by S. T. Bende
“Of course you are. Look at you.” Talk about stating the obvious.
“No, Mia. I’m a Nordic deity. Literally. I serve the realms as God of War. I live in Asgard, under Odin’s command, and oversee protection of the nine realms via termination of hostile elements. I’m an assassin by profession, immortal by nature, and I have a small legion of enemies with a price on my head.” He watched my face, presumably for a reaction.
I stared blankly. Either he had a really weird sense of humor, or being so good looking had given him a god complex. I’d learned about those in sociology, too. “Is this supposed to be funny?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Then what are you doing?” Tyr’s hands circled my wrists. He laced his fingers through mine and held on as if his life depended on it.
“I’m being honest with you.”
“You expect me to believe you’re the Norse God of War. That isn’t funny. It’s just weird.”
“Then how would you explain what you saw outside?” Tyr waited as I worked through my thoughts.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Atmospheric phenomenon?”
“Do you believe that?”
No. An atmospheric phenomenon wouldn’t produce the kind of pressure inconsistency that elevated certain items within its reach, but not others. But what Tyr had suggested wasn’t exactly believable either.
“You’re telling me you’re a god? And you expect me to take you seriously?” That request was utterly absurd. There weren’t gods in real life. They were the stuff of myths—characters in storybooks and movies. The real world had people and animals and the occasional vacuuming robot. But it most definitely did not have gods. And it absolutely did not have gods who went out with human college girls.
“Well, you’ve kissed me. What do you think?” Tyr winked. Then he looked down at our clasped hands and frowned; mine started to tremble so hard they became a blur.
“No more jokes. Are you telling the truth?”
“I swear on my sister’s life,” Tyr vowed. “I am a god. And a rather good-looking one, if I say so myself.”
CHEESE AND FREAKING CRACKERS. He wasn’t kidding. Either he was completely delusional, or I’d been about to give my virginity to an honest-to-goodness god.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose out through the… oh, who am I kidding? There was no way to breathe my way out of this panic attack. My boyfriend was a god. A god. A GOD. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? The existence of mythological deities did not fit into my black-and-white world-view, and dating one most certainly did not factor into my five-year plan. Holy mother of pearl. I was a living, breathing, glittery supernatural teen movie in the making. Only I wasn’t the swooning co-ed anymore. Now I was barely holding it together.
“You’re a god?” I whispered.
“Yes,” Tyr answered. Again.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I asked.
“What? No. Why would you even ask that?” He squeezed my hands softly, then brushed one finger against my cheek. For the first time, I didn’t lean into the contact. Everything about him felt the same—his touch still made my skin burn, and the searing look in those steely blue eyes had my heart racing. But absolutely everything had changed. Everything.
“Because. This is some seriously scary stuff.”
“It doesn’t have to be scary. We’re the good guys.” He rubbed his thumbs along my temples, and my hands went still.
“We? There are more of you?”
“Of course. There’s me, Henrik—”
“Henrik, too?”
“Henrik too. Brynn. Freya.”
Holy Lord. Half of my social circle is in on this?
“There are hundreds of us. We fight for ære—it’s a Norwegian word meaning—”
“I thought y’all spoke Swedish.”
“Scandiwegian, remember? Since we represent all of the Scandinavian countries, we try to cover all of the bases.” Tyr’s smile was tight. “And ære means honor; glory; virtue; the greater good. We exist to protect the nine realms, and we’re willing to die to do it.” He paused. “Baby, you’re turning white.”
“Right.” With painstaking effort, I forced a breath in and out. “Wait, gods can’t die. They’re gods. You’re gods. Oh, God!” This was insane. Insane. My boyfriend was someone straight out of a dark fairytale.
And he wasn’t Prince Charming.
“Gods can die, Mia. Being immortal does not mean being immune to death. It means we continue living until we are killed. We do not fall ill, or die of old age as mortals do. Our bodies age extremely slowly.”
“How slowly?” I blurted. Something told me my collegiate-looking boyfriend had lied to me about his age. Among other things…
Tyr furrowed his brow, in the universal facial expression of mental math. “I believe… approximately one fiftieth of the rate a mortal does. So while you might easily live for fifty years before looking old, I could live twenty-five hundred before assuming that same appearance.”
“Awesome.” I squeezed my eyes shut as I jumped from my seat. “That would make you what, a thousand years’ old right now?”
“Almost.” Tyr stared at me. I stared back. This was all so complicated. My brain worked through a million thoughts at once, but processed none of them. I started to pace in front of the couch.
“You’re a god.”
“Still yes.”
“And you can do… god stuff?”
“Yes,” Tyr repeated.
“What kind of stuff? What are your powers?”
“It’s kind of involved.” Tyr ran a hand through his hair. “I can fly, which you saw; create protective shields; my hands are pretty solid weapons—they can project debilitators and enchantments. I have some extrasensory abilities that help me scope out dark spirits and bad auras. I can conjure things and dispense of things, and I have some healing abilities; all pretty run-of-the-mill defensive stuff. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Excuse me, it is an extremely big deal.” I stopped pacing and shoved my finger in Tyr’s face, my left hand on my hip. “You are an immortal deity traipsing around a college town, protecting your sister and fighting off homicidal wolves like some frat-boy/boy-scout mash-up. Which, according to Jason, is another total myth. If what you are and what you’re doing isn’t bat-poop crazy, then I don’t know what is.”
Tyr’s mouth twitched. “Did you just call me bat-poop crazy?”
“You lied to me. You don’t get to laugh at me.” I tugged at my hair.
Tyr reached up to grab my hand. “I’m still me.” A corner of his mouth turned up in a rakish grin, and for a moment I was mesmerized by his brilliant smile; his piercing eyes; the way his stubble highlighted the strong line of his jaw when he spoke. “And I never lied to you, except about the lighter thing. I did move here from Sweden; I was disabling a portal between Midgard and one of the dark realms. I did grow up with Henrik and Brynn; the Anderssons took us in, and Brynn lived next door. And I did lose my parents to the wolf. I just omitted a few facts.”
“Big ol’ facts to omit,” I muttered. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in heaven?” I tried to reach for my hair again, but Tyr held onto my hand.
“It’s called Asgard. It’s as beautiful as a lot of mortals imagine their heaven will be—big rolling hills, grassy meadows, a weeping willow with leaves made of real silver, castles… but it’s not a particularly peaceful place. Our realm is under constant attack, and most of our residents train to fulfill military roles. We have a structured army, much like humans do, with soldiers and commanders and colonels and an elite team, all of which report to me. The only military figure that ranks above me is Odin.”
Oh Lord almighty. He actually was the god of war.
“Stop pulling away from me. Come here.” Tyr raised an eyebrow, and I reluctantly sat down. What I really wanted to do was run home to the little house on Daffodil screaming like a banshee, but there was a massive wolf outside…
> Shut the front door. There was a massive wolf outside. And an enormous blond guy in here. Things slowly clicked into place, the pieces of the puzzle finally forming a whole picture.
“In the woods,” I whispered. “My first day here. A wolf did attack me. You were there. I didn’t imagine it. Oh my God, the wolf outside is the wolf that came after me.” I started to shake again.
“You didn’t imagine it.” Tyr held me as I trembled.
“But I was hurt—he bit me hard enough to hit bone. Why wasn’t there any blood?” I touched my forearm.
“You sure you want to know?”
“I’m pretty sure nothing you can tell me will shock me more than ‘I’m a Norse God, prinsessa.’”
Tyr snickered. “Nice accent.”
“Whatever. Tell me why I wasn’t hurt.”
“I had Freya heal you.”
There was no way I’d heard that right. “Excuse me?”
“I had to deal with the wolf, and I knew you were pretty torn up. I summoned Freya, she dropped in via the Bifrost—”
“The what?” I asked.
“The Bifrost. It’s the rainbow bridge we use to travel between the realms. Heimdall guards it, and directs it to wherever we need it to go.” Tyr ran his hand along my shoulders. “You need the blanket again? You’re still shivering.”
“I’m fine. Just in shock that my boyfriend travels by rainbow, that’s all.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Tyr grabbed a throw off the edge of the couch and tucked it around my legs. “The motion sickness takes centuries to get over.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” I pulled the blanket up to my waist. “Next time I’m catching a rainbow bus or riding my rainbow bike or… Freya seriously healed me?”
“She did. The wolf was in a right state, and I needed to get him away from the human population, so I summoned Freya. When she saw you bleeding out, she knew what to do. Brynn arrived a few moments later, so Freya left you to help me subdue the animal. Unfortunately, we lost him when he ran through a portal.”
I blinked. “He went back up the rainbow tunnel?”
“Bridge,” Tyr corrected. “And no. That was the plan—we were hoping to ship him back to Asgard’s prison. But when I called for Heimdall to open the Bifrost, the wolf took off. He managed to open a portal of his own, and he disappeared.”
“Is that what you were afraid of that day I found Elsa’s cabin? Were you afraid someone had come out of some portal close to there?” I tucked my knees to my chest. “You acted like something was going to jump out from behind a tree any minute.”
“I’d thought I saw the wolf in the woods that afternoon, but Henrik did a sweep later that night and didn’t find any residue.”
“Residue?” I paused. “Residue of what?”
Tyr frowned. “When the wolf disappeared that day, the first thing I did was make sure you were okay. Freya had healed you as well as I could have, so I left you in Brynn’s care and went to inspect the portal the monster escaped from. It contained heavy traces of dark magic. The wolf doesn’t have magic—he only has brute strength. Which meant something evil on the other side of that portal helped him escape. Someone with a lot of dark power is working with him. It’s not ideal.”
Tyr wrapped one arm protectively around me, and used the other to stroke the knots in the back of my neck. I flinched as he rubbed a particularly tender spot. He pressed softly into the knot, and the pain eased.
Well no wonder he was so good with his hands. He was divine.
“Are they trying to kill you?” I whispered.
“I don’t think so. I think they’re trying to break me.”
“Break you? Why?”
“Because I’m the first and last line of defense between the monsters of the underworlds and Asgard. Whoever’s helping the wolf must know that I carry a lot of guilt about what that monster has done—he would have been executed centuries ago if I hadn’t intervened. And I think they’re hoping that guilt eventually drives me mad. If I were to turn against my realm, or even just abandon my post, there would be a clear path to Odin, and to the throne. An open seat at the head of the cosmos,” Tyr explained.
“If you’ve got these bad guys after you, then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in Asgard, protecting the… the throne?” Was I even saying this right?
“I’m here to protect my sister. Asgard should have been the safest place for her, but the wolf got to her there. Freya and I guessed he was working with someone on the inside, so we moved her to the sleepiest town we could find in the most remote realm in the cosmos.”
“Why Earth? If the wolf can come and go so easily, wouldn’t she be safer somewhere else? The realm with all the elves, maybe?” They’d seemed pretty fierce in that Lord of the Rings movie.
“Because for the most part, Midgard—Earth—flies under the radar. It doesn’t have enough evil for the jotuns, fire giants, or dark elves to bother coming here. The light elves rarely leave Alfheim, and the dwarves have no desire to leave their realm. We thought Midgard would be the best place to hide her.” Tyr shrugged. “We thought wrong. But even though the wolf was in the woods that day he attacked you, he still hasn’t found Elsa’s cabin. And he shouldn’t have found this house, either. I had no idea anyone could breach the defenses I set around this place; I’ve cast new enchantments that should hold him off.”
“The glitter blizzard?” I worried my bottom lip. If Tyr’s old protections hadn’t held, why did he think this sparkly new one would?
“It’s a little more serious than that, but yeah. The glitter blizzard.” Tyr stroked my hair. If the concern in his eyes was any indication, he was trying to soothe me.
Keep stroking, Hercules.
“So that animal you were fighting, is he the one who… did he…?” I didn’t know how to ask the question.
“He killed my parents, yes.”
“But you said your parents’ killer was practically family.” Recognition clouded my eyes at the same time as empathy rooted in my gut. “Was that animal your pet?”
“In a way. His name’s Fenrir, and he’s a wolf. My wolf. He’s the son of Loki and a giantess.”
My mouth turned down as I mentally flipped through my Art History flashcards. Loki, Loki, ah! Loki. Loki was the dark spot on Asgard’s otherwise spotless family tree; the black sheep who took pleasure in causing pain and destruction for the rest of the gods. And while the books suggested Loki was largely misunderstood, from what I could see, his actions suggested he needed a serious schooling in morality.
And possibly a prescription mood-stabilizer.
“When Fenrir was born, our prophets predicted his treachery would end Asgard. Odin wanted to kill him, but I begged him not to. He was only a puppy, and it felt wrong to let him die for a crime he hadn’t yet committed. Odin put him in my care, with the stipulation that Fenrir would be locked up the minute he stepped out of line. I was young then, maybe the equivalent of a six- or eight-year-old human child, and I was determined to save Fenrir. I raised him and tried to teach him right from wrong. Spent as much time with him as my training would allow.”
“What happened?” My heart tugged.
“He couldn’t beat his nature. He was born of darkness and bred to hate the gods. I wasn’t strong enough to break him. He snapped and murdered my parents, then went AWOL. I put out a kill order on him when I took my title, but around that time the Norns prophesied the gods would use Fenrir as a bargaining tool at Ragnarok—apparently his continued existence is a prerequisite to avoiding total Asgardian annihilation. When he heard that, Odin overrode my command and issued a capture order on the wolf instead. Then Fenrir attacked Elsa. We’ve been trying to bring him in him since.”
“Oh, Tyr.” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. There is nothing normal about Fenrir, even by immortal standards. He is diabolically smart. He’s callous, and conniving, and cruel. Despite everything I tried to teach him, he’s taken the worst parts o
f each of his parents, and turned into this heinous being. He may look like a wolf, but inside he’s a calculating mastermind. I’m not kidding, Mia. He’s become a monster—or maybe he always was, and I was just an idiot. I don’t know anymore. My scout in Muspelheim has seen Fenrir with the fire giants twice now. He may be working with them, but it’s equally possible he’s conspiring with one of the dark elves, or Jörmungandr.”
“With who?” I wrapped my arms around my knees.
“The Midgard Serpent. There’s a sea snake that literally circles your world.”
Tyr didn’t blink. He wasn’t kidding.
“That’s absurd. We’d see something like that in satellite photos. And no scientific journal has ever mentioned a world-circling snake.”
“He’s cloaked, Mia. You think Odin would let mortals know about something like that?”
“Oh.” I shivered. Tyr moved his hand down my side and rubbed slow circles along my back with his thumb. Anxiety battled with pleasure in my frontal lobe.
“So what do the Norns say about Fenrir? Besides his being a beastly bargaining chip?”
Tyr pressed his lips together in a tight frown, almost as if he was pushing down the sadness that percolated in his eyes. “The Norns say Fenrir’s the most calculating demon the realms have seen in centuries. But that he’s more useful to us alive than dead.”
“That’s it?”
“We get a big picture explanation, a lot like your fortune cookies.”
“A wondrous package is coming your way? That’s what my last one said.”
Tyr snickered. “Your fortune came true, baby.”
“Knock it off.” I smiled, in spite of myself. “Does it bother you not to know more?”
“The Norns say sharing the details would take the joy out of living, but I disagree.”
“Exactly. They have all of this information, and they don’t do anything to help the good guys.” On this we were in sync.
“Details are data. They can be processed, planned for. The more I know about a given situation, the more I can manipulate it for the protection of the realms. I get special access to a few select files because in my case, knowledge literally is power. And my special access is what tipped me off to the hack.”
