by Lauren Dawes
Odin squeezed the arms of the chair in an attempt to keep control of his temper. His fingers digging into the plush fabric drew Urd’s attention and she gave him a disdainful look. She put the crystal glass down between her feet and leaned her elbows on her knees.
“It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?” He didn’t take the bait. She smirked. “You held so much power once upon a time. How does it feel to hold absolutely none now?”
“Urd,” Verdandi hissed, chastising her sister.
Urd shrugged and reclined once more. “It’s not my fault he can’t handle it.”
“Urd, please,” Skuld said. “If you’re not going to be helpful, you might as well just leave.”
She stood up, fluffing her dark hair. “Good. I’ve got better things to do than hang out with a washed-up god anyway.” With a smile that bared her teeth, she disappeared from the room.
“You can all get out,” Odin said quietly, staring at his highly polished Gucci loafers. He looked up at the remaining Norns. “I said get out. You are no help to me now.”
The sisters curtsied in unison and vanished from sight. Odin sat staring into the fire after they left. Not knowing was driving him crazy. If Loki was still alive, Odin had just lost his one and only chance at killing his blood-brother. Turning his other children against him simply wasn’t a possibility. Odin had absolutely no sway with any of them. In fact, he was quite sure they hated him as much as their father did.
No, the only chance he had now was to escape the city – the country even – but he wouldn’t do that without Bryn. Standing up, he faded down to the Eye, sure he could convince her that this time she had no other option but to go with him.
Chapter 26
Boston
Rhys faded back to the house where it had all started. The front reception room was in disarray, and he got a proper look at how much damage he and Loki had caused. All the furniture was askew, and the coffee table they both went through was nothing more than shards of wood and glass scattered all over the floor. There was a single bloody handprint on the glossy body of the piano. He headed toward the stairs, walking up them slowly. At the top of the landing, he stepped into one of the bedrooms and opened up the closet. His body had fully healed with his shift, but he was still naked. Pulling a shirt off the hanger and finding a pair of pants in the nearby tallboy, he got dressed then went into the adjoining bathroom.
Turning on the faucet, he cupped his hands under the flow. He splashed the water onto his face, rubbing at the patches of blood on his cheeks and chin. The water seeping through his fingers was pink, and he watched it swirl down the drain. Normally his wolf would be trying to get out after such a bloody battle, but not tonight. It had joined in. For the first time ever, Rhys had relished in having his beast take over.
It was … satisfying – far more satisfying than he thought it would be. He enjoyed the feeling of calm that had come over him once he’d relinquished control. He enjoyed the feeling of calm that still remained.
He washed his hands and turned off the water. Taking a towel from the stack beside the bath, he dried off his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He expected to see his wolf peering out of his eyes like it did at any opportunity, but it was absent. He patted the towel to his neck, then draped it over the side of the sink. He rifled through the closet one more time, finding a backpack.
Down in the dining room, he approached Maverick slowly. Her eyes were shut, and her face was peaceful. She had a wound on her left wrist, a larger one through her right shoulder, what looked to be a gunshot wound to her stomach and a small scratch on the front of her throat. From her injuries, he couldn’t figure out what had killed her. Odin’s Valkyries were fabled and feared, and supposedly immortal.
Dropping to his knees beside her, he bowed his head and said a prayer in the old language. He also said a prayer for Galen – something he had not done since finding out he was dead. With one arm under her head and shoulders and another under her knees, Rhys lifted her up and cradled her against his chest. He had to return Mav’s body to her family. He wouldn’t be able to fade with her – only the strongest gods like Loki and Odin had that ability – so he had no choice but to walk back to the Eye.
Outside, he breathed in deeply once and started toward the club, ducking into the shadows when groups of people approached. He counted the blocks as he went, thinking about what he would do now. He couldn’t and wouldn’t return to Chicago to do any more than collect his cash. He’d saved every cent he’d earned as Craine’s wet man. At last count, he had close to seven hundred grand to his name. He wouldn’t need to work for a while, and when he did, he would choose a job that required him to work alone.
He had always wanted to travel to Alaska, or far north Canada. The isolation appealed to him. He could let his wolf out more often, let it roam around. Half the time he wouldn’t have to get food – he could just let his wolf do the hunting. It huffed contently at the idea.
When Rhys saw the Eye up ahead, he picked up the pace. He slid down the alleyway beside the club quickly to avoid being seen and came to the metal security door. He pounded on the steel. It swung out and a dark shadow filled the jamb. Korvain stared down at him, his expression unreadable until his gaze landed on Maverick. His lips tightened. Rhys was prepared to explain himself to the Mare, but Korvain simply stood back and let Rhys inside. He walked in, gently repositioning Mav as he did. The short distance between the rear door and Bryn’s office seemed to take forever to walk. Korvain followed at his back.
Rhys stopped in front of the office and waited. Bryn pulled the door open from the inside, her eyes finding Maverick in his arms. He stepped into the room and Bryn retreated a few steps, stumbling over her feet and hitting the edge of the desk. Tears filled her eyes and Korvain was there in an instant, wrapping her up in his arms.
Rhys stood there stoically, feeling like an interloper. He knew the grief Bryn was feeling. He had felt it too, but instead of mourning his best friend like Bryn was doing, he had let his rage take control. Now that Loki was dead and Galen had been avenged, perhaps he would let himself grieve properly.
Korvain looked to him. “How? Her cloak was here.”
Rhys frowned. “I don’t understand,” he replied looking between them.
Bryn wiped under the eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Tell us what happened tonight.” She stepped away from Korvain and started moving stacks of paper to one side. “Put her down.”
Rhys shook his head and hugged Mav a little closer to his chest. There wasn’t any romantic connection between them, but he didn’t want to let her go just yet. He felt somewhat responsible for her death even though he knew Mav was fully aware of the risks. He sucked in a breath and started at the beginning.
“What of Loki?” Bryn eventually asked.
Rhys shifted the backpack from over his shoulder, letting it fall open on the desk. Loki’s head landed with a thud then rolled forward a few inches. The Valkyrie studied it, saying nothing for a long time. She glanced at Korvain and then back at Mav.
“At least he’s paid for his sins.”
Rhys couldn’t have agreed more.
“What are you going to do now?” Korvain asked.
“I’m leaving.”
“Where will you go?”
“North.”
The Mare slowly approached him. He held out his arms, ready to receive Mav’s body. Rhys took one last look at the warrior’s face and allowed Korvain to take her from him.
“Thank you,” the Mare said softly, his eyes conveying so much more than his words could have.
Rhys nodded tightly and turned. He was already out the door when Bryn called his name, but he had no intention of stopping.
His job was done.
Now, he was free.
*
Taer was in her room, sitting on the bed, waiting. For the past few hours, she’d kept within the safety of the club, trying to get into contact with Aubrey. She had only been able to get through to him once, but so
mething had gone wrong; for whatever reason, he wasn’t able to see or hear her.
She didn’t have any idea where he was being kept, but she wouldn’t give up.
In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated. She took the device out and read the text message that had just come through from Mav; it had been sent nearly an hour ago. It contained two words: He’s here. Following them was an address.
Taer dropped the cell phone, feeling her world slow down. She was stunned. Shaking herself, she picked up the cell phone and re-read the message a few more times.
“He’s in his house,” she said under her breath. “He’s in his own goddamn house.”
Jumping up, she dropped to her knees and pulled out the box containing her katana from under her bed. The sight of the sword with its pale green veils through the blade flooded her with memories. Aubrey had given her the sword when he realized that it was her Affinity – the weapon that spoke to her, that she was born to carry. When she held it, it was an extension of her body and she wielded it with deadly precision. Sliding the leather of the back holster strap over her head, she positioned it across her chest before securing her katana behind her and stood up.
The elevator ride down gave new meaning to the word torture, and when the doors finally opened, she strode to the far end of the hall. She wouldn’t allow anyone to stop her. She exited into the alleyway, closed her eyes and faded to Aubrey’s house.
Out on the street, everything looked the same as it did before, but Taer could feel it was different somehow. Reaching her hand over one shoulder, she felt for the handle of her sword, taking comfort in it. Looking down, she saw a few spatters of blood on the pavement. She crouched, touched her fingers to one of the drops, and brought them to her nose. It wasn’t Aubrey’s blood, so whose was it?
Getting upright again, she faded to the other side of the wall. In the courtyard, there was more blood. Some had been smeared, and some had collected between the cobblestones. The largest pool, however, belonged to someone who had been left spread-eagled and disembowelled on the stones.
She blew out a breath that hovered in front of her mouth, and let her gaze travel over the scene. Something small and dark caught her attention. As she approached, she realized she was looking at the iridescent feathers of a raven. She picked up the bird. Its neck was broken and there was a small caliber bullet lodged in its chest.
Gently, she placed the bird back down. She turned to face the house once more, her stomach dropping like a stone. If this was the destruction on the outside, what would the inside be like? What would Aubrey be like? A shiver slid down her spine, but she steeled herself and faded inside.
The parlor to her right was in disarray. Furniture was broken, a mirror had been shattered and there was even more blood covering the floor. Forcing her eyes away, she drew her sword and started up the stairs, expecting to see Aubrey’s captor around every corner.
She cleared the top level of the house quickly, which only left downstairs. Deep in her gut, she knew exactly where Aubrey was located; he was in the basement. Moving swiftly down the stairs, she navigated through the dining room and into the kitchen. There was more blood in both of those rooms, but her brain didn’t seem to really take it in. In the kitchen, pots and pans were strewn on the floor, many of them with large dents in their sides. When she came to the basement door, she pushed away her fears that were threatening to surface. She held her sword steady while reaching out with her free hand to turn the knob on the door.
Taer took a step back, holding a hand over her nose and mouth. The stench that rolled out the door was unbearable: a combination of blood, urine and vomit. Taer had to squeeze her eyes shut to stop them from watering before she descended the stairs. If it had been anyone else down there other than her brother or Korvain, she wouldn’t have gone.
But it wasn’t just anyone.
Keeping up her guard, she breathed through her mouth and took the treads quickly. When she reached the bottom, she couldn’t believe the scene. Her katana dropped from her fingers. It landed on the bare concrete floor with a loud clang.
Aubrey didn’t even flinch. He was sitting in a chair in the center of the room, his arms behind his back. His head was bowed, his matted hair shielding his face from view. He was naked from the waist up. His chest and stomach were covered in so much blood that she couldn’t tell if he had one or multiple wounds. She looked down at the pool of blood surrounding the chair, its reach about three feet in diameter. That was when she noticed his feet. Taer put her hand to her mouth to stifle the gasp. The skin on his toes and feet had been removed.
She edged farther into the room, never taking her eyes off Aubrey. Her focus was particularly on the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He was still alive, still breathing, but for how much longer? How much trauma could a body go through before it would simply give in? Taer moved behind him, seeing the stump where his hand used to be. An even larger pool of blood was on the floor.
“Oh, Aubrey, what did he do to you?” she whispered. Her voice had barely been audible – even to her – but somehow he had heard her. His head jerked up, looking toward the stairs where she had been standing only moments before.
“Get … get out of here, Taer,” he rasped. “He’s coming back. Couldn’t …” His words died, his head falling forward once more. Taer felt her lungs begin to burn, and she let go of the breath she been holding. Aubrey muttered her name a few times before saying, “Couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt.”
She felt tears fill her eyes and knew she had to get him out of here. After getting a better look at his bindings, she saw that they were made of steel. She turned around, searching the workbench for anything that would break, crush or cut the links. All she found were the instruments of torture Loki had turned on Aubrey. She found a hacksaw in the second drawer, its teeth still caked in blood. She felt sick to her stomach, knowing it had been the tool to remove Aubrey’s hand. But she had no other choice. She lifted it from the drawer, holding it down at her side, and stood behind the chair.
When she got down on her knees, her pants instantly absorbed Aubrey’s blood. Taer closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think about it too much. She took one deep breath and opened her eyes, looking at the chain. It was wrapped tightly around Aubrey’s elbows, bending them at a strange angle. Lifting the saw, she set the teeth against the metal.
“I dreamed you’d come to see me,” Aubrey said under his breath.
Taer stilled. Was he conscious?
“I dreamed it, and if it was true, it would have become a nightmare. I can’t … I won’t allow that bastard to harm you.”
“He didn’t,” she replied just as softly. She waited for him to respond but he was silent. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
Taer drew the saw back, feeling the teeth bite into the chain. Pushing it forward, steel flakes began to rain onto the bloody puddles. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto her shirt and her hand as she pushed and pulled the saw’s teeth across the chain. She was almost through when Aubrey’s head jerked up again. He turned so she could see his profile. He had a frown on his face along with a black eye and a busted up lip.
Recognition dawned and his eyes widened. “Taer? What are you doing here?” he asked, panic threading through his hoarse voice. “You have to get out of here. This is exactly what he wants. Just leave me here. Go.”
She hushed him gently. “It’s all right. He’s not here. You’re safe. I’m going to get you out of here. I just have to—”
“No!” He jerked his arms, making the saw skip out of the channel it had made. “He’ll come back. He always does.”
He grunted as he shifted his arms again. The tendons in his neck bulged with the effort, but he was only causing himself more pain. Growing more and more agitated, he tried to stand up, a strangled cry bursting from his throat. Taer watched on helplessly. “Aubrey, please, listen to me. Loki’s not here. I can help you, but you have to calm down.”
More tears
fell, her own helplessness adding to her personal pain at watching the man she loved work himself into a frenzy. He was hallucinating. He thought Loki was still there in the house. She did her best to soothe him, but nothing she said was getting through. She tried to place her hands on his shoulders, but that only agitated him more. He bucked in his seat, throwing her back. She stumbled over her feet, landing backwards into the workbench. The tools rattled, their combined sound terrifying her. Aubrey became stock-still, his shoulders tensing up.
“No. Please, no. Don’t hurt her. Do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt her. I beg of you!” His strained voice rang with both conviction and anguish. “Loki, please.”
Taer sobbed as her heart broke for him. Had he been damaged too much? Would she ever see the Aubrey she once knew again? Turning her back on him, she stared at the wall, drawing in a few deep breaths. She had to get him out of here. She didn’t know whether Loki was coming back, or when. Perhaps he was already back in the house, and all the noise they were making was alerting him that she was down here. She had to move quickly, but with Aubrey acting the way he was, she couldn’t see how.
That was when she noticed it on the bench: a syringe already loaded with a clear substance. It must have been dislodged when she bumped into the table. She picked it up. With no idea what was actually inside the barrel, she was taking a huge risk.
But what other choice did she have?
Aubrey was still thrashing in the chair when she turned back around. She jabbed the needle into his neck and depressed the plunger. In an instant, his whole body went slack and his head slumped forward once more. Dropping the used syringe to the floor, Taer picked up the hack saw and started cutting the chain once more. It only took her a matter of minutes to free him, but that was the easy part. Now she had to figure out how to get him out of there.
Carefully taking one of his arms, she drew it over her shoulder and lifted him. He weighed a lot more than she thought and her legs buckled under the pressure. Repositioning him a little better, she turned toward the stairs and started the ascent. Every muscle in her legs was protesting, but she ignored it all.
