by Gwen Rivers
I’m not a girl who likes to depend on rescue, but any port in a shitstorm….
But the Valkyrie spirit dashes my hopes. “That was his intent.”
I roll onto my back, trying to ignore the pain in my arm from the new batch of blood tests. “He’ll be coming for me.”
“Of course.” The shade disperses and a moment later the red light on the camera winks back to life.
“He’ll come,” I say and face the wall. “And I will have to be ready to rabbit when he does show.”
The days marking my incarceration start to take shape. Medical checks three times a day. Heart rate, blood pressure, blood draw. At least they let me keep my sarong thingy. Followed by shower time down the hall from the medical center. I never see another prisoner, except for the girl on the first day.
A few staring sessions with Agent Hanson. The day before she laid out photos from the tornado that ripped through my high school and the apartment complex that had been taken over by Valkyries.
“How many of these people did you kill?”
“None.” I’d given up on my innocent act and instead employed a new tactic—the truth.
“Then who killed them?” Her finger slams down on the pile of rotting meat that had once been people. “Because they sure didn’t die of natural causes. Not with their bones ripped out.”
I stared at the image, haunted by the memories. The smell of carrion, shit and rotting meat that were telltale signs of a Valkyrie nest. The battle. The Wild Hunt had cleaned it up but not before Gretchen had gotten her pictures.
“Did you ever think it was staged?” I hold Hanson’s gaze. “That someone is playing a prank on you?”
In response, she shuffled through her briefcase and extracted a stack of papers. “You see this? Missing persons. All of them lived in that apartment complex. We have the wood chipper from your farm. All it will take is one hair, one fiber, and you’ll be locked up for the rest of your natural life.”
Again, I try to imagine running. There are way too many people in the building for my comfort, all of them armed except for me. I can’t get close enough to kill them all and escape.
I miss the rest of my magic. Not that I could have wielded it in front of Hanson. I sit and stare at the ceiling, trying to plan. What are my resources? Nothing much on tap. They know about my kiss and take extra precautions anytime they move me. Allies? One phantom Valkyrie can’t do much except deliver messages and haunt people. I shiver as helpless vulnerability wafts through me.
Even though I am 99.9 percent sure there is no baby, I can’t help thinking about it. What would the progeny of a shape-shifting wolf and a teenage serial killer with a deadly kiss be like?
A predator, a hunter of men. Maybe he’s been right to worry that his offspring would join his father in Ragnarök. I had almost sided with my mother. Before I knew what an evil bitch she is.
My thoughts turn to Aiden. He will freak out. Like some biblical old-testament catastrophic meltdown. He never wanted kids, not with so many monsters in his family tree. Our relationship is so odd, so new. I know him and yet in so many ways we’ve barely had any time together. Our union is older than time. I love him, I know this. And I am certain he loves me. But that doesn’t mean we’re ready to be parents.
Gas leaks through the vents for the first time since my first exam. Memories of that day make the sight even less welcome.
This isn’t going to be pretty.
I come to, not strapped down on a gurney, but face down on a blue exercise mat. And I’m not alone.
The young girl I saw is huddled in a corner, knees bent, her hair hiding her face from view. Her shoulders shake but she doesn’t make a sound. Her entire body trembles as though she has too many emotions and nowhere to put them.
Neither of us is chained.
“Hey now,” I say. My voice cracks from disuse.
She looks up and I see the silver sheen of tears in her eyes. “Are you going to kill me?” Her voice is small and terrified.
I hold my hands up in front of myself. “I won’t hurt you.”
“They told me you killed people.”
How to answer that one honestly without scaring the crap out of her? Deciding I can’t, I change the subject. “What’s your name?”
“Astrid,” she sniffles.
“Hi, Astrid. I’m Nic.” I hold out one hand.
She stares at it but doesn’t move.
Did the FBI put us in here because they want us to fight? I study the large room. There are cameras, but no other occupants. My hands aren’t tethered there is no facemask covering my deadly lips. “Is this some sort of test?”
Astrid shakes her head, her brown curls bouncing out of the way. “I don’t know.”
There’s something about her, something familiar that I can’t place.
Slowly, I get to my feet. Even though I’m still barefoot in my sarong, I’m not about to squander the opportunity to move. “Do you want to walk with me?”
She scowls at me as though I’ve suggested something obscene.
I head off, deliberately turning my back on her. It’s a risk, but trust has to be given in order to be received.
After a moment, she falls into step beside me. “Tell me about the baby’s father. What’s he like?”
I stumble. “How…?”
“I overheard the guards talking about you.”
My eyes narrow. Okay, I’ve seen this movie before. Put seemingly innocent person in with the target to gain her trust and then so called-innocent rats out all her secrets to the bad guys. Could Astrid be a plant?
“He’s complicated,” I say after a pause. No acknowledgment of the pregnancy thing. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.
“Do you love him?”
“More than I thought I could love anyone.” It’s a painful truth, one that leaves me vulnerable to hurt.
If your enemy knows where your heart lies, they’ll know just where to strike.
She flashes me a smile then and I see that underneath her tattered sarong and stringy hair, there is a very pretty person with the promise of rare beauty in a few years.
She likes this topic, likes the thought of happily ever after. “So, have you ever been in love?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t wait to fall in love.”
Maybe Astrid is a better actress than I am, but I actually believe her. I want to ask what she’s doing here, why the FBI put her in this place with me.
“What’s it like?” She tucks some hair behind her ear.
“What’s what like?” As we walk, I scan the room looking for doors or windows, or something I could climb to get to the air ducts that are a good fifteen feet overhead.
“Falling in love.” She casts me a shy smile.
“It’s not for the faint of heart.” Only the one door, no windows, more of the same industrial cinderblock architecture.
“Was it love at first sight?” she probes.
“Not even a little bit. No, he sort of snuck into my heart when I wasn’t looking.” Damn tricksy wolf.
Astrid’s gaze meets mine. Her blue-gray irises flicker. Swirl.
My breath catches. Oh gods. Is it possible?
I shift my own gaze, the way Nahini taught me, so I can view the soul plane. It’s not a skill I’ve practiced with much, but when viewing the aura of a living being, it’s invaluable.
Most souls are blue, bright blue, like an electric storm flash. But a scant few glow golden like the summer sun on a field of wheat. They are not of this world, the beings the gods fear above all others.
Addy’s. Chloe’s. And now Astrid’s.
The girl the FBI has in their custody isn’t a fae. She’s a fate.
I let out a shaky breath. Does she know the truth? Should I tell her?
“Nic?” Astrid tips her head to the side to study me. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” The word comes out in a dishonest sounding cough. “Just really ready to get out of here.”
Her s
mile is faint and she shakes her head. “There are worse places to be.”
The words send a chill rocketing through me. “Like where?”
“On the streets,” she licks her lips. “I won’t ever go back there.”
“Someone hurt you.” My heart clenches and my murderous impulses surge to the fore.
She just looks at me with her eerie gaze.
“You won’t go back to living on the streets, Astrid. You’ll come with me.” I don’t know where the declaration comes from, but I can’t leave her behind for the FBI to experiment on. Not when she might be related to my adopted family.
She stops and turns to face me, putting her reed-thin body directly in my path. “Why? You don’t even know me.”
“Maybe not, but we’re jailbird buddies now. Who else can I talk to about my time in the trenches?”
She smiles a little at that and then continues to walk around the indoor track silently.
I, Nic Rutherford, teenage serial killer and daughter of Underhill have a new soul to protect.
Maybe two. My hand rests on my still flat belly.
Gods help them both.
Aiden surges up out of the water and away from the goddess of love and beauty. The wooden tub has morphed into white marble, the water in it swirling in rainbow hues.
Bifrost. That was the familiar scent. Someone tethered the magic from the bridge to Asgard in his bath.
He’s been transported to Freya’s temple in Asgard. He hasn’t been here in centuries. Nothing has changed. The goddess favors white and it is reflected in the milky flooring and arches, rugs, chaises and pillows.
Even the flames burn white-hot in the white stone firepit in the center of the space, as though the element dare not disobey the goddess’s preference.
“Why have you brought me here?” he rounds on her with a snarl.
Ignoring his ire, she stands, letting water sluice down her perfect body. “Welcome home, Váli. I have spoken to the All-father on your behalf. He has agreed to release you from your banishment.”
Her arms reach out as though to embrace him.
He steps away, not wanting to be any closer to the goddess. “Why would you do that?”
She trails one finger down his sternum. “Because you belong here.”
He shakes his head and retreats further. “I don’t. You like playing games, Freya, but I’m not the same boy I was when you used me long ago.”
She actually laughs at that. “I used you? I don’t remember you complaining when you were naked in my bed.”
Maybe once he would have believed her honeyed lies. But having accepted Nic as his mate, he understands just how one-sided his relationship with the vain goddess had been. How empty of real feeling. “You found me the day I first saw my father with Angrboda. Pretended to offer me comfort. I was drowning and had no one to confide in. You manipulated me when I was vulnerable.”
She drops her arms to the side, her gaze narrowing. “And you enjoyed every minute of it.”
“Yes, because I was young and alone and didn’t have anyone else watching out for me. I was just a toy to you. But no longer.”
She moves around him, surveying his body like a side of beef. Though he’d spent most of his life skyclad, her scrutiny unnerves him and he covers himself with his hands.
“Shy?” Her tone is mocking.
He lifts his chin. “Send me back.”
She sighs and snaps her fingers. Within moments, they are both dressed, him in loose white trousers and a matching vest, her in a diaphanous red dress with a long sweeping train. It pools on the floor behind her, like a puddle of blood.
His jaw clenches. He’s dressed in the style of one of her servants. “Vindictive bitch.”
She crosses to a chaise and lowers her body onto it. “And you really think that your mate is any better? Look at what she’s done to you.”
“Nic’s done nothing.” Aiden shakes his head. “She’s innocent.”
“Innocent?” The goddess scoffs. “Of the crimes against the fey? Most of them are dead, thanks to her. I gave her a task. To kill Underhill and she hesitated.”
“And so would I if you asked me to kill my own mother.”
She waves that away like it’s of no importance. “Underhill will kill us all if it means her imprisonment ends. That Fate took your place and stalled her for the time being. Until she is terminated, the fey will suffer. The only being capable of taking her out is Nicneven. And if Underhill gets her hands on you….” she trails off.
Understanding dawns. “That’s why you brought me here. You’re worried that Underhill will carve me up and use my bones to free Loki.”
She snaps her fingers and a glass of red wine appears in one perfectly manicured hand. No offer of refreshment for him. “The All-father told me. You’re the key to releasing the trickster. He, in turn, can release Fenrir’s corporeal body and Ragnarök will begin.”
“You know better than anyone that fate can’t be altered.” Aiden studies the room he hadn’t seen in a millennium. Everything is white and bright. Outside the open windows, birds twitter in the trees. The scent of Idunn’s orchard waft on the breeze. The apples that keep the gods in their physical prime. “Where is the rest of the welcoming committee?”
“There’s a little hiccup.” Freya reclines so her lush curves are on full display. In his youth he would have taken that seductive pose as an invitation. Now he could barely hold her gaze. Everything about the goddess is just…wrong.
Because she isn’t Nic. Isn’t my mate.
The wolf is oddly silent. He frowns, wondering why it hasn’t lept out and shredded Freya already.
“What sort of hiccup?”
“Your beast has been lulled into a temporary sleep.”
His lips part. “You can do that?”
She rolls her eyes as though the question irritates her and sips from her glass.
“The keyword there is temporary.”
“The gods fear the beast within me more than most.” He studies her face. “They already tried to kill me. Tried and failed.”
“The wolf is a living being and as such, it can die.” She waves her hand and a pink bubbly liquid appears on the table. “Drink that and your curse will be lifted. You will be welcomed back with open arms.”
He stares at the vial in disbelief. “I’ve grappled with the beast for centuries. And all this time you’ve had the ability to kill it?”
When she doesn’t answer, he swallows. He could be free. Free of the monster that had murdered his brother. Vengeance at last.
“What will happen to its magic?” Magic could neither be created nor destroyed. The wolf had its own set of abilities that had melded with his fire magic over the centuries.
“Oh, but that’s the best part.” The goddess says. “You know that giant tear your mate created in the Veil? The wolf’s magic will seal it tight. No more in-betweens, no more crossings. Underhill will be contained. Midgard will be safe. Your mate will stay with the mortals. You get to live, so does Nic.”
“And the fey still in Underhill?”
“Sacrifices must be made.” She holds her arms out as if in welcome. “Drink it, Váli. Drink and be welcomed back to Valhalla.”
Empty Promises
Three meals have come and gone in my new cell. At least now I have someone to talk to other than a spirit.
“Where are your parents?” I ask Astrid over our breakfast of crappy instant oatmeal and orange juice from concentrate.
Surly mortal parents wouldn’t be okay with a young child being held imprisoned this way.
She lifts her spoon and lets gravity take hold of the gluey mixture until it lands back in the bowl with an unappealing plop. “I don’t have any. I ran away from the foster home I was in after…the incident.”
My ears perk up. “Incident?”
Her gaze meets mine and she looks down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Having a wealth of my own secrets means that I’m not about to pus
h her for a confidence she doesn’t feel.
She eyes me curiously. “You’re the first person I’ve seen, other than them.”
“Same. Are there other prisoners here?”
She shakes her head, dark curls bouncing. “No.”
I fish, still trying to decipher if Astrid knows what she is. “Do you know why they took you? Why they have held you here for so long?”
There is a pause. “I see things…things other people don’t see.”
“What kind of things?”
She shoots me a repentant look. “I lied to you before. About hearing the guards talk about your baby? They never talk around me.”
She’s clearly worried that I’m going to chastise her for fibbing. I shovel the oatmeal in without comment, waiting for her to say her piece.
“I know because of my…ability. The baby you’re carrying? It’s a girl.”
My lips part. “You’re sure?”
She nods. “I can feel her soul. It’s like a big bright glowing string of red energy. You have one too. But yours is darker, like a deep purple.”
Chills shoot down my spine and my hand reaches instinctively for my stomach. It’ll take months for the proof to manifest, at least if I remembered my biology lessons correctly. Still. Eerie.
She looks away. “You think I’m a freak, don’t you?”
“No, not at all.” I offer her my palm and, after a moment’s hesitation, she takes it. “You have a gift, Astrid. A special one.”
I don’t say any more than that, sure that Agent Hanson is monitoring our every word. If she doesn’t know about the Norns, then I’m not going to be the one to enlighten her.
“What is it the FBI do to you?” I ask.
Her shoulders bob up and then down. “Nothing. They don’t keep me shackled anymore.”
“Do you ever get to go outside?” I fish, wondering if we’ll ever get a chance to escape.
“No,” she shakes her head.
“Then we’ll have to get our exercise in here.” I stack my tray on top of hers and carry them to the corner by the door. “You ever learn to fight?”
She shakes her head. “I’m only twelve.”
