamped on his shoulder, solid support from Holm. “I will track these sons of bitches to the end of every realm, if that’s what it takes to find her. This just got personal, and I don’t take that lightly.”
“Thanks, man.” Erik slapped his friend on the back, telling himself to get a grip.
“I hear Ivar’s van. I’ll go meet him in the driveway, get him up to speed quietly, so the humans won’t hear.” Holm gave his shoulder a final squeeze. “Take a minute to pull yourself together, if you need.”
As the other man disappeared, Erik drew in a breath, but it only brought him the scent of Bryn. A red haze filled his vision, the precursor to a berserker’s rage, where man and beast merged into a killing machine. The man held ont
o control by the thinnest thread. The moment he had a target for his rage, the beast would be unleashed and may the gods have mercy on whoever had taken his mate.
“I get why you keep him around now,” Nauma said, and he glanced up to see her watching him through the screen door. “He came off as a complete jerk at first, but he’s really just…the proverbial bull in a china closet and overly blunt, isn’t he? Sometimes that bluntness is a good thing. Like now.”
Erik had to clear his throat twice before he could get words out. “He’s got his faults, but he’s a good friend.”
“Leave the man in peace for a moment, love.” Val’s hand reached out to tug at Nauma’s elbow, though it was the only part of him that Erik could see from where he stood.
She jerked away. “I am not your love, and I don’t answer to you.”
The woman stomped off, and Erik stepped out on the porch to see Val looking annoyed and frustrated. Erik couldn’t manage a smile, but he offered a commiserating glance. “Women.”
“Can’t kill them, can’t imagine life without them.” Val slung an arm around Erik’s neck. “Come on, mate. Chin up. We’ll get your bird back. And kill the bloody bastards who snatched her. Slow and painful, like in the old days.”
His inner wolf growled in agreement, but the man felt flayed open. If he hadn’t been here, would Loki have taken her? Had he brought this on her by being unable to resist the temptation to see her again?
Ivar fishtailed into the driveway, his van spitting gravel. Within seconds, his chair was bulleting down the ramp, his arms bulging as he controlled the speed of descent. He looked furious. “Why the hell hasn’t anyone been picking up their cell phones?”
Holm was already there, bending to speak to Ivar, and Erik’s sensitive ears picked up Holm’s harsh hiss of, “Loki escaped!”
Ivar drew back, blinked. “I know, that’s why I’ve been calling you. How do you know?”
Erik was across the yard in a few strides, words spilling from his mouth. Anything to speed this up. They needed to do something now. “He took Bryn. I know it was him, that stench is unmistakable. Her horse came back without her, covered in blood, so we went out to track her. The horse’s neck was cut, but some of the blood was hers. She’s injured, but how badly, I'm not sure. He teleported her away, so they could be anywhere now. Earth, Jötunheim, maybe even Asgard if Frey really is involved. There’s no tracking them to other realms since we can’t get there. Only gods and giants can jump between realms.”