She was smart, she was funny, and she was cute as a button. And he was doomed. Her father was going to rip his gonads off and stuff them down his throat if he found out the thoughts Logan was entertaining about his baby girl. And if her stepfather found out… He winced, knowing exactly what her stepfather would do to him.
Hell, Kir they’d probably welcome with open arms. Kir’s lover? Only if it involved red-hot pokers and bamboo shoots.
Kir put the bent blade back down and sat, ignoring the two other people in the room as they babbled. He crossed his ankles, watching the pandemonium around them with a serene smile.
The smug bastard. It was a good thing he was so cute.
When Kir looked over at him and winked, Logan nearly laughed out loud.
“It was a parlor trick, really. I only thought he’d stabbed his hand.”
Jordan’s explanation seemed to calm her coworkers. It hadn’t occurred to either of them to look for a stab mark in the wood, or why the blade had bent rather than sticking (or why it was blackened, either), but apparently they were willing to buy an obvious line of bullshit rather than see the truth. Humans had a habit of seeing only what they wanted to see. Hell, they were completely ignoring the scorched carpet and the smell of smoke, too, although the redheaded guy was giving all three of them some mighty strange looks. He’d have to keep an eye on that one.
The two finally left, sending worried glances over their shoulders on their way out the door. Logan reached back and closed it behind them, grinning at the faint, outraged squawk the short, curly-haired redhead (Jenny? Jamie?) let out.
She let go of her earring and focused on Kir. “You’re Baldur.” She scrubbed her face with both hands when he nodded. Her attention turned to him, and Logan felt his dick twitch in a surge of lust. “You’re Loki?”
He bowed from his seat, knowing how arrogant he looked and not giving a fuck. If she couldn’t deal with him the way he was, well…she would just have to get used to it.
“And you want to prove that Oliver Grimm, God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, framed you for the murder of Kir, who is Baldur. Which means that Grimm would be Odin.”
“By Odin, I think she’s got it!”
That earned him a glare from two sets of eyes. He grinned, pleased when Kir chuckled. “Asshole.”
He thought about answering, “Later, dear” but decided Jordan had had enough surprises for one day.
“If Grimm is Odin, who is my father?”
Logan sat up a little straighter. “Are you sure you want the answer to that question?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve already blown my world apart. What else can you do to me?”
Lots of things, little girl. Lots of things. He cleared his throat and tried to block out the image of her bent over her desk, Kir’s cock between those sweet, strawberry colored lips, while he fucked her hard from behind. Kir and I are going to have to have a long talk about this. Not for anything would he hurt Kir. “Frey.”
“Fred is Frey?”
“No. Fred is Thor. Your biological father, Adam, is Frey.”
It came out a little harsher than he’d intended; visions of her naked and wanting made his voice gruff with lust. Her face turned whiter, if that was possible. He was beginning to become seriously concerned that she’d pass out, a vision that turned off the sexy fantasies he’d been having ever since he and Kir had entered her office. He stood and marched around the desk, ready to catch her if she fell, every one of his protective instincts going into overdrive.
Kir mirrored his movements on her other side, his own concern obvious. Kir rested one hand on the back of her chair, the other on her desk. “You didn’t have to blurt it out like that, Logan.”
“How the hell else do you tell someone that their father is a god? ‘Hi, honey, here’s some flowers and chocolates, oh by the way your dad throws lightning bolts at mortals for shits and giggles’?”
“My mom?”
Both men blinked and looked down at her croaked words. “What?”
“Is my mom a goddess?”
He exchanged a look with Kir, who shrugged. “No.” He had to swallow to stop himself from tacking on “sweetheart”.
Oh, yeah. So doomed. He looked down into her sweetly stubborn face and sighed. But what a way to go.
Chapter Three
Jordan sat in the passenger seat of Kir’s cherry red Mustang and tried to process everything the two men had told her, and shown her, in her office. They’d insisted she wasn’t capable of driving, and, from how lightheaded she still felt, she had to agree with them.
Okay. So, Dad is Frey. Mom is mortal. Grey, Frey…nobody said Dad was the brightest bulb in the chandelier.
If Dad is Frey, and mom is human, what the hell does that make me? And does Mom know? What about Jamie and Jeff? Or Magnus and Morgan? Are they full gods? Two sets of twins, one half mortal, the other…what?
God, my head hurts. She almost chuckled out loud at the irony of that phrase.
She rubbed her aching head and saw Kir glance at her. She ignored it, still trying to puzzle out who knew what, or, hell, who was what.
Logan, on the other hand, was more difficult to ignore. He reached forward and rubbed the back of her neck, the touch warm and surprisingly soothing. “Ease up, Jordan. I know it’s a lot to take in, but we’re willing to answer any questions you have.”
“And we’re ordering in pizza.” Kir’s cheerful announcement fell flat as Logan and Jordan stared at him. “What? I’m just saying.”
Jordan stared at Logan’s reflection in the rearview mirror and quirked her eyebrows. Kir had been determinedly cheerful the entire twenty minute drive from her office to their condo. “He has a great future at Hallmark, doesn’t he?”
Logan choked, hiding his laugh behind the back of his hand. Kir, on the other hand, reached out and gently bopped her on the back of the head. “Very funny. Ha ha.” He pointed towards the backseat. “And you, stop encouraging her.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Logan did another one of his bows. His laughing gaze tangled with Kir’s in the mirror before they both looked away with identical grins.
Jordan watched the exchange with a puzzled frown. She could have sworn both men had been looking at her in her office with something other than professional interest. However, having a brother who was gay, she’d learned to recognize the signs of two men who were a couple. And from the looks of things, Kir and Logan were definitely a couple.
She saw Logan staring at her again in the rearview mirror, confusing her even further. He was looking at her like she was a Godiva chocolate and he was starving for a taste. What the hell?
Then she thought about all of the myths about Loki, and Loki’s sexuality. If the myths were true, Loki was firmly bisexual. Trisexual? Omnisexual? The man is a mom, for God’s sake! Do they even have a word for Loki’s sexuality? From the quirky grin that briefly passed over his face he knew exactly what she was thinking about, too. She faced forward again, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. Pictures of the two men wrapped in each other’s arms danced through her head. She firmly squashed them, not wanting to deal with the consequences of her fantasies. She didn’t exactly carry around spare panties, for God’s sake.
Jordan didn’t do “casual sex”. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing casual about it. Unless her emotions were engaged, her body wasn’t. Although, from the feel of Logan’s fingers still stroking her neck, her body was more than willing to drag her emotions along for the ride. Oh, and what a ride it would be, her traitorous body whispered.
Kir pulled into their condo’s parking garage and pulled into the space assigned to them. He started to get out of the car and was stopped by Logan’s grip on his shoulder.
“No, Kir.” Logan got out of the car with a grunt and took a look around the garage.
Kir rolled his eyes. “Sit, Kir. Stay, Kir. Good dog. Woof.”
“What’s he doing?” Jordan watched as Logan scoped out the place, his movements
sleek and sure. She bet he didn’t make a single sound as he moved. He looked right and left, leaning behind a pillar to check out the lower level. His jeans tightened across his damn fine ass. Her body knelt and pled at the feet of her emotions, Please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?
“Making sure there are no assassins waiting for us.”
Jordan blinked and focused back on Kir. My God, that much gorgeous should come with a warning label. “Assassins?”
Kir nodded as he watched Logan move around the parking lot. “Grimm wants me dead in the worst way. He has an assassin named Val—”
“Oh no. Uncle Val?” Talk about a libido killer. Uncle Val looked scary as hell, but he’d always been affectionate towards her and the twins.
Kir glanced at her but quickly turned his attention back to a rapidly approaching Logan. “Uncle Val?”
“Brown hair, blue eyes, mean-looking son of a bitch?”
“That would be Val.”
“Yup. Uncle Val.”
“Uncle Val is Vali, the man who murdered my brother.”
Jordan stared out the front windshield and searched her memory of Norse mythology, trying to match up the man who’d tossed her in the air as a child with the man Kir was describing. “Um. Vali?”
Kir sighed as Logan motioned for them to leave the car. “Wait until we get upstairs, okay?”
“Okay, what?” Logan asked as he held open Jordan’s door.
“Okay, you guys are going to explain to me who Vali is once we get upstairs.”
“Oh.” Logan shook his head as he led them to the elevator. “Listen closely, because I hate talking like this and I’m not repeating it.” He took a deep breath as they entered the elevator, and Jordan paused to admire how wide his chest was. And then, as the elevator began its rise to the twenty-second floor, he crossed his arms over that chest and began to chant.
“I saw for Baldur—
for the bloodstained sacrifice,
Odin’s child—
the fates set hidden.
There stood full-grown,
higher than the plains,
slender and most fair,
the mistletoe.
“There formed from that stem
which was slender-seeming,
a shaft of anguish, perilous:
Hodr started shooting.
A brother of Baldur
was born quickly:
he started—Odin’s son—
slaying, at one night old.
“He never washed hands,
never combed head,
till he bore to the pyre
Baldur’s adversary—
while Frigg wept
in Fen Halls
for Valhall's woe.
Do you still seek to know? And what?”
Kir leaned back as Logan’s deep voice washed over him. There were times he missed the cadence of the poetry of his homeland, but this particular piece was one of his least favorites. It described how, at one day old, Vali slew Hodr in retaliation for the death of Baldur. That Hodr was both blind and was meant to help Baldur rule Valhalla had factored in greatly when Grimm was making his plans to murder them both.
Jordan leaned back against the wall. “What was that?”
“It’s a portion of the Poetic Edda, translated by Ursula Dronke.” Logan was staring at her, his expression carefully nonchalant.
“Oh. Well. That clears that up.” From the confused frown on her face, it had raised more questions than it answered.
The doors opened onto a hallway. Kir stepped out, pulling out his key card. Jordan stepped out next. Logan pushed passed her and Kir, taking Kir’s key card to open the door to their condo. Since they’d come to Philadelphia Logan had been a nervous wreck, worried sick that Val and Grimm would find them before they would have a chance to set their plans in motion.
He entered the posh condo, his sneakers making no sound on the shiny maple flooring. Kir sighed as Logan nodded, letting him know no one had disrupted the wards Logan had set before heading out that morning.
Without missing a beat Jordan sat on the modern, snow white chaise. “Okay, I have to admit, the knife thing wasn’t nearly as impressive as flaming Logan.” She grinned, letting them know she was completely aware of the double entendre.
“Very funny.” Logan flopped down next to her, one knee resting on the white chaise, his elbow resting along the back and his hand propping up his head as he faced her.
Kir took a seat on the ottoman that doubled as a coffee table and picked up the explanation they’d begun in the elevator. “So Vali, at one day old, killed my brother.”
“Precocious little tyke.”
“Yeah, he was a total Gerber baby.” Logan sneered.
“Why didn’t Hodr just, I don’t know, stop him?”
“Because, unlike a normal baby, Vali grew to manhood in the space of a few hours. He couldn’t stop Vali from killing him.”
“He couldn’t see where Vali was, couldn’t fight him, and felt that his death was completely justified.” Kir heard the old pain in Logan’s voice; Hodr hadn’t meant anything to him at the time, but Baldur’s grief over his dead brother and anger at his traitorous father had been the first stepping stone in the beginning of their relationship. For the first time, he’d seen Logan as someone other than an angry, annoying young god, and Logan had seen Kir as more than the pretty, admired, social butterfly.
“Can I ask you a quick question that’s been bothering me?”
Kir nodded. “Of course.”
“Should I call you guys Baldur and Loki?”
“No!”
“Uh-uh.”
They looked at each other and grimaced. They’d both replied at the same time and the same volume.
“We’d prefer to be called by the names we’ve chosen rather than the names that were chosen for us.” Kir turned his attention back to a confused looking Jordan. “We’re no longer those people.”
Her gaze intensified as she worked out what he meant. “You mean you’re not a god of spring and he’s not a fire giant?”
“I’m not a naive, trusting fool and he’s not a hormonal teenager. Ow.” Kir rubbed the spot on his thigh Logan smacked.
“Hormonal teenager?”
“You fucked anything that would let you, and I mean anything, and you emo’d all over the place.” He looked at Jordan and grinned. “His growing pains were horrendous.”
“I did not ‘emo’!”
Kir laughed at the outrage in Logan’s voice. He’d curled his fingers up, making quotation marks.
“Oh, really? How about the dinner party where you got drunk and told everyone off, including letting some of the gods know that their darling, chaste wives were off playing in the clover while their husbands were at war, hmm?”
Logan snorted. “Those idiots weren’t off making war, they were rolling around in their own clover.”
Jordan’s bemused voice interrupted them. “Did you know, with the nose ring, every time you snort I think of a bull?”
Kir had to bury his face in the ottoman, but couldn’t do anything about his shaking shoulders, or the muffled sounds of his laughter.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jordan put her hands on her hips. “Okay. If you two are done playing, can you actually explain to me how this all went down?”
Logan watched as Jordan stood and began pacing in front of the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over Rittenhouse Square. He ignored the still muffled sounds of Kir’s laughter. It was both annoying and endearing that, once his lover got going, getting him to stop was damn near impossible. He had to work it out of his system in his own time. Unfortunately, that left Logan to explain everything to Jordan.
“I was watching Odin fairly closely at the time, for some reason or another. I think I was planning on playing a prank on Frigg and wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to get in my way. I saw him leave early one morning and something about the way he left, his face, maybe his body language, let me know
he was up to no good.”
“You followed him?”
“Of course. I had to know what would make him look like that, like the cat that got the cream. I figured this was much better than playing a silly trick on Frigg.” Jordan also ignored Kir as he sat up and wiped the laughter tears away. “I saw Odin shift shape into me and pick a sprig of mistletoe in full view of a farmer. I made sure he didn’t see me as he took off again, heading back home.
“I knew mistletoe was Baldur’s only vulnerability, so I was curious as to why his father would be picking some, especially since he’d taken my form to do it.” His smile was sour. “Not exactly confidence inducing. Anyway, I followed Odin and watched him. He crafted the sprig of mistletoe into an arrowhead and made an arrow meant to kill his own son.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He stared at her. “You’re kidding, right? Who would have believed me?”
“I didn’t believe him.” Kir sighed. “My own father, out to kill me? It was unbelievable.”
“So I managed to subdue Baldur, tied him up, and put him in a safe place where he could watch what happened and no one would know. Then I took his shape and his place.”
“How did you keep from getting injured by the things they fired at you?”
“He didn’t.”
Damn. Kir still hasn’t gotten over that? The anguish in Kir’s voice was noticeable to anyone who knew him. Without thought he rubbed his lover’s knee, soothing him, not surprised when Kir picked his hand up, squeezed it, and let it go.
He turned his attention back to Jordan. “I took it, and let them think it didn’t hurt.”
“But… I thought the Norse gods could die?”
“We can, but on the way I’d had a little chat with my daughter. She agreed that, for that short amount of time, no amount of damage, not even an instantly fatal wound, would kill me.”
“Your daughter?”
He looked her straight in the eyes. “I had three children outside my marriage, remember?”
She gulped. “Hel.”
He nodded. “So I stood there, and managed to keep them all from seeing my bleeding using a spell an old Jotun witch had taught me. Odin shifted into me and strode onto the field.”
Very Much Alive: True Destiny, Book 1 Page 3
