They might have broken part of the sectional sofa too, if memory served.
Pushing all of that from her mind, she disappeared into the bedroom.
She’d think about Tyr tomorrow.
Or maybe, assuming either or both of them lived through this, she’d think about him later today, after they’d helped her dad.
W hen she emerged from those same sliding wooden doors minutes later, dressed in more of the clothes he’d bought her, hair and teeth more or less brushed, face washed, more antiseptic applied to a few cuts and new bandages applied…
…Tyr himself looked shockingly normal.
He sat at the bar, drinking coffee, watching twenty-four-hour cable news on the laptop she’d seen perched on the desk earlier.
His wings were retracted.
He wore a suit, including the black jacket and pants that must have been in the garment bag she’d noticed the night before, along with the white dress shirt, a silver watch, black socks, the black shoes. He didn’t wear a tie.
His shirt was open at the collar, but he still managed to look exceedingly well put together, even with the five o’clock shadow that now darkened his jaw and cheeks. At his feet sat a leather bag, just under the stool where he perched.
He glanced at her, and she felt her heart stop briefly in her chest. He paused, mid-motion, where he’d been raising a cup of coffee to his lips.
He smiled at her then, his eyes flickering down her.
Heat rose in those dark eyes, right before his smile widened.
“You are beautiful, Marion,” he said.
She felt her face warm.
Noting his suit a second time, she glanced down at herself, taking in the dark jeans and long-sleeved shirt she’d thrown on from the pile of clothes he’d given her the night before.
Next to Tyr, she felt like she was wearing little-kid clothes.
He seemed to hear that, too.
He nodded towards the closet by the front door.
“If you’d prefer to dress more formally, there are other clothes for you in there, Marion,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “I should have told you. I admit, the last few hours have been… distracting.”
He smiled at her again, and she felt it in her chest.
“I wasn’t sure what kind of clothing we might need for this,” he added more seriously. “I could not decide if it would be better to dress in a way more appropriate for the stature of the White House, or if we should wear more practical clothes. I opted for slightly more formal wear…” he added, again lifting his cup of coffee.
“…I am operating under the assumption that we will be able to get inside to speak to your father. I would prefer for him to meet me in more respectful clothing.”
A subtle smile returned to his perfect mouth.
“As you are his daughter… and not some stranger who somehow materialized with his daughter after she’d been reported kidnapped… this is perhaps less of a concern.”
Marion grinned at that, in spite of herself. “Oh really? Some stranger?”
“Yes,” he said, his mouth quirking. “Or do you imagine I am wrong that your father is likely to be suspicious of me?”
“No,” she said, chuckling. “Sadly, you’re not wrong at all.”
He lowered the cup of coffee, still studying her face.
“Even apart from your father, I thought I might have more… credibility. If I dressed the part.”
Marion nodded, thinking.
He was probably right.
Of course, that was assuming they got past security in the first place. She had her doubts the Secret Service would be less likely to shoot one or both of them, just because they caught them on the grounds in formal wear, versus cat burglar suits or sweatpants.
She remembered something else then, and looked at him.
“Your wings––” she began.
He was already nodding, even before she spoke.
“I will have to take off some of my clothes before we leave,” he said, kicking the bag at his feet. “I thought you could hold them for me. While we flew. Then I could put them back on, once we arrived at our destination. Assuming we are able to breach the perimeter unseen.”
Marion nodded again.
It was as good of a plan as any.
She walked to the closet, and found the garment bags she’d seen hanging on the door when she first got out of the shower.
One of those bags was now empty.
She turned to the other one, unzipping the front.
She was a little afraid she’d find a ball gown inside, or something she might freeze her ass off in, if she wore it in the ice and snow. Instead, she found an expensive-looking wool coat, a pale green, form-fitting sweater, a floor-length black skirt that looked warm, and a scarf.
The sweater would work with either the black jeans or the skirt, as would the knee-high, heeled leather boots she saw on the floor of the closet.
“How did you have time to get all of this?” she wondered aloud.
It was a rhetorical question, but Tyr looked at her from his perch by the bar.
“It didn’t take long,” he said, swallowing more of the black coffee. “I’m thinking maybe the jeans, sweater, and boots? I don’t know if we might need to run in there at some point, but perhaps the skirt wasn’t a good idea for this.”
He glanced at her, his expression mildly embarrassed.
“I looked at online catalogues for the clothes. I didn’t know how to buy, so I had a person at the front desk put together outfits. She purchased them from local stores that were still open and picked them up for me.”
Marion smiled. “Well… both of you did well.”
Turning back towards the closet, she tugged the long-sleeved T-shirt over her head, then pulled the green sweater off the fuzzy hanger, sliding it over her head and arranging it once she had her arms through the sleeves. The sweater clung to her waist and hips, and even though it was thin, it was super warm.
Grabbing the boots from the bottom of the closet, she dragged them over to the couch. Less than a minute later, she was zipping them up over her calves, wearing the warm wool socks he’d bought for her.
She stomped her heels to make sure they were settled and rose to her feet.
As with the jeans and everything else, it all fit perfectly.
“There are earrings here, too,” Tyr said, motioning towards the bar. “And a necklace. I didn’t know if this would help us look slightly more formal.”
Marion smiled at that, walking over to him.
Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she gave him a hug.
He fell utterly still when she did. She saw him close his eyes in the mirror over the kitchen counter. Then he kissed her hands, hugging her arm back, one-handed.
“Do you want some coffee?” he asked her.
Thinking, she shook her head. “I’m pretty awake now.”
“Are you hungry?”
She glanced at the line of desserts still on the bar from the ridiculous amount of food she’d ordered earlier. The idea of filling herself up on either caffeine or sugar right then made her feel faintly sick.
“We need to go,” she told him instead.
Exhaling, he nodded.
“Yes. Yes, we do.”
She heard regret in his voice.
Trying not to read too much into it, in either direction, she released him, walking to the other side of the bar. There, laid out on the granite counter, Marion found silver hoop earrings, a silver necklace with an odd symbol of black stone hanging in the pendant, and a silver watch that looked like it had diamonds in the face of it.
All were simple, beautifully designed, and looked expensive.
She wanted to ask where the heck he’d gotten the money for all of this, not to mention the two-room suite at what was probably a five-star hotel right next to the D.C. Mall, but decided now wasn’t the time.
That feeling only got reinforced when Tyr rose from his barstool, picking up the leather bag at his feet an
d slinging it over one shoulder.
Marion continued to watch him as she put on the earrings, the watch, and the pendant with the black stone, noting the seriousness of his expression as he dumped what remained of his coffee in the sink and left the empty cup at the bottom of it.
Marion walked back to the closet, pulling out the long wool coat and sliding it over her arms and her shoulders, buttoning up the front. It was black, beautifully designed, and again fit her perfectly. Wrapping the heavy wool layer around her felt like wrapping herself in four blankets all at once.
In seconds, she was a little too warm.
She knew that would change soon.
“All right,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. “I think it’s time.”
She studied his eyes as he straightened, feeling a flicker of nerves when she saw the harder look reach his face.
He actually looked like a god of war to her right then.
“Where to first?” she said warily.
Tyr pointed up, that harder look darkening his eyes.
“The roof,” he said.
20
Getting Inside
M arion hadn’t been wrong about going outside.
It had been cold before, after the accident.
It had been snowing.
It had also been less than an hour after sunset.
Now, the snow had stopped, but a wind had risen to gust around the small drifts of snow that covered most of D.C.
Not only that, it was only about an hour from first light.
When Tyr first pushed open the metal door on the roof, a gust of that below-freezing, snow-filled, pre-dawn, whip-sharp air hit her, sucking in her breath. She could feel the sunrise approaching, could smell it somehow in the air, even without any supernatural powers.
She knew they were out of time, that they’d have to haul ass to get to the White House before first light, but it was hard to make herself move any faster at first.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as Tyr closed the door behind them, and walked out onto the middle of the roof.
He handed her the leather satchel he’d carried up from their room.
She winced when he took off his coat, handing that to her next.
She was still stuffing it inside the leather bag when he shed the suit jacket he wore, then began to unbutton the white dress shirt. He folded the last two things, handing them to her, and she saw him shiver, his blue and green tattoos seeming to glow brighter in the dark.
He looked cold.
Even his skin, which had looked darkish to her before, now looked pale.
It looked vampire-pale, almost blueish.
He glanced at her, gave her a half-smile…
…then his wings erupted out of his back, stretching out on either side of him.
Marion couldn’t help it.
She smiled.
I t was a lot different flying with him the second time.
For one thing, she knew it was really happening.
For another, she was awake enough to see how far they were above the ground.
Freezing cold air and flakes of snow hit into her as they glided through the blackness of night. Tyr avoided lit areas as much as he could, sticking to shadows and flying above spotlights and streetlights and decorative lights shining on the Washington Monument, as well as hotels and lit apartment buildings on either side.
Luckily, they were close to their final destination, and most of what stood between the hotel and the White House could be reached by flying over parks, not past buildings and over lit streets, however empty they were of most traffic.
Despite that closeness, the flight felt strangely long.
Part of that was because she truly was awake for it, and found herself staring down at the ground below, immersed in the silence of his enormous wings.
He dipped up and down, and her stomach dipped and rose with him.
She watched him skirt around the glowing circle of artificial lights, but also remain as low to the ground as he could manage, presumably so he wouldn’t be picked up as aircraft and would be less likely to set off some kind of military alarm.
He flew higher again to cross Constitution Avenue, and then they were over The Ellipse and the White House Christmas tree, and heading for the South Lawn.
Marion felt herself starting to get nervous as she saw the White House itself drawing near.
The edifice drew closer and larger as Tyr flew, looking more iconic than she’d ever seen it look, with its lit portico, floodlights shining on portions of the East and West Wings, the rose garden outside the Oval Office, Christmas decorations visible through the glowing panes.
She’d spent some time in the building, of course, given who her father was.
The mystery and history of the place had never really worn off for her, though… not to mention her awe of the fact that her father was President.
That guilt she felt, at not living up to that reality, of being such an embarrassment to him, hit her even harder as she looked down at the iconic building.
She remembered the security measures her father and her Secret Service detail told her about, and her nerves ratcheted higher.
Why hadn’t she asked Tyr about any of that before they went up in the air?
Why hadn’t she made sure he’d know exactly what they’d be in for? Hell, why hadn’t she told him everything she possibly could about what they’d soon be facing?
Her nerves only worsened when she saw Tyr angle his wings to take them higher.
They were now headed in a direct line for the White House roof.
Remembering they’d had armed agents up there when she was visiting, she felt her heart leap to her throat. She started shaking her head, gripping his bare chest and arms with her hands from where he held her in his arms, the leather satchel in her lap.
She had no idea if he picked up on her distress, the way he’d picked up on so much of her thoughts and emotions in the hotel room.
She hoped like hell he picked up that there was a good chance they’d get shot at if he landed on the roof, even in the middle of the night.
She didn’t squirm too much, though.
She didn’t want to do anything that would screw up his balance as he flew, or cause him to drop her, or drop the satchel… or crash land both of them.
But as the White House loomed and they got closer to the lights illuminating the South Portico, she felt her nerves bloom into full-blown panic.
At the last minute, Tyr dipped out of the darkness into the stream of light coming from the highest floor of the building, right next to the glass-covered solarium.
He pulled in his wings, going into a full-blown dive.
Marion let out a gasp, unable to help it, as Tyr tilted his wings, aiming them right for that stretch of balcony directly in front of the glass structure––
––and right at an armed guard who stood there, patrolling the roof.
They were going so fast, she barely had time to see the approach, or anything leading up to it. The lights, the white walls, the lit glass room, filled with plants, the green grass below––all of it blurred into colors and vague shapes.
Then the white roof loomed, growing large in a fraction of a second.
Marion saw the guard’s eyes widen comically as he saw them––
––then Tyr reared up with his wings, slamming into the man with both feet and knocking him through the glass wall of the solarium.
The sound was deafening.
Marion gasped, clinging to Tyr’s arms, fighting to breathe.
The god paused long enough to set her on her feet, light as a feather, and she stood there in her wool coat, gripping the leather bag in both hands as Tyr smacked into another guard with his wings, knocking him all the way across the narrow balcony and into the stone railing.
Tyr leapt into the air, grabbing and swiping at things with his hands, breaking off black pieces of metal and glass. He went after each one with precision, his an
gular face unmoving, and Marion soon realized they were cameras and guns, along with at least one drone.
He knocked a third guard down who ran out through the solarium door, a gun in his hand.
That one, he threw into the wall next to where the glass solarium ended.
After making sure the third man was out cold, Tyr darted up to her.
“Let’s go,” he said, his black eyes shining with dark flames. “More of them will come. We must find your father.”
His wings retracted as he spoke, all at once, and she gasped.
Then Tyr offered his hand, and she took it without thought, following him at a run as he entered the solarium through the hole he’d made with the first Secret Service agent’s body. Tyr navigated them through the plant-filled structure, ignoring the greenhouse trees, palms, bushes, flowers, and old-fashioned furniture on both sides and aiming them towards the door leading to the corridor and the Central Hall beyond.
Marion ran after him, in a daze.
They’d just broken into the most heavily-guarded house in the world.
Worse, Tyr had done it wearing nothing but black suit pants, dress shoes, a gold watch, and faintly glowing blue and green tattoos.
T hey managed to duck into a bedroom, seconds later.
Tyr must have found some kind of map online.
He seemed to know exactly where he was going.
Without hesitating, he left the solarium with her and ran fast, hanging a right when they hit the carpeted main hall, and more or less pulling Marion with him to an open door.
They entered a room Marion recognized as a guest bedroom.
Again without waiting, Tyr closed the door quietly behind him.
Marion watched, still half-numb at how fast everything had happened, as Tyr yanked open the leather satchel, and pulled out his white dress shirt.
Without waiting, he threw it on over his broad shoulders, sliding his arms into sleeves and swiftly buttoning up the front.
The fabric covered his bare chest and abdomen in seconds, then he was shouldering on the suit jacket, and the wool coat over that.
He glanced at her as he walked away from the leather satchel, still adjusting the collar of his coat as he gave her a grim look.
Gods on Earth: Complete Series (Books 1-3): Paranormal Romances with Norse Gods, Tricksters, and Fated Mates Page 47