by Nora Ash
Movement above our heads made all three of us look up. A bird broke free from the trees and glided down to a lower branch a few yards from where we stood. Another followed, landing by the first’s side.
Two ravens.
I squinted. They looked… awfully familiar.
“Arni and Magga,” Grim said quietly, and without a drop of jubilation at the unexpected reunion.
“Oh my God!” I gasped, pushing past Grim and shoving Mimir into his arms so I could reach my hands out toward the two birds. “It is you! Oh, I am so, so sorry for what happened to you. Bjarni told me what Loki did.”
“Loki,” Magga spat. “That son of a troll.”
“One thousand years we served him,” Arni said, his voice tinted with bitterness. Not that I could blame him. “And he sends us to Hel.”
“Hel,” Magga echoed. “By fire. Dramatic cunt.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked, biting my lip as the memory of Bjarni’s sorrow over their death filled me. He’d want me to help them in any way I could.
“We don’t have time for this, Annabel,” Grim snapped. “Come now. We must press on.”
Arni cawed, turning a black eye to the alpha behind me. “If you go south, you will be lost in the swamps before nightfall. If it is Freya you seek, north is your path.”
“We are here to help you, girl,” Magga said, sounding entirely not thrilled about it. “We will guide you to the goddess.”
“Oh, that’s really wo—” I began, but Grim interrupted me.
“At what cost?” he asked, the chill in his voice as cool as his skin. “What’s your price?”
“There is no cost, Misborn,” Magga hissed.
“But if you can bring us with you when you escape this place, that would be great,” Arni added.
“I’m not sure we can,” I said softly. “I think there’s only a loophole for me because of Idunn’s apple. But if there is a way, of course we will.”
Grim growled under his breath, but when I glanced at him over my shoulder, he didn’t voice a rejection of my promise.
Arni bowed his head in acceptance, then pushed off the branch and launched into the air, circling our heads once. “North, then. To Freya’s glade.”
“To the weeping goddess so far, so fair,” Magga crooned, following him into the skies. “With breasts aplenty and golden hair.”
I glanced at Mimir still in Grim’s arms. “Breasts aplenty?”
The prophet shot me a grin. “Valhalla’s ravens might speak, but no one ever accused them of being poets.”
“They always did envy Huginn and Munin their riddles,” Grim said. He heaved a sigh and shoved Mimir back into my arms before gesturing at me to follow the ravens. “Saga and Bjarni insisted they deliver their news plainly. They never developed the knack for rhymes or verses.”
The trek north of the ravine took us nearly six hours and involved a lot of scrambling up and down jagged paths, but the ravens led us safely around the canyon and deeper into the forest beyond.
On the second morning after they joined us, Arni landed on my shoulder and stayed there for most of the day, only occasionally taking off into the sky to see how much farther we had to go.
“We should arrive in her glade before nightfall,” Arni informed me when he returned to my shoulder sometime after midday.
“Have you visited her before?” I asked. “Here, I mean.”
He cawed a bitter laugh. “We have flown past once or twice. Visiting a goddess throwing a temper tantrum was… not entirely appealing, considering what happened the last time a god in a mood got his hands on us.”
I grimaced. “Bjarni was so distraught. Still is.”
“He’s always been a good boy,” Arni sighed before he shot a withering look over his shoulder at Grim, who was bringing up the rear. “Unlike the squalling little darkling his father brought home, rather than drown in the nearest stream like he should have.”
“Behave,” I said, bopping him gently on the beak. “That’s my mate. I don’t care that you don’t like each other—we’re all in this together.”
Arni ruffled his feathers with a final look of disdain in Grim’s direction. “He didn’t want you, you know. He spent years attempting to persuade his brothers not to send for you.”
I glanced back at Grim and gave him a half-smile. He was glaring so intensely at the bird on my shoulder I was pretty sure he’d heard most of our conversation. His scowl darkened when Magga swooped down from the sky above our heads to perch on my free shoulder.
“He had his reasons,” I said to Arni as I turned my focus back to the path ahead.
“Was it his inability to mount a female?” Magga asked, the innocent air to her voice not entirely managing to hide her malice. “Please do tell us. You would settle a long-standing bet. I have fifty silver marks on his cold blood inhibiting the function of his manhood.”
“I keep telling you, they worked fine that time I saw him underneath Madna in the woods,” Arni said. “Wasn’t much more than a whelp, either. Of course, old age could have taken its toll. Is that it, Misborn? Did you miss an apple one year?”
Before Grim could respond—if he even planned to—I reached up and brushed a finger against both birds’ taloned feet, sending a spark of my magic into them.
They both squawked and shot a foot into the air before they managed to unfold their wings for a more dignified incline.
“If you’re going to be bitchy, you can find another ride,” I told them.
“So sensitive,” Arni huffed as Magga shot me a few choice words and swung higher into the sky.
I looked back at Grim, whose face had gone stony. He hadn’t known Arni had seen him with her, I realized.
Madna. I hadn’t thought to ask her name. It wasn’t important—not to me. She wasn’t worthy of the effort of asking her name. But to Grim…
I reached through our bond and brushed a gentle touch against the wall he’d placed there, feeling it shudder in response. Without waiting for permission, I paused to let him catch up to me, then grabbed his hand.
His fingers were stiff as I laced mine through them, but he didn’t pull away. I gave him a small squeeze he didn’t return, but after a few steps he folded his hand around mine. He didn’t let go as we continued the journey side by side.
The funnel cloud of souls was fading to the darkness of the sky by the time the trees around us started to change.
It was subtle at first, and it took me a while to notice the droplets trickling down their broad, oaken trunks as we made our way through the woods. At first I thought it might be some sort of sap, and paused for a closer look.
“Tears of the goddess,” Mimir murmured as I touched my fingertips to the rough bark, and I remembered what the ravens had said about the woods weeping for Freya.
“We’re close,” I said, pulling away from the tree to look up at Arni, who’d perched on a branch above us. “How much farther?”
“Just beyond the creek,” he said, nodding in the direction of a trickling stream.
“Let’s go, then,” I said, reaching out for Grim’s hand again. “Let’s find our way home.”
Wordlessly he twined his fingers with mine, and we continued over the shallow creek and through the underbrush.
Gray vegetation gave way to a large clearing soft with moss and grass. And in the center of it, surrounded by a swirl of white flowers, sat the Goddess of Love.
“Freya! I called out, exhaling as relief flooded my cells. We’d made it. We’d found her.
We were going home.
The goddess turned her head in our direction at my call, and the relief turned leaden in my veins. Her eyes were sunken deep in the sockets, and her golden and bountiful hair now hung gray and limp around her bony, hunched shoulders.
“Annabel. Oh, no,” she whispered, and I barely recognized her voice. When I’d first met Freya, she had been brimming with vitality and life. But now, even her voice sounded so… frail. Broken.
&nbs
p; I stared in horror at the goddess, at the only one who might have been strong enough to help us find our way home, as her face contorted in anguish and tears streamed from her dulled eyes.
“He killed you too. Oh, everything… everything is lost.”
Sixteen
Grim
“Who? Grim?” Annabel’s voice went from shock to horror. She swiveled on me, pulling her soft hand from mine with a jerk. “You killed Freya? And you didn’t think to mention it?”
I forced down the wave of anger that my own mate so readily thought the worst of me—I had killed her, after all. She couldn’t be entirely blamed for jumping to conclusions.
“I did no such thing,” I said, giving Freya a dark look. I had a good idea who had killed her, though. And why.
“Grim?” the goddess asked, her tears slowing as she took us in. “Why would Grim…?”
Annabel turned back to her, frowning. “It wasn’t Grim? Then who?”
Freya shook her head. “I cannot… Cannot tell you. Tell anyone.”
Annabel hissed out a breath. Repeatedly. “You have been cursed to silence?”
“I have,” Freya said, her voice soft and confused. “I discovered the truth, but he... He took my ability to voice his name. And then he killed me. Why… Why are you here? Who killed you, if not he who murdered me?”
Annabel gave me a long side-eye before she crossed the rest of the distance to Freya and kneeled down by her side, placing Mimir cautiously next to her. “It’s… a long story. We are trying to find our way back. The ravens said you might be able to help. We’ve got to get back, to stop Ragnarök.”
Freya shook her head and lowered her lashes with a grimace. “There is no escaping Hel, little one. There is nothing left for us but this. And there is no stopping Ragnarök. He has won.”
My mate reached up to gently wipe the tears from Freya’s sunken face. “I don’t believe that,” she said. “I am going to stop it. Verdandi wove my thread with my mates’ for a reason. We are going to stop it. And you’re going to help me.”
“I used to believe that there was no greater power than love,” Freya said, her voice hollow as she looked back up at Annabel. “That in the end, nothing could break it, and it would overcome anything if nurtured enough. Of course I did; I was the Goddess of Love. But he drove a knife through my heart and plucked me from the world. I am dead, little omega. And with me, love will soon die too.
“The Norn who wove your thread with your alphas did so to harness the deepest of devotion one would usually only find in bonds such as yours. But without love, it will never be enough. He is far too powerful a foe.”
“Nothing and no one will ever destroy the love I have for my mates,” Annabel said quietly. “We are strong enough, and we will stop him. Three of us defeated Nidhug. Whoever he is, he won’t be able to stop the six of us together.”
“Have faith, goddess,” Mimir said, his voice softer than normal. “All is not lost. Not yet.” He shot Annabel a look from underneath bushy eyebrows. “Give us some space, plum. I will speak with her.”
Annabel cast another look at the broken goddess, then nodded and got to her feet. With one last, lingering glance over her shoulder, she returned to my side.
“Now what?” she asked, eyes darting to my face. Her gaze slid over my features, taking in my every expression. She was so aware of me, as if I were a planet and she my moon—a curious sensation, since she pulled on me like gravity itself. It wouldn’t be long until I could no longer fight it—until everything I was would be wrapped around her.
“I suppose we wait,” I said, shrugging with a casualness I didn’t feel. “Make camp. See if Mimir can make something useful happen.”
“You’re so rude,” she scolded, giving me a stern look. “She was killed. I think it’s fair to have a bit of a breakdown.”
I chuffed through my nose and walked to a willow tree on the other side of the glade, where I sank into the soft grass beneath it. Hel had sucked all color and life from every inch of this world, but this close to Freya, a kernel of life remained. Perhaps this was not entirely unexpected from the Goddess of Fertility.
I gave Freya’s hunched figure a careful study. Did she have enough power left to revive Annabel?
If he had plunged a knife through her heart, her death was final—like Annabel’s would have been, had my brothers not been doomed if I’d done the same to her. But still…
My gaze fell on the white flowers surrounding her, then on the two ravens jumping from branch to branch on the outskirts of the glade, and finally to my mate. She was clearly eavesdropping on whatever the prophet was saying, despite how inconspicuously she tried to look as she paced.
She was so determined, so utterly willful in her refusal to accept defeat. If the ravens were right, if Freya could give her the means, she would make it happen. If anyone could defy death, it would be her.
I leaned my head back against the willow’s trunk and closed my eyes, wishing I could protect her from what lay ahead.
A firm pressure against my shoulder made me blink my eyes open, realization that I’d drifted off jolting adrenaline through my body and rendering me wide awake.
Annabel looked up from where she’d nestled in against my side, a soft smile curving her lips as our eyes met. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” She reached up to let a fingertip smooth over my forehead. “I rarely get to see you sleep. You looked troubled. Did you have a bad dream?”
I scoffed, but didn’t move away from her touch. “We are in Hel. If we dream, they are unlikely to be pleasant.”
“Mmm, I suppose that’s a good point.” She shifted against my side, rolling up on her knees so she could straddle me. The firm pressure of her groin against mine alerted me to her intentions before I caught her mischievous smile. “You know… it seems like we have the rest of the night. And you haven’t made me practice my control since Arni and Magga joined us.”
“You want sex?” I asked flatly.
Annabel grimaced and poked my chest. “Way to kill the mood. I was trying to flirt with you. I miss you.”
“I’m right here,” I countered, even if my cock was already rising to the occasion.
Annabel huffed and leaned in close, her breasts pressed firmly against my chest and her breath tickling my throat. “I miss you inside of me, Grim. I miss what it feels like when you lose yourself to me,” she whispered. The heat in her voice made memories of exactly that flicker in my brain, and I swallowed a groan as my cock swelled to full size and prodded insistently at what lay above it.
“We are not alone,” I reminded her, catching her hips when she ground down against my hardness.
“So?” A genuine frown crossed her features when she pulled back to look at me. “It’s not like Mimir hasn’t heard us every single time—and watched a few as well. And Freya is the Goddess of Love. You know that whole thing with Magni and Saga was her idea.”
She was right. I shouldn’t mind. It was just sex.
Except sex with Annabel was… It was so much more than physical. When I was inside her, the sheer elation of joining with her stripped me of control, and my every wall came crashing down—and there was nothing I could do to prevent that.
Understanding broke behind my mate’s eyes, and her gaze turned soft and sorrowful. “It’s not about Freya or Mimir, is it? It’s Arni and Magga.”
I sneered, even as my innate ice gripped my gut tightly. “They’re nothing but flying rats. If you want to be fucked while they watch and comment, far be it from me to prevent you living out your exhibitionistic desires.” I straightened against the tree trunk and reached for her leather armor, fingers sliding underneath straps to undo the fastenings.
But Annabel reached up to grab at my wrists, pausing my movements. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Grim,” she said so softly my heart shivered. “I get it. They pecked at you when you were small and vulnerable. I’m not going to ask you to be vulnerable in front of them again.”
An
d with that, she leaned forward again, this time placing a chaste kiss on my lips before she rested her head on my shoulder. Her slow breaths raised goosebumps along my skin, doing nothing for my still-straining cock nestled firmly against her covered groin.
“I didn’t know that he saw me with her,” I said. I hadn’t meant to; the words just slipped out.
Annabel pressed in harder against me. Her hands came up around my neck, stroking through my hair, but she remained quiet.
“I guess he didn’t know that it was… unwanted. If he had, he would have tormented me with it. I don’t want…” I fell silent, already regretting having opened this door.
But Annabel asked, “What don’t you want, Grim?” so softly, I had no choice but to answer.
“I don’t want them to see us together, because they will take any softness and pick at it until it’s a raw, open wound. It’s their nature,” I answered
Annabel was silent for a long time, until she finally breathed, “Hold me.”
Slowly, somewhat reluctantly, I obeyed. She felt so solid in my arms as I tightened them around her torso. So alive, despite what I’d done to her. But she wasn’t. She should have been warm under my palms, and her beautiful, haunting scent should have filled my lungs with every slow breath I drew in against the top of her head.
“I love you,” she said, her voice quiet but not weak. She didn’t move her head from my shoulder—simply let the words hang in the air around us.
Everything inside of me went still.
“You don’t,” I said, my voice rougher than expected.
She flicked my earlobe with a finger, but otherwise didn’t move. “Yeah. I do. And once you trust me enough to let me in, you’ll know I’m telling you the truth.”
I expelled a breath that should have been a laugh, but only came out like a hollow bark. “If I truly let you in, believe me, Annabel, you would not love me. What you feel is biology and Fate’s manipulation. And that is fine. I am not small and vulnerable any longer. I do not need you to tell me fairytales.”