“A horse? You fathered a horse?” I was still having a really hard time getting past the whole equine-son thing. “And a ginormous sea-serpent? I… I’m sorry, I know you’re a god and there’re different rules, but how do you even…? Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.”
“Ah. Mortal morals,” he said, a small smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. “I’m pleased they’re not a hindrance when it comes to who you yourself share your body with. From the sounds of it, having multiple mates comes very, hmm, natural to you. Not a lot of human women would be able to enjoy themselves with more than one alpha. I admit, I expected this arrangement I established with your ancestors to be more of a burden than it appears it is.”
A flush of embarrassment heated my face at the confirmation that he’d heard me with Modi and Bjarni.
“You know nothing about my mate bonds, and I’ll thank you to not speak another word of them,” I hissed. Angry that I’d let him get under my skin again, I stood and turned to leave.
“Annabel,” he called.
I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. Bound on the ground and surrounded by snow as he was, he still looked every inch a dark god, charcoal hair framing his eerily glowing face.
“I am not behind Ragnarök. I swear it on my own life. There’s a traitor in Asgard.”
I stared at him. There was absolute sincerity in his dark eyes. But he was the trickster god—how could I ever hope to determine if he was just manipulating me again?
“This sounds like something you should tell Odin once we get to Asgard,” I said.
He chuffed a laugh through his nose. “If history has proven anything, it’s that Odin cares little for finding the truth if it means losing out on a chance to blame me for whatever threat is at Asgard’s gates this time around. I fear your mates might be similarly afflicted, blinded by hatred and skewed perception. But you. You hold no such preconceived notions, hmm, little omega?”
I blinked. “Are you telling me everyone hates you for no good reason? After you’ve just manipulated me into thinking I would lose my mates? After you killed Arni and Magga? Told your own son he and his brothers are on their own?”
Loki grimaced. “I know I’m no conventional hero. I’m the God of Mischief, after all. But I have no reason to want to bring forth Ragnarök, and if you don’t listen to me, all your efforts, all your sacrifice will be for naught. You might live—you might not. But your world will be gone. Your friends, your family. There is a traitor in Asgard. Left unchecked, they will succeed in their evil purpose.”
“And you just happen to know who this traitor is?” I asked, eyebrows raised in mock-surprise. “How very convenient.”
“I do not,” he said, somewhat to my surprise. “But I know how to reveal them.”
“Let me guess—for the low, low price of your freedom?” I folded my arms across my chest. “How come you haven’t revealed this traitor on your own a bit sooner? Say, before the Fimbulwinter hit and that serpent son of yours started paddling around the Atlantic?”
“I’ve been unable to access Valhalla for many years now. And to be frank, so long as I could secure my own lineage, I wasn’t too concerned. Obviously, that has changed now.”
He held out his bound hands, a sardonic slant to his lips. “My offer is simple: once you have displayed my successful capture to the god-king and as a result my sons are free from his retribution, you will free me. Once you have done that, I will tell you how to reveal the traitor.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “And what guarantee will I have that you won’t just take off without revealing a thing?”
Loki gazed over my shoulder toward the fire. When I twisted to follow his gaze, I saw Bjarni watching us like a hawk. A small bubble of warmth grew in my gut at the confirmation that he would always look out for me.
“I will tell you at a… more opportune time,” Loki said lightly, his focus returning to the wooden plate hosting his rapidly cooling breakfast. “You can think on my offer until then. I can only hope that you will see the wisdom of my words.”
Twenty-Eight
Modi
The furs were empty by my side when I woke up again sometime after dawn. Empty and cold.
I caught myself stroking the skins where Annabel had slept, her scent still lingering. Hers and Bjarni’s.
I wrinkled my nose, but the smell of alpha wasn’t unpleasant. Perhaps because it was so thoroughly intertwined with my own and mixed with copious amounts of omega fluids.
Tentatively I prodded the bond connecting me to Annabel—and through her, Bjarni. It hummed peacefully in response, followed by an immediate tension.
Annabel. She felt me awaken. And where she had been calm, she was now anxious.
I swallowed a frustrated growl. What had I expected? That giving in to my instincts would have quelled the nightmare of confusion and pain between us?
Please, Modi. It was sex. Nothing more.
Just instincts.
The snow was still tumbling from a gray sky in thick flakes when I exited the flimsy tent to take stock of the camp.
Bjarni and Annabel sat on the near side of the fire, her in his lap, undoubtedly to protect her from the cold trunk serving as a seat. They both looked at me when I appeared, Annabel’s pretty face drawn with trepidation and Bjarni’s relaxed.
On the other side someone had rebound Loki with his hands in front of his body, and had even shoved a mug of something hot and steamy into them.
“We are pampering the World Breaker now?” I asked as I strode toward Bjarni and Annabel. “I thought you had given up on the ties of blood after his betrayal.”
“More names?” Loki asked, arcing a sardonic eyebrow over his mug. “I suppose World Breaker sounds better than The Betrayer. If you must.”
“Don’t look at me,” Bjarni rumbled. “I’d have been happy to leave him frozen solid until we reach Valhalla. Our soft-hearted mate thought that would be too cruel. Something about being better than that.”
I glanced down at Annabel and caught her gaze before she managed to look away. Heat rose in her cheeks, a flicker of embarrassment stirring our bond. Not for what she had done for Loki—for what we had done last night.
Judging from how she was cozied up to Bjarni, it did not seem she had such reservations with him.
“Soft-hearted?” I repeated, breaking our eye contact as I stepped away and toward the fire where a plate of bacon and beans was warming. I might not be Bjarni Lokisson’s biggest fan, but I had to hand it to the man—not many would be able to cook up such an inviting meal mid-Fimbulwinter, with only the sparsest of provisions available.
“Foolish, more likely. Do not fall for the trickster’s words of pity. I do not want to have to hunt him down again because of your inability to do what is necessary. He has earned everything that is coming to him and more.”
Annabel did not respond, but I felt the flicker of embarrassment turn to hurt, then anger. Bjarni only sighed.
Better. It was much easier to deal with the blasted bond when her end reflected nothing but that nasty temper of hers back at me. She was my reluctant mate—we had fucked, it felt good, and in the bright light of day there was no room for confusing emotions. Anger was easy. Painful, but familiar.