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

by Andrijeski, JC

  But that would make her as crazy as he was.

  “Come on,” she said, shouldering off the blankets and writhing out from under them. The wool coat was still around her, and now she buttoned it up, fastening the plastic buttons up to her throat. “We should get going, like you said.”

  Without waiting for him to answer, she snapped the door latch, and watched the McLaren’s door slowly rise up in front of her.

  11

  Something Really Wrong

  C lutching the collar of the black, wool coat to her throat, Marion looked around at the racks filled with winter clothes, trying to make up her mind.

  They were inside the small shop, the same one Tyr parked in front of. She could barely see the McLaren through the half-fogged windows, despite it being broad daylight. Even then, she only made out the outline because it was the color of an electric pumpkin.

  Centralized heat blasted inside the shop, but she was still cold.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in snow.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this cold.

  Just about all her wanderings of the past year had been tropical. She’d followed the beachy crowd from trendy locale to trendy locale, following the season from one hip watering hole to the next, avoiding the change of seasons entirely.

  She glanced at Tyr, and saw him staring at a female-shaped mannikin wearing gold ski pants and a tasseled knit hat, a ski pole perched jauntily on one shoulder.

  A shopkeeper approached Marion then, sing-songing a cheerful Merry Christmas! before she beamed first at Marion, then glanced over her shoulder at Tyr.

  “You two are together?” she said.

  Marion hesitated, then nodded. “We only really need clothes for me.”

  “Are you looking for something in particular?” the shopkeeper asked brightly.

  Sighing, Marion unbuttoned the front of the black wool coat. Even though she’d made a point of standing right under the heating vent while she looked around, she shivered uncontrollably once her thin dress and bare legs were exposed.

  When Tyr approached, his dark eyes gauging the female shopkeeper warily, Marion shouldered the coat the rest of the way off, handing it to him without a word.

  Tyr took it from her hands, standing like a sentry beside her.

  Or maybe more like a bodyguard.

  Or a kidnapper.

  “I need pretty much everything,” Marion told the clerk, glancing down at herself meaningfully. “Like… everything. Socks. Underwear. Shoes. Pants. Everything.”

  The shopkeeper’s jaw dropped as she glanced down Marion, taking in the nearly-sheer, micro-mini gold dress, the lack of stockings, the thin shoes, lack of bra. Marion saw the clerk’s eyes focus on the spots of blood across the front of the low-cut draping of fabric, the rips and tears at the seams and hem in several places, the black smudges of dirt and whatever else.

  Remembering she’d been dragged across the floor of that St. Barts club, Marion wondered what the back of the dress looked like.

  “Oh… my,” the woman stammered. “Yes. I see you do need everything.”

  She looked between Tyr and Marion.

  Something in her expression seemed to indicate she was putting two and two together and coming up with a blinking neon sign in multi-colored Christmas lights.

  That sign likely stretched roughly eight stories high.

  “…Oh. Okay. Yes.”

  The woman’s voice strengthened.

  “Come with me, dearie,” the sixty-something black woman said, hooking her arm into Marion’s. Her brown eyes met Marion’s sharply, right before they flickered away. “We need to get you into something warm, pronto. Before you catch your death…”

  Marion caught the meaningful note in the woman’s voice, even as the store clerk aimed her beaming smile at Tyr, her eyes now deceptively blank.

  Instantly, Marion’s adrenaline shot up.

  The shopkeeper was trying to get her alone.

  Clearly, she thought Tyr had been the one to rough her up, and wanted to get Marion alone, likely in a back room, likely so she could question her, and probably call the police, or maybe refer her to the local woman’s shelter.

  Like she had in the car, Marion found herself hesitating.

  Then she found herself wondering why she was hesitating.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  Was it really that easy to snow her into a cheap form of Stockholm Syndrome? Because nothing this guy told her was even remotely credible. He might have helped her out on St. Barts… or, for all she knew, he might work with those guys, and the whole thing might have been a set up.

  Tyr might be the one blackmailing her father.

  Hell, she had no idea who he even was.

  Or if Tyr was his real name.

  All she had was that crazy story he told her.

  That, and the fact that he had a discernible accent. Which didn’t necessarily mean anything of course, apart from English clearly not being his first language, which was true of a good chunk of American citizens.

  On the other hand, it made the possibility that he could be working for some foreign power semi- credible, at least.

  All of that went through Marion’s mind in a series of blinks.

  Then she nodded, smiling at the store clerk.

  “Thank you. That would be great.”

  Without glancing at Tyr, Marion started to walk with the older woman, following her towards the back end of the store.

  “I would love to get some jeans,” she added, making her voice as bright as the clerk’s. “And the fluffiest sweater you have.”

  The clerk laughed.

  “And maybe some long-johns,” Marion added. “Especially on top. I swear, I’ve been freezing my butt off for hours now––”

  “I should come, too,” a much deeper voice said.

  Marion heard the warning in it, and tensed, right before she turned, flashing a bright smile in Tyr’s direction.

  “Oh, you know you hate watching me try on clothes, honey,” she said, tilting her head as she widened her smile. “Why not just wait for me out here? I saw a hunting store next door… I could meet you in there in a few, if you’d prefer.”

  Tyr frowned, staring at her.

  He didn’t argue, but she saw that fire in his eyes flash brighter as the shopkeeper led her away. The woman took her to a back part of the shop, walking her right past the curtained areas that were likely dressing rooms, and into what looked to Marion like an office. She led Marion inside, then turned around and closed the door firmly behind them.

  Marion watched the clerk lock the door.

  Then the older woman turned to face Marion, all hint of that blank cheerfulness gone.

  Her brown eyes grew as serious as a heart attack.

  She spoke in a low murmur, presumably in case Tyr followed them.

  “Is this a domestic violence situation?” the woman said. “Are you being held against your will, honey? Or is it something else? Do you need me to call the police?”

  Marion had been thinking the whole way back here.

  Weirdly, she still didn’t want Tyr to get in trouble.

  Not until she knew for sure whether he deserved to be.

  Maybe that was completely moronic, or just more insane Stockholm Syndrome crap, but it was how she felt.

  On the other hand, the police might really slow him down.

  They might even get Tyr running in the opposite direction, and Marion could probably use them to get back to her father. If there really was some plot to use her to blackmail Dad, the sooner she got someone to bring her to the White House, the better.

  For all Marion knew, someone could be blackmailing him already.

  She should call her dad first, give him a head’s up. He’d probably want to send someone federal to come get her, but maybe that was for the best, too. The sooner she warned him about what was going on, the better.

  As all of this ran through her mind, sh
e realized the police were probably her best bet.

  They would at least call someone from the Secret Service to come pick her up.

  She nodded to the woman.

  “Okay,” she said. “Call the police. But I need to use your phone first. I have to call my father, and let him know where I am––”

  “I think you should call the police first,” the woman protested.

  Marion shook her head.

  “You don’t understand.” Swallowing, she bit her lip, then just blurted it. “You might even recognize me… I’m the President’s daughter. I was kidnapped. My father needs to know right away. They might be blackmailing him right now.”

  Seeing the woman’s eyes widen to saucers, Marion fought to think.

  The woman was already pulling the phone out of her purse, thrusting it into Marion’s empty hands.

  Marion had a number her dad made her memorize.

  She tapped it into the woman’s phone now.

  “…I need him to come get me,” she said, still muttering under her breath, maybe more for herself than the poor store clerk she’d dragged into this mess. “They’ll probably want to put me somewhere until they catch whoever is behind this. Or maybe lock me down in the White House.”

  Looking at the sixty-something clerk as she put the woman’s phone to her ear, Marion added,

  “This guy claims it’s another group. He might even be right. But my dad’s people need to sort all of that out. He didn’t hurt me,” she added, motioning towards the office door. “He’s not the one who hurt me. The guy here, in the store. If the police ask you, he didn’t hurt me, okay? He might have even saved my life.”

  Watching the woman’s eyes continue to look confused, Marion frowned, focusing on the phone when it began to ring.

  It was still ringing when Marion looked at the woman again.

  “Is there another way out of the building?” she said. “Something out back? This guy is a fighter, a trained fighter, and really strong. If he hears the police coming, he might just run away. Or, if he thinks I’m his best ticket out of here without getting shot or arrested, he might come after me. I need to not be here when he hears those sirens.”

  Marion swallowed, thinking about all of this, even as she said it out loud.

  Everything she was saying was starting to feel really real all of a sudden.

  Still thinking, she motioned at the clerk.

  “You shouldn’t be here, either,” she said apologetically. “You should come with me. I don’t think he’d hurt you, but just in case I’m wrong––”

  Someone picked up at the other end of the line.

  Before she could get out a word, a hard, dense voice spoke.

  “Hello, Marion,” the voice said. “Where are you?”

  Something in that voice was wrong.

  Something in that voice was very, very wrong.

  Marion hesitated, gripping the shop clerk’s phone tightly in both hands.

  She opened her mouth, fighting for words, with whether she should answer––

  “Hang up the phone, Marion.”

  The deep voice cut through the silence of the room.

  Marion turned, staring at the man who somehow appeared in the doorway, despite her watching the clerk lock the handle from the inside. She found him staring at her, his dark eyes looking through hers, seeming to communicate with her even in silence.

  He didn’t look angry.

  His words didn’t sound like a threat.

  Still, something in his eyes made her pull the phone away from her ear.

  “Marion?” the voice in the phone said, growing softer as she pulled it away, even though she could tell the man was shouting. “Marion! Where are you? Tell us where you are!”

  Hesitating a bare beat, she looked down at the phone’s glass screen and hit the hang up button.

  “You can’t be in here!” the shop clerk said, her voice shaking as she faced a man probably ten inches taller than her and made of solid muscle. She pointed at the door. “You need to go, sir! You can’t be in here! We’ve already called the police!”

  The man with the dark eyes looked only at Marion.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said. “They know. They’re coming.”

  Marion continued to stare up at those dark eyes.

  She knew he was right.

  She didn’t just believe him… she knew.

  As that much sank in, she turned to the shop clerk, handing back the phone the woman lent her. Briefly, she had to restrain herself from hugging her.

  “Thank you,” she said, meaning it with all of her heart. “You can still call the cops, but we need to go. Thank you,” she repeated, briefly squeezing the woman’s hand. “I know you tried to help me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. You’re a really good person.”

  The woman stared at her, obviously tongue-tied.

  Without waiting, Marion released her, turning to go.

  She was about the leave the small office with Tyr, when the woman spoke up.

  “Wait!” she said.

  She practically shouted it.

  When Marion and Tyr turned, the woman frowned, looking between them.

  “The least I can do is give you warmer clothes to wear,” the woman said, pursing her lips. “Will you at least allow me that?”

  Tyr looked at Marion. Marion looked at Tyr.

  Then they both looked at the shopkeeper.

  “Okay,” Marion said. “But fast.”

  She watched the shopkeeper disappear through the doorway as Tyr moved out of her way, letting the woman squeeze past him to return to the shop’s floor.

  The woman looked Marion over in a glance, as if memorizing her measurements in two swipes of her eyes. She barely slowed her steps to do it, moving at a near-jog and now muttering under her breath.

  Tyr and Marion looked at each other again.

  Then Tyr offered Marion his hand.

  Marion barely hesitated.

  She took it, winding her fingers around his, gripping him tighter as he led her back onto the shop floor, following after the clerk.

  She was all-in now.

  12

  You Already Know What I Am

  M arion climbed into the passenger seat of the McLaren, a bundle of clothes in her arms.

  The shop clerk was still handing her things in the seconds before Tyr closed the door behind her––a thick pair of woolen socks, hiking boots that would go a lot better with the jeans and cable-knit sweater the woman already found in roughly Marion’s size, a down jacket.

  Marion smiled up at her, even as the McLaren’s door began to close.

  “I’ll reimburse you for all of this,” she promised, gripping the clothes and boots awkwardly in her arms. “Thank you again, so much. You’re wonderful––”

  The door clicked shut, locking in place from where it descended into the car’s frame.

  Tyr started the engine.

  He revved it once, then backed swiftly out of the parking space in front of the small store, and gunned it down the street.

  Marion didn’t wait.

  She threw the clothes into the area down by her feet, and reached behind her to unzip the dress. She managed to get the thing undone, awkwardly, with her back to the car’s door, then she was wriggling out of it, sitting up to pull it over her head.

  She didn’t bother to glance over at Tyr, but felt him glance at her.

  It occurred to her only then that she was sitting right next to him in nothing but lacey white underwear, not even a bra to cover her on top.

  In broad daylight.

  The car’s windows might be dark to anyone outside, but Tyr could see her just fine.

  Shoving aside the thought, she leaned down, looking through the clothes the clerk had given her. She found a bra first, and put that on, hooking the clasp awkwardly behind her back. Next, she grabbed the pair of black jeans. Sticking a foot into each leg hole, she felt Tyr’s eyes on her again and glanced up at him, arching
an eyebrow.

  He continued to look at her, more or less unapologetically.

  “Maybe don’t run us off the road, okay?” she said, motioning towards the windshield.

  She couldn’t help smiling a little when his eyes followed her pointing finger, and he swerved a bit, realigning the sports car with one hand.

  Then she was yanking up the jeans, sitting forward to get them over her butt and then zipped up the front.

  The shopkeeper had a good eye. They fit her perfectly.

  She grabbed the sweater next, shoving her head through the opening on top and then twisting it around to align the sleeves with her arms.

  She pulled it down to her waist before she reached down a third time, now looking for the socks and the boots.

  She glanced up at Tyr after she had both of the wool socks on her feet.

  She already felt about a hundred times better.

  “Where to now?” she said, grabbing the first boot and pulling paper out of the toe that had been stuffed in there by the manufacturer. “This car isn’t exactly inconspicuous.”

  Tyr nodded, giving her a bare glance before his eyes returned to the road.

  “I am unsure,” he admitted. “I had thought, before, that we might go to New York, see if we could get in contact with your father’s people in a city likely to have a lot of federal agents. But now I am wondering if we can trust any of those normal avenues of communication. Clearly, they have some means of picking up calls to protected lines.”

  “That was them?” Marion said, frowning. “The Syndicate people? You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Marion felt her skepticism fighting with the part of her that believed him.

  “You’re absolutely sure?” she said, shoving her foot into the second boot. “You didn’t even hear them. You couldn’t have traced the call.”

  When she glanced at him that time, he gave her a flat look.

  Snorting a little, she shook her head.

  “More of that ‘it’s complicated’ stuff?” she grunted wryly, beginning to lace up her first boot. “The same stuff that gives you two brothers named Thor and Loki? And a father who lives in another dimension? A father who may or may not be named Odin?”