by Lauren Dawes
Odin walked the block, ignoring all the other bars and nightclubs, cutting back and walking past The Eye once more. Bryn was standing beside Gunner this time, her hard eyes fixed on him from across the street.
Dammit, he didn’t know what he was doing. He was one step away from being a stalker. How ironic that was, he thought.
Every day, Odin would go down to the docks and watch Brynhildr’s father toil. And each day, Brynhildr would run down to see him, telling him of what her mother had made her do that day. The man would wrap his arms around his daughter and hold her tight, and there was an ache in Odin’s chest each time he saw it.
That was what he wanted. He had sons, but he longed for a daughter. For hundreds of years, he watched the humans with their sons—teaching them the family trade or business—but the girls were always left behind doing menial jobs by the hearth. He wanted more for them. He wanted a daughter of his own to teach, to make her feel more important than just being somebody’s wife.
‘Are you here to see me?’ Bryn asked. Odin jerked back from the sound, having not seen or heard her approach. She looked at him warily, measuring him visually, stepping off the road and onto the pavement in front of him.
‘I...’ he faltered, his mind lost to the memory from his past that he still regretted to this day.
Bryn crossed her arms over a t-shirt that held the name of her club. ‘What are you doing here, Odin?’ The tone of her voice was venomous.
He cleared his throat, took a deep breath. ‘I need to speak with you.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘About what?’
He glanced up and down the street suspiciously. ‘Something that doesn’t need to be discussed in public. Can we go somewhere?’
Silence seemed to suspend time between them. She would say no. He knew it. Why would now be any different from the dozens of other times he had tried to come and speak with her?
She turned around without answering, making her way across the road—effectively dismissing him. What was he thinking? She hadn’t changed her mind about him. She still hated him.
‘You’d better come to my office,’ she called over her shoulder.
Odin stared at her, dumbfounded. She had never given him the time of day before this.
Bryn was across the street now, walking down the alleyway beside the club. Odin followed, the scent of garbage drifting into his nostrils. Up ahead, a door opened, golden light pouring out onto the asphalt. Bryn ushered him through, closing the door behind them both.
Her office was utilitarian: dual screens set up on her desk, a mountain of paperwork yet to be filed away, filing cabinets no doubt empty. She waved him toward the chair facing her desk as she sank into her own, facing him, her expression unreadable.
Odin undid the button on his Tom Ford single-breasted and sat down, his legs crossed at the ankle. Her eyes travelled over his attire.
‘Nothing’s changed, has it?’ she murmured.
He looked down at his designer suit, brushing a few pieces of non-existent lint away from the collar. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
She smiled, but there was no humor to it. ‘The suit, the French cuffs, the diamond tie pin,’ she waved in the general direction of the items mentioned. ‘Nothing changes.’
Bryn pulled open a desk drawer and took out a bottle of clear liquid. Screwing the top off, she took a mouthful from the bottle. ‘You want a drink?’ she asked after swallowing. He knew she didn’t expect a positive answer, but he gave her one all the same.
‘A cognac wouldn’t go astray.’
Her lips puckered. ‘Sorry, all I have is vodka.’
He sighed. ‘Vodka will have to do then.’
Bryn handed over the bottle and sank back into her chair, watching Odin take a mouthful. He placed it back on the desk, inclining his head slightly.
‘So you said you wanted to talk. I’m busy. I don’t have all night.’
‘I have come to ask you to return to my side.’
‘Why?’ she snapped back instantly, her shoulders stiffening.
‘I miss you.’
‘Bullshit,’ she snarled quietly. ‘Tell me the real reason.’
‘That is the real reason, Brynhildr. Isn’t that enough?’ He truly wasn’t lying. He did miss her. She was his first Valkyrie; his first daughter.
Odin could hear her teeth grinding furiously at the use of her full name. ‘I told you there would only be one way for me to return to your side.’
It was Odin’s turn to grind his teeth, but he stopped himself. Bryn had granted him this audience. He couldn’t fuck it up. He stared at her blankly, masking his rage. ‘You could ask me for anything else and I would give it to you, but I will not allow that boon.’ His words were soft, his tone even softer, but inside his blood ran like fire through his veins.
‘I think Kara has suffered enough.’
‘She broke the rules, and she was punished for that.’
‘I know she did, but after the millennium she served you honorably, dutifully, you couldn’t have spared her that humiliation?’
Odin blew out a breath. It was true Kara’s honor had been lost, but it was her own doing. She had made the decision to break his rules.
‘Kara has always been...flighty.’
‘So expelling her from your service was the way to fix that?’ There was a sharpness to Bryn’s voice she hadn’t been able to fully disguise.
Odin’s chest rose and fell. ‘I left her her immortality.’
Bryn’s brow rose. ‘Yes, but you banished her. How well did you think she was going to take that rejection?’
Odin was tired of talking about Kara. He focused his one clear eye on Bryn, on the Valkyrie he needed to protect for both their sakes. ‘Bryn. Please.’
He wouldn’t beg her, so that was as close as he was going to get to it.
The Valkyrie shook her head, her braid swinging behind her head. ‘You have my answer. Unless yours changes don’t come back here.’
He looked down at the hands folded in his lap. ‘Final answer?’
Bryn gave him a tight nod. He stood up and left the office, trailing down the hallway and out into the cool air. As soon as he was free of the protective runes, he vanished—fading out of Bryn’s life once more.
* * *
Loki had left Mike and Nancy’s place early the next morning before they’d woken up. Even though he hadn’t deserved it, their kindness wouldn’t soon be forgotten. They had clothed him, fed him and housed him, but revenge was the thought consuming his mind so completely.
In his pocket were the pages he’d torn from the atlas showing the United States. He had faded to a city called St Louis, wandering the streets, seeking out other gods, seeking out answers to the questions burning on his tongue. Had the humans forgotten? Were there any that remembered, or knew their stories, the Eddas?
The sun was dipping low on the Mississippi, shedding its golden light, rippling off the surface of the water. Loki knew he had to find a place to bed down for the night. God or not, he still had no money, forcing him to sleep on the streets with the filth and debris of human society addicted to substances they injected into their arms, fingers and toes. Of course he knew of these drugs, but now he saw firsthand what they did to the frailty of the human body.
Turning his back on the Gateway Arch, he headed into downtown St Louis, scanning the alleyways as he passed. Down one of them, he saw two men huddling over a small flame, a spoon in one of their hands. He approached quietly, watching them melt a brown powder in the metal depression. When it began to bubble, one man filled a needle with the brown liquid while the other man held out his arm.
Loki watched in horror as the man receiving the injection went limp, his mouth hanging open, his eyes rolling back in his head. The man with the needle then did the same thing to himself, his teeth holding a tourniquet tight against his arm.
Puzzled, Loki backed away from the two men quietly, turning and walking away as quickly as he could from what he had just seen.
Loki continued to walk on, the night falling quickly around him. Street lights went on, but the stretch of street he was on didn’t have the same coverage as others would have. The urgency to find shelter pressed on his mind.
He was so caught up in his search, he hadn’t seen the man up ahead leaning casually against the side of the building. Loki’s eyes swept over him. He was not as tall as Loki, but he had more bulk on his frame despite being an obvious street person—Loki could smell his stench from where he stood.
He kept his course, walking past the man who fell into step beside him.
‘You got a light, buddy?’ he asked, producing a crudely constructed white stick from a pocket in his pants and placing it between his lips.
‘No. I do not,’ Loki replied, slowing his steps.
The man grunted. ‘That’s too bad.’ He slowed to a stop. ‘Hey, are you looking for somewhere to sleep? Maybe getting something to eat? I know a place that’ll have space for us if we leave now.’
Loki stopped, turning toward the man. ‘You know where I can find food?’ Mike had made the same offer to him. Perhaps these humans were okay.
He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Well, yeah. You hungry?’
Loki nodded. ‘I am.’
The man turned back in the direction they’d just been walking. ‘Come on then. The soup kitchen’s back this way. I’m Butch, by the way.’
Loki let the man—Butch—lead him. He thought it strange he kept glancing over his shoulder though, but when Loki looked, there were only stray cats stalking from darkened alley to darkened alley. Loki turned back and saw Butch watching him.
‘You got nice threads, my man. You haven’t been on the street very long, have you?’ He chuckled. ‘I bet you haven’t even seen a real winter.’
Loki shook his head. ‘I am new to this place.’ He looked around for a large building with lights on. That was what soup kitchens were, he knew—a place where a homeless person could get a meal, maybe a shower. ‘Where is this place you’re taking me to?’
Butch glanced back at him. ‘Not far. Just another block.’
Loki’s thighs were beginning to burn, his strength not yet fully returned. They rounded one final corner, and Loki ran into Butch’s chest. He felt all the bones of his ribs. He smelled the stench of sweat-drenched clothing, musty with age. He looked around, taking a step back.
‘Have we arrived?’
Loki dropped to his knees suddenly, an immense pain radiating out from the back of his skull. Another strike to his stomach pushed all the air from his body, leaving him gasping to draw air back into his lungs. Another strike to his kidneys sent him sprawling forward onto the pavement.
Then he blacked out.
When he woke, only a few seconds had passed. He was on his back, staring up at Butch. The man looked up at something near his feet. Loki tried, but couldn’t get his body to move.
‘He’s fresh. Check his pockets. He’s got to have some green on him.’
There were hands suddenly all over Loki, pushing and prodding, fingers dipping into pockets. ‘He doesn’t have a thing,’ another male voice announced.
‘Fuck! I need some H man.’ Butch’s voice and face was strained.
‘We’ll get it. Look, take his shoes. We can sell them.’
Loki lay there as the boots Mike had given him were wrenched clear off his feet, twisting his ankles into unnatural angles. He may have cried out. He may not have. Before the men left, Butch loomed above him.
‘Welcome to St Louis,’ he sneered, kicking Loki in the side of the head. The last thought he had before the darkness swallowed him was that he was lost in this new world of his.
Chapter Nine
The whole situation was getting fucking ridiculous. Darrion had deferred this job to Korvain, but his patience was beginning to grow thin. The male hadn’t hit his mark yet, which meant Darrion couldn’t hit his mark. He was barely holding onto his self-control. He could feel it fraying, could sense the snap ready to come.
He knocked on the door, his massive fist hammering the wood—letting it feel all his anger and frustration. Adrian’s sister appeared through the glass panel, paling out when she caught sight of him. She opened the door, but kept the chain on. He wasn’t surprised. He topped off just a few inches shorter than Korvain. He kept his dark hair oiled back away from his face, leaving his sharp cheekbones bare. His blue eyes were like ice chips; razor-sharp and calculating.
‘Taer,’ he purred. She was a temptation—there was no mistaking that. She was all sleek lines, pale green eyes widened with fear and a mouth he wanted on his cock. ‘You think a chain is going to stop me, little girl?’
‘What do you want?’ she replied cautiously, trying to hide the shake in her hand.
He smiled, baring his fangs. ‘Your brother’s best friend.’
‘What do you want with him?’ she returned, obviously feeling a little braver because of the shield she held out in front of her.
Darrion let some of the malice leak from his pores. Taer’s whole body stiffened; her back going rigid, her eyes popping wide.
‘Where’s Korvain?’ he asked again, lowering his voice, letting her see the malignance in his cold blue eyes.
‘Out back in the garage,’ she squeaked.
Giving Taer another fang-filled grin, Darrion walked back down the stairs and continued up the cracked driveway. On one side, the chain link fence was bent out of shape like a car decided to get all up-close-and-cosy without taking it out to dinner first. Glancing to his left, he noticed the curtain in the bay window closing suddenly, Taer retreating from the glass quickly.
Up ahead, the pull-up garage door was opened halfway, light spilling out on the driveway like golden blood. There was a grunt, and then another as Darrion pulled the door up the rest of the way. His two best assassins were grappling with each other, each trying to overpower the other. Korvain had the bulk, but Adrian had the speed.
Korvain tackled Adrian to the ground, his knees close to his body. One arm tangled under Adrian’s neck, the other under his opposite arm to control Adrian’s head.
‘What are you going to do now, my brother?’ Korvain asked in a cocky, yet strained voice.
Adrian smiled showing the full length of his fangs. With quick, sure movements, Adrian brought his left arm across, positioning his forearm against Korvain’s thickly-corded neck, pressing into it while Adrian’s right arm burrowed under the other man’s armpit so he could clasp his hands together.
Adrian used the leverage to open up a space where he could slide his hand through and reach across Korvain’s broad back toward his left shoulder. Bringing his heels in close to his ass, Adrian stayed on his toes and popped his hips off the ground. Crossing his right leg behind his left, Adrian twisted his torso until he was on his knees again.
Grabbing Korvain’s leg, Adrian slid the bigger man toward him, repositioning his arms around his waist. Korvain grunted in surprise then laughed.
‘Alright, Ad, you got me.’
Adrian smiled again, releasing his hold. Getting to his feet, he offered the other male a hand.
‘Well, that was sweet,’ Darrion drawled; enjoying the flash of surprise and anger in their eyes when they both looked up. He let the door slide shut, closing them all in together.
Korvain grabbed his shirt from the floor with an angry swipe of his arm. The tattoo across his shoulders was glistening with sweat, the muscles beneath bunching and moving with his dominating body.
‘What’s doing, boys?’ Darrion asked, watching them both with predatory eyes. Adrian’s clear green eyes darted to Darrion’s face. He was almost as tall as Korvain, but the half-breed, light elf blood flowing through his veins would never allow him the bulk.
Gesturing at the training pads and weapons littering the blue mats around them, Korvain replied, ‘Training.’ His voice was dark, threatening.
Darrion cocked a brow at the man. ‘You want to lose the attitude?’ The other male simply stared; his dark, botto
mless eyes boring into him. Darrion returned the favor. ‘We need to talk.’
Korvain screwed the top off a water bottle, glancing over at Adrian. ‘Give us a minute, my brother?’
Adrian’s eyes darted between the two of them, but eventually he nodded and left. Once they were alone, Korvain said, ‘So talk,’ putting his lips to the bottle. His neck and shoulders were thickly-corded with muscle; his throat making short work of the liquid necessity.
Darrion began, walking around the sparring mat. ‘I need an update.’
Korvain had folded himself down onto the mat and started stretching out his twitching muscles. When he looked up, a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. ‘I’m working on it.’
‘You’re not working hard enough on it.’ His reply was cool, calm—at complete odds with what raged on the inside.
‘Look, I’ll get it done.’
‘When?’ he snarled back.
Korvain stood up. ‘What’s the fucking rush?’ he asked, towering over Darrion—crowding him. But size wasn’t everything. Darrion bared his fangs. ‘You don’t want to do that, morier.’
Korvain’s much larger and longer fangs flashed in reply to the dig. ‘You may be my boss, but watch your fucking mouth.’
Darrion laughed in his face.
‘Fuck you, Darrion.’ Korvain’s voice boomed in the insulated room. ‘You came here for an update. You got one. Now leave me the fuck alone so I can get on with it.’
Darrion’s eyes narrowed. Korvain never flew off the handle. Ever. He was just like Darrion in that way. Cold. Heartless. But as Darrion probed, he found Korvain’s emotions were all over the place.
Korvain ground his molars, growling, ‘Stay out of my fucking head, too.’
Darrion pulled back. He wanted his kill. He had waited too long for the opportunity, and Korvain’s listlessness was only making it worse. ‘I want this done in forty-eight hours, morier, so I suggest you stop fucking around in here with Adrian and get the job done.’
