Arctic Dawn (The Norse Chronicles Book 2) (13 page)

I explained. “A group of kids line up next to each other. The first one comes up with a random phrase. He whispers it into the next kid’s ear. That kid repeats it to the next kid, and so on until it goes down the line to the last kid, who repeats the phrase out loud. Usually, what the last kid says has little in common with what the first one said.”

Thorin smiled knowingly.

I thought he understood my analogy, but I clarified anyway. “Human history has been a lot like that. The things that happened hundreds of years ago got passed down and corrupted over time. The faction in power at the time tells the story the way that suits them best and makes their enemy look worse. The truth of what actually happened is probably a lot different from what we believe. I think that’s how a lot of traditions and cultures died out.”

“Humans have more reliable methods of making records, now,” Thorin said. “Maybe things won’t be so easily forgotten.”

I shrugged. “Information and record keeping have become longer lived, but humans have not. Not really. Maybe we’ve gained a few more decades of life expectancy, but what’s an eighty-year life span compared to eternity? We must seem like fruit flies to you.”

Thorin chuckled. “Fruit flies couldn’t have philosophical discussions, the last time I checked.”

“You know what I mean. When you live forever, what possible influence can a single mortal being have on you?”

Thorin stared into me as if he was seeing more than my exterior. I leaned backward, realizing I had unintentionally drifted toward him. Our relationship was frequently like that—him antagonizing me one minute, drawing me in the next. Was his manipulation deliberate or simply an inherent element of his personality?

Thorin lowered his chin and looked at me through his thick lashes. “More than you could possibly imagine.” He shifted so that a few insubstantial inches separated us, and a current buzzed through all of them. “But if humans have ephemeral emotions, then I assure you that my kind does not. The Aesir’s memories are long and abiding.”

The coffeemaker chimed, signaling it had finished brewing.
Talk about saved by the bell.
I jumped up and scurried to the kitchenette. When I came back to the living room, carrying a mug for Thorin and a water bottle for me, he had moved into one of the club chairs. I wasn’t the only one who needed some space, apparently.

“How does one go about hunting wolves?” I asked, changing the subject to something less provocative. I passed Thorin his coffee and sat across from him on the sofa. “Especially in such a wide-open space?”

Thorin sipped from his mug and said, “Normally, you would track their signs, search for dens, feeding and kill sites, carcasses, scat, trails, and prints. I don’t want to waste a lot of time, so we might have to set some traps, put out some bait.”

“Maybe you could tie me to a cactus, let me hang out until Skoll catches my scent.”

Thorin cocked his head as if contemplating my suggestion. “It’s not a bad idea.”

I chucked another pillow at him.

After demolishing the rest of my dinner, I went to bed and left Thorin alone with the TV and a late-night talk-show host. I showered, slipped into my pajamas, burrowed under the quilts, and fell fast asleep. The dream that woke me that night wasn’t violent but was still plenty disturbing. My heart thumped and my breath heaved, but not from panic or fear. I left the bed, went to the window, and pressed my forehead against the chilly pane, seeking a draft of cool air to chase away the cloying remnants of the dream, to escape the images of bare skin, hands caressing, lips sampling, teeth nibbling.

Premonition or Freudian expression of latent desires? Either way, I spent most of the night trying to expel Thorin from my thoughts and relax enough to go back to sleep.

Chapter Fourteen

E
arly the next morning, as the sun crested the horizon, Thorin and I stood beside the SUV, gazing over a desert that stretched for miles in every direction.

“We’ll plan on a two-day hike to start,” Thorin said as we strapped on our packs. “We’ll make a circle and come back to the truck at the end. If we don’t find anything, we’ll restock supplies and go out again, making our path in increasingly wider concentric circles but keeping the truck as the axis.”

“That sounds like a lot of walking,” I said. “Good thing I’ve been working out.”

I considered myself a fit person, but Thorin set a pace that discouraged talking. He kept a handheld GPS in his pack’s side pocket and referred to it every so often to keep us on track.

“How did you do this before?” I asked when we stopped for a water break. “How did you hunt without GPS?”

“Landmarks, stars, intuition. We knew Asgard like an extension of our bodies.”

“So what are you doing in Alaska? Why there, of all places?” I had wanted to ask that question for a long time.

“Alaska is a lot like Asgard: secluded, unpopulated, wild. It reminds me of home.”

“Val said something about not liking large crowds and urban settings.”

“Besides the fact that we are more comfortable when we’re closer to the natural world, it’s easier to avoid complicated questions. People notice, after a while, when we don’t age or get sick or have the life span of the average person.”

Thorin didn’t wait for me to ask more questions. He stowed the GPS in his pack and started off again. The new hiking boots had taken a toll on my toes. I apologized to my aching feet and fell into place behind Thorin. For the first couple of hours, the scenery astounded me: prickly Joshua trees, dry brush, sand dunes, and the Clark Mountains in the distance. My footsteps crunching in sand and loose rock created a numinous rhythm, leading me into a meditative state. I perceived nothing more than my heartbeat, my breathing, and the rocky earth crunching beneath my boots. Like some exercise in transcendentalism, I achieved an altered state of consciousness where grief, fear, and doubt didn’t exist.
Okay, so maybe I understand why people like to do this sort of thing, after all.

I lingered in that introspective trance until Thorin froze in midstep, as still as one of the boulders beside our path. “Look,” he whispered.

I followed the direction of his pointing finger and saw a pack of deer, nibbling dry brush without a care for the humans invading their terrain. I gasped. “Deer in the desert?”

“Mule deer. They thrive here.”

We stood and watched as the herd moved away, blending into the environment until I could no longer distinguish them from the rocks.

Late in the afternoon, Thorin and I set up camp in a canyon that produced a view worthy of a “Visit the Mojave!” postcard. To prove I wasn’t completely helpless, I pitched my tent by myself, cranked up the butane stove, and set about reconstituting my dinner.

“You don’t eat much, do you?” I poured boiling water into a bag of freeze-dried tofurkey and rice I had picked up at the camping-supplies store. It weighed next to nothing in my pack and required no refrigeration, which made it perfect for camping. The meal also smelled like old shoes, but I was hungry enough to eat my boots, so the point was moot.

Thorin shrugged. “Can but usually don’t.”

“Why?”

He lounged against a boulder like a model in an advertisement for outdoor wear.
L.L. Bean
wishes
they had a model like him on their cover
.
He looks good in everything. Probably looks best in nothing at all, if my dream last night was a true indication.

“Don’t have to,” Thorin said. “I eat when I need to appear human or for pleasure. Food tastes good, but it’s rarely necessary for survival.”

“Cold and warmth? Does the chilly air bother you?”

Thorin huffed, and vapor spurted from his nose.

I shrugged deeper into my insulated jacket and tried not to shiver.

“I’m not your science experiment, Sunshine. Didn’t your mother tell you it was rude to pry?”

I rolled my eyes and turned my attention on my dinner. “’Scuse me, Mister Sensitive.”

“There may come a time when you need to know everything about me…” He sounded vaguely apologetic.

“But this isn’t it,” I finished for him. “So, if you’re not up for a game of Twenty Personal Questions, what do we do to kill time? Did you bring a pack of cards or anything?”

“As a matter of fact…” Thorin riffled through his pack and brought out a familiar red-and-white box. “Gin?”

“Mani taught me how to play. He won that first hand but never another one after that.”

“Oh yeah?” Thorin shuffled the cards with the skill of a Vegas dealer. He grinned and said, “Put your money where your mouth is.”

I held out my hands, palms open and empty. “I’m broke.”

Thorin dealt the cards with imperceptible speed, letting his human façade slip for a moment. “Then we’ll use another currency.”

“Like what?”

“Truth.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Lowest deadwood points in each hand gets to ask any question he or she wants, and the loser has to answer with complete honesty. We’ll play to five hundred.”

I rubbed my hands together and anticipated victory. “I’ll take that bet.”

In the first round, Thorin knocked with a two of spades and an ace of hearts. I discarded some of my deadwood but still held over ten points in my hand. I sucked my teeth, making a sound of disappointment, and said, “Okay, hit me with your best shot.”

Thorin stroked his jaw, and intrigue sparkled in his eyes. “Tell me about your dream. The one you had about me.”

My thoughts went to the vision I’d had the previous night, and a betraying blush erupted on my cheeks. Thorin’s eyes widened, and he blinked, obviously surprised by my response. He reached his knuckles toward my cheek, but I pulled away before he could touch me.

“What’s all this about?” he asked.

I took a breath to deny but realized his original question had referred to the premonition I’d had about his death back at the Aerie. “Th-there isn’t much to tell,” I sputtered. “Tori probably told you everything I know.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

I set down my cards, hugged my ankles, and rested my chin on my knees. “There was a spear, but I couldn’t see details. It was deeply buried and covered in blood. I saw it like a freeze-frame image, but I knew it was the beach at the Aerie. You were lying in the sand in a pool of blood, the spear piercing your chest. You were dead.”

Thorin pressed his lips together and arched a circumspect eyebrow. “You didn’t see who threw it?”

“It was too foggy, but I assumed it was Helen or one of her minions.”

He shook his head. “A regular human cannot wield it. They could possibly carry it, but in battle, it would render them impotent. They wouldn’t be able to lift it to use it against one of us.”

“Maybe it was Helen, then.”

“It was made for Odin. Only descendants of his bloodline can use his weapons. It’s why only I can use Mjölnir, because I am Thor’s son.”

While we were in Vegas together, Thorin had mentioned how he and Val had possessed objects of great power but had lost them. Thorin had since recovered Thor’s hammer, but Gungir, the spear, remained elusive—unless Val did have it but was keeping it hidden for some reason. I had often questioned Val’s motives, but keeping the spear a secret after everything that had happened would be a new low, even for him.

“You have any siblings who survived Ragnarok?” I remembered a conversation with Tori, back at the Aerie. She’d said there were more Aesir than the ones I knew.

Thorin pointed at the playing cards. “You win the next hand, and I’ll answer that question.”

I didn’t win the next hand, either, damn it.

Thorin grinned like a cat that had cornered a mouse. “Tell me what made you blush when I asked you the last question.”

No way would I tell him the full truth: that I’d had…
inappropriate
dreams about him. Thinking fast, I said, “I was embarrassed.”

“For what?”

“Being reminded of my deception and how it led to such a terrible ending.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes, that’s what I was just saying. I mean, it was necessary to keep you alive at all costs, but to lose Inyoni and Kalani—”

Thorin grabbed my arm. “No, I mean you’re lying about the blush.”

I squared my shoulders. “No, I’m not.”

“You got over on me once because I underestimated you, but now I know what your lies look like. Tell me the truth.”

Since denial had failed me, I tried outright refusal. “No.”

“Oh, it must be good if you’re fighting this hard.” Thorin tugged me until I was virtually in his lap. He locked his arms around me and grinned like a fiendish imp. “Tell me. I’ve had millennia to develop my torture techniques.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

I squinched my eyes shut, waiting for whatever torment he was planning. “Do your worst.” I held my breath and anticipated his attack, but it never came.

When I opened an eye to peek at him, Thorin was staring at a distant spot and wearing a funny expression.

“What is it?”

“Shush,” he whispered. “Listen.”

I stilled my breath and imagined opening my ears. A distant
yip yip yeoooowl
echoed through the quiet desert night. The fine hairs on my arm and neck rose, and my heart skittered, playing a staccato rhythm against my sternum. Another, lower-pitched howl answered the first one. Deep shadows fell over the land as the late sun neared the horizon, painting the desert in pinks and golds and taking away the day’s heat as it went. According to Thorin, wolves preferred to hunt at night, and those sounded eager for the darkness.

In the cooling desert air, my breath came out in frosty smoke signals of dread. “Please tell me it was a coyote.”

Thorin shook his head. “Wolf. More than one.”

“But Hati’s dead. I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe Skoll called in for reinforcements.”

“What do we do?”

Thorin held his hand out to me, palm open. “Mjölnir. Now.”

I tugged the gold chain and charm from my collar and yanked it over my head. Thorin snatched the hammer and pushed me from his lap. He stood, flipped his wrist, and gripped the weapon, ready for attack. In an instant, he had changed from twenty-first-century man to Viking warrior god. He lacked only a helmet and a bear-skin cape.

“This was too easy.” I rose my feet. “Finding Skoll this soon. It’s uncanny.”

“I agree.”

The wolves howled again, closer that time. I counted four different voices but couldn’t be certain. I stepped beside Thorin and scanned the landscape, though seeing anything farther than a couple of yards in the low light was impossible.

“It’s like they were already here, waiting for us.”

“Yes,” Thorin said. “Exactly like.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Skyla didn’t wait until she got to the Aerie to send out word of our plans. Maybe she didn’t want to share credit with the Valkyries and went straight to Helen.”

I coughed as shock and indignation stole my breath. “How can you say that? She saved us all at those warehouses. We wouldn’t have made it out without her.”

“I’m just considering all the possibilities.”

“Okay, let’s consider that it was your beloved Baldur who barreled headfirst into that trap. He knew Helen wouldn’t hurt him—maybe he wanted you to get caught. Maybe he knew I would come trailing after.”

Thorin sneered. “Baldur
hates
Helen. He would never cooperate with her.”

“You ever hear of Stockholm Syndrome? Sympathizing with one’s captor—it’s not out of the question.”

Thorin lurched forward and raised a hand toward me, fingers curled as if wanting to grasp my neck. “The last person to question Baldur’s loyalties didn’t live long enough to question him twice.”

I set my hands on my hips and glared at him. “Get your priorities straight, Thorin. Save your threats for the wolves.” I stomped a foot and threw my hands out. “You talk about humans wasting time with our short lives, but you’re so ancient your thought processes have started to petrify. You’ve gotten complacent, and Helen took advantage of it.”

Perhaps I shouldn’t have aggravated his temper, but I was scared, and not just of the wolves. I was also mad at him for doubting Skyla. And, fair or unfair, I may have resented him for failing to see what was happening in time to save Mani’s life.

The way Thorin affected me frightened me, too.

“Get outside yourself for one second and try opening your mind to the possibility that you and your beloved Aesir are more fallible than you think,” I said. “I’ll accept that Skyla has betrayed us
if
and
when
you show me the proof. But for God’s sake, Thorin,
I
am not your enemy. I’m trying my damnedest to keep us both alive.”

Something like lightning flashed in Thorin’s dark eyes. Thunder rumbled in the distance. I sank inside myself and opened my vessel of fire.

“Put away your flames.” Thorin’s voice was low and raspy. He stepped close again. “I am not your enemy, either.”

I backed away. “The hell you say. You threatened me.”

A muscle in Thorin’s jaw flexed as his teeth ground together. “You provoked me.”

“Your self-control is slipping, and that’s not like you.”

Thorin’s nostrils flared. “That’s because you are singularly skilled at getting under my skin.”

“You were being unreasonable, and you’re mad because I called you on it. You’re so used to having no one challenge you that you’ve gotten apathetic.
Someone
needs to wake you up.”

Thorin stalked me again. I backed away, but the threat of the wolves kept me from leaving and running pell-mell for the truck.

“And that someone is you?” he asked.

Why didn’t I find myself a red cape and an angry bull to wave it at? Fighting a wild beast was probably safer than provoking Thorin, but I had saddled my high horse. Might as well ride it. “Who else? You said yourself you live an isolated life. You’re out of touch. You’re like old technology—obsolete, archaic. You’re prehistoric and nearly extinct, but unlike the dinosaurs, you refuse to accept it.”