“We should fly,” Gwydion said, as he looked in every direction at once. “We should have done that to begin with. To the docks, perhaps. Take a boat. Those are easier to disembark than a plane.”
“You two found her. I’m so glad.” Loki’s voice came from behind.
Kirby’s stomach turned itself inside out. Her dagger was in her hand before she processed drawing it, and flame she didn’t summon licked along the blade. She lunged at Loki. He disappeared before she reached him, appearing several meters behind her, but she expected it. She was already pivoting.
A familiar roar shredded the air. Kirby didn’t need to look, to know Starkad had shifted. She hadn’t seen him become a wolf in centuries, but she’d have to be awed later.
Freya, help me to make peace among my enemies. The familiar prayer echoed in Kirby’s thoughts, and she gritted her teeth to shove it aside.
Starkad landed with his paws on Loki’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground, but the god vanished again before Starkad could clamp his jaw around anything.
When Loki reappeared, roots and grass sprung from the ground, tangling around his limbs and causing him to stumble.
Kirby knew without looking the plant growth was Gwydion’s doing. They didn’t keep him from blinking out of sight again, but the plants offered valuable counter-attack time. She set an easy pattern with Starkad, the two of them taking turns attacking Loki without hesitation when he appeared. Keeping him on the defensive. She’d never fought with Starkad on a battlefield, but they’d sparred plenty across two lives, and time melted away now.
Loki fired a ball of lightning at Kirby, striking her in the chest and sending her stumbling back. Starkad darted in front of her, shielding her while she recovered, and Loki fired off more electricity.
The power singed and crackled along Starkad’s fur. The scent of burning hair and flesh filled the air, making Kirby’s eyes water. No time to pause. No time to be distracted. She spun toward the spark of magic to her right and slashed at Loki with her dagger.
For each successful hit Kirby or Starkad landed, Loki managed several of his own. The god was no longer blinking around as quickly, and exhaustion shone on his face.
But Starkad was panting, and strain ached over every inch of Kirby. Could they outlast Loki?
He phased again, this time coming up behind Gwydion and locking him in place as a shield. “I’m not here to fight, idiots.” Loki spoke through clenched teeth.
Could Kirby shoot through Gwydion? No. Any attack meant to hurt Loki would do the same to Gwydion. “Uh-huh.”
“At least the don’t believe anything part of your indoctrination stuck.” Loki rolled his eyes. “I’ve never been your enemy.”
Kirby snorted with laughter. “You recruited me, knowing who I was. You helped sentence me.”
“Starkad knew who you were, too. And Hel sentenced you. I didn’t care one way or the other.”
Because apathy was so much better than antipathy. This conversation gave her more time to look for an opening, but Loki had to know she would. What was he stalling for? “If you’re not here to fight, what do you want?” she asked.
She felt Starkad tense. He wasn’t touching her or in sight; the sensation washed through her. He was preparing to attack, while she distracted Loki.
“Brit lied to you about Hel’s weakness. About the fire,” Loki said.
Starkad lunged at Loki.
Kirby extended a force field to wrap around Gwydion and remove him from the equation.
“If you don’t want my help, good luck on your own,” Loki said. As Starkad clenched his jaw around Loki’s throat, Loki vanished.
“Is he gone?” Kirby asked. She knew the answer. Unlike all the blinking around the battlefield he’d done, this time when he blinked out of sight, the layers of anxiety she’d felt all morning faded too. The adrenaline rushed from her veins, and she sank to her knees as exhaustion took over.
Starkad collapsed next to her on the ground, on his side, panting for breath. He looked exactly the way she remembered—his body shape had shifted enough to tear most of his clothing, with the muscle changing under his skin and fur growing on top. He’d stayed mostly bi-pedal, but his leg structure shifted to something more canine, and his head had became mostly wolfish. It was fierce and beautiful. He managed a grunt. He could speak in this form, but not well.
She stroked a hand along his jaw and glided her fingers through his fur. He was fading back to human, which meant he didn’t sense a threat either.
Brit lied. Story of Kirby’s life.
“Are you both all right?” Gwydion knelt next to them, his gaze on her.
“Feeling a bit out of practice.” Starkad’s words were as much growl as English.
Brit lied. Old news. Kirby needed to move past it. It was just as possible Loki was lying. Regardless, he said what he did, to deceive. To encase them in doubt and make them question every step they took and every decision they made. His offers of help were no more genuine than Brit’s, or he’d still be here.
Gwydion sat. “What now?”
Kirby dropped to her butt and crossed her legs. They could walk back into town. Call for another ride. Do what Gwydion suggested and fly to the docks. “We don’t know how they keep finding us. Have they really known all this time and let it ride, even when we were taking out their assassins?”
“No.” Starkad was human again, rolled onto his back. Scorch marks decorated his chest and arms, where Loki’s lightning had struck. “Someone is telling them.”
It was a mistake to linger in town last night. Not that Kirby minded the results, but now... “Who?”
“No one here,” Gwydion said.
That was comforting because she believed it. It was nice that something could be. But it still didn’t answer the question of, what next?
Chapter Twenty
Starkad ached in places he’d forgotten could hurt. That was in addition to the burns across his torso and arms. He was healing, but not as quickly as he usually did. Loki left more than a couple new scars.
Starkad lay next to Kirby on the hard ground, staring up at the clear sky. Strength hummed through him. It had been a long time since he felt this alive. A fight like the one they’d just been in was exhilarating. His beast paced inside him, and the sharpness lingered in his senses. He swore he could taste Kirby without even touching her.
The wolf inside wanted to go pick another fight. To find a god or other immortal to throw down with until he was battered and exhausted.
The human bit—the part that had kept him acceptable in polite society for the last couple centuries—knew they had more important things to focus on.
Once those were done, he’d be standing in front of Hel. Then he could fight.
“We could go back to Aeval.” Gwydion’s voice was strained. He hadn’t enjoyed this as much, but he was all right, anyway. He made Kirby smile.
Starkad warred with the balance between primitive instinct and more rational thought. “Can we be certain she’s not the one who sold us out to Hel?”
“I trust her, but if you don’t, look at it this way—it’s similar to how you approach the things Loki tells you,” Gwydion said.
Kirby raised her brows. “We acknowledge he’s an insane sadist and approach accordingly? Aeval was a little manic, but she wasn’t even in the same realm.”
“You can’t second-guess every person you meet, or you’ll be stuck in the limbo of never trusting anyone. She’s never given me a reason not to, so we trust her now.” Gwydion stood and offered Kirby a hand up. “Besides, her place is only a few kilometers away, and I could go for some of that best coffee ever."
Starkad forced himself to stand. It wasn’t that he was too tired—most of the aches were nagging jabs by now—but the rest wanted to hunch down and race between the trees. To hide and hunt.
“It’s a good next step,” Starkad agreed. He’d only met Aeval a few times, but he’d never taken issue with her.
They all changed
into intact clothing and stashed their tattered rags.
They walked in mostly silence. Starkad wanted to focus on questions and next steps. He had to move past the roaring voice in his head, whose answer to everything was, Hunt. Kill. Destroy.
Kirby strolled between him and Gwydion, close enough that her arm brushed Starkad’s.
As they neared town, the acrid scents of smoke and burning wood singed his sinuses. That wasn’t a cooking smell; flesh and iron were mixed in.
Kirby and Gwydion paused, twitching their noses. In unspoken agreement, the three broke into a flat run in the direction of the heavy black cloud in the sky.
When they reached a narrow road with a building gutted by an explosion, Starkad didn’t have to ask, to know it was Aeval’s coffee shop.
Emergency crews were on the scene, digging though rubble and holding people back.
“This looks like the bookstore in London.” Hurt and disbelief rang in Kirby’s words.
It was worse. Starkad couldn’t ignore the stench. “Multiple someones were caught in this one.”
“No.” Aeval’s voice came from behind. “They were taken away from here before everything was destroyed.”
They spun to find her standing on the sidewalk with the other onlookers. Fury and grief distorted her face.
Gwydion reached for her, and she fell into his arms with a heavy sigh. She stood there for a moment, face buried in his chest and body shaking.
A glance at Kirby said she was worried, not jealous. “What happened?”
Aeval extracted herself from Gwydion’s comfort, and focused on Kirby instead. “They stormed the building. Soldiers in black and iron. The metal scorched my people’s flesh. The intruders pinned us down and knocked me out. When I came to, my people were being hauled out in shackles, their skin still smoking, and the building was burning around me.”
“They left you here for us to find.” Starkad was struggling to stay human. To show sympathy appropriately. Solider and berserker wanted to go now. To find the threat.
Aeval was looking at Kirby. “Do you remember when I said your justice clashes with mine?”
Kirby nodded.
“I will give you whatever you need—information, safety, money. Bring my people home to me. I’d prefer alive, but if not, let me put their bodies to rest. Find justice. For me. For us. For everyone TOM has done this to.” Rage dripped from Aeval’s words and sparked in the air around her. Dark clouds moved in overhead.
Kirby nodded again. “We’re trying.”
A few drops of rain struck the ground, and then dozens more. Fat, wet, and unusually warm for the region, as though the sky wept.
Aeval pressed a key into Gwydion’s palm. “This will take you to safety. To my court. It will give you time to regroup and plan. Stay until you’re ready, then come back here and obliterate Hel and all those who follow TOM.”
“We will.” Starkad reveled in the growl in his words. The fur on the back of his neck soaked up the rain.
The skies opened up and poured water down. The storm was Aeval’s, washing away the darkness that lingered in the area.
They might not know how to destroy Hel, but Starkad could be torn to shreds again and again until the job was done, and the beast inside would enjoy every minute of it.
Kirby plucked the key from Gwydion’s hand and held it up, letting water cling to it. The ancient silver design cast a faint glow, creating a million tiny rainbows. “How does it—”
She vanished, and the key clattered to the sidewalk.
Starkad stopped fighting the beast and roared into the storm. Where was Kirby?
BRIT STARED AT THE clock on the hotel-room nightstand. Had she really slept for ten hours? She didn’t feel rested, but she also didn’t remember tossing and turning from bad dreams.
What came before was fuzzy, too. Hel telling her to prove her loyalty? Brit had been careful. No one knew she’d been feeding information to Starkad. She’d completely hidden that this was her last mission. That she intended to leave.
That wasn’t right. Her head throbbed with conflicting memories. She’d already left. None of it went the way she planned. Kirby—
“Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty.” Mark’s dry tone cut through her confusion.
Bile rose in Brit’s throat, and she focused on him. He was supposed to be dead. No, that wasn’t right. The mission had gone wrong this morning. Her shoulder throbbed with the reminder of a grenade dislocating it.
“Hey,” she croaked out, keeping the confusion from her face.
“You still up for cake?” Mark sat on the bed next to her and brushed her hair from her face. It didn’t matter that his touch was gentle; it still sent revulsion racing through her.
She nodded, not trusting her memories or emotions enough to say much. He was supposed to be dead. She’d shot him in the back of the head.
“Are you certain you’re up for it? I can order something in if you’d prefer.” Mark sounded so kind. Actually concerned for her welfare.
Brit knew better; he’d never been worried about her. Why didn’t he have a hole in the back of his head? She struggled to sit, and her shoulder screamed in protest when she put her weight on it.
“Take it easy.” Mark had a hand behind her back in an instant, keeping her from falling back and helping her to sit.
She bit the inside of her cheek, to keep from screaming. In pain or frustration, she wasn’t sure. She refused his help in the shower, especially when he offered too sweetly. As they headed out to the car, the past solidified in her head. They’d been here on a mission, and Kirby stopped them. She was alive.
Of course she is.
That didn’t make sense. Brit had been told years ago that Kirby killed herself. She shook the confusion aside. It didn’t become clear until this morning that Kirby was still among the living. And Mark had gotten special permission for them to stay and hunt her, after she disrupted their current mission.
Kirby was responsible for killing their teammates. The ones Brit had pointed Starkad too.
The pain pills Mark gave her must be fucking with her head, but the drive to the cake place helped her sort everything. By the time they arrived, she knew where she was and what she needed to be doing.
The bakery looked more like a diner, with menus and booths, but that didn’t surprise Brit. Why not? She’d never been here before. An image whispered through her thoughts. If she looked toward the back, would she see a familiar god?
She didn’t know any gods except Hel and Loki, so probably not.
“Are you all right?” Mark asked. “You’re a little out of it.”
“Having a hard time, shaking the pain pills.” This time her smile came easily. She was the best sniper TOM had, but she was also exceptional at masking whatever lurked inside her head and heart.
His phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call outside. If he was moving away from prying ears, it was mission related. He’d fill her in later.
She waited impatiently for his return. “Hello, partner,” Kirby whispered in her ear, pressing into her from behind. “It’s been too long.”
This was familiar. Intensely close and intimate.
Brit’s fingers twitched with the instinct of reaching for her gun. With her right arm in a sling, there was no way she’d get any sort of drop on Kirby. Not that she wanted to. An apology stuck in her throat. The desire to beg for forgiveness.
Shoot her. The scream in Brit’s head was in her own voice. Someone’s watching.
That sounded like a good reason to not shoot Kirby. The alley was empty, though. No one was back here except them.
Her body remembered this closeness and begged her to grind back into Kirby. Phantom want mingled with her growing nausea. “You sound and feel incredible, for a ghost,” Brit said.
“And I look much better than you do.”
“Always a matter of opinion.”
Shoot her. The instinct made her ears ring, drowning out Kirby’s words as she and Brit headed ou
tside.
Brit’s gut was flipping in on itself. She didn’t want to kill Kirby. That was the last thing she wanted.
Shoot her.
Brit elbowed Kirby in the gut with her left arm.
Kirby grunted.
Shooting her is the only way to save her.
The thought didn’t make sense, but Brit believed it in her core. She pushed past the pain, whirled, and grabbed Kirby’s gun. She didn’t hesitate to level off the sights and pull the trigger.
The bullet caught Kirby in the chest, and she landed on her back, disbelief splashed across her face.
Grief welled up inside Brit.
Swallow it.
“The fuck?” Mark was standing next to her. “Nice job. Drop her gun. We need to go now.”
Brit couldn’t go with the smug-faced asshole who had tortured her for years. Who beat and raped her. Who blamed her for being frigid. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
Her shoulder roared in agony. If she could make it work, one more shot wouldn’t matter. She swallowed the pain, raised her arm again, and shot him in the head.
Now he was dead. Lying on the ground next to Kirby. He was actually dead this time. She could see the blood, pooling from his skull. Seeping into her shoes.
Brit needed to get out of here, before the police arrived. Before the pain overwhelmed her. Darkness licked at the edges of her vision. She stepped back from the blood, and kicked off her shoes when she was clear of the puddle.
Her legs wobbled, and her world went black.
Brit stared at the clock on the hotel-room nightstand. Had she really slept for ten hours? She didn’t feel rested, but she also didn’t remember tossing and turning from bad dreams.
What came before was fuzzy, too. Hel telling her to prove her loyalty? Brit had been careful. No one knew she’d been feeding information to Starkad. She’d completely hidden that this was her last mission. That she intended to leave.
That wasn’t right. Her head throbbed with conflicting memories. She’d already left. None of it went the way she planned. Kirby—
“Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty.” Mark’s dry tone cut through her confusion.
Death in the Night (Legacy, #2) Page 17
