Death's Gift: Norse Blessed Book One

by B. Livingstone

  Killian’s the one to respond though. “They sure are, and they’re freaking out. When the undead suddenly fell for no apparent reason and we couldn’t find you, we worried they got you. Then when we called out, you didn’t answer. Naturally, we started to panic. Possessive alpha fecks and all that.”

  “I’m sorry I ran,” I softly say, a feeling of regret and shame filling me.

  “No,” Killian barks back. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You woke surrounded by a bunch of strange men fighting the undead with no clue what the feck was happening. Your gut told you to run, to stay safe. Now, here you are back in our orbit, safe. Come on, let’s go put those guys out of their misery and let them know. Then, Weylen can tell us what the feck is going on and how Jameson can assist.”

  We make our way to the center field surrounded by tombstones, but not a single body or bone from the undead I saw them tear apart earlier are here. “What happened to the undead bodies?”

  “We’re not sure, they just disappeared when they all fell. They were fighting us, then they crumbled to the ground, and the next second they were fading into dust.” The explanation comes from a young man, no older than me. His long, dark onyx hair frames his beautiful Native American features with mocha brown eyes and caramel toned skin. His eyes fall on me and I suddenly feel very exposed. I squeeze the hands holding mine as I try not to run again. “What’s wrong Grace?”

  “Let’s go sit down and talk,” Weylen says, switching my hand to his other in favor of wrapping an arm around my shoulders and tugging me into his side. Grateful for the gesture of security, I give his hand another squeeze.

  We find a patch of grass under a beautiful Cherry Bloom tree near the end of its blooming season. Weylen sits down with his back leaning against the trunk of the tree and tugs me down to sit between his legs with my back resting against his front, encasing me into the safety of his arms and legs. I look over my shoulder at him and give him a small smile.

  Killian sits to my right and rests a hand on my knee. The cute guy who spoke earlier sits to my left. A Viking giant, there is no other way to describe this fine male specimen, gives me a wary look as he sits across from me and cutie’s twin, with short black hair, sits across from him on Killian’s other side.

  “What happened to her?” the Viking asks, tension bleeding into his voice.

  “Her memories have been locked behind a barrier in her mind. I found a crack that I was able to exploit long enough to at least restore her memories of herself. Her wolf was then able to restore her memories of Killian. The process is immensely painful for Grace. I can’t unlock the rest of her memories without serious repercussions to Grace’s mental and physical state. Jameson, I figure you can help me with bringing down the barrier. Baler, if my reading of you is correct, you have some serious power locked away inside you, old power. Am I correct?”

  “Yes,” the Viking answers. Ah, so his name is Baler, not Viking.

  “Can you heal her mind as we break into the barrier? Repair any backlash?”

  Baler looks unsure for a moment, before he pulls a wicked blade from a sheath at his side and cuts a slice into his hand. “What are you doing?” I exclaim, my eyes wide as I watch the blood pool in his palm.

  “Testing a theory,” he states as he closes his eyes. The wind around us twists and appears to funnel in the palm of his opened hand, pushing the blood back towards the cut and knitting the skin back together.

  “Holy shite,” Killian says very slowly as he watches with apparent fascination.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Paxton, switch places with Baler, Jameson, come kneel in front of Grace.”

  The guys move around me, getting into position and my heart rate begins to spike. Weylen tightens his arms around me pulling me flush against him. “It’s okay, Love. Close your eyes and breathe for me.” Resting my head against his shoulder, I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

  One of his hands slide up my left arm, coming to rest on my temple. Another hand comes to rest on the top of my head and a third on my right temple. Weylen’s right arm snakes around me, holding me tight to his body. Panic tries to infuse me again as the hand on my right temple begins to heat, but I force myself to stay focused on my breathing.

  “That’s it, Grace, stay calm for me,” Weylen encourages. I feel the moment he pushes inside my mind again, that same flood of agony from earlier is back, pushing back at the intrusion of his mind. Jameson, chants something outside my awareness, but all I can hear is my thundering heartbeat as I try to focus on my breathing.

  The pain builds as a sense of cracking takes root and the barrier tries to fight back. A tear slips free, and I hear a curse from my left as the wind around me glides over my legs and winds its way up my body, circling my arms and torso, licking along my neck in a soothing caress. It settles over my sternum as though waiting for something, a command maybe. When a sharp pain causes me to cry out, the energy moves from my chest up to my head and settles there, sinking in past the barrier effortlessly and covering my mind, becoming a protective shield from the cracking and breaking of the intrusive barrier that doesn’t belong there.

  I sigh in contentment when the energy strokes my mind, providing me with a sense of serenity. My eyes drift open to meet Baler’s eyes. “I see you,” I whisper to him. He smiles down at me, a beautiful yet painful smile.

  “The barrier is almost gone,” Jameson’s voice is strained as he informs us of his progress. “Paxton, come here.” Paxton moves to Jameson’s side and places one hand on his twin’s shoulder and the other takes his free hand. An increase in the flow of his energy has me closing my eyes again and my head presses back into Weylen’s shoulder harder. My back arches and I groan as he beats against the barrier. Baler’s energy tries to provide a protective shield against the battle warring in my head. What feels like a sharp fragment penetrates Baler’s shield and embeds itself in my mind, ripping a terrified and agonizing scream from me.

  Reflexively, my hands fly up and grab ahold of Weylen’s arms, his arm binds around me tighter and his mind digs deeper pulling memory after memory from the deepest recesses of my mind. “Almost. There. One more piece.” Someone groans out, though I couldn’t tell you who. That splinter of barrier is plucked from my mind, and I sigh in relief. The combined energies of Jameson and Paxton flow through me, checking for more shards of Odin’s elusive barrier. Not finding anything, Jameson gently withdrawals their energy from my mind, but his hand lingers on my body a moment longer before he sags back into the hold of his brother.

  Weylen’s energy takes center focus in my mind, restoring the pieces of my frayed memory. His soothing energy slides through each thought, action, and memory I ever had, taking them in and lining them up, locking them in place. I breathe out a sigh of relief, as a feeling of being whole again washes over me.

  The memories flow from one to the next in a seamless reel from beginning to end. Tears begin to flow as I relive the death of my parents, the first meetings of each of my mates, right up to this very point in time we’re living now. The feeling of being surrounded by not one, but five men who would do anything to ensure not only my safety, but my happiness. Opening my eyes, I look from one to another, smiling at the looks of worry and concern. Wanting to ease their minds, I nod, indicating I remember them all.

  “While I wish we could stay like this so I can soak you all in, we really have a lot to talk about,” I tell them. I wipe the tears from my face and straighten my spine. No more tears, it’s time to get to work.

  18

  Paxton

  Jameson and I lead Grace and the others to our modest hut in the center of our tribal lands in upstate Washington. Being one of the biggest reservations in the northwest United States, we are the ruling tribe of our communities. Tribes travel in from all over the states to seek counsel and assistance from our chief, healers, and shamans.

  Jameson has been training since he was old enough to cast his first spell to take over as the head shaman of our t
ribe and ruling council. I, on the other hand, never did well with rules and regulations, so I try to stay out of all of the politics that come along with the counsel. However, Jameson never lets me get too far. When we combine our powers like we did in the graveyard to help Grace, we are the strongest of our people, thus the counsel likes to keep us on a short leash. Something I have a feeling Grace will happily sever, and I can’t wait for the show.

  Standing in the doorway of our home, I watch as Grace studies the layout. The living room is just large enough for everyone to fit, a tiny kitchen with a small two-seater table, the short hall leading to a three-quarter bathroom and two bedrooms. A smile fits her face as she turns, drinking it all in.

  “This place is amazing.” Her eyes show the truth in her words as she continues to look around. Her eyes lock on a picture hanging on the wall in the living room, it’s of her and us celebrating our eighteenth birthdays when she and Riley came to visit during Spring break. How I wish we’d known back then what we know now. Had we known she was our mate, we never would have let her leave. She would have been protected, and maybe we would have figured out about the curse. She never would have had to suffer from the cancer that took her life.

  “Brother,” Jameson whispers beside me. “You’re thinking too hard. You can’t change the past. What was, is. What we do now is the important part.”

  “Sometimes I hate that you can read me so well,” I gripe at him.

  He raises a brow at me with a half-cocked smile. “Only sometimes?”

  “Yeah, okay. All the time.” Looking over at Grace I continue, “I was just thinking about how different things could have been if we had known she was our mate all this time.”

  “She wouldn’t be the amazing woman she is today.”

  Disbelief colors my thoughts. “You don’t really think that.”

  “Think about it Pax. She wouldn’t have moved to Vancouver and started college. If we had broken the curse, she wouldn’t have died and gone to Valhalla….”

  “I wouldn’t have gotten my valkyrie powers. I also never would have found Baler and I would have been left with a hole that no one else could fill,” Grace cuts in. “I don’t regret what I had to go through, Pax. Every heart aching moment has brought me so much more joy. I had a wonderful father in Jimmy after my parents’ death, I have my wolf finally, and my valkyrie powers. Soon, I’ll have my sister back, and I have five incredible mates ready to follow me into a war that none of you have asked for. No amount of suffering could outshine the joy in my life. Now, if I could take a shower and maybe borrow some clean clothes, my cup of joy would overflow.” She says the last line with a smile so bright I can’t help but return the gesture.

  Chuckling, I reply, “Of course. Follow me, Milady.” I lead the way down the narrow hall to the bathroom and gesture her in. “Towels are in the closet and I’ll get you some clothes.” She thanks me with a kiss to my cheek and sets the temperature of the water as I head to my room to get her something to wear. A sense of satisfaction fills me at the thought of her wearing my clothes and carrying my scent.

  Grabbing a long t-shirt, a pair of boxers, sweatpants, and a hoodie, I take them back to the bathroom. Knocking on the door, I call out, “It’s Paxton, I have some clothes for you.” She opens it and I hand the pile of clothing to her. She offers me a small smile of thanks before closing the door again.

  I head back out to the living room, passing the kitchen where Jameson and Killian are cooking. Sitting on the floor by the fireplace, I tune out all other conversations and reflect on what occurred in the graveyard.

  “Brother, your thoughts are running away again,” Jameson observes as he and Killian enter the living room.

  My eyes meet his. “I can’t help but wonder about what all happened in the graveyard. If Odin was training her to return to fight this war, why did he try to stop her from coming back to do just that? Why did he lock away her memories? And who was controlling the undead, hell why, what was their purpose? None of it makes any sense.”

  Baler’s the one to answer. “Odin did not want her coming back yet, and she disobeyed him. I assume he was planning to return her memories of him and Valhalla to drive her back to him. The undead was most likely his doing as well. A way to instill fear before releasing memories of him so she would seek him out. Among other things, Odin is an extremely powerful necromancer.”

  “Great, so not only do we have a crazy wolf and his thoughts of world domination to deal with, but a really pissed off God as well,” Jameson quips with a sigh. His shoulders sag and it’s evident that the weight of the tribe and now this, is all starting to get to him. At twenty-two years old, he appears so much older with the responsibilities he carries.

  “I have dealt with Odin. He will not be coming after you nor Grace.” We all turn as one to take in the newcomer standing at the entrance to the kitchen. We all go into defensive mode, readying for an attack. It’s at that moment Grace trots down the hall. The patter of her small feet slapping against the hardwood floor.

  “Grandpa? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Grace asks, worry coloring her tone, as she walks up to him and wraps her arms around him. Not even taking in our stances or reactions. He returns her embrace with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Grandpa?” three of us chorus in unison. Baler and Weylen apparently unsurprised by the pronouncement.

  Grace pulls back and turns to us with a smile. “Yes, Grandpa. Fenrir, these are my other four mates. Jameson, Paxton, Killian, and Weylen. Guys this is Fenrir, my Grandpa.” Looking back up to her Grandpa, she asks again, “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to let you know that I have dealt with Odin. He will not be pursuing you anymore. I simply reminded him that he trained you both and therefore he should trust in the abilities he taught you, and in your judgment to handle what will come.” The look he gives Grace as he speaks to her is full of love and adoration. “I, of course, will be here when you need me. Just remember to call out. It has been some time since I have been in a good fight.” The smile on his face is menacing, and I have to remember that this man is a God and powerful in his own right.

  With a giggle, Grace wraps her arms around him again. “Thank you. I will remember to call when things start to take off.”

  “Very well. I will leave you all to your war planning, and boys; you take care of my Granddaughter. If anything happens to her, I will find you and bind you to a large boulder in Hela’s realm of Niflheim with enchanted chains that are unbreakable. Do we have an understanding?”

  Gulping down our terror we each nod our heads in understanding when Grace bursts into a fit of laughter. “Your faces… oh, my Goddess,” she manages between bouts of laughter. We all narrow our eyes on her as Fenrir narrows his eyes on us.

  “All right, I am going to go.” Fenrir places a kiss on the top of Grace’s head and says, “Behave yourself, Young Lady.”

  “Right, like she could if she tried,” Killian quips quickly. Grace just shrugs one shoulder with a smirk.

  A long exhausting yawn leaves Grace a moment later. “Come on, Little Wolf. You need some rest,” Baler calls to Grace and she obeys, heading to the sofa and taking the spot between Killian and Baler. Shifting, she lies down with her head on Baler’s thighs and her feet on Killian’s.

  “Okay,” she whispers as her eyes drift shut. My eyes trace over her body, the curves from her neck to her shoulder, down the valley of her side and over her hip. A feeling of overwhelming ease and joy fills me from head to toe at having her back in my life. Somehow this all still feels like a dream and I fear I’ll wake at any moment to find her gone.

  “She’s really here, Pax,” Jameson reassures me with a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, help me finish preparing some food. I’m sure she’ll be hungry when she wakes.” I nod as I stand, walking over to Grace and placing a kiss on her forehead, before following Jameson to the kitchen.

  She really is here.

  Grace

&n
bsp; Standing at the edge of a large open field, littered with the bodies of dead wolves, I find Riley and Alastair facing off in the middle. A menacing smile creeps across Alastair’s face as the dagger in his hand glints in the light of the full moon. Riley’s face holds a look of defeat and heartbreak as her gaze moves to a red wolf lying dead a few feet away from her. She squeezes her eyes shut and turns her face away.

  “I warned you not to fight me. I told you this would be the outcome.” His head moves side to side in a slow movement, chiding her, as a tear runs down Riley’s cheek.

  Alastair moves around Riley, but she doesn’t seem to even notice or just doesn’t care. My breathing picks up with all the thoughts of what he’s about to do and knowing there is nothing I can do to affect this vision. Relegated to just standing here and watching, I steel my spine and try to listen to his words rather than focusing on his actions.

  “You could have changed this all, if only you would have agreed to my terms. All of this needless death.” His hands come around her, the one with the dagger banding around her waist while his other hand grips her chin roughly. Jerking her face in the direction of the red wolf, he gloats in her ear, “Look at your mate, what a tragedy. To think, if he hadn’t followed you, he’d still be alive.” Her face falls as a violent sob breaks free.

  With a satisfied smile, Alastair pushes her forward, so she falls to her knees on the bloody ground next to the wolf. Riley wails her anger, grief, and sorrow to the full moon hanging overhead. A red haze washes over the moon and darkness falls over the massacre as the air around us begins to whip angrily, pulsing through the grass and trees. The louder Riley wails, the harder it blows.

  Alastair begins to laugh at her grief before he steps up behind her, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back, exposing the column of her throat. Her hands come up to grab his wrist and hand. The wind dies in an instant and the haze over the moon recedes, its beams of light shining brightly on the dagger as he raises it up and places it against her throat.