She needed to stay. To take responsibility. To be punished for letting this amazing woman die.
“Brit. Now.” Mark grabbed her good arm and yanked her down the alley. “When we get back to the hotel, I’ll have home base check traffic cams. Get online, rent us a car. We’re done here.”
Brit didn’t take orders from him; she gave them. She was the team leader. Her protests died in her throat. Her insides were shriveling, and she couldn’t stop it. She wanted to collapse on the pavement and sob. Kirby was dead.
And Brit was a shitty person, because she kept walking. Worrying about her own safety. Starkad would never help her now. Was she stuck in this life forever?
Not that it mattered. Kirby was dead. Actually gone this time.
GWYDION
Gwydion was furious with himself. He’d lost the guy he was following. Where was he? Where was Kirby?
He wandered the street. They weren’t here. Where did Kirby go?
He headed toward the back of the cake shop. Kirby lay unmoving on the pavement.
His grief soared. Blood covered her chest. There was so much, he couldn’t tell where it came from. He knelt next to her, searching for a wound. For a pulse. He couldn’t find either.
The garrote on her chest should have been a clue, but her throat was intact.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. He couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t. Each death was another she had to remember in a future life. How many times did she have to lose her life, before Odin’s fucking curse was satisfied?
Gwydion wasn’t letting her go. He was a fucking doctor. If the blood wasn’t hers, maybe she could be brought back. He’d lost Mark less than five minutes ago. How long has she been like this? It didn’t matter, he was resuscitating her. He looped his fingers together and compressed her chest.
She gasped and bolted straight up.
“Holy fuck.” Her voice was scratchy. She touched her chest. “Are you trying to break my fucking ribs?”
“You were...” What was he going to tell her? Dead? She looked fine, aside from being covered in blood.
She gingerly pressed her fingers to her throat. “This hurts too. What happened? That asshole was choking me. Did you save me? Whose blood am I wearing?” As the questions tumbled out, her voice grew stronger and more clear.
Had she died and come back? She hadn’t recalled her past yet. Perhaps she hadn’t been dead after all. His panic could have kept him from being rational. This wasn’t the time or place to ponder it. He pulled Kirby to her feet. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He’d question this later. “Good. We need to get you out of here now.”
“I’m not going anywhere like this.” She gestured to her blood-covered shirt.
Right. Fuck. She was alive, though. The reminder flooded his thoughts. “Wait here. I’ll get you something to cover up with.”
“Hurry.” She stepped behind a dumpster.
He turned away, and impulse raced through him. He spun back to her and kissed her hard, pouring all his relief and desire into the connection.
She leaned into him with a sigh, then planted her hands on his chest and gently pushed him back. “Brit and Mark know who you are. We need to get off the street and call Starkad.”
“Agreed.” He was grateful one of them was thinking clearly. He headed toward a nearby souvenir shop, purchased a couple of oversized T-shirts and the first pair of pants he saw, and returned to Kirby.
“Keep an eye out,” she said as she pulled a black top over what she already wore. There was no hesitation or fear in her actions.
The differences in this Kirby were more noticeable than any of the hers he’d met in the past. She was more detached. More practical. He hated it, but she was also safer this way.
They couldn’t risk hopping back on public transportation. They found a motel within walking distance. Kirby seemed to close in on herself as they walked along the sidewalk, like she was hoping to vanish into the concrete.
Given the number of people who didn’t give them a second glance, it seemed to be working.
Gwydion got them a room. The instant he locked the door behind them, she seemed to relax.
He wished he could do the same. He needed to know what happened. “I should examine you. Make sure you’re really all right.”
“Ooh, we get to play doctor?” Her teasing tone was marred by an underlying thread of tension.
Her question was a callback to their time in Kuwait. He couldn’t lose himself in memories now. “Something like that.”
She dumped the remaining contents of his souvenir shop purchase onto a bed, stripped everything off her upper body, and shoved it in the bag. “I’m all yours, doc. I’m fine, though.”
He wished this could be an erotic, playful moment. His adrenaline was too high for him to take the thought further. “Are you?”
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her breasts, and sank onto the edge of the bed. “I’m making countless lists in my head. We have to burn the clothes. Did I leave more than trace blood at the scene? We have to get a clean-up team in there. He got the drop on me. He never should have been able to sneak up on me. I feel like I’m falling apart from the inside-out. I don’t know why I'm telling you this. I—”
“Stop.” Gwydion knelt in front of her and rested a hand on her leg. He held her gaze. “Focus on me.”
“You have blood on your hands. Did you leave any fingerprints? You were Army. You’re in government systems—”
“Kirby.” He knew she was following a panicked list of things to check for because it was easier than acknowledging what happened to her. He’d been in in her shoes. “One at a time. Are you listening?”
She clenched her jaw, but she nodded.
“I’ve been keeping who I am secret for more than a thousand years. They won’t trace me from a random fingerprint. I’ll call Starkad. You’ll wash off the blood and tell me what you need, in order to get rid of the ruined clothes and any mess left in the tub.”
“She stood there and watched him try to kill me.” Kirby’s voice was tiny. “This wasn’t just her turning her back on me or lying about our relationship. She looked me in the eye, while I was dying.”
He cradled her face. “We’ll deal with what we can, as we can. One foot in front of the other. All right?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
Her frown deepened. “Why are you doing all of this for me? You’ve saved me twice, and sure, the sex was good, but no sex is that good.”
Because I love you. Because I fell for you the first time we met, and every time we find each other, I fall again. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” Her answer came after a puff of hesitation.
“Why?”
This was usually where she said, Because my heart tells me to.
“Because Starkad does.”
Gwydion would take it. As long as it kept her safe. “I don’t see any wounds on you, and you’re not favoring any limbs. Take a shower. We’ll talk after you’re clean and I’ve called Starkad.”
Kirby stood and slogged toward the bathroom. She paused in the doorway but didn’t turn around. “When you talk to him?”
“Yes?”
“Tell him this is Brit’s fault. Tell him I’ve decided.” The doubt was gone from her voice, replaced with ice and determination.
He didn’t like the abrupt shift, or that he knew without asking that she was talking so casually about killing someone she’d supposedly loved. “I will.”
Chapter Twenty
Now - Kirby
There were times during Kirby’s training when she went weeks without a shower. In the last couple of days, she’d used enough bathwater she was becoming part fish.
She rubbed herself dry, but the fibers of the towel felt odd against her skin. As though she was half-participating in, half-watching the moment. A similar sensation tingled in her neck.
She looked in t
he mirror for the gazillionth time. She didn’t see anything out of place. There were no bumps or unusual ridges when she ran her hand over her throat. But there was a whisper of pain.
And there was a blank spot in her mind that she couldn’t climb around or over or through, no matter the angle she approached it from. She remembered talking to Brit. Cursing herself when Mark snuck up on her. Pain.
And then waking up to Gwydion, leaning over her.
Kirby would destroy Brit and Mark for what they’d done. Now. In the past. There was no place for nostalgia or lingering shadows of affection. You were holding me back. Brit’s voice whispered through her thoughts. Stepping between me and my potential.
She wrapped her towel around herself and wandered back into the main room. Doubt licked her senses. She sank onto the edge of the mattress. Brit didn’t deserve a second consideration. Or third. Kirby hadn’t done any of those things Brit accused her of.
If she could reach past the block in her mind... If she could see what else happened this afternoon, maybe there would be answers about why she kept hesitating to kill Brit—
She was with Starkad again, in her mind. They were naked. Or wearing wool. Or wrapped in fur in front of a flickering fire. Each texture scrubbed her skin at the same time, all of them punctuated by his touch. She smelled animals and smoke and fresh rain.
Regardless of the setting, he watched her with an adoration that reflected her own. There was no bitterness or resentment in his liquid-blue eyes. A beautiful ache spread through her chest.
The click of the door jarred her back to the present, and tension replaced longing for moments she’d never lived. The only weapon within reach was her towel or the clothing on the bed. She’d have to move fast and hope whoever it was didn’t have a gun or hesitated to shoot.
Gwydion stepped into the room. The instant he saw her, he smiled. “Not that I’m complaining about the outfit, but I got those for you, if you’d like something that stays on better.”
Another series of flashes tried to consume her, featuring him. She could almost taste the sand and traces of wine as she studied him. She refused to fall into the strange fantasies, and grabbed for the clothing instead.
Kirby dropped her towel, and Gwydion raised an eyebrow. Modesty didn’t even make her list of important right now.
“Nothing you haven’t seen, Doc. On me and I assume hundreds of other women.” She tugged the shirt over her head. It said Ski Utah and hugged her torso tighter than she was comfortable with. Next up was a pair of knit pants with unicorns on them. “And your fashion sense is impeccable.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to hit up Nordstrom, Your Majesty.” Amusement shone on his face.
The teasing should have rubbed her wrong, especially with everything else clawing its way through her veins, but his playfulness was genuine. “At least no one is going to look at me and think Killer.”
“At least.” His smile faltered, but was back again so quickly, she might have imagined the shift. “Starkad is bringing your things. But not here.”
Starkad. Her mind and body and heart were an electrical storm of confusion every time she thought about him. She’d crushed on him when he was still her instructor. Lusted after him when he saved her. Been desperate to grab his attention as anything other than Kirby the Killer for years.
Now there was a deep-seated ache, too. It was longing and desire and adoration and commitment. If she had any idea what love was, she might call it that. But she didn’t love him. She refused to admit that was an option.
Gwydion watched her with concern and... tenderness? That whole encounter with Brit fucked with Kirby’s head more than she needed. “What’s with the look? Am I gonna live, Doc?” she asked.
“Yes. Definitely yes.” His words didn’t carry the conviction she would have liked.
Déjà vu looped in her thoughts, the brief exchange overlapping something she couldn’t quite grasp. She need to focus on being present, rather than losing herself in a series of ill-timed fantasies. “What happens next?” She knew what the answer would be if she was doing the planning, and if his reply was too off base, she’d walk away from him without hesitation.
Maybe a little hesitation.
“Starkad is doing... whatever he does. He told me it would take time, and that he’d tell you but not me,” Gwydion said.
That might be a lie, but it did sound like Starkad. It was also comforting, in this sea of everyone knows and trusts everyone else. She grabbed the remote. “You a fan of history shows?”
“I’m not. Living it once was enough.”
Someone knocked.
“Besides”—Gwydion reached for the door—“you’re not staying here. Min is taking you someplace safe. He’ll probably watch documentaries about the Civil War with you if you ask.”
That was specific. Min was another odd bit of a puzzle Kirby didn’t have all the pieces for. Something about him didn’t sit right with her. His name, his presence, and his hands’ gliding along her skin sent shivers of pleasure and doubt up her spine. It was a flavor of fear she’d never tasted anywhere else. The most delicious flavor yet.
MIN
Min hadn’t expected to set up safe houses and erase identities twice in one mission, and he’d always hoped when he set Kirby up, it would mean she was done. That she was theirs and no one else's.
He pointed her to a room in the restored Victorian in the Aves, and something new occurred to him. As she nodded her thanks and chose to search the house herself, the realization clutched him harder than most things had the power to these days. She wasn’t getting out of this. Not intact. And never while TOM existed in its current incarnation. For centuries, he’d searched for her each time she was reborn. And in two decades, she’d become something brand new. She’d always be what she was raised to be in this life, and she wasn’t the only one.
He was torn between resenting Starkad for dragging her—all of them—into this twisted game the gods played, and being grateful for the lives they’d saved. The innocents they’d snatched from misguided deities.
This was a flash in time, though. Barely a blip on the radar. If she survived... He hated thinking that way. If. But if she made it out alive, they’d have eternity to become more together. She’d be his queen. By his side.
“I’ll stay out here for now.” Kirby stopped in front of Min, back straight, almost standing at attention. Her gaze continued to flit, rather than focusing on him.
He gestured toward the living room. “You’re welcome to sit.”
“You first.” She followed him at the edge of his peripheral vision, just out of arm’s reach.
He settled on the couch.
She paced the length of the throw rug in front of him. She was like a caged panther. Graceful. Sleek. Always on alert. “I won’t be sleeping for a while. I hope that’s not an issue.”
“Not for me. I’ve provided you with safety, but I don’t dictate what you do.”
“What if I want to leave? What if I walk out the front door right now and don’t tell you where I’m going?”
The am I a prisoner conversation. He had this with most of the victims he relocated. While they weren’t prisoners, they also couldn’t safely leave, and he ensured they knew that before they made their decision. The answers for her were different. “Then that’s what you do. It's my understanding you can take care of yourself. I’d be hurt. I enjoy your company.”
“Which part of it? The bit where I play your toy for a couple of hours while we fuck, or when I swing in the completely opposite direction and become abrasive and confrontational?” Kirby’s laugh was almost a bark. She paused and raked her fingers through her hair. “Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”
“Yes.” Every time you die. Was she starting to remember, or just overwhelmed by the events of the last few days?
Gwydion believed she may have died this afternoon, but her lives had never happened this way. She didn’t come back from death. Min couldn’t fat
hom how it was possible, before she remembered who she’d been. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but this time felt different in so many ways.
“She never directly tried to kill me”—Kirby’s voice was quiet, as if she were talking to herself—“but she stood by and watched twice. Not literally, the first time. Close enough. Yet there’s still a part of me that longs for what we had. It wasn’t even real.”
“It was real to you.”
Kirby let out a shaky sigh and resumed pacing. “I was an idiot.” The pain in her voice and the distant look in her eyes carried so much more love and pain than a simple synopsis of her past.
“Whatever happened, you did what you thought was best at the time.” Min didn’t know much of the story of her past. Starkad said it was Kirby’s to tell. What he’d been told was that a former lover betrayed her, that same woman wanted asylum now, and Kirby wanted her dead. “And whatever you need to do now, I support that decision.”
“I need help finding and killing someone. That’s what I do.”
“It is.”
She stared at him for a moment. “And you’re okay with that? You didn’t even flinch. Isn’t your goal to save people?”
How best to put this? “No one is without guilt in this war. This series of battles that rages, that most of the world will never see. I chose my side, and this other woman fights against what I believe in.”
“Which is... what? What does a god believe in, besides themselves?”
“Free will. The goodness of people. You.”
Her chuckle faded into a frustrated sob. “You need a new list.”
Min’s heart cracked at her cynicism. “You don’t believe in yourself?”
“I do. There are two people in this world I have faith in, and I’m one of them. But you don’t know me. You shouldn’t trust me. And you definitely shouldn’t trust people in general.”
“Who’s the other one, and why?” He knew the answer, but wanted to hear her say it. He also knew it was a lost cause to follow the rest of her statement. They wouldn’t change each other’s minds by arguing about who was right.
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