Master of Umbra (The Valhalla Series)

by Poppet

  “You.” I give him my sarcastic smile, screwing up my eyes with a death glare when Bella grinds her chin on his knee.

  I hate that my cat is so damn amicable to sociopaths.

  He pats my leg before standing and it is heavy enough to bruise. Looking down at me, his pointy nose wrinkling with his smile, he says, “I'll go get you coffee. The bathroom is through there with your supplies waiting for you. You have clothes in the right side wardrobe. I'll see you in ten minutes.”

  “It's too dark in here!” I object, having an odd worry that he is going to abandon me in this strange place. I don't know him but I don't feel threatened by him, and having some company is better than having none.

  Pivoting, he gives me a wry grin, and it's über cute, “Aw, is big bad Deliah afraid of the dark?”

  You have no idea.

  Without responding, I just give him my 'do it' scowl.

  He steps back to me, touching a stone next to the bed, his face lighting up when it starts to glow. He looks delighted and gives me a smile which speaks of mild surprise.

  Without missing a beat he walks off into the shadows and more stones wink 'on' with his passage through the room.

  Peering around, it looks like a shrink-wrapped cave. The walls are satanic black, the randomly placed stones all glowing with a comforting amber.

  “Be good while I'm gone. The gun's under the left pillow.”

  He laughs to himself as he strides away through a tunnel cavity halfway between me and where he gestured the bathroom would be located.

  Now that I'm alone with Bella I slide across the wide bed, snaking my hand under the left pillow. Sure enough, there is a weapon under it. Pulling it out, I can't lift it off the bed. Bloody hell, what's it made from? It's heavier than a black hole.

  Fingering the weird looking object, I look around at the impressive suite. The floor has many vibrant rugs scattered across it, there's a hearth surrounded with chairs, a dining table, a reading nook, a conglomeration of weights for free lifting, and a shoe rack beside a coat rack.

  Refusing to squander another second procrastinating, I dive out of bed, stepping right in a water bowl.

  Fuck!

  Water puddles and rolls under his bed and I just manage to miss the milk and kibble bowls as I catch my balance. Dropping to my knees I peer under the substantial wooden bed full of archaic markings, checking the water won't ruin anything stored beneath it.

  A long sword next to a crossbow are on the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

  He's clearly more paranoid than I ever was. Who are his enemies that he sleeps with this many weapons within reach?

  *

  Ewan:

  On my way back to Deliah with mugs of coffee, Alan intercepts me.

  “Chief, we have answers – and a problem.”

  “Give me the problem first,” I snap, impatient to get back to the mystery lady.

  “We apprehended a weirdo poking around Deliah's cottage. In his pocket was the drug that made her so sick. What should we do with him?”

  Rage rises in me, steeling my muscles for confrontation, “I'll be right there. Is he down in the pit?”

  Alan nods, chewing his cheek as if he's hiding something.

  “Fer chrissake Alan, just spit it out. I don't have all day.”

  “He claims to be her boyfriend.”

  With my anger skyrocketing I give him a curt nod, stalking back to my quarters. That shower is going to have to wait.

  Entering the room I find her sitting in my chair, waiting for me with armageddon in her expression.

  “Whatever is eating you is going to have to wait. Your boyfriend's here,” I say, putting her coffee on the side table for her. “I made it black without sugar. Is that right?”

  She glances at it, nods, and looks back up at me as if I just disemboweled her pussycat. Taking a scalding swig of my own coffee, aggravation is thumping a bass through my bones.

  Abandoning my coffee cup next to hers, I raise both eyebrows and stare at the ashen faced waif, “Is there anything I should know before going to see why your boyfriend thought it would be a good idea to poison you?”

  Her swallow is audible and the hand stroking Arrabella starts to tremble, “He's not my boyfriend. I ran away.”

  “Why?” I need answers and I don't have time to be polite.

  “He ... uh ... he's a thug. He's a hit-man, in every sense of the word. When I discovered what he did he locked me up, afraid I'd blow his cover.”

  My mouth goes dry and I dare to pry now rather than later, “Who gave you the scars?”

  Surprise registers on her face, then her mouth flattens in defeat, “You saw them? Was that your shirt I was sleeping in?”

  “Yup. Now, are you going to answer the question?”

  “He ... uh ... fuck Ewan! This is none of your fucking business.”

  “It is if you would like justice delivered today,” I snap. Ire is beginning to blur my vision.

  That bastard scarred her? How? What the fuck did he do?

  “He tortured me. He thought I was sent to spy on him, like an informant or something. I'm innocent, I swear it. I wouldn't even know who to tell to get him locked up. It's not like I have any proof or anything.”

  Her tone is so husky it plays the snake charmer with my nether regions. Finally I know what she was running away from. The fact that she was so thorough with her hideaway location, ensuring it had multiple escape routes close enough to get to on foot, at any hour, impresses me. This action speaks louder than the words she just uttered. It also adds credence to her eagle roots. All eagles are that OCD about their safety.

  “Would you like to join me? You're welcome to repay the bastard for his kindness – in kind,” I offer.

  She shakes her head, “I'll puke again.”

  Giving her a reassuring wink, I point at the waiting mug, “Have your coffee. I'll try be quick. Stay here, and maybe when you're feeling better you can have a round in the pit with him.”

  Without waiting for her reaction I go stomping off to the hell-hole, stripping off my shirt and dropping it as I rush. He does not need to see the bloodstains on yesterday's shirt, it'll give him false confidence.

  Murder. Blood. Screams.

  They will be mine.

  Fucking bastard!

  Chapter 7

  They did not know when they entered the fight; hard-minded men, battle-warriors on every side, they meant to hew him

  (Hie þæt ne wiston þa hie gewin drugon heard-hicgende hilde-mecgas ond on healfa gehwone heawan þohton)

  ~ ll. 798-805a

  Deliah:

  The room hazed when I went into shock. It was so hard to sit here and answer his questions when two things simultaneously screamed for dominance in my mind.

  Maybe it's true that women can multitask, because I was panicking with precision until he did the manly pose of forefingers in front of jean pockets, thumbs propped on perfect ass slope, and did the muscle pop - forearm ripple, 'impatient' manpose with 'hands on hips'.

  Gee C.M.

  If he gets any hotter he'll be licking my skin with solar flares.

  I hope he bashes Dias' head in. I know he can do it. The way he jostled and joked friendly thwacks with Adam and Alweada would be enough to put Dias in hospital.

  In fact I hope he ups the anti and makes that psycho suffer.

  How the hell did he even find me? Do I have a tracking device in my shoe or something?

  *

  Ewan:

  Alan's waiting outside the door, informing me as he twists the winch, “The shit he had in his pocket matches the tox report on her blood sample. This man wanted Deliah dead. If you hadn't brought her back here when you did we would have been too late to save her.”

  “It was the Læraðr juice that saved her. We need to get more as our supplies are running low,” I grumble, unwilling to be painted the hero.

  He arches eyebrows at me, “And how would you propose we encourage the Ravens to hand over the god
juice?”

  “This gridlock they have on it is just wrong. Put a team together and go and take it by force if you have to,” I snarl, not wishing to stand here making small-talk when I'm itching for the sensation of bones breaking under my fist. “Open the fucking door, then get Alweada to join me. Send Adam to get Gunn back here and then to procure more god juice. I want Gunn to meet this asshole before his demise.”

  It helps that we can fly or Gunn wouldn't make it back in time.

  Alan gives me a look, as if he'd like to say something else, but I'm no longer focused on him, I'm sliding into the rage trance.

  The solid door hefts up, reinforced with metal, magnetite, and a ton of finfolk magic. Ducking under the spikes I bolt into the ring, charging the waiting bastard straight on. Delivering a full body blow with my shoulder, I hook his neck under my elbow, yanking him down to meet my fist, which I pummel into his face repeatedly.

  Blood bathes my hand and I only stop the assault when bone meets bone. Releasing him to collapse on the battle scarred floor, I saunter to the basin, rinsing my hands of his inferior blood.

  He's doubled over, cradling his face, hacking a choking cough.

  “What's your name, son?” I demand, taking a slow stroll back, restraining myself because every urge I have is demanding death. I want to kill him.

  “D..ominic.”

  It's a faint agonizing squeal and I look up at the gathering audience. Finding Alan in the crowd, I ask him, “Is that true?”

  “No chief. His name is Dias. The scouts located his hotel room and inside the false floor of his laptop cover we discovered his ID documents,” he shouts down to me.

  Lifting the fuck-up off the floor by his shirt, I hold him out away from me, the way I'd hold out a soiled diaper from a newborn, “You want to lie to me again, Dias? You sure you want to do that?”

  Dropping him from shoulder height, he oofs pathetically, rolling and curling into a fetal position. The bone is exposed in his cheek, his face already puffy, his nose broken. He's in a world of suffering and I still need answers. Breathing is his only priority right now, a priority I'm going to undermine.

  Gripping the man's hand, I snap his elbow over my forearm.

  Scream number four delivers music to the chamber of pain.

  He's a small assed runt. Humans were made to feed to the haug-bui. They are too small, insignificant, weak.

  Gripping his fist in my hand, twice the size of his, I apply pressure until two knuckles pop, “Dias, you're a man who likes to hurt women. Tell me son, how does it feel? Do you enjoy it?”

  His answer is the shrill wail you'd expect from a man waking to his morning glory only to discover a wendigo's cold mouth is inducing his hard-on.

  I crack the next knuckle, his hand becoming limp and useless encased in mine, “Dias, how did you torture Deliah?”

  I can't hear his answer as the crowd looking down on me go apeshit. “Blood blood blood blood!” chants manically from the witnesses. Discovering he hurt one of our own has signed his death warrant.

  Slashing my hand at them, I yell, “Quiet!” The hush is ominous as the tension ratchets. If I don't end him, they will. Good eagles! “I didn't hear your answer, son. Tell me exactly how you tortured Deliah.”

  After three spits of bloodied gob, he wheezes, “Jumper cables–”

  I don't hear anything else, my fury erupts and I'm out of control, delivering justice in the peaceful zen calm of a berserker within the bliss of Odin.

  This is my happy place, my peaceful place, where my mind wanders as if in a dream, where Odin's girls surround me with whispers and teasing smiles, urging me to give them another soul.

  Bombed backward, my lip split with the impact, I snap out of it, focussing on Gunn as he forces me down, holding me back, restraining my arms while he bodily harnesses me to the ground. “Enough!”

  “Gunn,” I smile at him. He's the rightful one to take Dias' life. “Finish him. He's yours to destroy.”

  Gunn scowls at me, sitting back on his haunches, his arms wide as if to corner me if I slip back into the death trance. “I don't want the bond. I'm happy the way I am, Ewan. You take her.”

  I shake my head, relishing the pain, wishing he'd head-butt me again and give me the high I need instead of ruining my moment with delinquent arguments. “You do this for her, Gunn. You do this. You put him in the grave. Only challenge the writing in the mist after you've met her. But this death, it is your duty.”

  He scowls at me, his hesitation enough to incite anarchy.

  “If you don't do it, I will!” shouts from the onlookers, and then pandemonium ensues. We all need this man dead. Scum do not deserve to live.

  Grant drops from the balcony, impacting the ground and running to finish Dias.

  I shove Gunn at the mangled man on the ground, “Finish him! That's a direct order.”

  I don't have time to fanny about, boosting off the ground I slam into Grant, smashing his trajectory away from the vermin and into the wall using his own momentum. A melee is about to unfold and I can't hold back the horde singlehanded.

  “Do it!” I yell over my shoulder, bashing my forearm into Grant's neck and pinning him to the wall.

  Grant smiles at me, his eyes glazed with bloodlust. He's feeling nothing. Only his training prevents him from sparring me to the ground to complete his objective.

  Struggling with my kin, I glance back at Gunn, elated to see his grim distaste as he punches his fist right through the man's skull, his knuckles cracking when he connects with the indomitable floor beneath the shattered cranium.

  He doesn't have a chance to withdraw when he's crowded by the marauders, mutilating the remains, pulling the bastard apart by his limbs. The pops of tendons snapping sounds like popcorn kernels thrown in the fire.

  Gunn staggers away, bodily shoving through the throng, pausing once to give me the stare of a man on death row.

  Just wait 'til you meet her. Then you'll understand I'm not persecuting you, I'm being a fucking gentleman for the first time in my life.

  He salutes me with his middle finger, giving me a goofy grin, his knuckles already swelling up. I blow him an answering kiss, laughing as I project my voice over the din, “You want to finger my arse? You saucy boy!”

  He bursts out laughing, shaking his head in mock despair, bellowing back, “You are fucked up!”

  “No son, I do the fucking up, and down, and missionary!”

  He smiles, looking for a moment like his old self, waving me off as a lost cause, shouting, “Pillock!”, before walking off to his chambers.

  Smiling myself, I leave my men to clean up the mess. Deliah looked horrified by the arrival of her 'ex'. I can't say I blame her. Jumper cables. Fuck! If she didn't have the pain threshold of an Eagle she would probably be dead by now.

  Walking up to his bloodied skull, I spit in it, pegging in disgust and marching back to my damsel in distress.

  The violence has got me harder than granite and that shower will be a welcome wank in a pocket of peace.

  Chapter 8

  Living or dead, I loved not the churl's son;

  Let Hel hold to that she hath!

  ~ Völuspá

  Deliah:

  Footsteps pound hollowly from the passageway and the apprehension is enough to invert my heart.

  Gripping an umbrella which I found on the coat stand, I'm ready to do my best fencing impression if Dias is the one who emerges from the dark cavity.

  Ewan's weapons are far too heavy and I can't wield them, even though I really wish I could. I struggled for vital minutes trying to load an arrow into the crossbow, but the tension on the wire was just too great for me. All I did was strain muscles, leaving me weak and shaky again. Good heavens, I'm just not cut out for this cloak and dagger nonsense.

  “Get ready to do some major mauling,” I whisper to Bella, who's crouched behind Ewan's chair peeking with alarmed 'made you look' eyes at the entryway.

  Adopting a flexible baseball batting stance, I
'm sweating bitchoil, coiled to attack, when Ewan strides into view.

  The relief is enough to make me cry.

  As he emerges fully into the lighting, I drop the umbrella at the state of him. I don't know this man from a basket of nuts, but the fact that he looks fucked and isn't being chased by Dias means he protected me, I know he did.

  “My god! What happened?” I shriek, the hysteria evident in my voice when I rush to him, staring up at a swollen and split bottom lip.

  He points to it, giving me a ragamuffin smile, “This? It's just a lovebite, don't you worry about it darling, it's nothing.”

  “But ...”

  Before I can complete my clucking, he points to his black eye and bruised nose, “This, on the other hand, is damage you delivered.”

  I feel awful that I attacked him. I do. But for fuck's sake, it was done under immense duress and he had his hands on me, and was acting like a damn lunatic. It was completely justified.

  “You asked for it,” I mutter, unwilling to apologize.

  He arches two scorpion black eyebrows, still giving me the cute smirk, “So you have no intention of kissing it better then? You're a cold hearted minx.”

  My jaw drops in scandalized reaction, inhaling sharply at his accusation.

  Having a wee chuckle he gives me a wink, “I'm joshing you, Liah. You're a bit highly strung for such a wee lass.”

  “I'm not little, I'm a damn sight taller than most men.”

  “Not in here you're not,” he says, suddenly looking tired.

  It yanks on every heartstring, mangling my chest with shortness of breath, laying guilt so heavily on my shoulders the weak-leg syndrome comes back, “Are you okay? What happened? Can I get you anything? Is Dias still here? You should sit down–”

  “One bullet at a time. You're like a bloody gatling gun set on automatic.” His grumble is goodnatured as he strolls to 'his' chair, rubbing his fingers together to coax Bella out of her safe nook. “I can tell you he won't be bothering you again.”