Tyr

by JC Andrijeski

  Tyr gave her a puzzled look.

  Then, seeming to read the faint humor in her eyes, he exhaled.

  “I think it is more likely the people who attempted to abduct you found some way to delay the reaction times of your Secret Service agents,” he said next. “The Syndicate kidnappers would have known you had Secret Service protection. The two agents I saw in the bar on St. Barts fought hard for you. The blond one was injured…”

  At Marion’s alarmed look, Tyr held up a hand.

  “…They were both alive when I left,” he finished. “But I did not get the impression they were in any way allied with the abductees. I was simply being cautious, as I said. I decided to take you to your father personally. To ensure your safety.”

  A longer silence fell between them.

  Then Marion looked up at him, sighing.

  “I find you bizarrely credible,” she admitted. “I know some of it might be this…” She motioned up and down at his body, those broad shoulders, his striking face and eyes. “…and maybe that’s why I’m struggling…”

  He frowned, opening his mouth as if to ask, but she cut him off.

  “Regardless of your more… distracting attributes… I still have to say, from an objective perspective, none of what you said makes a whole lot of sense. I’m also a little worried the fact that I find you stunningly gorgeous is affecting my perception of your credibility…”

  Seeing his eyes flinch, then widen, she went on before he could answer that, too.

  “So are we safe now, do you think?” she pressed, refolding her arms even tighter and leaning into the curved metal bulkhead. “Am I safe? Let’s assume the Syndicate really did try to take me in St. Barts. Do you think thwarting their plans will force them to back off? Or do you think they’re still after us? That they might even be waiting for us in D.C.?”

  There was another silence.

  In it, she watched minutely as the tall man with the black hair and the long fingers stared off to the side, the angular face as motionless as before.

  She honestly couldn’t tell if he was thinking about her question, or thinking about how to answer it.

  In the end, his long jaw hardened slowly.

  When he turned to face her next, his expression was grim.

  His black eyes contained more of that fire––the most she’d seen in them yet. Reading the message she saw reflected in those obsidian irises, understanding it clearly that time, Marion sighed, resting her head against the metal bulkhead.

  “Gotcha,” she said.

  Unfortunately, she found him bizarrely credible on that point, too.

  When she glanced at him next, his eyes flickered down her, right before that sculpture-like mouth frowned.

  “I am still trying to decide what to do with you,” he admitted.

  His eyes rose back to hers, holding her gaze.

  “I want to bring you to your father,” he added, preempting whatever he saw in her face. “But I confess, I considered giving you to one of my brothers to watch over first… while I identified the threats in your father’s circle, and went after the people trying to harm you. I even considered bringing you to my father… where I know you will be safe… despite the shock this is likely to entail for you, given that it’s highly unlikely you’ve ever experienced inter-dimensional travel prior to now. And the reality of my home is likely to shock you.”

  Exhaling in a faint frustration, he combed a hand through his raven-black hair, leaning back on the bulkhead next to her before he motioned towards her face.

  “I decided it would likely be best for you if I do take you to your own father,” he added. “But this is not without risks, Marion. I am hoping, however, if we do it quickly enough, it will surprise them, and perhaps mitigate some of the risk in my not knowing the full deportment of the Syndicate infiltrators.”

  He paused again, still openly studying her eyes.

  “I cannot lie,” he added somberly. “I am unsure how far this Syndicate is willing to go, in order to use you to realize their plans. I am afraid they might simply try a different method to obtain the emotional response they desire… if they cannot succeed in kidnapping you the way they’d initially wanted.”

  Marion frowned.

  She was still stuck on him muttering about his father, and “interdimensional” travel.

  Shaking her head to clear it, she hardened her voice.

  “What does that mean?” she said, motioning at him inside the long sleeves of the oversized coat. “What ‘different method’ are you worried about? Do you mean you believe there are more of these Syndicate types in the White House?”

  Tyr held up his hands apologetically.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice equally apologetic. “I also fear they might give up on the kidnapping aspect of things, and simply try to kill you… before you or I are able to get to your father and warn him. Or take reasonable precautions.”

  There was another silence.

  Inhaling a deep breath, Marion aimed her eyes back at Tyr’s.

  “Weren’t they just going to kill me before?” she said.

  “Possibly, yes,” Tyr answered, frowning. “But I fear they might use significantly less finesse next time. Especially if they are concerned we know something that could be traced back to them… or to your father’s government. They must be wondering who I am. And how I knew they would attempt to take you. I imagine they are expending considerable resources, attempting to identify me… and to find you. Likely with the aim of killing us both.”

  Marion stared at him.

  She’d gone back to thinking he was probably a loon.

  She really, really didn’t want to believe he was a loon.

  “Where does my father think I am now?” she asked finally.

  The man’s eyes flickered, again glowing deeply with that fire-like light.

  “I do not know, precisely,” he admitted. “I made a rather rash decision to keep you with me, rather than turn you over to the Secret Service. I assume they would have told your father that you were kidnapped. That could complicate things for us, when we attempt to contact your father… even if I bring you directly to his residence.”

  There was another silence.

  Then Marion exhaled, meeting his gaze.

  “And who the hell are you?” she said finally. “You realize you still haven’t told me that? At least not in a way that connects you to any of this in a remotely logical way?”

  For a moment, Tyr only looked at her.

  Then, sighing, he rested his hands on his thighs, studying her face briefly with that still, oddly unemotional stare.

  “I am Tyr,” he said, holding up a hand before dropping it back to his thigh.

  “Which means… what?” she said warily.

  “I am the God of War,” he said.

  He shrugged as he said it, almost like he was being modest in some way, or perhaps like it was strange for him to say it out loud.

  Or maybe he just knew how batshit crazy it sounded.

  Whatever way he meant it, Marion’s logical mind had won out over the part of her that almost believed him. If nothing else, she knew her father would never forgive her if she believed a story this crazy, from a gorgeous stranger who called himself “The God of War.”

  She would confirm her dad’s worst fears about her, if she let that happen.

  Besides, her dad was President of the United States.

  She owed him a little more rationality than that.

  For the same reason, Marion knew she had to get away from this beautiful nutcase at the first possible opportunity, no matter what it took.

  “Okay,” she said, forcing a taut smile. “Well, ‘Tyr-God-of-War,’ I appreciate you saving my life, even if you kidnapped me yourself. And I appreciate you explaining all of this to me.”

  Tyr looked at her, his expression rippling with a brief tension.

  For a second, the barest instant, she saw that immovable gaze sharpen perceptibly, almost like he didn’t buy her
attempts to sound like she believed him.

  Whatever that look was, it was there and gone.

  Unfortunately, it left too quickly for her to pin it down.

  Then again, it didn’t really matter if he believed her.

  She just had to wait for her opening, and get the hell back to her father.

  9

  Back To Earth

  The plane was landing.

  At the very least, it was losing altitude really fast.

  Marion had to guess if the plane wasn’t landing, they were in deep trouble.

  She sat on the same bench she’d been on since she regained consciousness, what had to be a few hours ago now. She still wore the coat and the two blankets, and now the sun was going down through the plane’s oval-shaped view ports, turning a dark red and orange as they raced away from the horizon, speeding up the passage of time.

  She’d tried to figure out where they were going, looking down through the clouds, trying to glimpse terrain and landmarks.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t discern much.

  She was still fighting to think, trying to decide what to do when they reached the ground, because eventually they would have to land, somewhere or another.

  She’d even considered jumping out the plane, but was forced to dismiss that idea pretty quick. Even if they had parachutes on board, she highly doubted she could get away from Tyr long enough to pull that off. That didn’t even get into how potentially unsafe it was, even though she’d done a fair bit of base-jumping.

  He didn’t leave her side for the rest of the flight, but leaned back on the bulkhead beside her, sitting there silently while she continued to watch the video clips on the flash drive he’d given her.

  She was still thinking about possible escapes as she removed the earphones from her ears, glancing at Tyr, who had his hands folded in his lap.

  “We will have to get you clothes when we arrive,” he said, looking her over. “We will handle that first. Or as soon as possible, anyway. In the meantime, I will do my best to keep you comfortable. My brothers tell me the weather is not likely to be friendly where we are going.”

  “Which is where?” she said, frowning. “Where are we landing?”

  “Upstate New York,” Tyr said, turning to give her a look.

  She thought about that.

  Then she aimed another frown at him.

  “You needed your brothers to tell you it might be cold,” she clarified. “In Upstate New York. In December.” Her frown deepened. “Just where are you from, exactly? And how come you seem to know a lot less about America than your brother? Who lives in Paris?”

  Tyr sighed, combing a hand through his dark hair.

  “They have lived here, on Earth, for longer than me,” he said, sounding embarrassed as he exhaled a second sigh. “I admit, I have to ask them these things sometimes. I have been here for work, so should know the terrain better… but they have made this their home. For the next century or so, at least… or for however-long their human wives live.”

  Still resting his head on the bulkhead, he turned to face her, his mouth grim.

  “It is why this situation concerns them,” he added seriously, refolding his hands. “I have been discussing options with both of my brothers and their human wives since this started, and all of them are worried this could trace back to Lia, since she used to work for the Syndicate and knows much about them. It is part of why they did not want me to bring you to them. My brother, Loki, especially, is deeply paranoid about this, but it concerns Thor, too, since he has personally encountered Syndicate operatives, as well. Thor has his own wife and family to protect in San Francisco, and does not wish to endanger them.”

  Pausing, Tyr frowned, staring out through the nearest oval window.

  “Obviously,” he added gruffly. “They would like me to handle this problem as quickly as possible. My sister, Lia, is pregnant. Thor hinted he would like to impregnate his wife, too. None of them likes the idea of being under surveillance by this group.”

  Marion only heard about half of this.

  Crazy thing after crazy thing piled upon crazy thing.

  He’d just said a lot of crazy.

  Somehow, her mind latched onto probably the least important detail.

  Maybe because it was one of the easiest to wrap her head around.

  “Wait.” She held up a hand from within the blankets’ folds. “You’re Tyr. God of War. And your brothers are Loki. And Thor.” She smirked at him. “And your father, the one you said lived in another dimension? I suppose his name is Odin? And he rides an eight-legged horse? With a wife named Freyja?”

  Those dark eyes met hers.

  His expression didn’t move.

  Marion snorted, rolling her eyes.

  Tyr didn’t react to that, either.

  “Unbelievable,” she said, leaning into the metal bulkhead. She suddenly felt really tired. “This just gets better and better.”

  For a long-feeling few seconds, Tyr didn’t move.

  Then, delicately, he cleared his throat.

  “I told you it was complicated,” he said.

  “You didn’t tell me it was a full-blown, out of this world fairytale,” she retorted. “You didn’t tell me you’re completely bonkers.”

  Staring up the curved wall of the plane’s interior, she shook her head. Muttering under her breath, she started to rub her temples, then winced, accidentally hitting the cut on her head. Her head was starting to hurt from the lump and the cut.

  When she glanced at Tyr next, a faint frown touched his lips.

  He clearly didn’t like that she’d touched her wounded head.

  He didn’t say anything, though.

  Well, he didn’t say anything about that.

  “Be ready to disembark,” he told her, rising gracefully to his feet. “I want us on the road quickly… the instant the ramp is down, if it is remotely possible. We will need to get on the road before we are identified. It may be impossible to reach your father ahead of the Syndicate’s people, depending on what they have in D.C., but I would like to try.”

  Marion had no idea what to say to that, either.

  In the end, she only nodded, leaning back against the cold metal.

  They would be on the ground soon.

  Then she would have options.

  Marion tensed as the back door of the cargo plane slowly lowered.

  She gazed out at the view that greeted her, feeling a cold lump settle in her gut, making her feel like she’d swallowed a lump of rock.

  She didn’t know what she expected exactly, but definitely an airport of some kind.

  Maybe Albany. Or Rochester.

  She’d expected a modicum of civilization.

  She’d expected at least one Starbucks.

  Tyr seemed able to read at least part of that on her face, or in her eyes.

  “We are not far from a city,” he said, gauging her face as she looked around.

  He leaned over the steering wheel of a brand new, sunset orange, McLaren P1, one of the luxury cars that had been tied down at the very back of the cargo hold, closest to the rear doors. Tyr had uncovered the car when they were about five minutes from landing, leaving the cables intact until they were safely on the ground. Now, with those cables undone, Marion and Tyr sat in the front seats of the probably two-million-dollar sports car, waiting for the ramp to lower the rest of the way to the tarmac.

  “I am not my brother,” Tyr added, glancing at her. “I cannot glamour our appearances. Therefore, it was not prudent to land at an international airport, where surveillance would capture our physical appearances instantly. According to Lia, I have to assume most security systems have been compromised by this group… including those run by government agencies.”

  Marion frowned.

  She wanted to tell him he was paranoid.

  She wanted to tell him that he and Lia were out of their frickin’ minds, that his whole family was nuts, and that she wanted to go home, now.

&nbs
p; Really, she wanted to open the car door and run, as fast as she could, across the private runway to the road, try to flag down a passing truck.

  Staring around at their current location, she didn’t do that.

  She had her doubts she could even survive out here without him, especially given the clothes she was wearing.

  Instead, she found herself looking at him, frowning as she studied that angular face.

  “Are we just going to drive to D.C.?” she said.

  He looked at her, his voice and eyes strangely candid.

  “Yes,” he said, matter-of-fact. “That is my intention.”

  Pausing, he added,

  “I am glad to have you with me, Marion. Despite the fact that you doubt my sanity, I think my mission is more likely to be successful if we are together. Your father is far more likely to believe my warnings if I bring you to him, unharmed, along with Lia’s recordings.”

  He motioned down at her body.

  Most of her was still covered in the four blankets he’d brought her, even curled up in the shotgun seat of the McLaren.

  “You obviously have some combat training,” Tyr added. “Which is an additional bonus. I noticed that at the club in St. Barts, but I also read up on you when you fell back asleep.” He nodded approvingly. “You are trained in weapons, too. That could be most helpful, if we are attacked at any point in our trip.”

  Marion stared at him.

  He looked back at her, his dark gaze narrow.

  “I could use a partner in this,” he said. “Or at least someone who isn’t actively fighting me. And since it is clearly in your interests to know who is after you, and to neutralize them in some way before they can harm you, or harm your father, or blackmail your father, I thought it made sense to come to some sort of agreement. We will likely need to determine some ground rules, however,” he added, looking out over the snow-covered terrain.

  The ramp was only a few feet from the runway now.

  Marion blinked at the tall, handsome man with the black hair and riveting eyes.

  Then she turned, looking out over the snow-covered woods, the rolling hills in the distance. As she watched, more snow was coming down, the large, wet flakes thickening more and more as they spiraled to the ground.