Table of Contents
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles… The Protector
Bane’s Choice
Red Zone
Hardest Fall
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by N.J. Walters. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Alethea Spiridon and Candace Havens
Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover photography by Art-Of-Photo/Getty Images
ISBN 978-1-64937-088-4
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition January 2021
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Author’s Note
The world is rich in mythology. Every culture in the history of time has left a legacy—written and unwritten—for those of us who came after. As a writer, I draw on those myths, legends, and beliefs and twist them to create something totally new. So, while you may recognize many familiar creatures, gods, or belief systems in this series, this world is something totally new. Expect the unexpected. It can, and will, happen. This is a work of fiction, as told to me by the characters portrayed within the pages.
Forgotten Brotherhood
The giant wolf padded through the thick forest, far from the prying eyes of mankind. His huge paws were silent against the soft ground. He raised his nose to the air and sniffed. The warm wind brushed against his fur. His ears twitched.
He was one of the Forgotten Brotherhood—the most dangerous men in existence, loners with loyalty to no one. They had no pack, no coven, or community. Or at least none that would claim them.
They were stone-cold assassins, men who had nothing left to lose. Men holding on to what little was left of their honor and sanity. They mostly kept to themselves, but they all lived by a code. Kill only those that truly deserved it and let their gods sort them out. Kill them before they killed you. Never, ever, betray a fellow assassin.
In their line of work, there could be no mistakes.
Alone, as he always was, Bjorn tipped back his head and howled at the crescent moon. The low, mournful sound echoed for miles, drifting down to the valley below. The woods went still around him, every other creature going silent.
Lowering his head, he kept going, trying to outrun his past, but never quite managing.
Chapter One
Where am I?
She blinked several times, hardly daring to breathe. It was impossible to hear anything over the pounding of her heart.
Something firm and rough dug into her back. She spun around and ran her fingers over it. Not stone or wood, but some kind of uniform blocks that felt hard.
Light began to filter into the darkness that had swallowed her. She clung to the wall, not willing to go back to wherever she’d come from without a fight. The pure nothingness was terrifying. Even her screams had been silent, swallowed by the never-ending void.
She curled her fingers into the rough construction material. The tips burned, the pain helping to ground her. She panted hard, pulling air into her starving lungs. She needed to be silent, so she slapped her hand over her mouth and breathed through her nose. In and out. In and out. Her chest ached and her mouth was dry.
With one arm wrapped around her middle, she crouched, making herself as small as possible. When her vision finally adjusted to the dim light, she glanced around. There was a building across from her, tall and unlike anything she’d ever seen before.
She tilted her head back and stared. Chill bumps ran down her arms. It wasn’t a wall she was leaning against but another such building. Nothing was recognizable.
I need to hide.
There was some kind of large metal box in front of her. It would give her some protection while she came up with a plan. Staying low, she crept along the edge of the structure, her soft-soled leather boots making no noise. She placed each foot carefully, while keeping an eye out for possible danger.
A vile stench wafted from the box. She screwed up her nose. It was disgusting, but that could work in her favor, as it would likely keep others away. Not many would willingly venture too close.
Her entire body sagged when she reached her destination without incident. Resting her head against the cool metal, she sighed. It wasn’t much, but it gave her something to hide behind and a small measure of safety. She started to teeter and placed her hand on the ground to steady herself.
Her hand skidded. Something sharp sliced against her palm. She gritted her teeth against the pain, not wanting to cry out. Blood seeped from her hand in a thin red line. It wasn’t too bad, but the flow needed to be staunched.
Sweat made her clothes cling to her body, but she gripped the frayed edge of her linen tunic and yanked. As quietly as possible, she managed to tear a strip from the bottom and wrap it around her hand. The gash should be cleansed, but that would have to wait. Stopping the bleeding was more important.
She ran her sweaty palms over the linen trousers, leaving a line of blood behind.
Noise filtered into her senses—strange, unidentifiable sounds. A horn of some kind pealed in the distance.
She couldn’t stay here forever. Closing her eyes, she drew a cloak of courage around her and pushed to her feet. “You can do this.”
With one hand on the metal structure for support, she peeked around the edge. The light was brighter at the far end of the buildings. She hesitated and swallowed, or tried to. She was thirsty, hungry, and dirty. Keeping her back to the wall, she edged toward the light and distant sounds.
She’d gotten only halfway there when three men walked by. Sensing danger, she froze, but they caught the movement and paused.
One of the men stepped toward her. “Hey, pretty lady. What are you doing out here so late at night all by yourself?”
A pain lashed through her head, her stomach churned. The man wasn’t speaking Norse, but English.
W
here am I?
The lust reflected in his eyes needed no translation. These men would take what they wanted. She’d seen their likes before. There was no safety to be found behind her.
I should have stayed where I was, or at least found a weapon first.
Scanning the ground, she searched for anything she could use to defend herself. The muscles in her legs tensed. If she could get around them, she could run. In her weakened state, there was no way she could defeat three men.
Her hands curled into fists. She would fight them to the death.
…
“Find her. Destroy her.” Odin glared at him with his one good eye.
Adrenaline surged through Bjorn Knutson’s bloodstream. His wolf paced and growled inside him, demanding release. The walls of the motel room were suddenly too confining for man and beast, the air warm and stifling, hard to breathe.
After centuries of silence, Odin, Allfather of the Aesir and leader of Asgard, the god who’d turned Bjorn into the first Norse werewolf, was standing before him. He was an impressive sight in his custom suit with his white hair pulled back from his face and a patch over his missing eye.
“Someone actually left Valhalla?” It should have been impossible.
“Not Valhalla. No one would dare do such a thing. From Freya’s Hall. The woman must be found and slain for her deed. There would be chaos if people believed they could leave if the notion took them.”
The fine hairs on the back of Bjorn’s neck rose. The dead needed to remain in the afterlife for balance to be kept in the universe.
“Do not fail me.” Order given, Odin vanished as quickly as he’d arrived.
Bjorn sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’m supposed to believe this is just a fucking coincidence?” This stank of another plot against the Brotherhood, but damned if he couldn’t figure out how, since Lucifer had been behind their recent problems.
And wasn’t it a happy accident that three members of the Brotherhood were meeting in person tonight for the first time in months? He jammed the rest of his belongings into his duffel bag, tossed the key card on the table, and left the motel room without a backward glance.
“And thanks for the starting point, Odin,” he muttered. After locking his bag in his truck, he took a deep breath, but it did nothing to soothe the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Needing to work off some of the excess tension, he set out on foot.
Everyone had an energy signal, one he could sense and scent. It was easy to tell the humans from the paranormal creatures that roamed the earth. This woman would reek of the afterlife. Or she should. He was working blind. It would take patience and cunning, but wherever this woman was, he would find her. Then he would end her. Or, at the very least, return her to Odin so it could be done.
To disregard the order or to defy it would mean his death.
Those whose lives had ended needed to remain in the realm of the dead. His beloved wife Anja and their three children were there, safe from the world of men who had carelessly slaughtered them. He would not allow anyone or anything to disrupt that peace.
He reached up and touched his chest where runes were inked above his heart. Their names were a memorial, a constant reminder of all he’d loved and lost.
The woman had defied the gods. She would die.
Pledge given, he prowled down the sidewalk, mulling over the problem facing him, peering at it from every possible angle. The moon was all but obscured by the clouds and city lights, but it was up there, hanging high in the night sky. Inside him, his wolf howled. He stifled the urge to throw back his head and release it. He’d been confined to the city too long.
Instead of leaving after the upcoming meeting and heading upstate to his rural getaway in the Adirondacks, he had to figure out how the hell he was going to accomplish what Odin had commanded.
The Brotherhood might have some ideas.
Tension gripped every muscle in his shoulders and back, and he released a low growl that made a fellow pedestrian jump out of his way. Even after all these years, he fucking hated asking for help. Harder still for him to accept he would get it.
Asher—father of vampires and a damn good hacker—could dig through the internet and find any reports of strange women appearing from out of nowhere. Or some other anomaly somewhere in the world. It was a long shot, but it was a place to start.
How had the woman escaped from Freya’s Hall? One didn’t simply catch a bus or plane. The only way in or out was with some considerable help.
The Valkyrie took their jobs seriously and wouldn’t do anything to upset the balance. Nor would they dare defy Freya. That left the other Norse gods and goddesses. They often stole one another’s shit and got into minor skirmishes, mostly to entertain themselves. Allowing, even helping, someone to leave the afterlife? That was unprecedented.
There were some rules even the gods were hesitant to break. But someone had stepped over the line, willing to tinker with the very fabric of existence.
Because if one person could leave, they all could. And the world was meant for only the living, not those who had passed over.
People still jammed the sidewalks, even though it was after one in the morning. Taxis and cars vied with city vehicles for road space. A black cat with a notch out of one ear ran across his path, pausing to hiss at him before continuing on.
He resisted the urge to growl at the arrogant feline. Instead, he pulled out his phone and pressed the first contact number. Maccus wasn’t likely to answer, but he could leave a message and give them a heads-up. Their fearless leader hated small talk or contact of almost any kind. Although he’d mellowed some since he’d met his woman.
Surprisingly, the phone was answered on the third ring. “What?”
“Odin showed up tonight. He had a task for me.”
Maccus cursed in several different languages, managing to be quite inventive. “Dare I ask what the god wanted?”
Bjorn stopped long enough to put twenty bucks in the cup of a homeless person, got a nod in return, and kept going. The tattoos on the man’s arms marked him as military. It pained him to see so many soldiers who’d fought for their country out here on the streets.
“A woman somehow crossed back over to this side.”
“From Valhalla?”
“He says from Freya’s Hall.”
Maccus released a low whistle. “How is that possible?”
“It’s not. Or it shouldn’t be. At least not without some special sanction from the goddess.” It went without saying the woman didn’t have any special dispensation or he wouldn’t have been ordered to hunt and kill her. He turned down a side street that was marginally quieter, his long legs eating up the distance to his destination.
“I don’t like this.”
“No shit.” The itch between his shoulders intensified. He glanced around, scanning his surroundings, looking for anything out of place. His wolf went quiet inside him, hackles rising. “Timing sucks.”
Raised male voices caught Bjorn’s attention, almost drowning out that of a woman. “I gotta go. I’m about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes away. We’ll talk when I get there.”
He ended the conversation and shoved his phone in his back pocket. This time of night, a woman’s shout of distress would likely go unanswered. Even if someone called the cops, they’d probably be too late to stop whatever was about to happen.
His fingers curled into fists, the bones cracking under the force of his anger, even as he turned in the direction of the commotion. No way could he walk away from a woman in need. He had contempt for men who preyed on women. It had never been his way, not even among his own brethren, many of whom thought nothing of owning slaves. He’d never fit in. Not when he was alive, and certainly not since he’d become an immortal killing machine.
“Stay back,” the woman yelled.
A chill ran down his spine, even tho
ugh the mid-July night was muggy and hot.
“Come party with us. Don’t be shy, pretty lady,” one of the men taunted. “You know you want to. Why else you be out on your own so late at night?”
Another man made some kissing sounds.
The third man scowled. The men ranged across the front of an alleyway, blocking his view of the woman beyond. All of them wore leather jackets, despite the heat. They were likely carrying weapons. He wouldn’t kill them, only teach them a lesson.
“What the fuck is going on?” Bjorn demanded.
The one with the scowl turned to him, cold blue eyes flashing with anger. “Mind your fucking business.” Even though Bjorn was bigger, the man never wavered.
“This is my fucking business.” Anticipation roared through him.
The woman had retreated to the safety of the shadows. If she was smart, she was trying to find another way out.
“Three against one,” the one who’d made the kissing sounds pointed out. He wasn’t wearing anything under his jacket, his pale white flesh covered in gang tattoos. No boy scouts in this bunch. “You might want to move along.”
Bjorn stood with his arms at his sides and his legs apart and glared. He didn’t mind fighting, but that usually attracted attention, something he didn’t want or need. Not to mention he didn’t want to freak out the woman if she was still in the alley.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he told them. “You want to see another sunrise, you move along.”
“Oh, big man.” The one who seemed to be the ringleader of this motley bunch slid a gun from beneath his jacket and aimed it at Bjorn’s chest. It was done with an ease that suggested this wasn’t the first time he’d pulled that move. Sweat beaded on his dark forehead, but his hand never wavered. “Now you gonna leave or do I shoot your ass?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. In a single glance, he took in their positions and decided who would go down first. His wolf howled inside him, but he kept his claws leashed and fangs hidden. There were likely security cameras around or a person with a cell phone. Someone was always watching.
Bjorn Cursed Page 1
