Freyja's Daughter

by Rachel Sullivan

  I tidied up the files filled with police records, credit card receipts, and photos strewn across my front passenger seat. While staking out Samuel the bondsman I work for, Dale, sent me information for my next hunt, a woman with a knack for hiding.

  Shawna’s deep brown dreads barely moved as she closed the door to her Subaru and rushed to slide into my front passenger seat. “This bag contains the magic potion to break your dry spell,” she said with a dead-serious voice. She couldn’t keep a straight face and laughed.

  Her smile fell when she spotted a mugshot atop the pile of bail-jumper paperwork that I’d set on my dashboard. “You don’t usually go after women.”

  “I do if they’ve skipped bail after being charged with human trafficking.” I’d been watching this case since newspaper headlines first announced the success of Seattle PD’s sting operation in unearthing the city’s underground trafficking ring. Dale’s call assigning me to the skip was a welcomed one.

  “You sure you should take this one?” Shawna was asking if a case involving the disappearance of grown women would stir up old hurts. She hadn’t been the one to lose her mother, so I didn’t blame her for not knowing that the hurt never feels old; it lingers at the surface fresh as the day it was made. Before my mother’s murder, four huldra ran our little coterie—my mother and my three aunts, though my aunts and I aren’t related by blood. Almost twenty years later, it was just my aunts. Thinking about it tore the wounds back open.

  Some part of me welcomed the pain. It made me a better bounty hunter and ensured my mother’s memory would never dull. Plus, this case was no different than the others I’d taken involving abducted victims.

  I flipped the photo over—out of sight, out of mind—and reached for the bag she held. “Little black dress and black heels?” I peeked inside.

  She nodded. “Unlike your car, your closet is incredibly disorganized,” she said. “A pile here, a pile there. If that dress wasn’t hanging up, I wouldn’t have known if it was dirty or clean.”

  “One good whiff and you’d have figured it out, I’m sure.” I winked at her.

  “By the way, it smells like blood in here. Nasty,” she added.

  I rolled my eyes. “I know. Cleaning is on the top of my To Do list.”

  I rummaged through the bag. “Oh, yes, thank you!” I’d forgotten to ask for perfume, and Shawna had thought to bring it. I pulled the glass bottle from the bag.

  Shawna threw her hand up to stop me. “Ack! Not in here. I don’t want to be tasting eau de Faline for the rest of the night.”

  “What? So eau de dog is better?” I asked, sniffing her and then pretending to be repulsed.

  “Please,” she said, waving me away. “I smell good.”

  “Sure,” I joked and then asked more seriously, “catch any dogs today?” The scent of dog treats wafted from one of the many pockets along the legs of her beige cargo pants.

  Shawna worked at her dream job—an animal rescue sanctuary. Her heightened sense of smell, hearing, and sight helped her to catch skittish dogs that either ran away or were dumped in the woods by their owners. When we were teens she volunteered at the local animal shelter and hasn’t stopped helping animals since.

  “Yeah. An Akita living in the woods on someone’s property. Poor thing was starving, eating the man’s chickens. Thankfully he called us before she got sick or something.” She shook her head. “You have a date to get to. In short, yes I caught a dog today. It will be helped and fed and rehabilitated. It was a good day. Now go knock him dead and break that dry spell.”

  She slammed the door behind her and then turned to give my car window a big, wet kiss.

  “You’re cleaning that!” I yelled through the window as she turned and got into her green Subaru.

  She waved and gave me an innocent smile before leaving the Hunter complex. I pulled out too, set on changing my clothes anywhere but here.

  Marcus was already waiting at our table for two when I entered the restaurant. If I thought he looked amazing in a police uniform—which I most certainly did—then he looked out-fucking-standing in dark jeans and a heather grey Polo shirt.

  I passed the host with a mumble about my party already waiting for me as I made my way to Marcus. He stood and only sat when I did.

  “Nice view,” I said, appreciating the dark expanse of the lake outside and the way it reflected the patio twinkle lights. I also spotted my own reflection, my lean physique, high cheekbones, and deep red hair cascading down my bare shoulders.

  “What I’m seeing looks even better,” he said, his eyes focusing solely on me.

  A smile lifted my lips. Yes, this would be a fun night. “You shine up pretty well yourself, Officer Marcus Garcia.” His clean, warm scent did things to my body—happy, tingly things.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down. It’s beautiful.”

  I’d let him run his fingers through my hair later, if he wanted.

  “Thanks. I only put it up for work.” I took a sip of lemon water and glanced at the menu.

  My phone buzzed in my little purse and I pulled it out to glance at the screen while Marcus studied his menu. My sister Olivia, a novelist, texted that she’d just started editing a book about a sexy, tall, buff, and handsome cop and would probably need my expertise on the subject sometime soon. I rolled my eyes. Word got around quick in my coterie. She’d been talking to Shawna, which meant she’d be at my house bright and early tomorrow for every detail.

  After the waitress took our order—I got the steak, rare, with potatoes and Marcus got the halibut with rice and mango salsa—Marcus leaned forward and stared at me.

  The single votive candle in the center of our small table sparkled in his chestnut brown eyes.

  When he didn’t return my smile I asked, “What? I can see the wheels spinning.”

  He settled into his chair. “Why bounty hunting?”

  “Why not?” I asked, deflecting his question. Of course, I couldn’t exactly tell him that I’d wanted to be a detective, but that John thought it wouldn’t be safe for me working alongside government agents while tempting my inner huldra on a daily basis. One wrong decision witnessed by another detective and not only would my kind and my coterie be outed, but they may even force us into invasive testing. John hadn’t been keen on my current line of work either, but it was a good compromise, so he signed off on it.

  When Marcus didn’t give in to my deflection, I gave a half answer. “I don’t think our society understands the repercussions of rape and abuse. The way a society’s laws and leaders react to such offenses says a lot about who they view as important and who they view as inferior.”

  “Okay. But what does that have to do with your decision to hunt down bail-jumpers? Why not make a difference as a therapist or lawyer?”

  I didn’t enjoy bringing up old wounds, but I found myself short of deflecting answers. “My mother went missing when I was little. After a long investigation with no leads, they—” I had to swallow hard as I thought the rest of that sentence—the Hunters. Gathering myself, I went on, “Pronounced her dead. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder about her last days, what happened to her, if her death was painful. I guess that motherless little girl inside of me is trying to bring fairness to unfair situations by catching skips. I bet having the defendant there to stand trial helps give at least a tiny bit of closure to the victims and their families.”

  Marcus’s brows furrowed. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I shrugged off the discomfort of revealing my wound. “It was a long time ago.”

  The server swung by our table to drop off a cutting board of warm bread with a tiny bowl of garlic butter. I cut a piece of bread and slathered it with creamy goodness.

  “There’s a question I ask every cop,” Marcus said, reaching for the bread knife.

  “Not a cop,” I said. I took a bite of bread.

  “You’re more of a cop than a few people I know on the force,” Marcus said, disregarding my
lack of a badge. “Who’s your favorite super hero?”

  I took a sip of water. “Are we talking about comic books or cartoons or movies?” I asked.

  “Anything.” Marcus took a bite and waited.

  “Oh, that’s easy, then. The female Thor, after the male version fell and lost his hammer. Pre-patriarchal goddesses weren’t just worshipped for fertility, home, and hearth. Some, like Freyja, were warriors. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I imagine the authors wrote Thor, Goddess of Thunder based on those warrior goddesses.”

  Marcus’s eyes lit up. “So then you’re into comic books?”

  “I wasn’t really until I saw the first issue in the store front window, with the new Thor’s red lips, crazy blonde hair, and armor covering her head and chest. I had to check it out. Loved it so much that I subscribed to get the latest issues,” I said.

  “So, not Wonder Woman and her lasso of truth?”

  “She makes the list, but if I were to have a second favorite super hero it’d be Seattle’s own Poison Ivy.”

  Marcus laughed. “Poison Ivy? She’s not a hero, she’s a villain.”

  To some, huldra were folkloric villains too—deadly, evil villains. Supernatural creatures who lured men to their graves. So I associated with Poison Ivy. Sue me.

  I spread butter across another piece of freshly cut, warm bread. “So you’re into comic books then?” I threw his exact same question back at him.

  “More like super heroes,” he answered. “If I find them in comic books, great; if not, that’s okay too. When I was a boy I had a thing for good versus evil, where’s the line, what happens if it’s blurred, stuff like that. I don’t wonder about that line so much anymore, but I still like a great hero story. Seriously, though, Poison Ivy’s been Batman’s nemesis more than once.”

  “Her and Batman were on the same side when an earthquake rocked Gotham City, and the two of them worked together to take Karlo down,” I reminded him. “But who says Batman is the ruler by which we measure who’s good and who’s bad? Poison Ivy’s focus is protecting nature despite who she has to align with or fight. That’s a true hero—someone who doesn’t let others get in their way of doing what’s right. So then who’s your favorite hero?” I sunk my teeth into the now semi-warm bread and flashed Marcus a closed-mouth smile.

  “Superman,” he said with a decisive nod. “I always liked how he discovered his true origins and abilities as a young person and then used them for good.”

  “Don’t laugh, but I went through a phase where I binge-watched Smallville,” I said.

  “Me too.” Marcus laughed.

  The server interrupted with our food.

  Three bites of steak and two swigs of wine later, I asked a run-of-the-mill first date question. “So have you always lived in this area of Washington?”

  Marcus wiped his mouth with a napkin. “No, not originally. I was born in Spain, but shortly after my mother left us, so my father moved us here to be closer to his family.”

  “So you and him are close?”

  “No. I think we’d both like to be closer, but we’re just too different. Every time we tried to spend time together, we butted heads. Eventually we stopped trying. What about you? You from here?” He took a bite and watched me intently. The way he leaned forward told me he was interested.

  “I am,” I said. “I live in the same house I was born in, just over in Granite Falls, out in the woods.”

  “Ah, so you’re a woodsy woman?”

  I laughed. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

  “You haven’t?” He seemed to consider his use of words. “I guess it’s the same as woodsman, but with my spin on it, being that you’re a woman. I’m asking if you’re a nature lover.”

  “One of the most intense nature lovers that’s ever lived.”

  “Oh really? I doubt that. You’re staring at him.” Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Pop quiz, where’s the best place to hike?”

  “Um, besides my property?”

  “Damn. Okay, other than your property. Have you hiked Mt. Rainier?” His eyebrows rose.

  “More than once. Yes.”

  “Have you stayed in those cabins sprinkled near the mountain? The secluded ones with a hot tub? Nature lover’s paradise?” he asked.

  “I had no idea they existed.” I tended to hike like a true huldra, by jumping from tree to tree. We also slept in the branches when in need of a nap.

  “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to stay in one in particular. It’s private and it’s right beside a river.” Marcus sat his fork down and placed his napkin on the empty plate in front of him. He leaned back and sipped his red wine.

  A musky hint of arousal mingled with Marcus’s scent. He was thinking of what he’d enjoy doing with me at that cabin. I couldn’t read minds but I didn’t have to. It was written all over his face. And now I was thinking it too.

  My fingers running through his thick, brown hair. His body so close to mine that our scents mixed and I wouldn’t be able to tell one from the other. His bare chest. Oh, I couldn’t wait to see him shirtless. And pant-less too, for that matter.

  “Are you ready to get out of here?” I asked, motioning to our finished meals and empty wine bottle.

  “Yeah.” He glanced at the table. “What did you think about the wine?”

  “I’m more of a blend woman, but those Oregonians know how to make pinot noir. Thanks for having me try it,” I said.

  “I have another bottle waiting at my apartment, just sitting there. It deserves to be shared.” His eyes darkened.

  It seemed Marcus and I were on the same page.

  “I’d love to,” I said with a smile.

  “Perfect.”

  Four

  My huldra foremothers had sat at the edge of the European forests, beckoning lone warriors seeking rest. The man, once intrigued, would come closer until he followed the huldra woman deep into the woods, until the two of them were completely alone. She’d shed her dress and the man would be so in awe of her nakedness that he’d fail to notice the patch of bark at the small of her back.

  They’d have sex, right there in the woods. And if his love-making abilities pleased her, she would allow him to return safely to the place he came from. If he was a selfish or lazy lover, however, the huldra would take her owed pleasure in another, more violent form. She’d kill him, one bite at a time.

  Some parts of that folktale were true events. Some weren’t.

  Marcus drove us to his apartment. It was a swanky building decorated with bold reds and blues that looked like it belonged along the waterfront in Seattle, not Everett, Washington,

  “Welcome to Casa de Marcus,” he said, flicking on lights as we walked into the open floor plan living room, dining area, and kitchen. A black leather couch and dark coffee table faced a flat screen TV mounted above a fireplace. If I kept walking past the couch, I’d end up on a balcony overlooking the Puget Sound.

  Cops didn’t make enough to afford this type of home. Maybe he came from money.

  This realization intensified my attraction to Marcus. The job was far from easy. Marcus must have really wanted to help people if he chose this career despite his family’s wealth. His childhood fascination with heroes made sense.

  Marcus uncorked the wine and grabbed two glasses.

  “No family photos?”

  “My dad isn’t the only family member I butt heads with,” was all he said. “Here, have a seat.”

  I didn’t want to pry. If I did, he may pry about my family, and I wasn’t about to explain the workings of a huldra coterie. Instead, I joined him on the couch.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He leaned toward me.

  His face neared mine and my skin buzzed. “It depends.”

  “Do you mind if I kiss you?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth to tell him that I wished he would skip the asking nonsense and kiss me already, but before words had the chance to fall from my mouth, his lips were on mine.

  And they felt fantas
tic.

  At first it was soft and sweet, until it wasn’t. Until it transformed into something deeper. I wanted more.

  I had to have more.

  My fingers found the flesh beside his spine and pressed into him. His thick bands of muscle tightened under my touch, creating a frenzy within me. My fingers climbed to his hair and ran through it. They inched down to his sides, searching for the hem of his shirt. I pulled the fabric over his head and flung the thing onto the floor.

  Apparently, he had been waiting for me to give the green light. Within a breath, my dress was somewhere on the ground. He spared a moment to drag his lips across my chest as he unclasped my bra. With his lips trailing and kissing my chest, he lowered me until my bare back connected to his leather couch. I reached to help him remove his jeans, but he batted my hands away.

  The scent of his need wafted around the two of us, drawing us in together, tying our bodies as though our arms and legs were the string and our lips the knot.

  Hunger growled within me as I took the sight of him in. Dark ink cascaded across the tops of both of his perfect shoulders. A filled-in cross stretched between his pecs over the center of his chest. What looked like old world symbols and ancient letters of a foreign language inched down the inner sides of his biceps. They had been completely covered under his shirt, but now it was as though I were getting a private viewing to a very exclusive art show.

  Marcus’s tongue drew circles around my belly button before traveling south. When I reached to unbutton his jeans a second time, he removed my hand. Apparently, the man sought to make the night about me. I silently promised to return the favor another time.