Gods on Earth: Complete Series (Books 1-3): Paranormal Romances with Norse Gods, Tricksters, and Fated Mates

by Andrijeski, JC

  There was no belief in the concrete reality of gods anymore.

  It was all stories.

  The gods were viewed as abstract beyond human comprehension, and from what Loki told Thor, they simply argued over what the gods were believed to have said and what their followers wrote centuries before they were born.

  Therefore, no law told Thor he could not speak to this human female.

  He broke none of Odin’s rules, doing so, nor any other rules of his people.

  Still, he didn’t normally volunteer so much.

  The human woman nodded politely, now that Thor had finished speaking, but that shrewd, skeptical look never left her stunning eyes, nor the edges of her full lips. The area of her forehead and between her eyebrows remained furrowed.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Her voice was flat, calm, blandly accepting.

  “So I’m getting you don’t have anywhere to stay tonight,” she said. “You need a place to sleep. Or am I missing something?”

  She paused, that furrow in her brow deepening.

  “You sleep. Right? Thor, God of Thunder… sleeps?”

  Thor blinked at her, frowning.

  He honestly couldn’t tell if she was jesting with him or not.

  Perhaps she was jesting, but wished him to not know, out of politeness.

  “I do sleep.” Thor said, deciding to take her words at face value. Thinking, he amended, “Well, I do here. In this form. While on your world, I am subject to most of the same mortal laws as your species.”

  She nodded. That bland look on her face, if anything, grew more bland.

  “Ah.”

  There was another silence, then she tilted her head, those stunning eyes focused on his face.

  “Where,” she said after a pause. “Where will you sleep, Thor?”

  Thor looked around, frowning faintly at the question. He looked at the mud and tree roots, then the grass covering the hill overlooking the many lights of the human city.

  Why would she ask him this?

  “Here,” he said, aiming his hammer at random at a patch of thicker-looking grass. “That will do. It has much clover. I will sleep well there.”

  Her faint frown turned into a real one.

  After staring at him silently for a few seconds, then staring at the patch of clover, then back at him, she blinked, as if the act of blinking put all of those things together.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No.”

  “No?” He frowned back at her. “But I tell you… I will sleep perfectly well there.”

  The frown never left her lips.

  “Sure,” she said agreeably. “Of course, you will. Until cops shine a big light in your face, Thor, and handcuff you, and take you downtown for being nude in a public park.”

  “I will persuade them to go away.”

  “With your big, glowy hammer?” She quirked an eyebrow. “They’ll taze your ass to the ground, ‘Thor, God of Thunder’… and you’ll wake up with a hangover in a cell, your hammer in an evidence bin somewhere behind a cement wall.”

  Thor frowned.

  He stared at her with a narrow gaze, and she stared right back at him.

  “Do you have money?” she queried politely.

  He frowned, looking down at himself. “Coin? No. Do I look like I would?”

  “No,” she admitted, following his eyes down his unclothed flesh. Letting out a kind of wistful sigh, she brought her eyes back to his, still holding her muddy hands out at her sides.

  “Are there no options for a bed without coin?” he said.

  There was another silence.

  In it, he saw her stare go blank.

  Then, slowly, she nodded.

  “There’s one,” she said.

  Without another word, she began to walk on those strange, awkwardly-heeled shoes. Still holding her hands out to either side, perhaps partly for balance, she picked her way carefully through the mud, making her way out of the thicket and towards a hard-looking path.

  When Thor didn’t follow her immediately, she paused, looking back.

  “Well?” she said. “Come on, Thunder-man.”

  Thor’s mouth curled in another puzzled frown.

  He considered asking, but she didn’t wait.

  Focusing back on her feet, she continued making her way in those teetering, sparkly shoes, aiming for the path leading down the other side of the grassy hill.

  After a bare pause, he hefted the hammer, and began to follow.

  4

  Houseguest

  S ilvia and her new “friend” beat Morty home.

  She wasn’t sure why she was relieved by that, but she was.

  Maybe it was the nakedness factor.

  Maybe it was having to explain why she’d brought home a possibly-dangerous, clearly delusional vagrant she’d found in a park, wielding a probably-illegal weapon.

  The reality was, “Thor,” or whoever he really was, wasn’t easy to explain. He certainly wasn’t easy to explain in a newly-gentrified and rent-controlled apartment in the Western Addition to a roommate who was a proud atheist and didn’t even like tarot cards.

  They got a lot of stares on the street.

  Thor, even with clothes, would hardly be inconspicuous.

  Without clothes, he was nearly the cause of car accidents.

  None of the catcalls, stares, slowing cars, or disbelieving howls of laughter seemed to faze “Thor” in the slightest, however. He followed along after her without comment, his hammer balanced on one muscular shoulder, his back perfectly straight as he strode down the street with utter indifference to any of the commotion he caused.

  Still, Silvia exhaled a sigh of utter relief when they reached her building.

  That relief only increased when she saw no one in the lobby or on the stairs.

  He followed her obediently up to her third-story apartment, and Silvia let them both inside after fumbling her keys out of her jacket pocket. Once she’d ushered the massive, naked pile of muscles and bare skin over the threshold of her apartment and shut the door, she exhaled again, thanking the sky gods above that their trip back to her place hadn’t gone worse.

  For the first time since she made the insane decision to follow him up that hill in Alamo Square, she felt herself start to relax.

  She turned on a few lights, heading down the entryway hall and into the living room of her and Morty’s two-bedroom Victorian flat. Once she’d reached the common area, she just stood there for a few seconds, trying to decide what next.

  She desperately needed a shower.

  She wasn’t too sure about leaving naked Thor-thunder-god to his own devices in the living room while she did that, but she didn’t have much choice.

  In the end, after washing the mud off her hands and arms, she brought him clothes from Morty’s room (he probably wouldn’t thank her for that), settling on an oversized pair of sweat-pants and a stretched-out T-shirt Morty had owned as long as she’d known him, which was all the way back in high school.

  Luckily, Morty had been a big guy in high school, much bigger then he was now, given all the weight he’d lost when he started running in the mornings.

  From her eye-balling attempts to size him, the shirt should fit their new houseguest.

  She offered him the first shower, too, which seemed to confuse him until she brought him into the bathroom and turned on the water to show him how it worked. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she fiddled around with the handles to get the temperature hot but not scalding, letting the naked guy watch in case he wanted to adjust it himself.

  That ended up being a mistake.

  “Thor” clearly liked his shower a little too much.

  He was in there for forty-five minutes.

  By the time he turned the water off, Silvia was pretty sure there was maybe a drop of hot water left for her. Vaguely depressed at the thought, she traded places with him when he walked out in a cloud of steam, wearing the sweats, which were tight, and the T-shirt with the g
iant, faded, pink unicorn on it, which managed to be tight in some places––like over his upper chest and shoulders––and loose in others, mostly around his waist.

  He stalked into the living room like he was ready to spear a wild boar or something, and Silvia handed him her phone and told him he could order food.

  She ended up spending another fifteen minutes showing him how the food delivery app worked. In the end, she gave up, and showed him pictures of food instead, until they finally settled on something they could both live with: pizza covered in sausage, hamburger, and pepperoni, because apparently the dude was super into meat.

  She ordered an extra-large, told him to answer the door if it rang and take the pizza from the delivery guy, then made her way back to the shower.

  Thank goodness, there was enough hot water by then for a ten-minute shower.

  She pulled on loose sweat-shorts, a tank top, and fuzzy socks, deciding she didn’t give a damn how she looked.

  Then she wandered back out to the living room.

  Thor sat on the floor, cross-legged, his eyes closed.

  She stared at him, now that she could look without him staring back.

  He really was huge.

  His broad shoulders looked enormous, even now that she was more or less used to them. He had long, dirty-blond hair with some red woven in with the blond. She found herself noticing strange details, now that his eyes were closed and those pale-blue irises weren’t distracting her.

  Like how long his eyelashes were.

  Like how long his fingers were, and the bunches of muscle on his forearms before they met up with his elbows.

  He sat perfectly still, his body and face unmoving, even though he must have heard her moving around the room. She found a bag for the dress and coat she’d been wearing, both of which needed dry cleaning. Going back and forth on the wig, she ended up shoving that inside the bag, too, then hung the whole thing up in the front closet, where she wouldn’t forget to take it with her when she went in to work the next day.

  She shut the closet door as quietly as she could, and walked back to do the dishes she and Morty left behind after dinner, then wiped down the counters and stove.

  When she got back to the living room, Thor was still sitting cross-legged on the rug, exactly between the lime-green couch Morty found at one garage sale or another, and their forty-something inch, flat-screen t.v., which sat on a white, Mid-Century table that had been one of her finds.

  Sighing a bit, but silently, so she wouldn’t bother him, she placed her hands on her hips, trying to decide if she should pick out her work clothes for the next day––

  When her phone chirped with a message.

  The pizza guy.

  Scooping up her phone, she padded down the hall in her thick socks to the front door.

  She ended up opening it right on a drunk Morty, who appeared to be fumbling with his keys, trying to remember which one would let him inside.

  “Did you order pizza?” he slurred, smiling at her. “Oh, please, please, Princess Silvia of the golden wisdom and exquisite palate… tell me you ordered pizza? I will worship and service you and do your make-up until the end of all your days.”

  She snorted a laugh, rolling her eyes.

  “I did order us sumptuous victuals, Knight Morty of the bottomless stomach. I’m heading down now to fetch it for all of us.”

  “You are a noble maiden.” He bowed, smiling at her with glassy eyes. “Let no one tell you otherwise, my sweet––”

  “We have a houseguest,” she blurted. “It’s just one night. Be nice.”

  Morty blinked, his hazel eyes opening wider.

  Before he could speak through his bewilderment, or even catch up mentally with what she’d just said, Silvia squeezed by him, holding up a hand.

  “I need to get the pizza. I just didn’t want you to freak out when you saw him.” Pausing, she remembered something else. “Oh, and he’s wearing your clothes. Sorry.”

  Morty’s eyes went from confused to alarmed.

  Silvia felt a little twinge of guilt.

  She knew how he was about his clothes.

  Before her housemate and closest friend could unfurl his outrage in all its detailed glory, demanding to know what possessed her to go pillaging in his closet while he was out, Silvia leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

  Before he could recover from that, she bolted down the stairs to grab their pizza before the delivery guy gave up on her and wandered off.

  W hen she came back up the stairs, and walked back into the living room, Morty was standing in the middle of the Persian-style carpet, hands on his hips.

  That same carpet, which was orange, red, blue, and gold, covered much of the hardwood floor of their primary common space. They got the rug from Morty’s Aunt Arya as a housewarming gift, maybe a year after they moved in. Silvia suspected Aunt Arya, who was actually Persian, mostly just wanted it out of her attic. She confessed to them later she had a bunch of rugs lying around that she’d gotten from relatives overseas.

  Luckily, Silvia and Morty both adored the one she picked out for them.

  Now, someone else had laid claim to a section of that rug.

  Morty frowned at the large, muscular man with the dirty-blond hair, staring at him like he was a particularly odd piece of furniture someone had dumped in the middle of their common space.

  The man sitting on the Persian carpet didn’t seem to notice.

  Nonetheless, Morty didn’t speak.

  He didn’t move, either.

  Even after he must have heard her come in, Morty didn’t so much as turn his head to acknowledge her, not for those first few seconds.

  Sighing a bit internally, Silvia left them to get acquainted.

  She contemplated getting plates, then decided Morty was too drunk to care, and she just didn’t have it in her to care for both of them. She walked the pizza around to the couch instead, and dumped the square box on the coffee table. Flipping open the lid, she pulled out a slice (which smelled positively amazing) and took a large bite.

  That got Morty to look over.

  Like an animal, he practically sniffed the air as it filled with the smell of meat, cheese and tomato sauce.

  Still chewing her mouthful of pizza, Silvia got up long enough to retreat to the kitchen to find their roll of paper towels. Filling three glasses with ice water, she stuck the roll of paper towels under her arm and pushed the glasses together to pick them up with both hands.

  She brought all of that into the living room, too.

  Sitting on the couch with an exhausted sigh, she carefully set down the glasses of ice water, then stuck the roll of paper towels in the middle of the coffee table.

  She picked up her piece of pizza and took another bite.

  Apparently, that was the last straw for Morty.

  She watched as he walked around Thor to reach the other side of the couch.

  He gave the meditating giant a wide berth, right before he slid into the space between the coffee table and the couch. He slumped down on the lime green vinyl next to her, letting out a sigh of his own.

  After a bare pause, Morty ripped off some paper towels, using them as a make-shift plate, and grabbed his own piece of pizza.

  They chewed in silence for a few minutes.

  They finished roughly at the same time, even though Silvia had a head start.

  “Want another one?” Morty asked politely.

  “Yes. Please.”

  Morty flipped open the cardboard box, pulling out a fresh piece for her and putting it on a clean paper towel. He handed it to her, then pulled out a new slice for himself. He closed the box to keep in the heat and sighed.

  That time, Silvia heard contentment in the sound.

  “Good?” she said.

  “Carnivorously good,” he affirmed.

  “You still mad about the clothes?”

  Morty shrugged.

  Silvia took another bite, surprised at how starving she was. She was still chewing w
hen Morty spoke up, asking a question of his own.

  “He the guy from Lucille’s?”

  She nodded, still chewing. “Uh-huh.”

  “The naked guy? With the hammer?”

  She glanced at her roommate, quirking an eyebrow.

  Seeing the answer in her eyes, Morty snorted, looking back at the man sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  “What’s he doing now?” he asked.

  Silvia swallowed the last bite of her latest mouthful of pizza, shrugging.

  “Dunno,” she said.

  Both of them watched the giant with the long blond hair for a few seconds more.

  “There was another guy,” Silvia added. “In Alamo Square.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Nodding, she pointed at the blond Thor. “Our guy said something about needing to know more about where the other man was going. I wonder if maybe he’s trying to think right now. You know. Problem-solve. Or maybe look for inspiration.”

  “Our guy,” Morty mused. He quirked an eyebrow of his own. “Does that actually work? Sitting on a rug and asking the Grand Poohbah where someone is?”

  “No idea.” Silvia shrugged. “But sometimes it can help me come up with ideas. If I’m stuck on something.”

  “And that works?” Morty pressed, looking at her.

  “Sometimes.”

  Morty frowned, taking a bite from his piece of pizza. He went back to staring at the blond giant wearing his clothes. Without taking his eyes off him, Morty spoke through a mouthful of sausage, bread, and tomato sauce.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “How’s that going to help?”

  Silvia glanced at the man who called himself Thor.

  “Dunno,” she confessed. “The mind is a mysterious thing.”

  Morty finished chewing and swallowing his enormous bite, then nodded towards the guy on the floor. “Think he’d want to watch a movie? When he’s done…” Morty waved a vague hand. “…problem solving?”

  Silvia glanced at her roommate and oldest friend.

  They’d known each other since their first day of junior high together. She’d been the weirdo with the green hair and the combat boots and the sketch pad she dragged around everywhere. He’d been the half-Persian, half-black weirdo who liked boys and was freakishly good at math.