by Lauren Dawes
Pressing her back against the closed door, she wiped the wetness from her cheeks angrily. Why was she upset by this? Korvain didn’t belong to her. He could kiss or fuck whoever he wanted. But seeing Kara with him made her feel like she’d just been stabbed in the back.
Her eyes landed on the bottle of 42 on the top of her desk. Lurching forward, she grabbed the thing with both hands and took a deep pull. When there was only an inch of clear liquid left at the bottom of the bottle, Bryn collapsed into her desk chair and buried her head in her hands.
She didn’t understand this feeling of jealousy. It didn’t make any sense. Was she upset that Kara had gotten her claws into Korvain, or was it something else? Seeing their lips fused together brought the memories of the dreams back to her. In one of them, Korvain’s lips had been pressed to her mouth like that. Her lips tingled even now with the sensation.
She had woken up from another bout of disturbed sleep. She’d only been able to get a few hours at a time, and each time she’d gotten up to walk a lap of her apartment. Her feet had pressed into the soft carpet when she swung her feet off the bed. Her toes had curled into the pile, her need to feel grounded overwhelming.
Even though she shouldn’t, the need for a shot or two of vodka had called to her. Not bothering with a robe, Bryn had padded out of her room in a tank and boxers, bee lining for the freezer.
Pulling one of the squat glasses from the drying rack, she’d poured a few fingers of vodka into it and brought the rim to her lips. She was swallowing the first mouthful when she’d seen a figure looming in the living room. Placing the glass down, she’d squinted into the darkness.
She knew there was no way anybody could get up there. She had the best charms and modern technology in place. She’d laughed at her own stupidity. She was seeing things. The insomnia was rearing its ugly head and giving her hallucinations.
Draining the rest of the glass, she’d placed it in the sink and wandered back through to her bedroom. When the door was shut firmly behind her, the hairs at the base of her skull had stood at attention. She felt eyes on her.
The same huge shape she’d seen in the living room was now in the corner of her bedroom. Flipping on the light switch, she’d squinted at the glare until her eyes adjusted. She’d looked over at the corner and slammed her back into the door as she stepped away from what she’d just seen.
Korvain was standing casually against the wall. His arms were crossed; a dark, sensual look in his eyes.
‘Korvain?’ she’d croaked.
Pushing himself off the wall, he’d approached her in a rolling, predatory gait. His hips seemed to move independently of the rest of his body. Her eyes had lingered there, her tongue swiping moisture onto her lips.
He reached for her, but instead of touching her, he’d flipped the light off again. Darkness descended, and despite her night vision not kicking in yet, she could see him so clearly in front of her.
‘Bryn,’ he murmured, his hand had slid over her cheek and cradled her face against his palm. A shuddered breath of contentment had left her lips. He moved in closer, bringing his lips to her ear. ‘I can’t stay away.’
She’d moaned and felt her body go slack. He pressed his body into hers, letting her feel all the strength he had in his muscles, letting her feel what was straining against her belly.
Korvain had dipped his head until their mouths were mere inches apart. His warm breath had trekked over her face, his spicy masculine scent getting trapped in her nostrils.
She’d arched her back, her hips jerking into his and causing him to suck in a hiss. ‘Kiss me,’ she breathed, pushing her chest out. He’d growled down low in his throat and meshed their mouths together.
There had been nothing tender or sweet about the kiss. It hadn’t been the tentative meeting of two mouths, but a rushed push toward something they’d both wanted—what they’d both needed. His tongue had licked at the seam of her lips, coercing her to open for him. She had, letting his tongue slide into her mouth. Her tongue had wrestled with his for a long while before she simply let him do what he wanted. He’d explored her mouth, tasting her completely.
She’d melted in his strong arms, her hands gripping his biceps to stay upright. Heat bruised her body, pushing more satiated moans from her throat. She was getting lost in him when he’d pulled back, sucking on her bottom lip as he did.
She was panting, looking into his eyes. He’d smiled and scooped her up effortlessly into his arms. He’d walked her to the side of the bed and laid her down gently, pulling the blankets up to her chin.
‘Sleep now.’ It was a command she had no way of disobeying. Her eyes had slid shut and when they opened again, it was late afternoon. She had slept for around six hours straight—something she hadn’t done in years.
Sitting up in bed, she had touched her lips and smiled.
* * *
Loki faded directly from his hotel room back to the red-brick house he’d seen the day before, the house where he knew a Valkyrie lived. He looked at the house, feeling the life force of the woman inside. The plan he had come up with was simple, but he believed it would yield the results he needed.
Loki walked up the steps of the house, altering his appearance slightly to make his hair black instead of blond, and his eyes brown instead of green. He injected just the right amount of panic into his expression as he began knocking frantically on the front door.
The Valkyrie opened the door cautiously, her eyes taking him in quickly. When she saw the bold-faced panic etched onto his face, the door swung open all the way.
‘Sir? What’s wrong?’
Loki faked a shudder. ‘Please help me. Someone just ran over my dog.’
The goddess’s eyes widened as she peered out onto the street. ‘Where?’
‘Just across the road! Please! You have to help me.’
The Valkyrie looked back into his face and nodded. ‘Of course. Just let me get my coat.’
As soon as her back was turned, Loki followed her into the house, treading softly. He closed the door quietly behind himself, stalking her toward a closet at the end of the long entrance hall. He was only a few feet away when he tackled her from behind.
Pulling her to the floor, Loki shifted his weight directly on top of her shoulder blades. He twisted one arm behind her back, holding her still while his eyes searched for something heavy.
On the nearby sideboard, he spotted a heavy crystal paperweight. Loki reached for the weapon and brought it down heavily onto the top of her head. The Valkyrie’s struggles stopped instantly, her body going limp beneath him.
Loki rolled off her body and stood up, brushing himself off. He knew he didn’t have a lot of time. He started up the stairs, searching her bedroom. That was where her cloak should be. He looked through her closet without finding it, but as soon as he opened up a drawer full of her undergarments, Loki saw the ash box stuffed into the back.
He pulled the box free and looked inside. The pure white feathers shimmered in the light. Loki slid his hand inside and felt the softness of them against his palm. He was so close now.
When he started back down the stairs, he could hear whispering.
‘Mist? Please. You have to help me. Someone just forced their way into my house...’
Loki moved down the stairs silently until he reached the bottom. The Valkyrie was propped up against the wall, blood gushing from the wound to her head. Her hand shook where it pressed the phone to her ear, her eyes widening when she saw that Loki had returned.
‘Help me!’ she screamed into the phone just as Loki reached for it. She threw it across the room out of his reach. An unnatural roar left Loki’s throat as he backhanded the woman.
Her eyes rolled back in her skull and she listed over to one side. Dumping the box onto the ground, Loki’s eyes searched the immediate area for something he could use to tie her up with. He found the wires of a phone hanging behind a low table and yanked them from the wall.
He bound her hands and feet with the
wires, leaving her propped against the wall. Loki slapped her to bring her back around. She came to with a loud gasp, her eyes cracking open widely when she realized he was still there.
‘Where are the other Valkyries?’ he growled.
The goddess shook her head. ‘I’ll never tell.’
Loki growled and retrieved the cloak from the box. He fingered the feathers gently; enjoying the look of pain on the woman’s face as he did so. ‘Tell me where the others are.’
‘I’d rather die than tell you,’ she spat back.
Loki shrugged. ‘Have it your way then.’ He tugged the first feather free, enjoying the way she screamed out in pain. Blood welled from the cloak where the feather had been plucked.
When the ground was littered with half a dozen feathers and pools of blood, he paused. ‘Tell me where the others are,’ he demanded again.
The Valkyrie’s teeth were gritted against the pain, the muscles in her neck cording. Wordlessly, she grimaced and shook her head. Loki snapped his teeth at the woman. ‘All you need to tell me is the location of one other Valkyrie and I will stop all this. I will stop the pain.’
Loki could see his words had pushed through her pain. ‘Do you swear it? Do you swear you’ll let me live?’ Her chin shook as she spoke, tears trembling in the corners of her uniquely beautiful Valkyrie eyes. He nodded.
The tears that waited on the edge were suddenly running down her face. ‘Svava lives on Myrtle.’
‘And the others?’ he pushed.
She sobbed. ‘Lime, River, Tremont and Revere.’
Loki stroked the woman’s hair out of her eyes and smiled at her. ‘There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
The Valkyrie dropped her head and started howling. Loki tilted her head back up and forced her to look in his eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said gently, with conviction. The woman closed her eyes and slammed the back of her head against the wall behind her, squeezing more tears out when she did.
Loki rocked back onto his heels and walked away. The cloak was still in his hand. He stroked it absently, waiting for a sense of ease to overtake the woman. For so long he had dreamed of doing this, of hurting Odin as badly as he had hurt him. He had plotted and planned and this night was the first of many to come.
He turned around and grabbed huge fistfuls of feathers, ripping them free and tearing fresh screams from the Valkyrie’s throat. She twisted and bucked against the bonds, writhing while blood dripped from the cloak onto the floor.
When there was only one feather remaining, Loki took the Valkyrie’s chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. With his teeth, he plucked the feather free. The cry that left her mouth reverberated down to the marrow in his bones, his mouth pulling up into a satisfied smile. The torrent of blood flowing from the plucked cloak meant only one thing: the Valkyrie was mortal.
Reaching around to the small of his back, Loki pulled the knife he had taken from Sooty’s apartment free and dragged the Valkyrie onto her back. Her half-masted eyes suddenly widened when he climbed on top of her body. Straddling her waist, he lifted the dagger above her.
The blade flashed, arcing toward its target. Through flesh, through bone, the steel was embedded until the hilt rested against her breast. Deep red heart’s blood erupted from around the blade. The god watched as her eyes started to dull, her mouth working over words that would never be spoken. She coughed, spraying blood all over his face and neck. It trickled like a river from the corner of her mouth, pooling behind her neck. Her body went slack beneath him, maniacal laughter bubbling up from his throat.
She was dead.
And he had done it.
With an overwhelming sense of joy, Loki rolled from her body and got to his feet. The ripple of the Valkyrie’s death would be felt soon. He had to leave, but the body was going to come with him. If Loki didn’t get the chance to bury his beloved, neither would Odin.
Before leaving, Loki walked around the former Valkyrie’s home, touching all of her belongings, leaving smears of her blood everywhere he went. He wanted Odin to know how much she had suffered before she was finally killed. He wanted Odin to know he was coming. He wanted him to know he was his end game—his ultimate target.
He wanted Odin to know he was already dead.
Chapter Thirteen
Bryn rolled over restlessly, kicking the sheets off her body with her feet. She’d been awake since she’d gone to bed a few hours before, her mind a writhing mess of thoughts with Odin front and center, among other things she had no intention of contemplating.
She knew he wasn’t giving her the whole story. But that was Odin—only letting her know just enough. He wanted her back, but that wasn’t a newsflash. What she wanted to know was why now? Why was he so desperate to have her agree to return now? He thought he’d hidden his desperation from her, but she’d seen right through him. She knew. Something had scared him, but what?
Closing her eyes to force her body into sleep, she saw Korvain’s face as if his image had been burned into the back of her lids. She flipped over onto her stomach, pulling the pillow over her head and groaning into the mattress. He was the other thought she had promised herself not to think about.
‘Forget about him,’ she whispered into the dark room. ‘Bryn, forget him.’ She tried to repeat the mantra, but her body refused to see the logic, responding to the memories instead.
‘Forget who?’ a masculine voice asked.
Bryn sat up quickly, her eyes scanning the familiar silhouettes of her bedroom furniture. Everything was as it should have been. She lay back down, but couldn’t shake the feeling she wasn’t alone. It was just like when she’d dreamed of Korvain before.
Her hand ploughed through her long hair. ‘I must be fucking hallucinating again.’ Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep until she felt the heat of another body beside her. She reached for the tattoo on her neck, attempting to summon her sword when strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her.
She was flipped over, coming face to face with Korvain. Her body reacted without permission, without sense. It remembered the last time he’d touched her and craved more—so much more. Heat bloomed between her legs, her breasts tightened at the dark look in his eyes. She nervously licked her lips and the male’s eyes burned with a hunger she wanted to physically feel.
He lowered his head, his lips like the softest suede against her mouth. His tongue licked at her, insistent, persuasive. She opened for him, surrendered to him.
Slowly, he released her wrist, stretching her arm above her head. He did the same with her other arm, holding her there with his hot, strong fingers. With his free hand, his fingers skimmed over the tee and boxer shorts she’d worn to bed, touching her, heating her skin. Fingertips inched up the fabric, caressing her softly.
Her hips rolled forward when he reached the edge of her shorts. He smiled, flashing a monstrous set of fangs at her as he did, and dipped a finger below the elastic waist. Bryn’s whole body was alive, buzzing with so much energy she expected to see little sparks flying off her skin. Korvain purred his approval and, without releasing her wrists, climbed on top of her.
She opened up her legs to him, welcoming his weight, relishing in the touch of his body. Cradling him with her hips, she melted under him, taking him into her body like he was designed for her and her alone. Korvain released her arms, his free hand burrowing under her shirt like he needed to feel her skin.
She grabbed his thick biceps, squeezing that muscled heat. His massive shoulders moved with his deep, hungry breaths as he stared down at her. His elbows pressed into the mattress, supporting his massive weight. He purred down into her ear, a vibration that went all the way through her.
She reached out to touch his face, running her fingers along his jaw, along his bottom lip. Her eyes slid shut when his mouth crashed into hers...
She was suddenly jerked awake. ‘Bryn!’ Disoriented, she looked around. Light was flooding in from the hallway, her bedroom door thrown wide open. She
blinked, rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes.
‘Bryn!’ She felt like she was coming out of drug-induced sleep. Focusing on the sound of Mist’s voice, her eyes fixed on the other Valkyrie and she was instantly awake. Mist was shaking, her face pale, her mouth drawn into a tight line. In her shaking hand, she clutched a phone.
‘Mist? What is it?’
Mist extended the quaking limb toward her. Her fingers were mottled white from where she was clenching the phone so tightly. Frowning, Bryn pried the phone free of her fingers and put it to her ear.
At first she couldn’t hear anything. Then the screaming started. The sound of it chilled her blood. Looking at caller ID, she recognized the number as that of one of her Valkyries, Rota. There was a strange ripping sound, another scream of agony. The connection cut. Bryn dropped the phone, the blood draining from her face.
‘Mist. Wake the others.’ The other woman was sobbing now, her eyes red-raw. ‘Mist!’
Her sapphire and indigo eyes finally focused on Bryn’s face. Bryn touched her shoulder, pulling her face closer. ‘Go wake the others.’ She said the words slowly, carefully.
The Valkyrie nodded and ran from the room. Bryn stared down at the phone, her fear and shock draining from her. A new sensation began fighting for dominance. She let it come, knowing that it would the best she could hope for: rage. It burned white-hot in her veins, threatening to swamp all rational thoughts.
Marching over to her closet, she pulled on a pair of tight jeans and a tee. Swiping the tattoo on her neck, her sword filled her palm. The balanced weight, the smell of her steel filled her with a sense of calm, with a sense of retribution. The gold blade seemed to hum in her hand, begging for the taste of blood.
When she turned around, the others were assembled in front of her.
Mav was wearing leather pants with a black leather vest. Her sword hung at her side, her fingers idly stroking the pommel; the black steel glinting dangerously in the light.
Kara was wearing a short skirt and red velvet bustier. Her long hair had been tied back, a short sword resting against her shoulder like a baseball bat. Bryn saw the sadness in Kara’s eyes as she looked at Bryn’s sword. Kara would never again hold the red sword she used to be in possession of, the sword that had been made for her hand to hold.
