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

by Andrijeski, JC

  He nodded, waving the spatula vaguely towards a calendar on the wall behind her.

  “It was on the thingy.”

  She turned her head, staring at it.

  The whole “God of Thunder” thing really obliterated her short-term memory.

  Truthfully, she’d even forgotten it was Saturday.

  “I wanted to bring a picnic lunch,” Morty added, scraping the pan with the spatula to keep his eggs from sticking. “…And I don’t want to drive. Mostly, I don’t want to have to deal with parking. I thought we could buy some stuff at the deli, then bike up there?”

  She nodded, still nibbling on the piece of bacon, still lost in her thoughts about the night before.

  Realizing she was just standing there, holding a plate of eggs that were getting colder by the minute, she backed out of the kitchen, bringing her breakfast into the other room. She walked it over to the dining room table by the angled, Victorian windows overlooking the street.

  Morty had, indeed, left her a cup of coffee.

  It looked like he’d made it exactly the way she preferred, super-strong with the perfect amount of almond milk.

  There were definite advantages to living with one of her oldest friends.

  Picking up the mug, she took a sip even as she set down the plate next to the knife, fork and napkin he’d also thoughtfully laid out.

  The coffee was perfect. The eggs and bacon were perfect.

  All of it was perfectly heavenly.

  “If you weren’t gay, I’d marry you,” she called out.

  From the kitchen, Morty laughed, even though they’d probably made that corny joke a few thousand times with each other.

  Sitting down on one of their fifties-style diner chairs, she looked through the picture window at the tree outside, and the sun sifting through the leaves above Divisadero Street. Little brown and black finches were hopping around on the branches, fighting over the bird seed in the feeder Morty hung out there a few months ago. He must have refilled it, because yesterday it had been almost empty. The birds were all fattening themselves up for winter.

  She tried to tell herself the night before had been a dream.

  She tried to tell herself she’d just been drunker than she realized.

  She tried to tell herself she at least imagined the deeply weird parts.

  The deeply weird-er parts, anyway. The weird-est parts.

  It didn’t really work.

  T hey made it to the park before noon.

  In Silvia’s mind, that was good.

  Not excellent––given how crowded that section of Golden Gate Park was by the time they arrived, it wasn’t the absolute ideal, but it was pretty danged good, considering how late they’d been up the night before.

  Shakespeare in the Park started at one.

  By the time they showed up in the relevant field, the whole area was covered in picnic blankets from people staking out their space. Even so, she and Morty were able to creatively squeeze into a spot for two by a tree, and the people sitting nearby were nice enough to rearrange themselves to make more space.

  She was hung over, got almost no sleep, but sitting with Morty in the shade of an elm tree, surrounded by people who’d come out for the last play of the season before they shut it down for winter, Silvia felt herself start to relax.

  They popped open Cokes, pulled out sandwiches they’d picked up from the deli, and opened up containers filled with sliced fruit, pasta salad, cous-cous, samosas, and chocolate-chip cookies. Morty was a food-guy, despite how slim he was these days. He also always brought a few extra bags and containers of something in case people around them didn’t think to bring food. For the same reason, he handed around salt and vinegar kettle chips, samosas, dolmades, and water to their new neighbors, who seemed thrilled for the extra food, even though they’d brought slices of pizza and beer for themselves.

  Everyone was chatty until the play actually started.

  The weather was great. The food was fabulous, thanks to Morty.

  Their patch of grass was comfortable, and their neighbors were cool.

  Silvia sank her back into the trunk of the tree, a contented if sleepy smile on her face as she looked to the stage along with everyone else.

  Then, abruptly, someone stood in her way, blocking her view.

  Holding her second Coke gripped tightly in one hand, Silvia let her eyes drift up, the Coke poised right in front of her lips. She stared at the man standing there, and realized she recognized him.

  He wasn’t a snake now.

  It also wasn’t nighttime, so she could see his features clearly.

  He was handsome.

  She’d kind of noticed that the night before, despite the blue-white lightning and spending most of her time straining to understand what the hell they were talking about––not to mention that whole thing of him turning into a giant snake. Now, seeing his face in the full light of day, even under the shadow of the heavy branches of the tree, his features were so striking they briefly stunned her.

  She stared up at those sharp green eyes, the long jaw, high cheekbones, narrow mouth, thick black hair, and didn’t manage to emit a peep.

  He met her gaze, and a lazy smile appeared on his lips.

  She saw the pupils go from round to vertical…

  …then back to round.

  “Hey, dude,” Morty said, sounding vaguely annoyed. He waved for the tall man with the green eyes and the black hair to move out of the way. “Can you sit down? At least move a bit to the left… you’re blocking my girl’s view.”

  The strange man never took his eyes off Silvia.

  It occurred to her she hadn’t seen how he arrived there, in that exact spot. Had he walked up to her? Had he simply materialized out of thin air?

  It happened so fast, she doubted her own perceptions.

  “Hey. Creepy staring dude,” Morty said, sharper. “Come on. Be a good neighbor.”

  The handsome, green-eyed giant never took his eyes off Silvia.

  He continued to look her over, as if memorizing every line of her. Something in that look made her distinctly nervous. Something about even his handsomeness unnerved her––like it was more camouflage than reality, a way to hide what he truly was.

  Silvia opened her mouth, about to speak––

  ––when the green-eyed man abruptly leaned down.

  Despite how fast he moved, he did it liquidly, sensually, like his muscles and bones remained those of a snake, even if he now appeared human.

  Silvia saw it coming.

  She watched it happen from some part of her mind, but it all happened too fast. She didn’t have time to snatch her body away, out of his reach. She didn’t have time so much as flinch back, much less evade him.

  He grabbed hold of her throat, low down, just above her collarbone.

  He gripped her tightly, his fingers like iron bands.

  No one around them seemed to notice.

  “My father was right,” the green-eyed man said. “My uncle likes you.”

  His head tilted.

  There was something bird-like about the way he moved, the unblinking stare. His eyes and voice grew colder, more clinical, even as his words verged on indifferent.

  “He likes you a lot,” he added. “Things will go smoother this way.”

  Silvia gasped, staring up at him. She struggled, trying to twist away from where he held her against the trunk of the tree, grappling with his fingers around her neck.

  “Relax, mortal,” the Dragon God said. “This won’t hurt much. It’s just a little gift from a god.” He smirked, glancing down her body. “Rather like my uncle, I would very much like to be giving you a different sort of gift right now… and not only because I suspect it would infuriate him, if not turn him full-blown homicidal.”

  Silvia gripped the god’s fingers, trying to pull them off her throat.

  She might as well have been trying to lift a boulder with her bare hands.

  The heat against her throat increased so m
uch, she could barely see. It felt like his hand would melt through her skin, through her flesh and cartilage down to the blood and bone.

  She was sure he intended to kill her.

  She turned her head and eyes with an effort, looking for Morty, but her best friend had forgotten all about the man with the green eyes and the black hair. He stared raptly at the stage, watching the play, laughing at something one of the actors said or did.

  Silvia watched in disbelief as Morty crunched on kettle chips, a smile toying at his lips as he watched the actors cavorting around on the outdoor stage.

  She might not have been there at all.

  The man with the black hair and green eyes might not have been there, either.

  “Please,” she managed, gasping. “Please… don’t kill me…”

  The man didn’t bother to answer.

  Even now, no one around them seemed to see the man crouched down in front of her, gripping her by the throat. Silvia reached for Morty, but he was just out of range of her straining fingers. He leaned back on one palm as she watched, still munching on chips and watching the play, his eyes distant, a smile toying at his lips.

  The green-eyed mutant reinforced his grip.

  His hand didn’t cut off her oxygen supply totally; he didn’t even seem to be trying to strangle her, but his fingers burned her throat, like they were made of hot metal.

  She heard him murmuring now, speaking softly, like he was reciting some kind of incantation.

  Like most of the night before, she didn’t understand his words.

  Before she could let out so much as a squeak––

  Everything around her disappeared.

  6

  The Gift

  S ilvia gasped, holding her throat, gripping the nearest heavy, solid thing with her other hand to keep from falling straight down to the earth when her knees buckled.

  The thing she grabbed turned out to be a tree.

  She blinked in the midday sun, leaning her shoulder heavily against that same tree once her knees locked and her legs steadied. Standing there, panting, she fought to catch her breath. Somehow, she was still in Golden Gate Park.

  She was standing, even though she didn’t remember getting to her feet.

  The tree she’d leaned her shoulder against turned out to be the same tree she and Morty had been sitting under to watch the play.

  Morty was staring up at her now, a frown furrowing his brow and curving his lips.

  “Jeez, Silvie. What are you doing? Are you okay?”

  Silvia had no idea how to answer that.

  She had no memory of the past few minutes.

  Not only did she not remember standing up, she had no idea what she’d been doing prior to standing. She remembered the tall, black-haired man with the green eyes. She remembered his hawk-like stare, his angular features and flat expression.

  She remembered him grabbing her by the throat.

  It struck her that no one reacted around her when he did that, no one made a sound, not even Morty. It was as if the man was not only invisible––he somehow made her disappear, too.

  Now she was on her feet, leaning against the tree in the park, and the green-eyed man was gone.

  When Morty continued to stare up at her, concern visible in his hazel eyes, she let go of the tree, and nearly fell when one knee crumpled. Easing herself down to the ground, she landed on her butt on the blanket Morty had spread unevenly over their little patch of grass.

  She sat there, fighting to slow her heart rate.

  She glanced at Morty to find him staring at her neck.

  “What is that?” he said.

  Silvia frowned.

  Remembering something, she reached for the backpack of hers they’d brought to carry their food, dragging it closer and digging around inside with one hand. At the very bottom, she found an old make-up mirror she kept in one of the smaller pockets. Pulling out the rectangle of glass, she aimed it at her neck, tilting the mirror so she could see what Morty was staring at.

  There was a strange symbol burned into the bottom part of her neck, a spiral surrounded by a ring of runes. The placement was almost exactly where a choker pendant would sit, in the exact middle between her two collarbones.

  She didn’t recognize the runes.

  They looked similar to what she knew of Nordic runes, but there was something different about them, something subtle and complex she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  More disturbing still, the skin there almost seemed to be moving.

  The longer she stared at that symbol and its circle of runes, the more they seemed to glow with a faint green light.

  She touched it, tracing the runes, the spiral in the middle, but it just felt like regular skin.

  “Is that a tattoo?” Morty said, bewildered. “When did you get a tattoo? And how am I only seeing it now?”

  She could almost see him trying to puzzle it out, trying to remember if he’d seen that exact part of her neck in the past forty-eight or so hours. She saw him realize he must have, based on the clothes she’d been wearing, and his brow furrowed more.

  Reaching out, he touched her neck right where her fingers still traced the pale green symbol.

  “What is it?” he said.

  She shook her head, feeling an unnamed shiver of fear.

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  She hesitated.

  Morty was her best friend, but she honestly wasn’t sure if she should tell him about the green-eyed man, just like she wasn’t sure if she should tell him about what she’d seen in Alamo Square the night before. She knew there was a good chance he’d get really worried about her and want her to go see someone.

  That “someone” being one of his social worker or psychologist friends.

  She couldn’t exactly blame him for that.

  At the same time, she wasn’t ready to go there.

  Forcing a smile, she waved him towards the outdoor stage.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” she said, making her voice mock-serious. “You’re missing the play, Morts. And this is your favorite––”

  A large black cat jumped into her lap, cutting her off.

  It looked up at her, purring, rubbing its fuzzy head against her arm. She looked down at the creature in bewilderment, wondering where it came from, but it only looked back at her, unblinking, its emerald eyes shining in glints from the sun through the leaves of the tree.

  She stroked its ears, looking back at Morty.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, still petting the cat. “Honestly. We’ll talk about it when we get home.”

  That time, she sounded almost calm.

  Maybe for the same reason, some of the worry faded from Morty’s expression.

  Reaching into her lap, he stroked the cat along with her, scooting up to lean against the tree next to her, leaning his head on her shoulder.

  As he did, his eyes returned to the play.

  Silvia sighed, leaning her own head against the trunk, adjusting her shoulders and spine to find a comfortable spot on the rough bark.

  She’d just gotten herself fully situated––with the cat, with Morty, with the tree––when another form materialized in front of her, blocking the light.

  This one was even taller than the man with the black hair.

  It was Thor.

  He didn’t bother with much in the way of preliminaries.

  Maybe because of how he said her name, his voice sounded almost formal.

  “I need you to come with me, Silvia Hope,” he said. “Right now.”

  Silvia blinked, her eyes widening.

  She opened her mouth, maybe to ask him something, maybe to protest, maybe to tell him about the green-eyed man, or the strange markings he’d left on her neck.

  She didn’t manage to get any of that out.

  Thor leaned down, grabbing hold of her arm.

  Once again, everything around her vanished.

  S ilvia blinked, stepping back in alarm when she found hersel
f on the edge of a sandy cliff, overlooking a wild, stormy ocean.

  The cliff looked impossibly steep, impossibly tall.

  That one glimpse she got over the edge brought immediate and intense vertigo from her height above the dark water.

  Peering down, she saw white-crested waves, heard the violent crash of water against the black cliffs, even from her extreme height.

  No rain fell on her, however.

  No wind stirred her hair.

  She didn’t even feel cold, despite wearing only a long, filmy, white summer blouse, cut-off shorts, and leather sandals. It had been a rare, warm, late-fall day in San Francisco when she and Morty set out for the park, so she’d been dressed in fewer clothes than she normally would for one of their outings.

  She looked away from the water, staring at the land behind her.

  Long, rolling fields of green grass met her eyes, seemingly without end.

  The rocky outcropping where Silvia stood transformed to verdant pasture in less than a dozen feet, dotted with massive, white-trunked trees with dark green leaves. The trees looked old, untouched, and grew with an odd symmetry, their branches forming near-perfect half-circles from where they curved down from their topmost height to reach gracefully for the grass field dotted with wildflowers.

  Silvia didn’t see a single house.

  Not one building broke up the flower-patterned fields, or the hills and mountains beyond.

  There was no sign of human life at all.

  An eagle winged overhead, its gold and brown feathers catching the sunlight through the clouds that rolled over the valley.

  “Let me see your throat.”

  She jumped violently, turning in alarm.

  Her eyes rose to meet Thor’s, which looked even bluer here somehow, despite how dark the sky loomed over the roiling ocean.

  His expression didn’t move, but she saw him looking at her hair again, and her eyes.

  “Your throat,” he repeated, subduing his voice.

  She walked a few steps closer, tilting back her head to show him her throat.

  It occurred to her that she should probably ask him where they were, not to mention how the hell they’d gotten here.