Knightmare: Nate Temple Series Book 12

by Shayne Silvers

  He nodded stiffly, ignoring the blood pouring from his nose. He did glance pointedly at the ichor glowing in my veins—the ichor I had earned by killing my first goddess, Athena. “You should probably do something about it, godkiller,” he growled. Then he shifted his attention to my eyes, letting me see his conviction and utter lack of emotional response for condemning his son—no fear and no anger.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t try getting into my head, Odin. This is not a game to me. If I’m willing to do this to you, the man who helped raise me, just imagine what I would do to Thor.”

  Again, Odin showed no emotional reaction other than firm conviction—judgment.

  I tried to keep a tight rein on my fury, but I was getting caught up in my own theatrics. I’d been hoping to learn something useful—to find some emotion to manipulate when it came to their son. Because I was definitely going to kill Thor, and it was always helpful to know who might take particular offense to that. Parents were usually a sure bet.

  But it sure seemed like these parents had never learned the word unconditional. Which was surprising. Even if upset or furious about his son’s actions, it was hard to believe Odin had no qualms about me killing Thor. Deep down, a father had to feel something for his son, right?

  Maybe I hadn’t disrespected him enough.

  “Fight me!” I shouted at him, punching him in the ribs. He wheezed painfully, coughing a few times, but he didn’t try to escape or fight back.

  “He can’t!” Freya screamed, sounding torn between fury and fear—of me.

  “Of course he can!” I snapped, not breaking eye contact with Odin. “He just needs to let his fingertips kiss his palms, and then throw his knuckles at my face.” I shot her an arctic glare, slowly showing her the motion with my fist. “Like this.” And I punched him in the good eye—again—rocking his head to the side this time.

  He gasped, but still, he didn’t fight back. His hands rested at his sides, his fingers loose and utterly relaxed. They hadn’t even twitched when I hit him—I’d been watching closely.

  “No!” Freya begged. “He can’t!” she repeated, sounding desperate as she enunciated the last word. “He’s giving all his power to the ravens and wolves. Thor is attempting to take Asgard for himself. We are on the run, too!”

  She didn’t verbalize the word fool at the end of her shriek, but her tone had screamed it.

  I blinked, turning to stare down at Odin. He nodded tiredly, confirming Freya’s claim. “I wasn’t going to tell you, knowing you would instantly be suspicious. I was just going to get out of your way and let you handle Ashley’s assailant however you so choose,” he admitted, his swollen eye flicking towards the vine door where Ashley and her retinue of werewolves waited. “With my throne in limbo, killing him is my prerogative but…” he trailed off, twisting his head to the side to spit out some blood. “I wanted to give you a gift to make up for…well, everything,” he said, averting his eyes.

  And I sensed the genuine shame residing there.

  A less cynical person might consider this a sweet gesture, but to me, it just felt like a setup. I could tell that he fully meant what he’d said, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have other, perhaps more important, reasons to let things play out this way. Unspoken benefits.

  I mentally ran through the scenario: Thor challenges Odin’s crown, I swoop in and kill Thor, giving Odin back his throne. I’m immediately branded as Odin’s enforcer—the Catalyst, Nate Temple, the godkiller, was Odin’s personal hitman.

  It was too convenient—like every successful con.

  But Odin’s admission also lined up, and…Odin hadn’t once fought back as I beat him half to hell. I frowned at a new thought. Gungnir was missing. Perhaps Odin was impotent without it, and just happened to hear about the attack on Ashley—since they’d only returned a few hours ago.

  Otherwise, Odin should have already solved the Thor problem. Gungnir was obviously a big part of whatever was going on. I didn’t suspect he was necessarily impotent without it, because he’d supersized his pets just fine.

  Had he done that to protect himself or to increase the number of guards over Ashley?

  Altruism or self-preservation?

  I studied him for any hint of deception, watching as his injuries—ever so slowly—began to heal. Except it was almost at the speed of a shifter, not a god’s self-healing abilities. Was he healing slower as a result of his own weakness or was it due to my godkiller inflicted wounds?

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” I finally told him.

  He sighed, sounding frustrated. Then he tonelessly recited every suspicion that had just run through my mind. Once finished, he paused long enough to spit out some more blood before meeting my eyes. “I don’t particularly care what you believe,” he said dryly. “Either way you want to look at it, Ashley will die without my wife’s help. Freya is an incredibly talented healer, but even her skills might not be enough to save this pregnancy.”

  I gripped him by the shirt, clenching his robes in a fist, considering hitting him again. This time for fun.

  Freya piped up in a lecturing tone. “She—”

  “ENOUGH!” I roared, flinging out my hand. I hummed a single tone and the air solidified around her, although I left her the ability to move freely, if she so chose.

  Let me explain.

  My humming tone had surrounded her with translucent bars of air that were stronger than steel and sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel.

  And the points were kissing her flesh.

  So I had given her the gift of allowing her to suffer the consequences of her own actions. Something I felt all gods needed to learn.

  She stared at me with wide, horrified eyes, doing her best not to breathe too deeply. “Quiet, Freya,” I said in a much calmer tone. “I don’t like to repeat myself, and I don’t remember asking for your opinion. Your husband and I are having a disagreement. I didn’t start this disagreement. He did. I’m just here to finish it. You have a problem with that, then you have a problem with your husband. Not me. Right, Odin?” I asked.

  His shoulders slumped and he nodded warily, obviously concerned for his wife. “Yes. Freya, dear, please stand down. I brought his ire upon my shoulders. I don’t blame him for his actions right now. In fact, I believe I deserve worse.”

  “I’m happy to hear you say that, Dean.” I leaned closer, lifting him up a few inches by the collar of his shirt. “Really,” I whispered. Then I released him, slamming the back of his head into the ground.

  Freya let out a soft breath. “O-okay.”

  I hummed a different tune and the trap of invisible spears evaporated. I didn’t turn to look as she let out a deeper breath of relief. I also sensed her hurriedly retying her toga.

  “And to clarify,” I began, looking down at him, “there are no rules in war. You would do the same or worse in my position, correct?”

  He nodded with a faint smirk, revealing his bloody teeth.

  “Cool. See how much easier this is when everyone cooperates?” I asked with false cheer.

  Freya was silent, but her eyes were white-hot nails pressing into the back of my neck. I wasn’t too worried about it.

  I studied Odin, thinking furiously. “So you siphoned your power to your pets because no one can track you that way?” I asked, wondering if I should believe his claim or not.

  He nodded. “Yes. Direct use of my power might attract unwanted attention.” I didn’t respond, choosing to maintain my doubtful glare. “The power Freya must use to heal Ashley will leave her weak and vulnerable. It might even kill her. She needs protection and, possibly, some of my power in order to remain strong enough to deliver Ashley’s pups. I and my pets can hopefully funnel that power into her without Thor noticing.”

  I glanced over at the tied-up wolves, pointedly and silently letting him realize how easily I had ensnared them. “Guards,” I said flatly, obviously unimpressed.

  Odin scowled back at me. “You’re different,” he argued defensivel
y. “You’re a godkiller.”

  “Speaking of your esteemed guards, where are the ravens?”

  “Deterring nosy residents from this place and watching out for any new Asgardian arrivals in Niflheim.”

  I arched an eyebrow, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned the Knightmare they had killed. “You expecting company? I thought you said Niflheim was safe…”

  He locked eyes with me. “Nowhere is safe, especially not Niflheim, and especially not when Thor is on the hunt. They killed one of Mordred’s Knights a while back,” he added, “though they never learned why he was here in the first place,” he finally admitted. “Niflheim is simply safer than any other place I had access to on short notice. We’ve been hiding here for some time,” he said, jerking his chin at Freya.

  “Until we gave up our hut to your friends, of course,” Freya said, and her tone was more concerned than critical.

  I found myself wondering if the Knightmare had been hunting my friends or Odin, but a sound from the vine door drew my attention. I looked up to see Gunnar and the other werewolves standing in the open doorway not ten feet away. Ashley had a cloth wound around her head, covering her eyes, and Drake and Cowan each had a hand resting on her shoulders, supporting her.

  The Knightmare’s breastplate rested on the ground beside her, and she held the helmet in the crook of her arm.

  Gunnar also had a cloth tied around his head, covering his eye. He stood apart from the others, and in that darkened doorway, wearing the Knightmare’s gauntlets, his big barrel chest heaving steadily, he looked like a man ready and willing to break the world.

  Drake and Cowan stared wide-eyed at the bloody Odin—and me kneeling over him with bloody fists. They looked disgusted, letting me know—too late—that they’d heard enough of the conversation to paint me as the big, stinky asshole.

  “I never wanted to intrude,” Ashley said. “Nate could take us to the Armory, since I’m certain he feels terrible for overreacting. Even if he had the right intentions. Right, Nate?”

  In case anyone was wondering—and I’m talking to the dudes, here—it wasn’t actually a question. It was as much of a warning as the click-clack of a sniper loading a round into his war boner.

  And even with her head covered, Ashley’s look was still better than Freya’s could ever hope to be.

  I stared at Ashley, surprised that I hadn’t considered the Armory. Then I remembered all the dangerous, ridiculously powerful artifacts and weapons stored there—the items I was supposed to keep hidden from all peoples. Taking Ashley to the Armory would mean me also granting Odin and Freya—two peoples—access to the no-people-place.

  While I left to hunt Thor down like a rabid dog.

  Two gods left unsupervised in a supernatural nuclear weapons cache. Then Ashley spoke up, sweetening the deal.

  “But I will only go to the Armory if you take Gunnar with you, Nate. The two of you will hunt Thor to the ends of the earth. I wish to hear his cries before I hear the cries of my own babies.”

  I cursed under my breath, feeling an icy shiver roll down my spine at her tone. “No offense, but Gunnar won’t be of much help in his current condition,” I said, not pointing out that Gunnar had shifted his attention, using the sound of my voice to better lock onto my location.

  Proving my point.

  Gunnar stepped forward. “That won’t be an issue,” he growled, facing me. He looked and sounded as calm as I’d ever seen him—and as if he’d been expecting my argument.

  A coordinated assault, the bastards. “Please tell me how that’s not an issue,” I said dryly.

  Ne nodded. “I want to become a Horseman, brother.”

  Alice gasped. I just stared back at my best friend in stunned disbelief. Well. I hadn’t expected that. My satchel suddenly felt very heavy under the strain of the three Horseman’s Masks concealed within.

  Ashley was nodding, but Drake and Cowan looked like they were about to throw up. So, they hadn’t been informed of Gunnar’s plan. Interesting.

  I opened my mouth to argue, and that’s when I noticed a horizontal column of roiling black clouds at the edge of the horizon, miles away—a steamroller of darkness as wide and long as a skyscraper on its side.

  But it was approaching fast.

  Well, shit.

  Chapter 20

  I stared at the impending storm, knowing it couldn’t mean anything good. Maybe it was common enough in Niflheim—like the fog I had expected to see when first arriving here. Although fog seemed like a weak, watered down explanation for such a titanic force of darkness.

  Everyone stared at the distant storm with varying levels of trepidation, but no one screamed Thorzilla! before bolting for cover. So I took that as a somewhat favorable sign.

  It looked like we had a while before it would become a real concern, anyway. Finally, I turned to Gunnar, weighing my options. My very crummy options.

  I’d inadvertently been roped into forming a second band of Four Horsemen: Hope, Despair, Justice, and Absolution. I’d taken Hope for myself but had yet to give the other Masks away—knowing the hefty price tag that came with the job.

  Most likely, a target on your back and a discounted price on your future bodybag.

  Because the world already had the Biblical Four Horsemen: Death, War, Conquest, and Pestilence. And when there were two teams, it usually implied a confrontation was imminent.

  So, I’d been reluctant to pass out team jerseys, not wanting my future brothers and sisters to die as a direct result of my shitty gift. Gunnar, the big idiot, was obviously not thinking clearly. He was soon to be a dad, and he wanted to accept a freaking Mask? I’ll admit that I had considered him for a Mask—until he’d gone and humped Ashley into submission.

  On the other hand, the clock was ticking. Bad things would happen if I didn’t hand out them out soon. My own Mask was severely damaged from fighting Mordred, and I was fairly certain it wouldn’t be wearable until I finally handed out the remaining three—because they were designed to work in groups of four, drawing power back and forth from each other.

  Still…

  “No, Gunnar,” I finally said, shaking my head adamantly. “I won’t let you do that.”

  He was silent for about five seconds—typically a good negotiation tactic. Not on me, though, and not on something like this. “With Ashley safe in the Armory, I can finally fight back. We can fight back,” Gunnar argued, sounding eager enough to lick his lips. “I want a Mask. Now. I’m finished waiting for you to ask. This will make me a better protector.”

  Ashley was nodding her head. “If not Gunnar, then who?” she demanded. “You two were born for this. And you know—whether you want to admit it or not—that Gunnar will stand beside you even without a Mask. Denying him this will only serve to put him in a weaker position when you need him most.”

  I shook my head, wanting to hit something. She was right, but that didn’t make her solution viable. Glancing down at Odin, I sighed, and then climbed to my feet. He’d been so silent that I’d forgotten he was there.

  “Can I have my eyepatch back?” he asked in a flat tone as he climbed to his feet.

  I thought about the question and finally shook my head. “It’s Grimm’s now. You’ll have to ask him—and you will abide by his decision.” I turned to my unicorn. “Hey, Grimm?”

  He had been slowly swinging his head in circles to twirl the eyepatch around his horn. “Yeah?” he asked, slowing down so that the eyepatch stuck to his nose with a wet splat as he looked at me.

  “Don’t give it to him.”

  “Cool.” And then my unicorn resumed twirling the eyepatch around his horn.

  Odin muttered something under his breath, but quieted when I glanced back at him. He turned his back on me, scowling at the distant storm. I watched him for a moment, making sure he didn’t see any malicious portent in the weather. He kicked a few rocks, muttering under his breath about his eyepatch, so I left him to pout.

  I turned back to Ashley, considering her argu
ment—which had been entirely true. Gunnar would be by my side, even if I commanded him to leave.

  “No. His most important job is to be your husband—”

  “NO!” she snapped furiously, making Drake and Cowan stiffen in surprise. “His number one job is to be a role model for his children. That is the new pathway to my heart. I already know he would lift the world for me. Now, I need to know that he would destroy the world for his children. Calvin and Makayla need to know what their father is capable of.” She paused, gritting her teeth. “The world needs to see what Wulfric is capable of. That the Randulfs will never be fucked with—gods or otherwise will cower in terror at the sound of Wulfric’s howl. Period.”

  Damn it. She’d expertly flipped the dad argument on me. Not that I necessarily agreed, but I didn’t entirely disagree either. We both had solid points.

  I turned away from Ashley, having a difficult time staring at the savage, frail, pregnant woman and keeping my focus. I knew there was a war on the horizon, and it was apparently a war to end all wars. In fact, I’d heard it called the End War and the All War.

  The Omega War, I thought to myself.

  I abruptly stiffened, realizing I was staring at Alice—and her face was as pale as milk as she stared back at me with a similar look of shock. Where had that thought come from? Had we just communicated telepathically? It almost felt like someone had whispered the phrase to me, because I knew I had never referred to the upcoming fight as the Omega War, and I was confident that I hadn’t read it anywhere.

  She quickly averted her eyes, so I lowered mine in hopes that we didn’t draw attention from the others. I didn’t want anyone knowing about her gifts. Some already did, but the fewer the better.

  “I’ve already chosen my Riders,” I lied, somehow keeping my face blank.

  His face grew darker and he took an aggressive step towards me before Ashley placed a reassuring hand on his forearm. He shuddered and relaxed his shoulders.

  Somewhat.

  He still gave off a desperate, power-hungry vibe, which was completely unlike him. I briefly considered what would happen to his pack—hundreds of werewolves—if they were led by a Horseman.