“Wait.” She held up a hand from within the blankets’ folds. “You’re Tyr. God of War. And your brothers are Loki. And Thor.” She smirked at him. “And your father, the one you said lived in another dimension? I suppose his name is Odin? And he rides an eight-legged horse? With a wife named Freyja?”
Those dark eyes met hers.
His expression didn’t move.
Marion snorted, rolling her eyes.
Tyr didn’t react to that, either.
“Unbelievable,” she said, leaning into the metal bulkhead. She suddenly felt really tired. “This just gets better and better.”
For a long-feeling few seconds, Tyr didn’t move.
Then, delicately, he cleared his throat.
“I told you it was complicated,” he said.
“You didn’t tell me it was a full-blown, out of this world fairytale,” she retorted. “You didn’t tell me you’re completely bonkers.”
Staring up the curved wall of the plane’s interior, she shook her head. Muttering under her breath, she started to rub her temples, then winced, accidentally hitting the cut on her head. Her head was starting to hurt from the lump and the cut.
When she glanced at Tyr next, a faint frown touched his lips.
He clearly didn’t like that she’d touched her wounded head.
He didn’t say anything, though.
Well, he didn’t say anything about that.
“Be ready to disembark,” he told her, rising gracefully to his feet. “I want us on the road quickly… the instant the ramp is down, if it is remotely possible. We will need to get on the road before we are identified. It may be impossible to reach your father ahead of the Syndicate’s people, depending on what they have in D.C., but I would like to try.”
Marion had no idea what to say to that, either.
In the end, she only nodded, leaning back against the cold metal.
They would be on the ground soon.
Then she would have options.
M arion tensed as the back door of the cargo plane slowly lowered.
She gazed out at the view that greeted her, feeling a cold lump settle in her gut, making her feel like she’d swallowed a lump of rock.
She didn’t know what she expected exactly, but definitely an airport of some kind.
Maybe Albany. Or Rochester.
She’d expected a modicum of civilization.
She’d expected at least one Starbucks.
Tyr seemed able to read at least part of that on her face, or in her eyes.
“We are not far from a city,” he said, gauging her face as she looked around.
He leaned over the steering wheel of a brand new, sunset orange, McLaren P1, one of the luxury cars that had been tied down at the very back of the cargo hold, closest to the rear doors. Tyr had uncovered the car when they were about five minutes from landing, leaving the cables intact until they were safely on the ground. Now, with those cables undone, Marion and Tyr sat in the front seats of the probably two-million-dollar sports car, waiting for the ramp to lower the rest of the way to the tarmac.
“I am not my brother,” Tyr added, glancing at her. “I cannot glamour our appearances. Therefore, it was not prudent to land at an international airport, where surveillance would capture our physical appearances instantly. According to Lia, I have to assume most security systems have been compromised by this group… including those run by government agencies.”
Marion frowned.
She wanted to tell him he was paranoid.
She wanted to tell him that he and Lia were out of their frickin’ minds, that his whole family was nuts, and that she wanted to go home, now.
Really, she wanted to open the car door and run, as fast as she could, across the private runway to the road, try to flag down a passing truck.
Staring around at their current location, she didn’t do that.
She had her doubts she could even survive out here without him, especially given the clothes she was wearing.
Instead, she found herself looking at him, frowning as she studied that angular face.
“Are we just going to drive to D.C.?” she said.
He looked at her, his voice and eyes strangely candid.
“Yes,” he said, matter-of-fact. “That is my intention.”
Pausing, he added,
“I am glad to have you with me, Marion. Despite the fact that you doubt my sanity, I think my mission is more likely to be successful if we are together. Your father is far more likely to believe my warnings if I bring you to him, unharmed, along with Lia’s recordings.”
He motioned down at her body.
Most of her was still covered in the four blankets he’d brought her, even curled up in the shotgun seat of the McLaren.
“You obviously have some combat training,” Tyr added. “Which is an additional bonus. I noticed that at the club in St. Barts, but I also read up on you when you fell back asleep.” He nodded approvingly. “You are trained in weapons, too. That could be most helpful, if we are attacked at any point in our trip.”
Marion stared at him.
He looked back at her, his dark gaze narrow.
“I could use a partner in this,” he said. “Or at least someone who isn’t actively fighting me. And since it is clearly in your interests to know who is after you, and to neutralize them in some way before they can harm you, or harm your father, or blackmail your father, I thought it made sense to come to some sort of agreement. We will likely need to determine some ground rules, however,” he added, looking out over the snow-covered terrain.
The ramp was only a few feet from the runway now.
Marion blinked at the tall, handsome man with the black hair and riveting eyes.
Then she turned, looking out over the snow-covered woods, the rolling hills in the distance. As she watched, more snow was coming down, the large, wet flakes thickening more and more as they spiraled to the ground.
“Sure,” she said, shrugging, wrapping the blankets around her tighter. “Okay. Let’s talk ground rules.”
Even as she said it, the ramp thumped down on the tarmac.
Tyr revved the engine, and threw the car into gear.
The McLaren’s nose tipped down towards the ramp, and they drove out into the snow, the God of War aiming the car smoothly for the tarmac, then hanging a right towards the one building that made up the private airport.
Wrapping herself deeper in the blanket, Marion shivered.
10
Christmas
T yr’s ground rules were pretty simple.
From Marion’s perspective, they were Kidnapping 101.
She wasn’t to tell anyone who she was.
Tyr wanted her to hide her face as best she could, and let him do most of the talking and interacting until they reached D.C. He wanted her to avoid surveillance cameras whenever possible. He wanted her to not leave the car unless it was absolutely necessary.
Marion nodded to all of this, pretending it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
It helped that all of it was reasonable… from Tyr’s perspective.
Meaning from the perspective of someone who didn’t want the world to know he’d kidnapped the daughter of the President of the United States.
Marion nodded along with all of it, but spent most of her time looking out the window, watching the scenery flash by as Tyr took them swiftly down the interstate.
She’d spent a fair bit of time in New York state, growing up.
Her mother loved New York City, having lived and gone to school there before Marion and her sister were born. Marion’s sister, Elizabeth, who everyone called “Lizzy,” loved New York too. She and Marion even talked about getting an apartment there at some point, maybe after dad finished up his stint in the White House, assuming he won the election.
All of that hurt to think about now.
Hell, it hurt to be back in the United States.
It hadn’t fully hit her just how much her not wanting to be in h
er home country had to do with avoiding her feelings about her mom and sister.
Now that she was back, it was like their ghosts rushed up to meet her.
Every memory, every plan they’d made that got thwarted, ripped out by its roots when they died, seemed to vie for attention in Marion’s mind, wanting her to remember every single one. She remembered the last week before they died, making plans for Christmas. She remembered talking to her mom about going to Europe, silly jokes about how they might redecorate parts of the White House, none of them really believing Dad would win, even as none of them could fathom how he’d lose.
It shouldn’t hurt so much, being here.
Her mom and her sister were dead, no matter where Marion was.
It did hurt, though.
Somehow, being here made it feel like they’d only died yesterday.
Tyr didn’t stop the car until they were nearing the outskirts of New York City.
By then, it had to be close to midday.
By then, Marion would have done just about anything for a distraction.
He pulled over in a smallish town maybe forty miles north of the city, sliding into a parking space in front of a clothing store on the corner of an old-fashioned-looking downtown street. The bright orange sportscar, which likely cost three times what her mother and father paid for their first house in California, looked ridiculous on the mostly-brick street covered in Christmas wreathes, tinsel, and American flags.
The town looked like Main Street, USA.
The McLaren was like a bizarre, futuristic time machine.
“Where are we?” she said, stretching a little in the curved leather seat and glancing at Tyr. “Why are we stopping?”
Leaning over the steering wheel, he glanced up and down the street. Christmas shoppers lined the sidewalks on both sides, chatting to one another, drinking hot chocolate in the crisp air, weighed down with bags and boxes.
Marion smiled in spite of herself, watching him look.
“You look like you’re staring at zoo animals,” she remarked.
He glanced at her, his dark eyes still as glass.
“Human holidays fascinate me.” He motioned up and down the street with one of those long-fingered hands. “All of… this.”
Marion followed his eyes to the Christmas decorations, smiling faintly in spite of herself, her head cocked in puzzlement.
“So what’s the verdict?” she said after another pause.
He looked at her a second time. Instead of answering, he glanced down her body, his stare lingering on the gold shoes at the end of her bare, stocking-less legs.
Watching him look, it crossed Marion’s mind that maybe she was going about this all wrong. Maybe dealing with this guy could be a lot more simple than she’d been thinking.
Leaning over from her side of the front seat, she laid a hand on his thigh.
She felt him flinch, right before he turned.
The muscles in his leg tensed, but he didn’t move away.
Without looking up at his face, she massaged his thigh, exploring him through the dark pants he wore, tracing the muscles there. From what she could tell, his leg pretty much was solid muscle, and hard as molded metal. Exploring those lines for a few seconds more, she slid her hand to his inner thigh, and felt something in him change again.
His skin grew warm, even through the clothes.
Briefly, it felt like something inside him had caught on fire.
Without thought, she raised her hand to his chest.
The shirt he wore was thin, despite the weather, conforming to his broad shoulders, straining against the dense muscles of his chest and arms. She ran her hand over those same muscles, feeling them move and shift under her palm, but again, he didn’t try to evade her, and she felt that heat under his skin intensify.
He didn’t change positions as she did it.
He didn’t seem to breathe.
After a few seconds where she caressed him, stroking the bare skin of his neck, sliding her hand down the thin shirt, realizing just how warm he was despite the chill outside…
…she finally raised her eyes to his.
His dark eyes met hers.
They didn’t move, but she swore that heat she’d seen in them earlier––that coal-like, black and red fire––now swallowed most of his irises and pupils.
His eyes drifted down to her lips.
Then slowly rose back to hers.
“We don’t really have time for this now,” he told her.
Marion sucked in a breath. She held his gaze, feeling lost there again, lost in those strange eyes, that inhumanly perfect face. Unable to pull her gaze off his, she swallowed, in spite of herself, in spite of why she’d told herself she was doing this. She fought a sudden urge to put her hand somewhere else, to massage his cock, see what that part of his body thought of how much time they had, to find out if she was affecting him the way he was affecting her.
He seemed to see her eyes flicker down in the direction of his lap.
“We don’t have time for this right now, Marion,” he repeated.
That time, she firmed her jaw, raising her eyes back to his.
“Then why did you stop?” she said, holding his gaze with an effort, studying those deep black eyes. “Why are we here, Tyr?”
There was a pause.
Then he looked down.
His gaze drifted over her once more, focusing on her legs, sliding slowly back up her body. She watched him linger where the gold dress ended, just covering where her legs met by her crotch. His eyes paused again on her breasts straining against the gold material.
“You need clothes, Marion,” he said.
Her hand wrapped around his inner thigh, and she felt that heat on him intensify.
“…Weather-appropriate clothes,” he added, blunt.
She stared at him for a blink.
Some part of her wanted to laugh.
Some part of her was almost embarrassed.
At the same time, she could hear her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in shorter pants. She grew more aware of the part of her that wanted to keep touching him, to see if that strange control of his would break if she put her hands on him for real.
He still hadn’t moved away from her.
“We don’t have time for this, Marion,” he said.
His voice was softer that time.
He reached down for his own thigh. Pulling gently at her wrist, he lifted her hand up and off where she’d been massaging the muscle there. He moved it over to her side of the car, placing it carefully and precisely in her lap.
Feeling her cheeks warm, Marion nodded.
Taking a faltering breath, she forced her eyes off him a beat later, fighting to focus on the snowy street outside the car.
Her face burned hotter as she swallowed, watching a woman bundled up in a bright yellow ski jacket and her two kids walk down the street. They stopped a few times, sipping steaming paper cups in their hands and pointing at warm windows filled with Christmas decorations and brightly-painted signs. For a few seconds, she almost saw it the way Tyr did, with all the decorations, the people carrying bags and wrapped parcels.
More families walked by them, looking equally relaxed and happy.
Marion wondered if one of them would help her, if she screamed.
She wondered if any of them would shield her, if she tried to get away from Tyr.
The thought made her feel faintly sick.
It occurred to her that she wasn’t sure she wanted to get away from him.
It occurred to her that some part of her still wanted to believe him.
At the very least, she wanted to believe he was on her side.
Even if he was crazy.
For those reasons, and about a hundred others, it was strange as hell to be sitting next to him in the ridiculously expensive sportscar, looking out over a quaint American street during the pre-Christmas shopping rush. It didn’t help with her family grief to see Christmas decorations in al
l the windows, Christmas bows and colored lights and flying reindeer strung between the buildings and wrapped around the trees planted down the sidewalks.
It was also not at all how she thought she’d be spending Christmas this year.
She’d planned on her holidays being as un- Christmassy as she could possibly make them.
Given that Christmas had been her mom’s favorite holiday, Marion more or less decided to take the year off, to hang out on the beach with people she barely knew, who wouldn’t ask her anything deep, or care if she answered.
Instead, she was back in the States, with Tyr.
Instead, she was thinking about her mom, her sister, and the fact that she wasn’t all that far from her father, in Washington D.C.
Maybe that should have relieved her, in that Tyr did appear to be taking her where he said he would. He was definitely driving them in the direction of the United States’ capital. Not only that, if she managed to get away, she had some place to go, a place she might actually be able to reach on her own, now that she was back on familiar ground.
None of that did reassure her, though.
Instead, it made her nervous.
It made her wonder if she was bringing danger to her father, instead of helping him.
Like it wasn’t bad enough to get her photo splashed all over the tabloids.
Now, according to Tyr––again, assuming he wasn’t completely nuts––she might be the reason her father was forced to make a horrible choice that could lead the country, possibly the world, into a devastating war.
Thinking about her dad, remembering the last conversation they’d had on the phone, how kind he’d been… and what a brat she’d been… made her nausea worsen.
Somehow, being back here, on American soil, brought her family, and her dad, into sharp relief, making them real in a way she hadn’t let herself feel in months.
She shouldn’t have left him.
She never should have left him, after Mom died.
Wiping her face with a hand, fighting to push all of it out of her mind, Marion glanced at Tyr.
He was watching her. His stunning, near-black eyes held a denser emotion than anything she’d seen in him until then.
If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he knew what she’d been thinking about just then.
Gods on Earth: Complete Series (Books 1-3): Paranormal Romances with Norse Gods, Tricksters, and Fated Mates Page 39