Gods on Earth: Complete Series (Books 1-3): Paranormal Romances with Norse Gods, Tricksters, and Fated Mates

by Andrijeski, JC

  Marion had questions, of course, big questions.

  Even if she accepted the “Tyr is a god and his brothers Loki and Thor are gods, too” part, Marion still had questions.

  Namely, she wondered how Tyr was able to get help from any of his brothers long-distance, especially since she hadn’t seen Tyr use a phone, or even produce or glance at a mobile phone, at any point in their time together.

  She decided that was a detail that could wait.

  Nodding to herself, she glanced back at the television.

  Marion saw a dark form leap up and out of the opening left by the car door.

  That figure landed on the car’s frame, just a foot or so from where the passenger-side door had been. Marion heard the sound of glass cracking as the shadow adjusted its weight.

  It was holding something in its arms.

  That something, Marion realized in a bewildered flash, was her.

  There was a split second of silence as the tall shadow standing there adjusted his balance, lifting his feet from the glass to the metal frame.

  Screams broke out.

  Those screams came from bystanders––bystanders presumably close enough they could see Tyr’s wings, maybe other things about him as well, like his red-tinted eyes, his lack of a shirt, his pale blue and green tattoos, the overall strangeness of him.

  Bystanders who couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

  To Marion, he looked beautiful, even in the dark.

  His faint outline looked like a shockingly gorgeous, living statue.

  Clearly, however, his overall appearance, not to mention the enormous black and scarlet wings, were too much for the average human to process.

  Luckily, his outline went in and out of clarity in the video.

  The shadow elongated and shrank, indistinct, dark in the glare and contrast of lights from the nearby restaurants. There was a pause, then a flurry of movement, more screams, and that vague, indistinct shadow disappeared.

  When the newscaster came back on, he smiled into the camera.

  That smile verged on a smirk.

  “There’s still some confusion about the driver of the vehicle,” the newscaster said. “Most witnesses agree that someone crawled out of that open doorway, but some heard an explosion when the door came loose, and there were reports of a man running away, holding a woman in his arms. It is still unknown if the woman was the driver, or a passenger in the car.”

  The brunette, female newscaster spoke up when the male reporter paused.

  “Right now,” she said in a melodious but sharp voice. “D.C. police are looking for any information or images relating to the two persons seen running from this vehicle following the accident. They are additionally looking for any information anyone could share about the owner of this vehicle, or who may have been driving it.”

  The woman added in a lower voice, her eyes serious,

  “There is significant concern that either the woman or the man in the video might have been hurt in the accident… or possibly both of them. For the same reason, authorities are monitoring admissions at metro area hospitals, both here in D.C. and in surrounding states. It is now believed the car was likely stolen, which is the probable reason for the driver and passenger running prior to ambulances arriving on the scene…”

  The male newscaster picked up where she left off.

  “…Some onlookers and bystanders reported seeing the driver of the McLaren as a giant man with some kind of mechanical wings,” the male newscaster added, smiling a touch wider as he glanced at his female co-anchor, winking at her subtly. “Of course, this was late at night, outside a bar, during the Christmas season… maybe it was Saint Nick out here, playing hero to a mystery damsel in distress? What do you think, Gretchen?”

  The female co-anchor chuckled.

  “…That being said,” the male anchor added, his voice shifting a few notes lower and again growing serious. “The driver of the overturned vehicle is wanted for questioning…”

  The female anchor again picked up where he left off.

  “…Two more cars were implicated in the incident,” she explained seriously. “One was almost completely destroyed in the accident, and featured a second driver who ran from the scene, most likely on foot. He, too, is wanted for questioning, and D.C. police are asking anyone with information to please come forward. It is believed the driver of the third vehicle left the scene in a black SUV with tinted windows…”

  At that point, Marion looked at Tyr.

  “Did you see them?” she said. “Who hit us?”

  Tyr frowned, glancing at her from where he was still making his way through the thick slab of Filet Mignon with mushrooms.

  “I did,” he said, cutting into a piece of the steak with a wooden-handled steak knife. “But I do not know how useful it will be to try and track them down specifically. I think the issue is less the hired help, and more about identifying the Syndicate as a whole. It is about whoever is leading this group. We will likely need your father’s resources for that.”

  Marion nodded, thinking about Tyr’s words.

  “Do you think Taggert could be their leader?” she said. “The scarred man?”

  Tyr frowned again, but only shrugged, focusing back on his steak.

  “I do not know, Marion. Personally, I do not feel he is likely the top leader. I think it is very possible he is close to whoever that leader is, however, that he works directly for him, unlike Lie Jie or even Gregor, Lia’s old boss. I am of the impression he at least has access to that person… and could identify him, if properly motivated.”

  Marion nodded.

  She agreed with that, too.

  She found herself thinking about Lia, Tyr’s sister-in-law.

  Somewhere, in watching all those videos and hearing Lia speak to Tyr in a worried, sincere voice, Marion decided she liked Lia. Marion liked her a lot, even though she didn’t know anything about her.

  She got a definite good vibe on Lia.

  Of course, she still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that Lia’s husband was Loki, God of Mischief… but that, like Thor knocking out those D.C. streetlights long distance, was something to think about on another day.

  Preferably a day where someone wasn’t actively trying to kill her.

  Sinking into the pale blue leather, which was amazingly comfortable, even more than it looked, Marion wrapped the fuzzy white blanket around her and sighed, looking at Tyr.

  “I’m not sure what to do now,” she admitted. “I have some thoughts. Like, if the private number that’s supposed to go straight to my dad won’t work, I’m thinking calling the F.B.I. or the Secret Service… or the Pentagon, or the Department of Justice… probably isn’t going to work, either.”

  “Agreed,” Tyr said, taking another long swallow of beer.

  Exhaling, adjusting her head on the back of the couch, Marion added,

  “Going in person will likely be dangerous, too. Maybe even more dangerous. Clearly, they know we’re in D.C. They would be idiots not to know why we’re here, and from everything you’ve told me and shown me, they’re not idiots.”

  Tyr nodded, leaning deeper into the couch himself, resting his weight on an arm thrown over the back of the blue leather.

  She saw the focus of his dark eyes turn inward as he gazed up at the ceiling.

  The news continued to play in the background, but the sound was turned low.

  She watched him think.

  Then he turned to her, those dark eyes sharp.

  “I wanted to talk,” he said. “About the possibility of flying you to the White House. If I did that, there is some chance you will be recognized on surveillance, since I assume security is extremely tight all over that part of D.C., and I can’t change your appearance. But I thought, if we did it late enough at night… or early enough in the morning, before the sun rises… the risk might be less. I will take out any cameras I see, and you could perhaps hide your face. It would still be safer for you… physically,
at least… than trying to go through the usual routes.”

  He paused, clearing his throat.

  “…Which are likely to be guarded by Syndicate operatives, as you said.”

  There was a silence.

  Tyr seemed to be waiting for her to answer.

  Thinking, Marion cleared her own throat.

  “I think that would be okay,” she said, fighting past the part of her that still couldn’t quite believe she hadn’t hallucinated his wings in the first place, or that he’d actually flown them both here. “About those security measures, though… isn’t there a whole ‘no fly’ space around the White House? I don’t exactly want to experience us getting shot down by Airforce pilots. Or taken out by military drones… or just shot… or whatever.”

  Tyr nodded to her words.

  Even so, she got the impression he wasn’t overly worried.

  “I’m not a plane,” he said after a pause. “Or a drone. I can transform myself back to an acceptable facsimile of a human male… and rather quickly. I think if we are close enough when I transform, and if you were willing to carry clothing for me to wear, we could get over the fence quickly, Marion. Too quickly for an anti-aircraft response.”

  There was a silence.

  Somehow, that silence felt pregnant, like Tyr wasn’t done.

  For the same reason, Marion waited, not speaking, for him to go on.

  Eventually, the god cleared his throat.

  “There is another alternative,” he said. “I am not sure how you’ll feel about it.” He paused, his eyes and voice thoughtful. “Then again, I’m not sure how you think about the flying plan, either. So perhaps this is no stranger than that.”

  There was another silence.

  That time, Marion got the impression he was waiting for her to speak.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Inter-dimensional jumping,” Tyr said promptly, reinforcing her impression that he’d been waiting for her to ask. “We could jump to Asgard… to any of the other worlds, really… then I could jump us back. Only on the jump back, I could target the White House.”

  Pausing, he added,

  “Unfortunately, it is very difficult to hit with accuracy any place I have never been before… meaning a place I have not visited in the form suited to a particular world. I traveled this way to reach you in St. Barts, but I had visited the island once before. I have never visited the White House. There is some chance I could miss. Or I could cause us to materialize via the Bifrost in a…”

  He hesitated, meeting her gaze directly.

  “…in an inconvenient manner,” he finished carefully.

  Marion’s lips pursed. “Inconvenient?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does that mean? Like we wouldn’t look human? We’d be turned inside-out? What?”

  Tyr looked faintly alarmed at that.

  Then he blinked.

  “No,” he said, his voice holding a tinge of incredulity. “No. I don’t mean that. I mean… we could appear in your father’s bedroom while he is asleep. Or in a room filled with his staff. Or on the front lawn, surrounded by armed guards.”

  Pausing, he seemed to be thinking again.

  His voice grew more apologetic.

  “…Or,” he admitted. “Possibly embedded in a wall. Partly. It is more likely, due to the nature of the Bifrost, that we would simply burn a hole in the wall and we would be in the center of that hole. Which would be difficult to explain. To your father. To the people who work for your father. They might be upset.”

  Marion blinked, still wrapped in the fuzzy blanket.

  Then, after she replayed his words…

  …she chuckled.

  She couldn’t help it.

  Grinning at him, she laughed again, and that time, Tyr smiled with her.

  “This is funny to you?” he queried, quirking an eyebrow.

  “Your insane knack for understatement?” Marion said, grinning wider. “Yes. It is funny to me. It’s damned funny. It would be even funnier if we weren’t having to talk life or death stuff right now, and could just be talking about… I don’t know… the circus-animal-sized meal we just demolished together. Or the latest action movie.”

  Tyr nodded, a faint smile toying at his lips. “I see. You would rather laugh at me under more casual circumstances. Like the date I proposed.”

  “Precisely.”

  She sat up, smiling back at him as she threw the blanket off her.

  “I think we’d better fly,” she announced, rising from the couch. “In which case, I think we have time for a movie, and at least part of one of the six or seven desserts I ordered. And possibly even a nap… before we go to talk to my father.”

  She was rising to her feet, when Tyr caught her arm.

  He tugged her down to him.

  There was nothing rough or violent about the pull, but she found herself pulled down to where he was before she could take a full breath. She was halfway to standing, and then she was on the couch next to him, one of her legs halfway over his.

  She met his gaze as his fingers wrapped around that same leg, pulling it further into his lap. He massaged her thigh, without looking away from her face.

  “There are ways I would rather spend that time,” he said, studying her eyes. “There are other things I would rather talk about, too.”

  Pausing, he added,

  “But perhaps you are right about the second part. We should wait on the casual talk until later. When your life is no longer in danger.”

  He continued massaging her thigh as he spoke.

  Looking up at those dark eyes, Marion blinked.

  For a few seconds, her mind went utterly blank.

  18

  Marked

  H e lowered his face to hers, even as his other arm, the one that had been resting on the back of the leather couch, snaked around her, pulling her to him effortlessly.

  Marion sucked in a breath––

  And then that mouth found hers, the mouth she’d been staring at, memorizing its perfect lines, fantasizing about how it would feel, for what felt like days.

  As it turned out, it felt absolutely incredible.

  Within seconds, Marion had an arm wrapped around his neck.

  He kissed her cautiously at first, like he was tasting her, or maybe just waiting to see how she might react. He coaxed her jaw open with stroking fingers, then his tongue explored her mouth, making her gasp as she kissed him back.

  Even then, he took his time.

  She didn’t know when it changed exactly, or how––if it was gradual, or something that happened all at once. All she knew was, her fingers were coiled into his thick black hair, her other hand massaging his chest, and they were kissing harder, right before he yanked on her, roughly that time, pulling her all the way into his lap.

  She found herself leaning on his chest, sliding her weight down to press deeper into his crotch, her hand tugging and pulling at the T-shirt he’d put on after he got out of the shower.

  Even as she did it, her fingers sought out his bare skin.

  She was caressing that velvety skin with a whole hand next, tracing ribs and muscles, exploring him up to his chest and shoulder under the shirt with her palm, watching his eyes.

  He startled her, letting out a low groan.

  It came from deep in his chest, like it pained him.

  She gripped him tighter, right before he caught hold of her around the waist and flipped her over to her back, so that she was looking up at him from the leather couch.

  He did it so quickly, she found herself panting, his weight pressing down on hers as she slid her legs wider to accommodate him. She watched his eyes close as she did it, his expression tightening as she wrapped her calves and thighs around his.

  Then he was staring down at her, gripping one of her wrists, his other arm and hand still around her waist.

  She felt something through him, a kind of pained longing, and gasped, writhing under his weight. Those obsidian-black eyes
were pulling her inside him again, like they had the first time she’d seen him, at the bar on St. Barts, where she’d more or less done a strip tease for him.

  He might even have been thinking about the same thing.

  She watched him raise himself up on the hand that pinned her wrist, pulling his other hand and arm out from under her and pressing it into the couch so he could look at the rest of her. He was breathing harder, and she saw that harder longing in his eyes now, a near predatory look that drove her completely crazy on that normally expressionless face.

  His voice came out low, gruff, deeper than before.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  There was a silence.

  She let out a bewildered laugh. “Sorry?”

  “It was impulsive. I meant to talk to you first.”

  Marion’s legs tightened around him, one coiling halfway around his waist.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she said, half out of breath.

  “About this. About what I am. It’s not…” He hesitated. “I’m not a human male. I may look like one––”

  “Trust me,” Marion smiled. “You don’t. Well. You do. I guess. Technically. But only in the strictly technical sense…”

  Trailing, she looked up at him then, feeling her smile fade.

  “Wait. Are you trying to give me the ‘we’re from two worlds… this could never work’ speech? Because I wasn’t––”

  “No.” Tyr shook his head, his mouth hardening. “No. I wasn’t trying to tell you that.”

  There was a silence.

  In it, Marion stared up at him, feeling her cheeks warm.

  Being more turned on by him than she’d ever been turned on by another person in her life definitely wasn’t helping her think. She felt the part of herself that just wanted to touch him, to keep touching him until neither of them felt compelled to talk anymore.

  Some part of her couldn’t help thinking that would be rude, though.

  He was trying to talk to her.

  It would be wrong to stop him from that, wouldn’t it?

  Was she just afraid of what he might say?