Magpies & Moonshine

by Heather R. Blair

  Blessedly human, familiar arms.

  9

  “I told you I was a monster,” I mutter as I pick her up, not surprised at all that she’s fainted.

  I would have liked to shift in the cave, but I couldn’t retain full control until I was away from the smell of that bruin’s blood. Even the thought makes the beast salivate inside me. It was too quick a death, but doing what I really wanted was not an option, not in front of her.

  Carly’s head lolls against my shoulder, her mouth slack and soft. I kiss her because I have to, if only to ground myself back in this form. To assure myself she’s here in my arms. Safe.

  To my surprise, her eyes fly open. Then her arms come around my neck and she’s holding me so tightly it’s hard to breathe.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper against her hair.

  “For saving my life?” She doesn’t release her death grip but there is the faintest note of amusement in her voice. But it feels forced. Unsure.

  Shit. “For scaring you.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she says indignantly in my ear.

  “Now, no. But you were. When I was—”

  Her arms loosen and she leans back so she can see my face. “Maybe I was. But I realized it was you, I could see that much.” She swallows hard and cups my jaw with soft, trembling fingers. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

  “Used to?” My arms tighten involuntarily and she lets out a small squeak of protest as she’s locked back against my chest. I force myself to relax. “Nobody gets used to that.”

  She’s quiet for a long moment. But I should know better than to think she’s given up. “You’ve never given anyone a chance to.”

  “You’re right,” I say, staring straight ahead. “And I never will.”

  I feel her shrink back, but I’m too much of a coward to look her in the eye and face the betrayal I know must be flickering there. I shift her weight in my arms and march us down the mountain and back into Odda, telling myself it’s better that she knows the truth. That I should be relieved the end is beginning.

  But when I feel the hot splash of a single tear against my skin, my teeth grind together until I taste blood.

  Once we’re back in the hotel, I make her tell me everything. Everything that bastard said, everything he did. She doesn’t cry again, only complies in a monotone that sets my already-screaming nerves on edge.

  This is the time to make a break, to capitalize on the distance the beast put between us, but I can’t make myself leave.

  I keep touching her to assure myself she is safe. Winding a rose-gold curl around the tip of my finger, trying to memorize the vibrant color. Letting my lips press against the top of her head, those same curls tickling my nose. Stroking the silky back of her hand with my thumb, over and over, reminding myself she’s here. I didn’t lose her.

  Not quite yet.

  Finally, she turns to me with questions of her own. “He said you were Fenrir.”

  She’s already explained this part, several times, but the back of my neck still goes cold. “Yes.”

  “He was right?” She looks unconvinced, even after everything she saw.

  I sigh. “Fenrir is a name I used to be known by.”

  Her teeth press into the soft swell of her lower lip. “That sounds like you’ve been known by a lot of names.”

  I laugh, the sound devoid of humor. “Not really. Just three or four.”

  She nods as if this is a reasonable statement. “He also said you’re not a god.”

  “I’m not.” Then again, what is a god? Odin certainly isn’t human, but he’s close enough. Closer than I am. “At least, not in the way you think of them.”

  Her blue eyes narrow at this. “What are you then? A shifter?”

  “That’s not a bad analogy,” I say reluctantly.

  “But it’s not the whole truth?”

  “I can shift forms, yes.”

  “And the form I saw tonight. That’s one of them?”

  I close my eyes, then force myself to stop being a coward. I answer her question with a question. “When a bruin shifts, which form is his real one? Bear or human?”

  She ponders this, then shrugs. “Both. It’s like asking which side of the coin is the real one.”

  “Exactly. I’m not that kind of shifter, Carly. I have one true form.”

  Her eyes widen as it sinks in. “The one I saw in the cavern,” she whispers.

  “Yes.”

  “Where are the rest of you? I mean, there are more like you, right?”

  “None of my people remain here. They all left.”

  “Back to the stars?” she guesses.

  I force a smile. “Something like that, baby.”

  She’s quiet for a long time after that, so long I think she’s run out of questions or that she’s afraid to ask more. I should know better. “The duke said he was going to take you to Odin. Why does Odin want to capture you? Why did he have the Fetters made so long ago?”

  I decide to go with the tale she’s already familiar with. “You know why.”

  She shakes her head. “I know what the story says, but that can’t be true.”

  “Can’t it?”

  With a frustrated hiss, she yanks her hand from mine. “You’re not going to kill the gods and eat the world.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Really? Don’t I?” She huffs out a breath. “If you eat the world, Styx, I will die.”

  I growl instantly, or rather the beast does, way down deep inside of me.

  She raises an eyebrow. “See? Alien beastie, or whatever the hell you are, that’s not going to happen.”

  My jaw tightens. “You’re so sure I won’t harm you?”

  “Yes,” she says simply.

  I wish I could share her confidence.

  I let the water beat at my head and shoulders, both of which are physically fine now, thanks to a bit of self-healing. Only the mental pain lingers. Magical healing can fix the muscles, but it can’t erase the memories. The mind has to catch up in its own time.

  Along with dealing with my own flashbacks, I’m trying to process everything Styx said and it’s not going well. The hardest thing to swallow isn’t that the man I love isn’t a man at all. Nope. I already knew that, after all. The thing I’m struggling with is the idea he might end the world.

  That was supposed to be my sister’s job.

  I sigh and shut the water off. Of course, my mother would say that’s just one possibility, sweetie. Having a mother that can jump through time makes one unusually aware of the weight of choices. Ever since I was tiny, I understood that every one we make splinters into others and then others again. Every single choice we make leads us closer to our fate, and changing the end result is uncommonly hard.

  Mom explained it to me once like this: Imagine a valley between two mountains. One of the mountains has snow on it every year, snow that melts in the spring and becomes a torrent running into the valley. Now obviously the path this torrent takes is not preordained. However, the slope of the mountain, the amount of snow that year, the placement of boulders and trees, the general topography, they all play a part.

  The water may not be forced to go a certain way, per se, but given knowledge of all the factors, we can make a pretty good guess what path the runoff will take.

  People and fate are the same way. We have free choice, yes, but there are certain paths that we each gravitate toward. This isn’t a bad thing; our topography is who we are. Our hopes, dreams, desires, fallacies—they create our environment, as does simple circumstance.

  But, like the valley, given enough knowledge of those circumstances and the person involved, a reasonable prediction of the path that will be taken can be made. This is what Mom has, sort of, learned to do over the years.

  Yet, her valley analogy is one person. The fate of the planet is woven of millions of valleys and hills and deserts and Arctic seas.

  Just because the world was in danger of ending throug
h the events of Seph’s life—and those events have now been put right—that doesn’t mean the world is safe forevermore.

  The gods believe Styx—well, Fenrir—will end them. That’s the legend of Ragnarok. But I get the feeling Odin has some personal vendetta against Styx as well.

  Not that Styx seems particularly worried about that, at least as far as I can see. He’s far more concerned about what may happen to me because of his other half.

  Or his real half, I guess.

  What pisses me off is that it’s not that he thinks I’m incapable of accepting him, because let’s be honest, I’m not one hundred percent sure I am capable of accepting what I saw in that cave.

  No, what pisses me off is that Styx doesn’t intend to give me a chance to try.

  At all.

  Ever.

  I throw the towel back over the rack and glare at my blurred image in the mirror. I knew he was holding back because he was scared of something. Now I’ve seen what he’s scared of, and yes, it was fucking terrifying. I swallow hard, meeting my own panicked eyes.

  But I love him. I’ve loved him since that day in Dungeon’s End. I know that’s not supposed to be possible and that maybe it’s a bit shallow and all. Yet every day since, he’s proved my instincts right.

  The pushing away, the distance he tries to maintain, it pales beside his other actions. The way those golden eyes go all melty and soft right before I fall asleep in his arms. The way he squeezes my hand when I’m standing up to my sisters, letting me know he’s proud, confident and amused, all at the same time. The way he cooks for me when I’m sad, or how he smells my hair when he thinks I’m not paying attention, a goofy look on his handsome face.

  Even the way he rescued me tonight, risking the exposure of a secret he’s kept for centuries without hesitation.

  He’d do anything to make me happy. Except let me love him the way I want to. Well, that needs to stop, right here and now.

  I don’t care if he’s some metallic monster from another plane. I mean, okay, maybe I care. Especially when it comes to the sex stuff. For one thing, that monster would crush my bed into kindling and undoubtedly me right along with it.

  I close my eyes and swallow hard.

  But I love him.

  I slip on a T-shirt and panties and plaster on a smile that’s way more confident than I feel. When I stroll into the other room, Styx is hunched over the bed, shoving things in my open backpack. He’s exchanged the bloodstained jeans for a fresh pair and removed the torn shirt, but he still looks almost feral, his muscles bunching and rolling as he growls softly to himself.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you home,” he snaps. “Immediately.”

  “Styx, I can’t go home. I have to go to Asgaard. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Like hell it hasn’t! You need to be back in Duluth. In your own bed. With your own family. You need to be safe.”

  “I am,” I say softly, stepping up behind him to lay a hand on his bare back. “I’m with you.”

  The warm muscles under my fingers go taut, thrumming lightly. That’s all the warning I get. The next heartbeat I’m across the room, my back flush against the wall.

  “Me?” he snarls. Those impossibly strong fingers are curled around my arms, pinning me in place. I don’t think he realizes my feet aren’t touching the carpet. “You think you’re safe with me?”

  “I know I am.” I lift a hand to cup his jaw, the rough scrape of his day-old beard making my palm tingle.

  He yanks his head back. “Are you insane? I could’ve killed you in that chamber, Carly. I still could. One second of lost control and it would be over. You wouldn’t even see it coming.” Styx lets go, watching me slide down the wall before he steps back a few paces, looking like a man in sore need of something to punch.

  “If you really believe that, you would have left already.”

  He flinches but doesn’t deign to answer, going back to stuff our packs with everything he can reach.

  “This is why you won’t have sex with me, isn’t it?”

  He throws our packs at the door with a snarl, making me jump.

  I bite my lip. “You’ve had sex in the past, with other women.” It’s not a question, but he snaps out an answer anyway.

  “Of course I have.” He spins around to sit down abruptly on the edge of the bed, pinning me with those golden eyes, an edge to his voice. “I’m Fenrir, remember? My appetites are legendary.”

  I raise an eyebrow, not about to rise to that bait. He snorts in unmistakable frustration.

  “You’re not other women, Carly.”

  I guessed as much, but Styx acknowledging it lights a soft, warm glow deep inside. “Then it should be better with me, don’t you think?” I ask hesitantly.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, you little idiot.”

  Oh. “Good is bad?”

  “Sweetheart, with you, good could be very, very bad.” He drops his face into his hands at my crestfallen look.

  Cautiously, I cross the room. He lifts his head when I put my hands on his shoulders.

  “I can’t stand when you look at me like that,” he grinds out. “Disappointing you kills me.”

  My throat tightens as I realize I’m not the only one who’s been suffering. “I’ve got to say, I was a little worried you didn’t want me enough. That maybe the whole virgin thing was a turn-off.”

  “Are you kidding?” Styx gives me an incredulous look, then presses his face against my stomach, his voice muffled and strained. “I want you more than I’ve wanted anything ever.”

  “Then we’ll figure it out.” I lift my hands to stroke his hair. The long, silky weight of the silver strands makes me sigh before I wrap a few strands in my fingers and tug his head back. “Together. You’re not going anywhere, Styx, and neither am I. Accept it.”

  I slip down into his lap, straddling him, wrapping my arms around him so tightly my muscles ache. He stiffens at first, then gradually relaxes, his own arms coming around me, encasing me in hard, warm strength. “You’re right.”

  “Good. Glad you’ve finally got your head out of your ass.” I mumble against his throat. “Now can we figure out this sex thing?”

  10

  “Sex isn’t that big of a deal.”

  Ten minutes later and she’s still at it, like a dog with a goddamn bone. Maybe she has a point about me walking away. But this is a different story.

  I lift my eyebrows and hold back a weary sigh. “It is if you do it right.”

  Not that she would know, my up-until-yesterday never-been kissed witch has no idea the danger she’s courting by tempting me.

  As if sensing my thoughts, her eyes narrow. “I’ve read up on it, you know.”

  “Have you?” My voice comes out rougher than I expect and she shivers in my arms. Her nipples are tightening in the thin T-shirt she’s wearing. I have a hard time tearing my gaze away.

  “Yes, I have. I’ve watched videos, too.” She tightens her thighs around my hips, those blue eyes wicked as I freeze in place, stifling a gasp. The heat of her presses deliciously against my cock and it takes everything I have not to get hard. “I’m scaring you. I thought monsters didn’t get scared.”

  I ignore this, trying to focus on my breathing and not tearing her clothes off. “You think books and videos can prepare you for this?” For me?

  “No.” And something about her expression lets me know she gets the part I didn’t say out loud, too. “But I’ve practiced.”

  “Practiced how?”

  For the first time in this conversation, her cheeks go slightly pink. Then I get it. Don’t visualize. Do. Not. Vis—

  Shit.

  Now I’m hard.

  “You’ve touched yourself thinking about me?” The words come out choked as my fingers run helplessly up and down the curve of her spine.

  “Yes.” She smiles again. “Would you like to see?”

  “Fuck, Carly.” My hands settle on her hips, shaking slightly.


  “That is the idea. Eventually.” She leans forward, her hands on my chest, her lips brushing my jaw. “I think we should take it slow at first, how about you?”

  I swallow hard. “Slow is good.” Infinitely fucking slow. I can’t have sex with Carly. No way, no how. The danger is too great, but surely I have enough control to watch.

  To make some memories to bring with me into the darkness.

  Then she’s pulling out of my arms to lie back on the bed, and thinking is damn near impossible. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  When I open them again, her T-shirt is gone, just gone.

  My breath stops in my throat. This woman does not play fair.

  Oh gods, she’s so fucking beautiful. With clothes on, Carly appears almost delicate, but wearing only a pair of panties, her form is unexpectedly lush. Her pale skin is dusted everywhere with freckles. They dance over the sweet flare of her hips, the soft concave of her stomach and the firm swell of her breasts.

  Her nipples are perfect, a faint rose that darkens before my eyes to a luscious, ripe strawberry.

  I lick my lips and her eyes settle on my mouth.

  Her bright hair spreads over the pillow in damp, glossy curls as she watches me watch her. She crooks a finger for me to come closer, but I shake my head.

  I’m already too damn close, in more ways than one.

  The air seems to get heavier in the room, thickening in my lungs as her thighs part. A flush works its way from her collarbone to her cheeks as my eyes trail down. Her hand flutters nervously before settling on the top of one leg. Her nails are short, painted a deep plum that stands out against her pale, freckled skin.

  I watch those nails skim the inside of her thigh. My lips press together, breath catching as I imagine the silk of her skin, the warmth of it. When her fingertips touch the edge of her panties, I can’t help the groan deep in my throat. The thin cotton is damp and darkening already.

  As she lifts her hips to tug the scrap of fabric down her thighs, my fingers fist the bedsheets so hard my knuckles ache.