by Kate Pearce
She was silent for a long moment, and he sat, tense, waiting for her to come at him swinging, bloodlust in her eyes. But she heaved a deep sigh.
“I think we can do better. In fact, I think you promised to wring me out tonight.” She gave him an arch look. “Are you backing out on me?”
“Not a chance.”
She nodded crisply. “Good.”
“Otherwise I could take my ass down to the bunkhouse?”
“I thought that went without saying.” Amusement flashed in her dark gaze.
“Dessert first.” He reached for the cobbler. He had some interesting ideas about what the warm peach syrup at the bottom could be used for.
But even as his body revved up for the sex that was coming, he couldn’t help but notice that, as many times as he’d said he was sorry, she hadn’t said she forgave him.
He shouldn’t let it bother him, but it did anyway.
5
An odd noise woke Bryn just before dawn, sending a shiver of foreboding down her spine. She bolted upright in bed, her hand coming down on Erik’s bare back.
“I heard it too,” he breathed. He eased his arm across the mattress, silently lifting his pistol off the nightstand.
It came again. Somewhere between a sob and a choking sound. The voice was female, and close by. Nauma? Was someone in the other woman’s room? Bryn slipped out the long, slender dagger she hid between her mattress and box spring. Unsheathing the blade, she left the leather casing on the bed and rose. Adrenaline flooded her body, her senses sharpening as she eased down the hall, her feet placed carefully on each wood plank so her passage was soundless. Erik followed one step behind her, and then they set their backs against the wall on either side of the völva’s closed door.
“I smell no one else.” His words were almost soundless, but she heard him anyway.
She dipped her chin to acknowledge him, though the news made her no less cautious as she set a hand on the knob. He tapped his chest and pointed to the door, indicating he’d go in first. She nodded again, twisted the knob and shoved it open.
He went in, leading with his gun, and she spun in behind, each of them checking the room for intruders with military precision. Erik said, “Clear.”
“Clear,” she confirmed. Then she approached the bed. Nauma had been still when they entered, but now her back bowed, and she writhed on the mattress. Her hair and nightgown were sweat-soaked. That sound came again, but from up close, it seemed even more plaintive, rising to a high keening wail that lifted the hairs on the back of Bryn’s neck.
“What’s wrong with her?” Erik stayed near the foot of the bed, looking wary.
“I don’t know.” Bryn leaned closer, reaching out to check her forehead for a fever. “Maybe she’s sick?”
“Can immortals get sick?” he replied dubiously. “I didn’t think so.”
“Well, if you have a better—”
Nauma’s eyes flew open, the brown irises gone an eerie white, and Bryn jerked back a step. The völva’s torso bowed in an unnatural arch, and the lights in the room flared to blinding brightness. It felt as though a vibrating, suffocating power filled the room, like a million bees buzzing in the confined space. Nauma sucked in a breath, and it was as if the entire room drew in air, the curtains flapping wildly in the open windows. “He’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?” Bryn swallowed, her insides twisting tight. She set a tentative hand on the other woman’s forearm. “Nauma, who’s coming?”
She shook her head wildly, those milky eyes locking on Bryn. “Not now, not today. But soon.”
“Who?” Bryn’s fingers tightened on the dagger’s hilt, trying to ground herself in reality. Her heart hammered, and her knees felt like gelatin.
Nauma blinked, and her irises cleared, the static energy in the room faded, and the light bulbs dimmed to normal. “What?”
Swiping a hand across her sweaty forehead, Bryn replied, “You said someone was coming. Not now, but soon. Who is coming?”
“Loki,” Nauma said softly, staring at the ceiling. “I had a vision that he escaped.”
Bile burned Bryn’s throat, the sum of all her nightmares wrapped up in that one sentence. She felt an iron band cinch around her chest, forcing the air from her lungs. She gritted out, “In your vision…how did he escape?”
“Not sure.” Nauma grimaced and licked cracked lips. “Someone is helping him. I think. No, I’m sure. Someone is helping him. There’s a plan in motion to deliberately set off the apocalypse.”
Bryn grabbed the glass of water sitting on the nightstand and handed it to Nauma. “The original prophecy says that his daughter, Hel, and the king of the fire giants, Surtr, will be at his side when he escapes.”
“No. I mean, yes. They’re on his side, of course. But there’s more to it.” The völva rubbed her bloodshot eyes, looking as exhausted as a warrior who’d spent three days in endless battle. “There are players who haven’t revealed themselves yet.”
“Traitors?” Erik asked.
“I hope not, but I fear so. My vision didn’t show me that. Just Loki.” She sat up slowly, squinting as if the light hurt her eyes. She scanned the room until her gaze landed on Erik, then she looked at Bryn. “Gods. Does he ever have clothes on?”
He didn’t point out that Bryn was also nude, which she thought showed some serious restraint. He cast Bryn a wry glance. “Since when are Vikings modest?”
“Just put some damn pants on,” Nauma hissed.
His eyebrows lifted, but he inclined his head and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, presumably to do what she wanted. Bryn snorted. She didn’t think the man had ever moved so quickly to obey her unless it involved doing something dirty in bed. Völva were uncanny like that.
A half-second later, a massive wolf came in the room. She didn’t know which of the other berserkers it was, but it wasn’t Erik. The way the wolf averted his eyes instead of ogle her nudity gave her the big hint about who it was. “Ivar?”
His muzzle dipped in a nod.
The wolf’s fluid, animalistic grace showed no sign of his human handicap. Magic was a funny thing that way.
Bryn wrapped an arm across her breasts, though there was little else she could do to make this grandson-grandmother moment less awkward for him. Frankly, she didn’t care, but she could tell he did. “I take it you heard Nauma too?”
Another nod from the wolf.
The völva cleared her throat. “I was having a vision of Loki’s escape.”
Ivar jerked, every muscle in his body quivering with alertness.
“He hasn’t escaped yet,” she soothed. “But feel free to go check your security camera.”
Ivar grunted, turning away, presumably to do just that.
“I’ll go with him.” Erik appeared as silently as he’d left, set his hand on Ivar’s head, and scrubbed between the wolf’s ears. The man was wearing basketball shorts and a baggy tank top. It looked good on him, the shorts clinging to his groin in very interesting ways. He noticed her attention and winked, a promise in his gaze that made her insides quiver in want. She’d never confess it to him, but he’d done a damn fine job of wringing her out in bed.
“Ivar,” Bryn called, and the wolf glanced over his shoulder. “She said Loki has accomplices. Non-giants. People we might expect on our side.”
“The men here are trustworthy,” Erik said quietly. Ivar made a noise of agreement.
“Maybe.” She didn’t know them well enough to fully concur, but since Erik and Ivar’s asses were on the line here too, they had good reason to be absolutely certain who they could trust. “But what about other berserkers, valkyries, handmaidens, gods or goddesses? Can you vouch for all of them?”
“Point taken, hjartað mitt.”
The two males left, but Bryn stood there with her mouth gaping. Hjartað mitt. My heart. He hadn’t called her that since…before she’d married Gunnar. A hundred lifetimes ago. And she had no idea how she felt about his using the endearment now. As was
always the case with him, she was a jumble of confusion. She hated that, but she could admit to herself that maybe she was a little too somber, and he lightened something inside her. But was the end of the world the time to lighten up? Shit looked pretty grave right now.
She snapped her mouth shut, and found Nauma eyeing her speculatively. Bryn gave her a sour look in return. “I really don’t want any prophetic words of wisdom about us.”
“You’re beyond my help anyway.” The völva threw her legs over the side of the bed and rose as slowly and creakily as an ancient woman.
“That’s comforting,” Bryn replied dryly, catching the shorter woman’s arm to steady her.
The two of them shuffled over to the dresser so Nauma could pull out a new nightgown. “You’re a valkyrie, and you trust your fighting ability, you trust your instincts, but you don’t trust your heart, your emotions. You haven’t since the day you found out he betrayed you.”
So much for avoiding words of wisdom, but short of dumping the other woman on the floor, Bryn was stuck. “True enough.”
Nauma straightened and turned to meet her gaze squarely. “For your own sake, you need to learn to forgive yourself for what happened. You’ve accepted that you can’t change the past, and that’s good, but you haven’t forgiven yourself or trusted your emotions enough to love again since then.”
Heat washed up Bryn cheeks in a rare blush. Nauma had pegged that one neatly, hadn’t she? Bryn muttered, “Love isn’t going to stop the apocalypse.”
“Actually, I think it will,” the völva said softly, her eyes flashing milky white for a split-second.
A prickling wave went down Bryn’s spine.
Nauma tugged her arm away and took a few shaky steps toward the door and the bathroom in the hallway. “Think on what I said, shieldmaiden.”
“I will, handmaiden.” Bryn somehow doubted much else would be on her mind for a while. There was no way she’d get any more sleep tonight. Sunrise was only about a half-hour away, so she might as well start the day.
“Good.” The völva nodded. “Now I’m going to wash the sweat off, get some grub, and then go for a morning flight. I haven’t shifted into my dove form in far too long. Want to come?”
“I would, but I have to get down to the stables. The horses don’t like to be kept waiting for their breakfast.” Bryn shook her head with more regret than she’d have ever expected. Maybe she’d never love völva as a breed, but this one didn’t seem too bad. Watching her have a vision gave Bryn a new perspective on Seers. The blue bruises under Nauma’s eyes underscored how much her abilities took out of her—such power wasn’t limitless or without cost.
Bryn went to her room, threw on some clothes, and headed downstairs to grab a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. Someone had already made a pot of caffeine, which was nice. Muffin in one hand, mug in the other, she walked past the staircase to Ivar’s room. The door stood open, and she could hear Erik and Ivar talking before she reached the threshold. Every available surface in the room was covered in electronics, and Ivar was back in his human form, typing away at his laptop.
“Loki still tied down?” she asked.
“For now.” Ivar’s voice was an ill-tempered growl.
“Hey.” Erik came over and dropped a light kiss on her mouth. He moved away before she had time to blink in surprise. Warmth suffused her chest, but she squelched the feeling. Erik used his own cup of coffee to gesture upward. “Did she say anything else?”
Bryn shrugged lightly, and kept her tone just as airy. “Apparently, love’s gonna stop the apocalypse. Let’s all hold hands and sing Kumbaya, shall we?”
“Love?” An arrested expression crossed Erik’s face.
“I have work to do.” Because Nauma was right. Bryn didn’t trust her heart, didn’t trust in love, knew how weak and helpless any kind of tender emotion could make a person.
And Erik was the one who’d taught her that awful lesson.
Even if he’d apologized, did that really change anything? Maybe. Maybe not. She wasn’t sure she could trust him any more than she could trust what he made her feel.
* * *
Erik went with her to the barn, figuring he’d rather help her than deal with Ivar in a foul mood. They fed the horses, walked them out to their respective pastures, and then mucked stalls. They worked easily side-by-side, and it took a bit of teasing, but he got her to chat with him. There was wariness and confusion in her eyes when she looked at him, but somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, he’d realized he wanted her trust back. There was a lot of shit they had to hash out between them, reprehensible things they’d done to each other, and yet…he’d decided they’d figure it out. If fate was determined to force them together, they had to find a way to get along outside of the bedroom. They had to face the demons between them. How and when, he didn’t know, but adding the normalcy of working on mundane tasks together couldn’t hurt.
He stepped out of the stall he’d finished cleaning and headed for the last one in the row, setting his pitchfork on top of the wheelbarrow and pushing the load along the cement walkway.
Bryn’s voice came from the stall across the aisle. “If you emigrated to the U.S. a hundred years ago, you have to have been doing something besides being ye olde Norse hero.”
Moving across the stretch of concrete between them, he lounged against the wooden half-door. “I served in both World Wars, bootlegged whiskey in between, then did some time as a cop in New York, New Orleans, and Chicago. Now, though? I’m a scholar of ye olde Norse heroes.”
She glanced over at him, her lips pursing thoughtfully. “I could see that actually. You always were a thinker.”
“It’s from spending my childhood tending sheep.” He shrugged. “Nothing to do but be in your own head.”
“And fuck a farm animal when you got bored.” She smirked.
Assuming an innocent mien, he pressed a palm to his chest. “I swear I was just pushing it over the fence!”
She doubled over in a belly laugh, leaning on the handle of her pitchfork for support. It was unusual for her to let loose like this, and he relished it. After a few minutes she swiped her damp eyes on the shoulder of her T-shirt. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I’ve always said whatever it took to make you laugh.” Not that he’d ever been a clown, but he tried to catch her off-guard with the occasional witty comment. That approach usually worked best with her.
She sobered. “I know. I laugh more around you than anyone else.”
He saluted and spun away to get back to work.
“I’ve cried more because of you than anyone else, too.”
The words were low enough that he wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear them or if she’d been talking to herself. Either way, he winced. He half-turned back to her, but then stilled. What could he say that he hadn’t already said? And hadn’t she also brought him boatloads of agony in his lifetime? He sighed and went into the last stall. The physical labor was good, gave him something to focus on, but didn’t take too much concentration.
The light conversation they’d shared earlier evaporated into silence. What she was thinking, he didn’t know, but his brain still focused on the biggest sticking point he had with her. He could apologize until he was blue in the face, and she’d forgive him or not, but was she equally sorry for the pain she’d caused him? Did she still relish having gotten him murdered? Worse, was she glad she’d killed his young son? Why had she done it? Just to complete her vengeance or something more? She’d spared his daughter with Gudrun—why not slaughter Svanhild too?
He heard Bryn finish and tip a bucket of horse manure into the wheelbarrow. “I’m going to grab a shower. Do you know where the dung heap is to dump this load?”
“Yep.” He didn’t look up, just kept cleaning out the stall.
She hesitated in the doorway for a few seconds. “Okay…see you later.”
“Later.” He was going to need to ask his burning questions, but was now the right ti
me to bring up more personal shit? Or should he wait until everything had blown over?
He hadn’t found an answer by the time he’d gone back into the house, showered, and put on some clean clothes. He was halfway down the stairs when Ivar’s voice echoed through the house. “Everyone, you’re going to want to see this!”
Erik heard the pounding of footsteps on wooden floors as people reacted to the summons. He continued down the steps, Nauma came pelting behind him, and he almost collided with Holm, who was rounding the corner from the kitchen. They jostled for a moment, and Nauma darted past them into the room.
“What’s going on?” she demanded breathlessly.
Ivar glanced at the three of them. “Let’s wait for everyone to—”
“We’re all here, mate.” Val waved Bryn into the room, and they lined up to hear what Ivar had to say.
The tension in the air felt as thick and suffocating as a wet blanket, and Erik could almost imagine each of them both hoping and dreading that the waiting would finally be over.
Ivar pointed to a silenced newsfeed on his laptop. Similar feeds were running on the TV and on two other monitors he’d rigged up. “A sinkhole opened in Illinois around midnight.”
After a short pause, Bryn threw up her hands. “So?”
“It ate the house where I’d last tracked Heimdall. He was having an affair with a human woman.” He tilted his head. “Well, maybe with the woman and her husband, but I didn’t dig too deeply into any possibilities.”
Several of them sucked in a breath at once. Shit. That was bad. There’d been natural disasters popping up all over the world the last decade or so, but he’d never heard of one deliberately targeting an immortal. Since giants were often connected with elements, it made a terrifying kind of sense that they might use that connection as a weapon.
Val asked, “So, Heimdall is…dead? Before the apocalypse started, even though he was supposed to die during the battle of Ragnarök?”
That was the thing about being immortal—it didn’t make you invincible. It also didn’t mean you couldn’t die or be killed. It didn’t mean you couldn’t be permanently disabled, as Ivar demonstrated. The god Tyr got a hand bitten off by a giant wolf, and it hadn’t grown back. Being immortal just meant you’d never die a natural death. So long as nothing bad happened, you’d just keep coasting along forever. But if you lived long enough, something bad was going to happen. Eventually.
