Bjorn Cursed

by N. J. Walters

  “I know.”

  To seal their pact, he eased back and began to thrust, pushing past the natural resistance as the walls of her sex stretched to accommodate him. Her low moan slid over his skin as her fingers did over his back.

  The slow glide and retreat of his hips soon wasn’t enough. He picked up speed, his buttocks flexing with each thrust. Lust burned inside him. A bead of sweat slowly rolled down his spine. The springs from the bed squeaked, adding to her breathy sighs and his grunts as he moved faster and faster, slamming home again and again.

  She ran her toes over his calves, pushing up to meet each thrust.

  It was raw and primal and real.

  His balls constricted. The base of his spine tingled. His orgasm sped forward like a runaway train, totally out of control. He threw back his head, the cords of his neck pulled taut as he clenched his teeth to keep from roaring.

  With her core rippling around him, she arched her neck and cried out, coming yet again.

  The howl was torn from his soul, a triumphant mingling of man and wolf. He wanted to close his eyes, to lose himself in the sexual pleasure pounding through him, but that would mean he couldn’t watch Anja experience her release.

  Her hair was spread across his pillow, her skin flushed with pleasure. No matter how often he’d seen her like this, it never failed to drive him crazy with lust. Her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses as well as her biting them.

  The door to the room slammed open.

  Bjorn’s cock was still swollen at the base, locking him inside her. He pulled out on a roar, hating her cry of pain. Leaping to his feet, he extended his fangs and claws and faced…

  Chest heaving, axe raised, Sven stared at them. Anja gave a strangled sound and dove for the covers, dragging them over her. Sven turned quickly and faced the entrance.

  “Fuck. No, not that word. Shit. Yeah, shit. I didn’t need to see that.”

  “Why are you here?” There was no outside threat he could sense. Bjorn’s lips twitched as the absurdity of the situation hit home.

  “Well, I heard this ungodly howl and worried that Freya might have found you or sent another of her hunters after you. I may be her best, but she has others.” He slipped the axe into a holder at his back and lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Never occurred to me you might be howling for another reason. Yeah, not going to think about that.”

  Anja burst out laughing.

  “Not funny,” Sven shot back.

  “I’m sorry, but it really is. It might not be as funny if you’d barged in a couple minutes earlier.”

  “Really don’t need to hear that. Ah, I’ll just be in the kitchen making coffee, or maybe drinking a bottle of whiskey. Depends on what’s in the cupboards.” He disappeared into the hall.

  Bjorn looked at Anja and raised an eyebrow. She dropped back on the bed and began to laugh again, her feet thumping against the mattress.

  “Still not funny,” Sven called from the kitchen. That made it worse. She clutched her stomach and pushed her face into a pillow. “Can still hear you,” he added.

  Bjorn shook his head, but he was smiling as he picked her up, blankets and all, and carried her into the bathroom. She buried her face against his shoulder, her entire body shaking with unrestrained mirth. He started the shower and they bathed together. There was no teasing or sex this time. They cleaned up quickly, redressed, with her wearing another one of his T-shirts, and joined Sven in the kitchen.

  A pot of coffee was ready and waiting, along with a half-empty bottle of ten-year-old whiskey.

  Sven raised his mug. “Figured I’d have both.”

  Anja walked to their son and kissed the top of his head. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Don’t really need to. The grounds are all quiet.”

  He heard what Sven didn’t say. Things were too quiet.

  “Anyone hungry?” She opened the refrigerator and drew out a carton of eggs.

  He was starving, but his stomach was suddenly in knots. “I could eat.” It was more to give her something to do. She was worried, and there was nothing he could do to ease it.

  Bjorn ignored the heaviness in his heart and spoke the truth. “We can’t stay together.”

  One of the eggs slipped from her hand and landed on the counter, cracking on contact. “No.” Ignoring the mess, she looked from him to Sven. “No. We are stronger together.”

  “And that is the problem.” He went to her and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her struggles to be free. “Listen to me, Anja. Do you think I want to send my son away? I barely have him back. It would be easier to cut out my own heart and fling it aside.”

  She stopped struggling. Once again, there were tears in her eyes, but they did not fall. Not this time.

  “Then why?” she asked.

  “There’s too much power in one place,” Sven answered before he could. “I have some of Freya in me.” He pointed at Bjorn. “He has a piece of Odin. It’s like a beacon in the darkness if the gods but open their eyes to look.”

  “Yes.” As much as it pained him, his son was correct.

  Sven drained the last of his whiskey-laced coffee and pushed up from the table. “I will do what I can to lead them away from you. I don’t know how long I can manage.”

  “No. You will do nothing to put yourself in jeopardy. You are our son. It is our duty and honor to protect you. I could not do so the last time. Your mother tried and failed. Do not put us through that again.”

  Sven briefly closed his eyes. When they opened, he was once again the emotionless warrior he’d met in the dark. “So be it.”

  Anja broke away from him and went to their son. Bjorn worried he would reject her now, understood he had to distance himself if he wanted to survive.

  “I love you, my son.” She placed her hand over his heart. “You carry me here and always will. You are the light of your father’s and my lives. I know not what happened to your brother and sister, but it eases my burdens to know you are safe.”

  He shook his head. “I am not safe. None of us are.” He bent down and brushed a kiss over her cheek before meeting Bjorn’s gaze. “Take care of her.”

  Bjorn nodded, understanding the fear behind the command. Sven had just gotten his mother back, only to lose her again. “My life is hers and always has been.”

  He started for the door with Anja trailing behind him. He wanted to grab his son and not allow him to go.

  “I would keep you if I could.” He couldn’t let Sven leave like this. “If I thought I could keep you safe.”

  He and Anja knew their lives were likely forfeit. Sven had a chance to live through this.

  “I will seek out news of my siblings in the afterlife. Find out who they were reborn as.”

  Anja shook her head. “Let them go. To seek them would only bring unwanted attention and put you and possibly them in jeopardy.”

  Because Bjorn was watching his son closely, he caught the brief expression that flitted over his face. He went to Sven and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You must not confront Freya. She must never know you remembered us.”

  Sven shook away from his grasp. “I have lived a lie for almost my entire existence. I will live it no longer. I will fight and die beside you. If I have one day or a thousand years, at least I will be my true self.”

  Respect and pride mingled with fear and sorrow. He looked to Anja and saw the same reflected in her face.

  Sven was a man, not a boy. They could advise him, but his decisions were his own. “So be it.”

  “I don’t know whether I should whip your behind or burst with pride,” she told him.

  Sven chuckled. “I vote for the second one.”

  “I can do both. You may be an immortal warrior, but I’m still your mother.”

  “Something I am eternally grateful for.”


  Bjorn was about to head toward his wife when his wolf growled. He kicked off his boots and yanked his shirt over his head. Sven’s axe was already in his hand.

  “My weapon.” Anja disappeared into the cabin, returning seconds later pulling on the sword sheath. “What is it?” She withdrew the sharp blade.

  He raised his head and sniffed the wind. “Wolves. A lot of them.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fear was a living breathing thing, an unseen foe she was desperately fighting for the sake of her husband and son. Both men were alert, scanning toward the left of the clearing behind the cabin. Then they looked right.

  “How did they find us?” They should have been safe here, at least for a bit longer. Sven had found them, but her son was an immortal hunter, gifted by a goddess.

  “I don’t know. They had to have had help.” Bjorn frowned, his jaw clenched tight.

  “One of the gods must have sent them this way.” Sven didn’t seem particularly surprised. “But why did Odin send you? Why did Freya send me? If either of them already knew where she was, they could have just sent the wolves to kill her.”

  That was an excellent point.

  “Coming from all sides,” Bjorn said, lowering his voice. “They’re coming fast. It’s too late for you to make a run for the bunker. Put your back to the cabin, Anja.”

  She moved into position. Without preternatural abilities, she was the most vulnerable. This was the best defensive spot for her.

  “Can you get to the gun?” Bjorn asked. “It has silver bullets.”

  Sven disappeared into the house and was back almost as fast as she could blink. He passed her the weapon.

  “Hold it in both hands.” Sven showed her the correct way. “Point and pull the trigger.” His voice was barely a whisper in her ear.

  She sheathed her sword and took the gun, settling the weight in her right hand and using the left to steady it as he’d demonstrated. Her knife was lashed to her thigh—she’d automatically donned it when dressing—but it wouldn’t be of much use in the fight ahead. Sweat made her shirt cling to her skin.

  Bjorn stripped off his pants and tossed them aside. “Try to hit the heart. It will take them down faster. Aim for their chests. Any damage will help slow them down. Whatever you do, stay safe.”

  What would become of her husband, her son, if she were killed? Bjorn’s deepest fear was becoming a mindless creature once again, living out the curse of Odin by killing all in his path. And Sven would go after the goddess herself. That would lead to his death.

  I have to survive.

  Not for herself, but to save them. “You do the same.” The thought of losing him, of losing either of them, filled her with dread.

  The weight of the gun was less than the sword, but it was a powerful weapon that could hurt an opponent from a distance. In this case, that made it more valuable than a blade, and she needed any advantage she could get. As much as she wished otherwise, she didn’t have the physical strength to battle a werewolf.

  Two wolves broke from between the trees, heading straight for Bjorn. He shifted, his bones breaking and reforming, the shape of his head changing, until a huge beast stood in his place, ready to fight. She’d seen it before, but watching him morph from man to wolf was astonishing. He raised a paw and batted at one of the wolves, sending it flying into a tree so hard the thick trunk cracked. Not to mention the wolf’s bones. She winced, but felt no real sympathy. The creature had come here to kill her.

  The second wolf leaped toward Bjorn’s back, but her husband flipped around and caught his attacker’s neck in his powerful jaws and bit down hard. Bones crunched. Blood spurted from the wound.

  He tossed the wolf aside.

  Neither were dead, their wounds already healing. Sven stalked toward them and swung his mighty axe, decapitating one and then the other.

  There was no coming back from that.

  More wolves poured from the surrounding woods, the snarls and howls meant to terrify. It might work on mere mortals, but she was Viking, a fighter. She was married to a werewolf, was mother to an immortal warrior. She’d served a goddess.

  These wolves would do well to fear her.

  One sprinted toward her, moving almost faster than her eyes could follow. She raised the gun and pulled the trigger without hesitation. There was a kick, but she was strong from centuries of hard work and corrected her aim quickly. She didn’t stop firing until the weapon was empty and all she heard were clicks.

  Several of the bullets hit the target. The wolf halted in mid-pounce and dropped to the ground a few feet away, blood pouring from him, his face contorted in agony.

  She set the weapon down on the railing and took a deep breath. There was no time to waste. She wasn’t done yet.

  Leaving her post, she strode toward the beast and drew her sword. “You should have stayed home.” She raised the blade high. Holding it with both hands, she slammed it down on the wolf’s neck. Blood flew from the wound. It took several more hacks to finally break through the thick bone and sever the creature’s head.

  She lowered her sword, heartsick at what she’d had to do. It should never have come to this.

  Get back! Her husband’s voice echoed in her head, able to communicate with her in this way because he was in his wolf form.

  Turning away from the gruesome sight, she hurriedly resumed her post by the cabin and put her back to the wall, grateful no others had broken through the defenses while she’d been occupied.

  Her men fought tirelessly. Their muscles bunched and flexed as they brutally battled their foes, one with fangs and claws, and the other with an axe and raw strength. Blood stained their fur and flesh. She prayed none of it was theirs.

  She was fiercely glad her son was immortal. He’d heal swiftly from any wound. And Bjorn was a killing machine. He stood out among the wolves. He was bigger than the rest. He fought with a ferocity that would have been downright terrifying if he was an enemy. Since he was on their side, it gave her hope.

  Sven swung his axe, ending the life of another wolf. Bjorn tossed two more wounded his way and he finished them. Only three wolves remained. The ground ran with blood. The air was thick with anger and fear, ripe with the scent of death. Not even the brilliance of the morning sun could dispel the gloom hanging over them.

  Bjorn’s growl shook the foundation of the cabin. The trees rustled. The wolves actually paused. She wanted to yell at them to leave, but that would only provoke an attack. If they were intelligent they would have run by now, knowing they were outmatched. Greed had overtaken their commonsense.

  Sweat beaded her brow. She swiped her arm over her forehead to keep it from rolling into her eyes.

  One of the wolves shifted, morphing into a clean-shaven man with dark hair and brown eyes. Even knowing they were men, it was still a shock to witness the transformation.

  “Give us the woman. The bounty on her head is five million dollars, enough for each of us here to have a million.”

  “The bounty went up fast,” she muttered. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or appalled.

  The wolf laughed. “Not sure why, sweetheart, but your ass is pure gold, and I intend to collect.”

  Bjorn snarled, his fangs flashing. The wolf chuckled. “No need to get your panties in a wad, man. She’s just a chick. Plenty more where she came from.”

  Sharp claws flashed as a huge paw snapped toward the man. His scream was choked off. Blood arced through the air. His head fell from his body and rolled a few feet away, coming to rest in the dirt.

  Not even breathing hard, Bjorn morphed back to his human form. He was fearsome to behold with blood staining his hair and hands, tattoos ranging all over his naked body. His muscles gleamed with sweat. His blue eyes promised death. “This woman is my wife.” He informed the two remaining wolves. “To hunt her is a death sentence.”

  “
She is also my mother.” Sven was a menacing figure, his axe dripping with the blood of those he’d slain. “To hunt her is a death sentence,” he repeated his father’s warning.

  The two wolves growled, their hackles raised, but they took several steps back. Maybe these two would flee before the next wave arrived, giving them a chance to escape.

  But where would they go? There seemed to be nowhere to hide, nowhere safe. And where were they all coming from? This should be impossible. Not like there was a sign somewhere with an arrow reading, “Escapee from Freya’s Hall Five Miles This Way.”

  Or was there? A tingle ran down her spine, and she lowered her sword.

  “Can either of you sense the gods?”

  “Odin,” Bjorn told her.

  “Freya, but some of the others.” Sven stepped toward her, keeping one eye on the wolves. “Why?”

  “I was taken and lost in a void. Could a god have put some kind of mark on me? One that would let them know where I was?” Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner?

  Bjorn paled and started toward her. The rogue wolves took advantage of that moment of perceived inattention to pounce.

  They didn’t understand that a true warrior is always aware.

  As soon as they moved, she tossed her sword in his direction. Bjorn grabbed it out of midair and swung, slicing the beast in half. Sven’s axe flashed in the sunlight. The second wolf dropped alongside his companion.

  “Thanks.” Bjorn raised the sword. “But I didn’t need this.”

  Of course he didn’t. He had multiple swords on each hand in the form of razor-sharp claws. “I forgot. It was instinct.” Watching her lover stride toward her, naked and sweaty, blood-stained sword in hand, made her heart pound faster. She hated that her husband and son were being forced to kill, and it was all because of her.

  They were trapped. Their only option was to fight until they died.

  She shook her head and pulled herself together. “The mark of a god?”

  Sven sheathed his weapon and ran his hands in the air around her, not quite touching. At the base of her neck, he paused. “There is something here. An energy signature.” He glanced at his father. “What do you think?”