Ascension: Nate Temple Series Book 13

by Shayne Silvers

  “Some last longer than others,” I argued, grinning.

  “Not those who openly talk about the length of their lasting.”

  I gave her a mock scowl. “Damn. You’ve learned about overcompensation. My plans to make you swoon are destined to crash on rocky cliffs.”

  She nodded. “Owning a bar—even if it’s just a cover—teaches you a lot about the depraved nature of men. You haven’t evolved much over the centuries.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said, chuckling.

  “You’re quite good at this,” she said, leaning into me and resting her head on my shoulder.

  I grunted. “You are a poor liar, but as long as they buy it, I’m satisfied.”

  She spoke in low tones, catching me up on all the latest gossip—which wasn’t much. At least it matched what Freya had said, though. Odin had been absent until now, and his ravens had been spotted throughout the Nine Realms in the past weeks, carrying messages back and forth. “That is what he is doing now,” Kára murmured, “making sure his messages were sent or received, and that his missives were followed and obeyed.”

  I nodded, smirking as if she’d said something particularly naughty.

  “And what’s the verdict on goat-boy?” I asked, referring to Thor.

  She tensed marginally, so I squeezed her shoulder in warning, reminding her to stay in character. “Fuck him,” she whispered, her shoulders relaxing. “He would have doomed us all. You did what needed to be done. You made enemies and allies, but I imagine both will remain hidden until it’s too late to make a difference.”

  I grunted. “They’ll wait on the sidelines until they can back the winner.”

  “Yes. They are cowards,” she said firmly.

  I sighed, giving her shoulder one last squeeze before parting with another kiss on her cheek. “Vigilance,” I whispered in her ear.

  She kissed me on my cheek, catching me off guard. “It’s what I do, Temple,” she purred. Then she was walking back to her position, smiling approvingly at the hatchet sticking out of the statue’s groinicus minimus. She extracted it with entirely too much pleasure, and in my opinion, the statue looked sad.

  I kept the grin on my face—which wasn’t too hard to do—for everyone to see as I let my eyes linger on Kára’s back for a few moments. Then I let out a dramatic sigh and turned away.

  It was time to talk to Odin. Whether he was ready or not.

  I spotted Alucard a dozen paces away, drinking from a gnarly horn with a contingent of cheering einherjar.

  They cheered louder as he finished it off in one pull and slammed it down on the table. “Nate!” he hooted. “This stuff is amazing!”

  “And strong, man. How much have you had?”

  “Just a few,” he admitted. “I was careful.”

  Judging by the amused looks on the Asgardian faces, I was betting he had severely underestimated the alcohol content of the godly beer. “Right. We should move this along.”

  I motioned him ahead of me, back towards the center of the room.

  I shot a look at the einherjar who seemed to be in charge, a tall, bearded, bald man with two scars down each of his cheeks. His chest was hairier than my head. “How long have I got?” I asked, smirking.

  Realizing that he had a comrade rather than a reprimand, he grinned back. “If he lasts longer than five minutes, I’ll give you my best knife,” he said, chuckling.

  “Deal,” I said. And I pulled out my phone to start the timer. I slipped it back into my pocket and stuck out my hand to shake on it.

  The man blinked at me, caught off guard, and then he grinned wide, shaking my arm firmly. “I’ll stick by my word, godkiller. My name is Ragnar.”

  “Nate,” I said, shrugging. “Sounds much scarier.”

  He grinned. “As you wish, Nate.”

  “Five minutes,” I mused, scratching at my stubble. “That should be long enough. You and your men mind giving me the benefit of the doubt here? I’m going to make things interesting, and I always thought loud and angry was more fun. If he’s got less than five minutes, I need to get their attention fast.”

  Ragnar considered that, combing his beard with scarred, calloused fingers. He finally nodded. “You just had a private conversation with Freya for longer than five minutes and the Valkyries didn’t impale you. Then you got Kára to kiss you. I believe you’ve earned more than our trust. Me, I think it’s time for my men to scout the halls for about, oh…” he scratched at his beard thoughtfully, “five minutes or so.”

  I grinned, dipping my head gratefully. “Thank you, Ragnar.”

  “Good luck.”

  “I’ve never turned her down before. Not going to start now. Take your time out there, Ragnar.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, I’ll be staying. We have a wager, after all.” He lifted his arm, and the einherjar around the room slowly began slipping out the doors. The best part was that no one else seemed to notice—or they just weren’t paying attention, because they were all staring at Alucard who had his hands on his hips and was glaring up at Odin.

  Well, the shit show had apparently started. “Polish that dagger for me, Ragnar.”

  He laughed as I turned my back on him, hurrying over to Alucard.

  The gods still huddled in small groups around the perimeter. A larger congregation stood near the entrance, all seeming to huddle towards someone speaking in the center.

  I shot a glance up at Odin, really getting a clear look at him this time. He looked incredibly tired, with deep circles under his eye and eyepatch. I knew that thoughts of Fenrir loose had to have him on edge, not even counting the fact that Gungnir was also missing.

  I began to feel a prickling sensation in my shoulders, sensing a growing hum of tension, and it seemed to be centered on that same knot of godly gossip behind me. Odin was nodding to a god who was talking to him, but his eye was focused on me, and he looked as if he was waiting for a trap to spring. He had good intuition.

  “I’m feeling unappreciated,” I finally said.

  Odin leaned forward, suddenly dismissing the god speaking to him. “Perhaps it would be best if we reschedule. There is a lot of work for me to do here—”

  “Can we reschedule, Alucard?”

  “Nope. You’ve got that thing with the masseuse later. They book a year in advance. Tardiness means no happy ending.”

  I frowned. “I do love my happy endings,” I admitted.

  “Then there is Ganesh and Shiva. Meditation practice—which you sorely need,” Alucard said.

  I sighed wearily, staring Odin in the eye. “Anger management. Or as I like to call it, problem-solving.” I cleared my throat before speaking in a flat, monotone, “Woo. Sah.”

  I spotted Ragnar about ten feet away, pretending to stroke his thick mustache, but really concealing his grin. The rest of the gods and Valkyries seemed to be tightening the circle, as if not wanting to miss this spectacle.

  “Then the Fight Club with Achilles, Leonidas, and Asterion,” Alucard reminded me.

  The Valkyries perked up at that, looking suddenly interested.

  “We can’t talk about that,” I said tensely, shooting him a dark look.

  “An unspecified violent altercation with unidentified friends at an undisclosed location. Allegedly,” Alucard corrected himself.

  “Better.”

  “Then you need to visit the Fae Queens. They both owe you favors.”

  I nodded, glancing back up at Odin. “Seems like I’m booked up.”

  “Tomorrow is even worse,” Alucard said. “You’ve got that extermination thing to deal with. What was the pest called again?” he asked, frowning over at me. He stumbled slightly, but no one else seemed to notice. Well, no one but Ragnar, who looked to be salivating with anticipation.

  “The Academy of Wizards,” I said, knowing Alucard was on borrowed time. That Norse booze was about to send him into a coma.

  Odin, of course, did not have a happy face. His friends mirrored his visage, amplifying it, e
ven. With so many gods surrounding us, it was very hard for me to keep my skin from bursting into a golden glow and showing off my godkiller powers.

  Odin gritted his teeth, and he seemed to be trying to impart a subliminal message directly into my brain via the throbbing vein on his temple. “Again, I am busy cleaning up a mess—”

  “Cool. Finish that later. You made a promise, so we’re leaving. Unless I need to make another mess,” I suggested, smirking.

  The crowd grew tense and angry at my flippant tone. But with my reminder of Odin’s promise, and blatant lack of concern that I was surrounded, they grew hesitant. Well, all but the Valkyries. They looked anticipatory.

  “You talk a big game, but from what I hear, you weren’t the one to make the mess you keep bragging about,” someone taunted from the larger knot of Asgardians that I had noticed. “Where is your big friend?” His fellows were all staring deeper into their midst, but I couldn’t see the speaker.

  I glanced away dismissively. “You didn’t raise your hand, boy. The adults are talking.”

  The room grew brittle with silence. “Do you have any idea who I am—”

  “I said,” I interrupted in a low, warning tone, turning back around. I was surprised to find a tall, solidly-built man with short blonde hair stepping out from his crew of fellow gods. I stared, unable to finish my sentence.

  He was surprisingly handsome, rather than scarred and battle-proven. But that wasn’t why I found myself at a loss for words. He stood out like a sore thumb, not wearing anything even remotely conducive to battle. Unable to help myself, I burst out laughing.

  “Who is this ass clown?” I hooted. “He’s dressed like the CEO of a watermelon patch!”

  He wore a flannel dress shirt and a tan Carhartt jacket with jeans and boots. He’d also buttoned his shirt all the way up to the collar, and tucked it into his jeans.

  His face purpled, and I caught muffled laughter from throughout the room—except from those in his cheer squad. They looked suddenly livid.

  Alucard nudged me, speaking under his breath. “I’m feeling kind of tipsy, Nate. We should probably wrap this up.”

  Shit.

  Chapter 17

  I waved a hand at the god, dismissing him. “You look fun, but I really don’t have time to play with you right now.”

  I turned my back on him, ready to get Odin to our next destination. I still had a long night ahead of me, and I didn’t feel like carrying Odin and Alucard. Freya suddenly appeared in my peripheral vision, but she shoved me to the side before I had a chance to open my mouth.

  And she let out a cry of pain.

  I spun to see everyone shouting at each other, but all I cared about was the red cut on Freya’s arm. A gash that would have also affected Gunnar’s pups. It wasn’t fatal or anything, but it was the intent that mattered. Someone from Watermelon Patch, LLC had thrown a knife at my back.

  And Freya had taken the blow meant for me.

  Kára was suddenly on the fringe of the crowd, hoisting a man up into the air.

  With a freaking trident through his gut.

  He didn’t die, but he looked like he really wished he could have, rather than remaining impaled by a Valkyrie.

  Odin settled a hooded glare on the helpless offender. “You will wish you never did that. You will wish so for a very, very long time.” Then he began shouting at the mob of arguing gods, doing his best to calm them all down.

  Kára handed her trident to a fellow Valkyrie, who began carrying him from the room, keeping him hoisted up on the trident like a flag. She was also clumsy, because she bumped him into the doorframe about three times on her way out, eliciting all sorts of cringeworthy squeals and gasps.

  Rather than involve myself in that hot mess, I sprinted up to Freya and gripped her by the shoulders. “Thank you, Freya. I won’t forget this.”

  She grunted. “It’s barely a scratch.”

  I leaned in closer to inspect it, and told her what I needed her to do. In all the chaos and confusion, there was no way anyone else could have overheard.

  “Are you out of your damned mind?” she hissed.

  “You can’t tell a soul. When it’s time to go, I’ll say applesauce.”

  She sputtered incredulously, but I was already turning away. “Someone help her. I’ve got an ass to kick,” I growled, rolling up my sleeves. I locked eyes with Mr. Watermelon. “You’ll do.”

  Alucard was shadow-boxing thin air, huffing and puffing as he worked on his combos while a crowd of baffled Asgardians watched. Ragnar held his massive arms out wide, urging the audience to give Alucard some space. “Let him work it out of his system. He’ll pass out in a minute.”

  Alucard, for his part, kept going like a machine, turning any drunken stumble into a bob-and-weave move, never ceasing his punching combos. I shook my head, focusing back on my own foe.

  I flung a blast of air at him—with the exact same motion I would have used to cuff an upstart teenager on the head. It struck his chest, sliding him back on his feet a few inches, but that was the extent of it. He brushed off his shirt and scowled at me. I grunted, having anticipated a slightly more dramatic effect. “You must be Baldur.”

  He nodded proudly. “Do your worst. Nothing can harm me.”

  I lowered my arms and stared at him. “You’re a special kind of stupid, you know that?”

  He narrowed his eyes angrily, but he didn’t speak.

  “When Freya went out to make everyone promise not to hurt you, was there a second group of Horsemen walking the earth?”

  The room suddenly grew silent—my words serving to silence the crowd better than Odin’s furious shouts. “A Horseman is a Horseman,” he snapped.

  I shrugged. “When I first put on my Mask,” I said in a calm tone, “all Four Horsemen—the originals—almost died. They couldn’t even remain in the same city as me without getting deathly ill in a matter of minutes. So…evidence seems to say all Horsemen are not alike.”

  My words echoed.

  “Even if your mother—who still hasn’t heard an apology from you or your friends—had earned an oath from the original Horsemen…I’m a different, darker breed, champ. And that’s not even considering my party trick,” I added, smiling as my arm began to glow with golden light. Gasps rose around the room, eyes shooting towards Odin as if begging him to stop me.

  But Odin remained silent.

  I let out a slow, menacing laugh. “The real question is how lucky you feel right now. Do you feel as lucky as Thor?” I asked sweetly.

  Heimdall was suddenly there, holding Baldur back a heartbeat before he lunged. “Leave him be, Baldur! Trust me. You were not there to see—”

  “His friend killed my brother, not him!” Baldur snarled furiously.

  “And he deserved it!” Odin said, his voice booming over our heads.

  Baldur froze in Heimdall’s grip, turning to stare incredulously at Odin. “What?” he asked, in probably the coldest tone I’d ever heard.

  Odin nodded. “Thor overstepped, and look what it cost him. He would not be dissuaded from pestering Nate Temple. Learn from your brother’s mistake.”

  Baldur clenched his fists, outraged. “You would sit there, on your throne,” he snarled, pointing, “and stand for this wizard against me? To spit on your dead son’s name?” he asked incredulously. “It seems the rumors are correct. The Allfather has left us for good.”

  Odin opened his mouth but I lifted my hand, cutting him off. The room instantly silenced as my veins began to glow brighter. “This has nothing to do with Odin, other than the fact that the only disrespect I’ve seen is yours. Thor attacked a pregnant woman. Her husband brought swift justice. Odin could not have intervened without taking honor away from Thor.”

  Tyr slowly stepped forward, holding up a hand. The God of War cleared his throat, turning to face me, and I suddenly remembered that he was also considered the God of Justice, the Lawgiver. “Temple speaks the truth. Odin’s intervention would have shamed Thor deeply—makin
g it seem as if Thor was incapable of solving his own problems without his father stepping in. It would have made all of Asgard appear weak.” Then he dipped his chin at me, and I saw respect in those deadly eyes.

  The crowd began to murmur thoughtfully, not having thought about it in that way. Baldur gritted his teeth, furious.

  I turned to everyone else in the room, holding out my hands as I slowly turned to address them all, one of my arms glowing brightly. “The only disrespect I’ve seen today is how this spoiled child thinks he can treat his mother and father. And I still haven’t heard him apologize for drawing his own mother’s blood, even if it was through a proxy.” I slowly turned back to Baldur. “Odin is not speaking as your father; he is speaking as the Allfather. But you are stomping your feet too loudly to hear common sense. I tire of your presence. Go see to your friend. I think I can hear him screaming from here,” I said, cupping my hand up to my ear and smiling. “Yes. I can.”

  Baldur’s face purpled, but he spun on a heel and stormed from the room. A small retinue of gods joined him, mildly muttering unheard curses over their shoulders—for Baldur’s benefit, of course, since none protested loudly enough for anyone still in the room to hear.

  Odin held up a hand, glancing out at the gathered faces. “Please leave us.”

  Like children sent to bed, they looked crestfallen, but after the show they’d seen so far, no one looked ballsy enough to challenge Odin, and they all began filing out in groups, murmuring softly to each other.

  The doors finally closed, and the only remaining Asgardians were Kára, Odin, Tyr, and Freya. Alice was attached to Freya’s leg like a leech, making me smile.

  Odin let the silence build, studying me warily. “It would seem I have another mess,” he said tiredly.

  “This one is less bloody.”

  “Perhaps that makes it a worse mess, long term.”

  Tyr nodded his agreement, but he did so politely and respectfully, giving me an idea.

  “We are both busy men,” Odin said, leaning forward from his throne, as he stared at me very intently. “I respect my previous oath, but I implore you to reschedule,” he said meaningfully.