But when he caught this traitor, Loki swore, he’d kick his ass. Shutting down the bike, he coasted toward the maw of an alleyway, smelling the tang of blood before anything else. There was a hint of honeyed sweetness to it, a lingering, female scent.
For a second he was entranced, pulling the perfumed essence into his lungs. The blood was fresh, and from the heaviness in the air, there was a lot of it.
The horde of creatures descending the walls hesitated as he neared the entrance of the alley, slowly creeping downward like a monstrous nightmare, wave after wave. “What in the holy hell?”
Loki narrowed his eyes. He’d never seen so many in one place at one time. It wasn’t like the bitch to make that sort of mistake, which meant she’d sent them all here for a specific purpose.
His eyes drifted over to a small, dark form lying half in the shadows.
There must have been a thousand Grim clinging to the sides of the buildings above him, their spider-like bodies fading into the gloom of the night. He took a step closer to what looked like a girl crumpled on the ground, twenty feet away. Collectively, the things hissed at him. As if he’d come between them and their prey. Their pulsing hunger pressed down upon him. So many of them, if they decided to attack, they would wipe him from existance. For along moment, they seemed to consider it as they hung there, every eye fixed on him. The girl.
Loki took his time drawing his long thin knives from their sheaths, practically begging them to come for him. But instead, the shadows receded. The darkness lightened. The second the echoes of their claws began to fade, he strode over to the female on the ground and knelt down.
She was human. Dark brown hair covered her face and spilled across her shoulders, and she was so wet with blood she shone. Black blood. Bright, red, mortal blood flowed from the slashes of the back of her shirt. A single glance across the carnage told him what happened.
The demons beside her had been slaughtered. Not with knives, nor with weapons of any kind.
But with…each other.
One had both arms broken, its right appendage bent behind it so far it was practically separated at the shoulder, its claws dripping with black gore and intestines. A gaping crater in its chest. The other sported a huge hole through its middle, the girth perfectly matching the width of the other demons’ claw-like hand. By all appearances, she’d used one of them to kill the other then finished the first one off.
But how? She shouldn’t have even seen them, much less been able to mount a defense.
Yet the evidence in front of his eyes was irrefutable. Two dead demons, one injured human. A badly injured human, covered in their blood. And hers.
He leaned in closer, and the exquisite smell of her blood, of her, stirred something inside him. A longing that unfurled slowly, burning a trail upward through him. The feeling caught him completely off guard.
Slowly drawing out his phone, Loki took another deep inhale. And disbelieving, another. It was exactly the same. The same scent as the other sites they’d found dead, slaughtered demons. The same mortal blood that had been spilled in those other unsolved scenes. Loki didn’t believe much in coincidence. Nor did he believe in Fate, but it seemed both were working for him tonight.
He drew his phone from his pocket, torn between what was wise and what was necessary. Vali and Thor were hunting on the east side tonight, so were too far away to make it in time. Tyr and Freyr were closer, so whether he liked it or not, they were the ones who got the call. “Hey, I gotta problem down here.” His gut tightened, thinking of what Tyr would say. What he’d expect him to do about this.
“I might’ve found who’s been taking out the Grim. And you’re not going to believe this.” He smoothed her hair back from her face and drew in a breath. Gods, she was beautiful. Out of this world beautiful. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re both fucking busy. Get your asses down here. And bring the car.” He hesitated for a moment before giving them the address. “Right the fuck now, she’s badly hurt.”
“Damn.” He looked her over then rolled her gently over on her stomach to get a better view of the wounds. They were deep, a series of six deep punctures followed by long, jarring gashes. “Damn,” he swore again. “If we don’t get this poison out of you soon, you’re not going to make it.”
The girl moaned when he laid a hand on her as she tried to move. “Listen to me, you need to keep still so the toxins won’t spread. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get you out of this place.” Loki kept a steadying hand against her as he settled back on his heels and looked her over. Dressed for the clubs, by the looks of it, heels and a light jacket. Checking her pockets, he found no weapons, nothing but a credit card and an ID. Morgane Burke. So she’d been clubbing and gotten ambushed. Yet…all those other scenes had a distinctly different feel. As if the Grim had been hunted down and slaughtered. As if it had been payback. He eyed the claw marks in the dead demon’s chest again, the two carcasses, the slip of a brunette lying at his feet.
She moaned again, shifted beneath his hand. This scene felt different. And yet, the sheer savagery it took, the brutality to break the creature’s arm, to drive it through the other one’s chest… Debating, Loki took in her face again. She was too young. Too innocent. Too damn human to do this, to kill two Grim. Even less of a chance she was the one killing these monsters for years. Loki snorted at himself, at his own stupidity.
It was possible the girl was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He was about to thumb up Tyr’s number and tell him to forget it, when she began to shiver, the shredded sweater moved beneath his hand, revealing her back. Revealing…
His gut hollowed out. His breathing turned broken and sharp, as he moved the edges of her sweater an inch, then another. Completely disbelieving what his eyes were seeing. Scars. Lots and lots of scars.
Behind him, he heard the crunch of tires and two sets of heavy boots hit the ground. Without turning, he gave Tyr a quick rundown, trying to weigh his choices here. Trying to weigh her options.
“Young mortal female, caught off guard, dragged in here by two Grim. But this one fought back. Broke this Grim’s arms before gutting the other one. Somehow. They clawed her in the back before they died, her wounds are pretty deep, but she’s still alive. Barely.” When Tyr raised his dark brow at the revelation that this human had fought back, Loki had no option but to show him what he’d discovered.
Loki carefully moved what remained of her sweater so Tyr could see the marks. The God of War stilled, then raised the other eyebrow. “Holy shit. You’re telling me she fought? She actually managed to kill two of the bastards? You know what that means.”
“I know exactly what this means.” Holding Tyr’s stare, Loki knew this moment could go either way for the girl. And it was up to him to ensure she lived through it.
“Were they fighting over food or what?” Strolling over, Freyr bent closer for a better view, a swath of long, blond hair swinging across his handsome face. Whistled when he saw the gashes. Swore when he finally glimpsed what covered the rest of her back. “Fucking hell, Loki.” He stood back up, his gaze swinging between Loki and Tyr. “Fucking hell? Are those what I think they are?”
“They appear to be. You asked me to bring you the immortal responsible for hunting in our territory? Well, here she is.” Loki’s voice was quiet but resolute. “You ordered me to find the rogue hunter, and it looks like I have. But you want answers? Well, she’s in no shape to give them to you right now.”
Tyr swept his brutal gaze over the girl. Debating her fate, if Loki knew him at all. “There are other ways of doing this.”
Loki nodded reluctantly. Tyr could order Loki to look inside her mind. Which he might be obligated to do, since Tyr was the God of War. Technically, he was in charge out here on the streets. Except it just didn’t seem right while the girl lay unconscious and face down on the pavement. “There are,” he agreed, warning, “but they’re not likely to produce the answers you need. You let me do this my way, I swear, I’ll get you everything you want.�
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Speaking of which, he needed to get her off the ground. Leaning over, Loki scooped her up into his arms. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tyr growled. “We could leave her here, draw more of them out,” Tyr pointed out.
Loki glared at him. “She’s bleeding and has enough venom in her system, she’ll be dead within the hour. We’re taking her back with us. Mir’s going to heal her, and then you’ll have your answers. You want to say different, I’ll set her down and you and me can go at it.” Tyr lifted his lip in a half-snarl, but thank fuck that was the end of it. He tried to be careful but needed to roll her toward him, and she arched in pain the moment his arms contacted the wounds. Pressing his mouth to her ear, he promised, “You’re okay, it’ll be okay. I‘m taking you someplace safe.”
He swore she whispered back, “No such place…” Before she passed out.
Loki held her for the entire five-block ride to the Tower. Her blood soaked his shirt through to his chest, the scent of her saturating the air inside the car. Her eyelids flickered in pain with every bump, at each turn, until Tyr finally swung the SUV into the garage off Monroe. From the fevered flush in her cheeks to her white, pallid lips, he knew the toxins were already eating away at her nervous system. By the time they arrived, the shivering was so bad, he leapt out of the car and into the freight elevator, the fastest way to the top.
Freyr and Tyr stayed behind, Tyr muttering about lost opportunities and everything has a use, while Loki kept his eyes locked on the girl’s face as the elevator ground upward. Praying Mimir, their triage doctor, would still be awake tonight and, more importantly, willing to help a human.
None of them cared a great deal for the species as a whole, but for this one? Loki shifted her in his arms, reveling in her scent, feeling something inside him shiver in response. He swallowed, a low tremor in his gut snaking upward as he became acutely aware of every inch of her pressed against him.
If she were to live, he’d need Mir’s help.
Once Loki hit the switch on the wall in the infirmary, the room flickered to life, and he laid her on a table, hating the way her face twisted in pain. “What in the hell did you drag into my infirmary?” Mimir ambled in, his lazy swagger belying the viciousness underneath. “Tell me you didn’t bring a human in here for me to treat. Odin’s going to shit.”
A chill crept over Loki as he saw the questions and the unspoken threat in Mir’s eyes. “I found her in an alley, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”
“Why the hell not?” Well, wasn’t that the question of the hour?
Loki paused, willing himself to calmness because even though he knew he was right, it still seemed impossible. “Because she’s our competition.”
Mir snorted. “Bullshit, humans can’t even see the little bastards. And you’re telling me this girl has been killing them? All by her little self?” Mir grinned, baring teeth as long as a lion’s while raking a hand through his buzz cut. “You are so full of shit. You‘re probably horny, my man.” His clever eyes skimmed over the girl. “Although looking at her, I can’t say I blame you. She’s gorgeous.”
Loki tensed, his jaw working. “This is on me, Mir. I’m taking responsibility for her. You need to treat her, right now, before she goes into shock.” His eyes didn’t move from the burly god’s cool blue ones as he demanded, “Look her over and do it now. She’s in pain, and I’m not going to watch her suffer a second longer.”
For someone who looked every inch a convicted murderer and claimed he didn’t give a shit about this mortal lying in front of him, Mir’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he moved over her back. Mimir was their healer, triage doc, surgeon, whatever the situation called for, whenever they needed it. Which wasn‘t often, since they healed themselves in an hour, tops. Mir looked up, scanned Loki’s face before he pointed out, “You know Odin’s rules, no humans in here, even for play, or they go out in a body bag.”
“She’ll be in one soon enough if you don’t do something.” Loki rolled her gently over onto her stomach, fighting with himself over whether Mir could be trusted with this. Or rather, how far Mir could be trusted, once he knew the truth.
“The bastards got her good. The poison’s spreading quick, look at how bad she’s shaking.” Loki stared at his brother and uttered a word he never thought would come out of his mouth. “Swear to me you’ll help her? No matter what?”
“Yeah well, let’s see how bad the damage is.”
Loki reached out and lifted the sweater, revealing the girl’s back.
In its entirety.
Mir’s face went perfectly blank as he saw what was revealed as the fabric peeled away. “Holy fucking shit.” Left with a thin, black bra covering her skin, they both stared down at the jigsaw puzzle of scars covering pure, honed muscle. And these weren’t just any scars. These were crisscrossing claw marks in shades of white and pink and purple, overlapping wounds healed for years and months and weeks covering most of her back. Some smooth and thin, some thick and bumpy, a spiderweb of brutality.
Mir’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Roll her over. But be careful.” The front was even worse. Long wavering scars, smaller ones from stabs, longer ones from slashes, crosshatched her stomach, arms, and sides. Pointing to one in particular, Mir’s voice came out raw.
“Shit, look at this one, Loki. It’s old, and was probably nearly fatal, judging from the placement.” He indicated a meandering, puckered mark, running the length of her torso, starting under her right breast and disappearing beneath the waistband of her jeans, which had script tattoo along its full length:
If it takes me the rest of my days, I will see you monsters in hell.
Mir stared up at him. “No fucking shit, Loki, you’ve found our competition.”
“I know.” None of this felt real—the girl, the scars. But it was. “She’s who we’ve been looking for, Mir. She has to be. The scent of her blood was at all the other scenes. I promised Tyr I’d get answers out of her. But for that, she’s got to survive the poison. And there’s too much of it in her system right now.”
Rolling her gently onto her back, Mir ran a hand through his barely there, red-blonde hair before kicking into action. “Okay, first, we need to get the toxins out of her. For that, I need what’s in the blue cabinet. Grab me one of the clear, glass bottles. In the back on the left.” Mir ran a questing finger over one of the gashes, leaving a trail of ruby-red blood and frothy venom in its wake. A growl rose in Loki’s throat. Mir raised his head and growled right back, “What is wrong with you? Find me the damn bottle and quit screwing around.”
Loki opened the door, reached over the hundred other bottles in the case, and grabbed a clear one. He knew full well which ones were the anti-venom. Had even taken it himself after a bad night. “Does this shit even work on humans?”
“Well, we’re about to find out, aren’t we?” Mir stepped back and measured her, cocking his head to the side. “What do you say, one hundred thirty pounds?” He poured some into a cup. “Oh what the hell, let’s go for it.” And added another few drops.
Loki couldn’t help looking at all of her scars. Her human body, beneath all of that damage seemed impossibly vulnerable, so defenseless, it left him breathless. “So many. How can she have so many scars and not be dead?”
“Well, if she ever wakes up from this, you can ask her. Just make sure I’m here. I’d love to hear what she has to say. Although I got to say, reading her mind would be a whole lot easier.” Mir didn’t take his eyes off the girl. “You realize that, right?”
“Of course I do, except she’s too weak. It’d take too much of her energy, and she’s barely holding on as it is.” As if on cue, her head slumped to the side. “Damn it Mir, give her the anti-venom, and then you’ll have your answers.”
Suspicion shone in Mir’s ice-blue eyes. “If she wakes up. You know how the Grim’s poison targets humans, renders them unconscious so they don’t put up much of a fight while they feed? For us, it’s more of an aggravation, slows
the healing, and stings like a motherfucker. But for her, being mortal…”
Mir didn’t have to say it because Loki finished for him. “If she’s human, she should be dead by now.” Many times over, as evidenced from the damage all over her body.
“Yup, she sure as shit should be.” Mir leaned over her and gestured for Loki. “Hold her mouth open and try to not let her gag. She needs to swallow every drop of this shit.” Loki closed one hand firmly around her jaw, holding her mouth open, the other arm braced across her shoulders to support her and met Mir’s gaze. The red-haired god frowned. “This will not be pretty.”
4
Morgane became vaguely aware of something going on beyond the blinding pain. Her world flashed from dark to light to dark to light, and she thought she’d been flying for a moment or two. But when liquid fire poured down her throat, she fought back. She pushed and shoved against the iron grip of the hands holding her. And they didn’t even budge.
But whatever they put inside her was burning a red-hot path through her body straight down to her stomach. And something was covering her mouth, sealing that fire inside.
She writhed, trying to spit it out, but her mouth wouldn’t open. Her back screamed in pain, and she felt naked if the cold sensation all over her body could be trusted. Opening one eye, blinding light pierced through to her brain, her head spun, and she discovered to her absolute horror, that yes, she was practically naked. Instantly, the heavy pressure on her face disappeared. “Holy crap, my shirt… Give me back my damn clothes.” Covering herself with her hands, she rasped to no one in particular while barely opening her other eye. “Where am I? Who are you? Why did you take my clothes?”
The man staring down at her was impossibly handsome.
Unless she was dead, and this was a dream?
This must be a damn dream, she thought as the face drew nearer. That face…was perfection. His eyes seemed too blue to be real, like pools of sapphires or fire opals if you wanted to get all like, romantic and shit. A slash of high cheekbones against a tanned, sculpted face framed by wild, black hair. And the places his hands touched her skin burned every bit as much as whatever they’d dumped down her throat.
Queen of Swords: The Banished Gods: Book One (The Banished Gods Series 1) Page 3
