Bjorn Cursed

by N. J. Walters

  “I will go with you.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face. “I barely have you back. I’ll not lose you again. Live and die, it is together, my love.” He brushed his lips over hers. The kiss was bittersweet. A reminder of all they would never have.

  Sven watched them intently, but there was no expression on his face. He was truly lost to her, to them.

  Anja patted her husband’s chest until he released her. Then she opened her arms to her son. It was a risk, but one worth taking. “I will do you no harm, but let me hug you one final time before you take me to Freya. It is little enough to ask.”

  He glanced at Bjorn. “I think not. It is a trap. A clever one, I’ll give you that. But I am not stupid. The most dangerous weapon in the world—”

  “Is a warrior’s brain. A thinking warrior lives to fight another day,” Bjorn finished.

  “How do you know that?” Sven demanded. “I have honed my body into the finest weapon, but it has always been guided by intellect.”

  A smile played at the corners of Bjorn’s mouth. Watching father and son talk was priceless, even if the gift came with strings that would destroy all of them.

  “I said that to you from the time you were born. I said it to you the day I left to join the others to fight the invaders of our land. You were a boy, but I could see even then the man you would become.”

  “Come to me.” She walked toward him, arms open. Not even the deadly axe still clutched tight in his hand could dissuade her. Bjorn kept pace but stayed slightly behind her, ready to pounce if necessary.

  Sven pointed the axe at his father. “Stop. You stay there.”

  Even though she knew it went against everything he stood for as a warrior, his love for her and their son allowed him to hold. He lifted his hands into the air to show he had no weapon, meant no harm.

  Ignoring both men, she put her arms around her son and hugged him. She poured all her longing into the embrace. He was as stiff as piece of steel and as unbending, but he didn’t push her away. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “No matter what happens or what you do, I love you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was killing him to let Anja approach their son. Their son.

  Pain lashed Bjorn, but he swallowed back the bile in his throat. Cursing the gods, crying out to them was what had brought them here.

  Now that she’d pointed it out to him, he saw the resemblance he hadn’t in the heat of battle. Sven and he were evenly matched. Anja had made the right decision, the only one she could. He couldn’t kill his son. He prayed Sven wouldn’t harm his mother.

  This was not the boy who’d trod behind him daily, watching his every move, listening to every word. His son had become a great warrior, but one without emotion, his allegiance to a goddess.

  Fearless, Anja hugged Sven. He stood with his arms straight down by his sides, his hands grasping his weapon. He didn’t embrace her, but he didn’t push her away. It was almost laughable, the big warrior frozen by the unwavering force of his mother’s love.

  “I love you.” Something flickered in Sven’s gaze at Anja’s whispered words—disbelief mixed with yearning. He’d been sent to kill her and still she hugged him and spoke of love.

  They were so alike, Bjorn could almost read his son’s mind—his certainty it had to be a trick drained away as the seconds ticked on, followed by the shocking truth that it was real, she truly meant it.

  Sven dropped his axe, fell to his knees, and grabbed his head, his expression one of acute pain.

  “Sven!” Anja cried out.

  Bjorn rushed forward but didn’t touch him. That could lead to an attack. “Look at me, son. Breathe through the pain.”

  His jaw was clenched against whatever agonizing pain had taken him. His entire body bowed back. Lightning crackled in the sky, the ozone in the air thickened. “Get back. Get her back now,” he roared.

  “No, I will not leave you,” Anja screamed.

  Reading the fear in Sven’s eyes, Bjorn yanked her away, turning his body to protect her, just as a lightning bolt dropped from the sky and slammed into his son’s chest.

  White light blinded him. Anja cried out. Sven never made a sound.

  Desperation clawed at Bjorn. Was his son dead? When he could see again, he searched for him.

  Sven was still on his knees, panting heavily as sweat trickled down his pale face. Blinking, he stared up at them as though seeing them for the first time. Placing his hands on the ground, he started to push to his feet.

  Show your opponent no weakness. It was the rule all warriors lived by.

  “Don’t move. Not yet,” Bjorn cautioned. “Let me check you over first.”

  Ignoring the order, Sven pushed to his feet, taking a step away from them. He swallowed hard, his throat rippling. “I hear the fire crackling, smell the food cooking.” He pointed at Bjorn. “You kissed her. We all laughed. You gave me my first sword.”

  Bjorn held his breath. Beside him, Anja began to cry.

  “The day we were attacked, you grabbed the axe and fought. You sent me away.”

  Anja held out her hand to him but pulled it back, as if fearing she’d be rejected. “I had to protect you. I failed.”

  “I swore to remember.”

  Anja’s lips trembled as she smiled. “And now you have.”

  Whatever happened when Sven had been hit by the lightning bolt, it had undone whatever magic Freya had done to strip him of his past.

  Sven bent down and picked up his axe.

  Uncertainty ate at Bjorn. His son remembered his past, but would it matter? Sven had been a child when he’d died. He’d been in service to the goddess ever since. He’d killed for her, followed her every command. What was one human life in comparison?

  Anja’s eyes pleaded with him not to harm their son. He would not, could not. That would be the end of him.

  Sven stood before his mother, his mighty battle-axe held easily in one hand. He raised it overhead.

  Bjorn’s wolf struggled to break free. His bones snapped, trying to reform, but he shoved them back. The bone-deep need to protect her was imprinted on every cell in his body. He fought to keep from shifting and leaping forward to protect her.

  As he silently battled every instinct he possessed, Anja stood unflinching.

  For the first time since he’d been changed, he muttered long forgotten prayers under his breath.

  Sven’s mighty roar echoed through the forest. A murder of crows rose, cawed and flew off. He went down on one knee, driving the head of his axe deep into the earth at his mother’s feet. Breathing heavily, head bowed, his voice rang clear and true. “I’ll kill the goddess if I have to, but I will not let her have you.”

  Bjorn rubbed the back of his hand over his face, swiping away a lone tear that trailed down his cheek. Having his Anja back was a gift beyond price. But this… Seeing his son’s head bowed to his mother filled his heart with love.

  “The gods will have neither of you,” he vowed. “I failed to protect you before. I will not fail this time.”

  Sven surged to his feet, staring at his mother with such longing it hurt Bjorn’s heart. Even now, he expected to be betrayed or disavowed. He could see the fear reflected in his son’s eyes.

  “You can’t fight them and survive.” He yanked his blade out of the earth.

  Anja patted Sven’s chest, offering reassurance and comfort. “We will figure it out.” But her expression told another tale. She did not expect to survive.

  “Your mother plans to sacrifice herself for you. For me.” There was no way he’d allow that to happen.

  “Bjorn.” She stomped toward him, more terrifying than any goddess in that moment. He’d never loved her more. “I will not let anything happen to either of you.” The fire in her eyes was extinguished, replaced with anguish. “I can’t live if I am the cause of your deaths.”

>   He met his son’s gaze and caught the slight dip of his head.

  “Oh no you don’t.” She stood, legs slightly spread and hands on her hips. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little exchange.”

  The corners of Sven’s lips twitched. He’d seen the same expression many times in the past when she was cross with the boy. The familiarity of it made Bjorn chuckle.

  “You always did have eyes in the back of your head.” Sven shook his head.

  Even though he stood proud and tall, Bjorn could tell he was using his battle-axe for support, the heavy head sitting on the ground.

  “How badly are you injured?” he asked. The lightning had struck him directly. If he’d been human, he’d be dead.

  Anja gasped and dragged up Sven’s shirt. “I should have checked you immediately.” His entire chest was a giant mottled bruise. “You’re hurt but not cut or bleeding.” She looked up at their son. “A lightning bolt slammed into you, but you’re not bleeding.”

  “I’m not human.”

  Anja inhaled sharply. Sven began to retreat behind his mask of indifference. “You are my son.” The fierceness in her tone left no room for disagreement.

  Sven remained stoic, doing and saying nothing.

  She shook her finger at him. “I said, you are my son.”

  Bjorn bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. Sven might be the hand of justice for Freya, feared by all who crossed his path, but he was no match for his mother.

  “I’m waiting.” Hands on her hips, her hair hanging down her back, and dressed in modern clothes, she looked as deadly and dangerous as any Valkyrie. When Sven continued to stand there and stare off into the distance, she tapped her foot against the ground. “Well?”

  Their son gave a curt nod. The smile that bloomed on her face stole Bjorn’s breath. Love made her even more beautiful, if such a thing were possible.

  “How badly are you injured?” he repeated. Sven might be standing tall and proud, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt, only that he was good at hiding it.

  “I’ll live.”

  “We should go inside.” Anja glanced around the clearing. “And talk.”

  “It’s safe enough,” he told her. “Freya sent our son to bring you back. Odin ordered me to kill you.”

  The battle-axe was flipped up and held ready before he’d ever finished speaking. Sven even stepped in front of his mother.

  He gave him a nod of approval. “Like you, I have vowed to kill the gods rather than let any harm befall her.”

  “My two brave warriors. What am I to do with you?”

  “Love us.” Bjorn went to her and pulled her into his arms.

  “I do.” Eyes shining with unshed tears, she leaned against him and held out her hand. Sven stared at it for a very long time. Her patience was rewarded when he wrapped his fingers around hers. She tugged, bringing him into their embrace.

  They were united as a family.

  Bjorn’s heart ached for his two youngest, but chances were good the goddess had kept her promise there and they’d lived and died with no memory of him or Anja.

  That was the way it was supposed to be.

  But he couldn’t quite dim the flash of pleasure at having his wife and eldest son with him. The loneliness that had gripped him for so long was finally silent. Even his wolf was more content now that the small pack was united.

  “Let me lock up and then we can go to the cabin and talk.”

  He hesitated to leave Anja alone with their son. It was hard to trust, as he’d been Freya’s for so very long. He caught the flash of pain and bitterness in Sven’s eyes.

  He either trusted or he’d lose his son.

  Taking a deep breath, he made his decision. “Protect your mother.” Without looking back, he hurried to the bunker.

  It didn’t take him long to grab a couple of handguns and some special ammunition, secure the weapon’s vault, extinguish the lanterns, and close the large metal door. When he climbed up the stairs, Sven was on guard while Anja collected the last of his clothing.

  She held up his boots and sighed. “They’re ruined.”

  “I have more.” He closed the outer door of the bunker and spread leaves around. Unless someone had a preternatural sense of smell, they’d be unable to tell there was anything hidden there. “I usually remove my clothes first.”

  She held up his shirt. “At least this made it.”

  Sven smirked before leading the way back to the cabin. It didn’t surprise Bjorn that he knew the way. His son was proving to be exceptional.

  They kept Anja between them, taking it slow because she couldn’t see as well as either of them. He should have brought one of the lanterns, but the weapons were more important.

  They were quiet on the trip back, all of them listening and watching. The cabin was dark, but Sven had already turned on a lamp by the time he closed the door.

  Anja set his clothes on the table and went to the kitchen. “I’m going to make us something to eat. You should get dressed,” she told him.

  Knowing she needed to settle herself, he placed the guns and ammunition on the table, scooped up what was left of his clothes, and headed toward the bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”

  Wedged in a corner so no one could sneak up on him, Sven watched his mother with a hunger in his eyes that was for more than the food she was preparing.

  Bjorn ducked into the bedroom, pulled on a pair of jeans, and rejoined them.

  …

  Anja’s arms ached to hold her son and never let him go. Her baby boy was standing in the same room with her. But like any wild creature, he was not yet willing to trust.

  It hurt her to see him this way, even as her heart sang with joy at their reunion.

  “I hope sandwiches are okay.” Keeping busy was best right now. Otherwise, she’d break down and cry for all he’d suffered.

  She pulled everything out of the refrigerator and set to work. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Sven and tried not to stare.

  It wasn’t easy. Her son was here, with them. A chill snaked down her spine.

  She piled beef onto some of the buttered bread and ham on others until all the bread was gone. It might not be much of a meal, but making food for her family pleased her. It was her way of taking care of them. Over the years, preparing food had become a chore instead of the pleasure it once had been.

  Clad only in a pair of jeans, Bjorn rejoined them. The pants clung to his thick thighs. His bare chest glistened with sweat.

  “You look more like brothers now than father and son,” she blurted.

  They eyed each other. “I’m more handsome,” Bjorn teased. “The boy has no tattoos.”

  “I saw no need to mar perfection, old man.”

  Amused by their banter, she laughed and lifted the platter from the counter. “You’re both very handsome. Now sit and eat.” She went back to the kitchen for plates, bottles of water, and napkins.

  Both men remained where they were.

  “Stubborn,” she muttered, as she set the table.

  Sven’s lips twitched. He didn’t smile, but his expression was lighter. “Don’t blame me. I obviously got it from him.” He tilted his head toward his father.

  “And your good looks.” Bjorn waited until she sat and then took the chair beside her. “Sit,” he ordered their son.

  Sven bristled slightly, his shoulders going back, but he joined them, resting the axe against the table.

  “This is nice.” Knowing she’d have to guide them into an actual conversation, she set one of the beef sandwiches on Sven’s plate and a ham on Bjorn’s. Her husband frowned. “How come he gets beef?”

  She rolled her eyes and gave him a beef, taking the ham for herself. Knowing they wouldn’t eat until she did, she took a bite. Both men dove into their meal with gusto, devouring everythi
ng she’d made. She soaked in their presence, enjoying this family time she’d never thought to have again.

  When she finished her sandwich, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and cleared her throat. “Can you tell us what happened?” Sven immediately tensed.

  He shrugged and pushed his empty plate away. “My earliest memory, until this evening, was of Freya. She told me I was her warrior, her hunter, her weapon in the land of the living. I would train and be her hand of justice. It was a huge honor.”

  “No doubt.” Anja had always loved, honored, and respected the goddess she served. At this moment, she wanted to tear the woman’s hair out and smack her silly for what she’d done.

  “I am master of all weapons—past and present. My intellect is keen, but my true gift is my ability to hunt. Nothing or no one can hide from me. I always find my prey.”

  “Beware the blessings of the gods,” Bjorn muttered.

  Sven snorted. “There are no such things as blessings, only trials to get past.”

  “She broke her word to me.” Anja traced circles on the top of the wooden table before curling her fingers inward. “I promised her service for eternity. In exchange, she said my children would be reborn to other mothers, would have a chance at good lives.” The betrayal hit her hard.

  “She’d likely see this as going above and beyond,” Bjorn pointed out. “After all, she all but claimed the boy as her own. She infused you with some of her power, did she not?”

  “I stopped aging once I grew into manhood. I have been the same ever since. I train and fight and go where the goddess sends me.”

  The starkness of it almost broke her. At least she’d had the company of others, been able to listen to their tales around the fire, to sing along to their music, to occasionally chat.

  “Did you have no one you could trust?” she whispered, dreading the answer.

  “I am Freya’s hand of justice.”

  Not an answer, yet it told her everything. Pushing up from her chair, she went around the table and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. “I’m so sorry.” He was stiff in her embrace, was likely used to only touch that brought pain. “I thought you were safe.” It was what she’d fought for.