Arctic Dawn (The Norse Chronicles Book 2) (27 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

F
rigid gusts battered the old Jeep Baldur had found for me. It rocked like a ship in a sea squall. Dense clouds had gathered over Mount Rainier, and snow fell in ungainly clumps. I had a moment to appreciate the serenity before the storm took a deep breath and exhaled. Lacy flakes turned into frozen darts, whipped into whiteout frenzy by fierce winds. Cold air seeped between the seams in the Jeep’s canvas top. I turned up the heater and clutched the steering wheel until my knuckle joints creaked.

By the time I returned to the drive leading to the rental cabin, the snow had covered the path until it appeared as nothing more than a faint indention in an otherwise indistinct landscape. The late-afternoon sun had started to set, casting everything in gloomy shadows. I braved the pathway in four-wheel drive, bumping and jostling until I dead-ended in front of the small log house roofed in tin sheeting. I imagined smoke curling from the stone chimney and decided to start a fire after carrying in the groceries and supplies I had bought in town, including a couple of pairs of jeans, T-shirts—for me and for Thorin—and necessities like toothbrushes and shampoo.

After stowing everything away, I went into the living room and knelt before the fireplace to clean away the old ashes, a chore to divert me from Thorin’s unsettling presence. Before he left, Baldur had explained the situation to Thorin in their ancient language. Thorin assured Baldur he understood, and he promised to stay with me.

As I shoveled ashes into a metal bucket designated for that purpose, I threw a glance over my shoulder. Thorin still sat on the sofa, unmoving and staring at the floor. I blew out a breath, and ashes swirled into the air. I turned to the box of kindling beside the fireplace and stacked them into place.

“You saved my life,” I said, “and I can’t even properly thank you.”

“What?” Thorin asked.

I flinched and turned to face him. “Wait. You understood that?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m a fast healer. I think.”

“Does that mean you recognize me?”

Thorin’s dark gaze slipped over me, but it remained cold and distant. “No. Not yet.”

My heart sank. “At least I won’t have to resort to sign language to communicate with you.”

I rolled onto my feet and went to the door. A hoard of logs was stacked in a shelter on the side of the porch, and my indoor supply needed restocking. Thorin rose and followed me out. He held his arms outstretched before him. I translated his meaning and stacked him with firewood up to his nose.

After dumping his bundle into a crate near the fireplace, Thorin crouched at my side and helped arrange the cold logs on the grating. “Have a light?” he asked.

I pantomimed thumbing the striker on a pretend Bic lighter, and a small flame sprouted at my fingertip. The tinder caught and roared to life. I shivered, shaking away the lingering cold in my blood, and went to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

Thorin moved away from the fireplace and slumped in the corner of the couch, eyes closed, arms loose at his sides.

The cork slipped out with a satisfying
thock,
and I poured a glass for me and waved the bottle toward Thorin. “Want some?”

One eyelid peeled open, followed slowly by another. He struggled to focus on me.

“Wine?”

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Sure.” I turned to the coffee machine and babbled as I measured grounds and filled the carafe. “How about food? I know you don’t usually eat, but you look a little malnourished. I have soup, or I can make you a sandwich, or if you rather—”

“It’s fine,” Thorin said. “Coffee is fine.”

I started a pot brewing and, when it finished, brought a tray of coffee, wine, and a plate of cut fruit and cheese for a picnic on the living-room floor. Crossing my legs first, I lowered to the rug, putting the fire to my back and Thorin at my front. He worked to maintain lucidity, and the strain showed around his eyes. He deserved to be left alone, but I was selfish. I needed to see him alive and physically present, not in Asgard but in my world. I needed to hear his voice and relish the relief of it.

“Do you remember who I am?” I asked.

“A daughter of Sol, evidently.” Thorin shook his head. “But no. Nothing recent. Not yet.”

“Do you remember why you were up on that mountain?”

“Baldur told me it was because I was rescuing you from my brother.”

Guilt weighted my heart, and it thudded heavily. If I hadn’t gone looking for that stupid sword… If I hadn’t taken Val along with me… If I hadn’t… If I hadn’t…

“You remember Grim?”

“I don’t remember fighting him recently, but we’ve rarely agreed. It doesn’t surprise me.”

“He wanted Mjölnir.”

“That also doesn’t surprise me. Baldur also told me Grim wanted to kill you.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Helen Locke is trying to reinvent Ragnarok. Grim thought your death would prevent that.”

“And you have no idea what happened to Grim or Surtalogi?”

Thorin’s chin dropped to his chest. “Nothing.”

I put my hand on his knee. He raised his eyes to meet mine.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It must be a horrible feeling.”

Thorin made no indication either way. He stared back at me, unblinking. I reached behind my neck and unfastened Mjölnir’s chain. Thorin’s eyes lit the moment I brought the weapon free from the collar of my sweater. “I’ve been keeping it for you.”

“You?” he asked, markedly curious. “How did you come to have it?”

“You gave me the lanyard a while back, said you could use it to track me.” I smiled at the memory of him finding me in the cave, his beauty, his warmth. “It’s how you found me, how you saved me from Grim.”

“But you have the hammer, too.”

“It showed up a few nights ago. I woke up to find it on the pillow beside me. Baldur said it returned to its lanyard when you lost your ability to command it.”

I held the necklace out to Thorin. He set his coffee mug on an end table, took the chain from me, and cupped the gold Mjölnir charm in his palm. He flicked his wrist, a gesture older than his memory loss, and brought the full-sized hammer to rest on his knee. “You must be someone special to me.”

Heat flooded my cheeks.

Thorin saw my reaction, and a smile spread across his face. How stunning, how dazzling was his joy. “I guessed right?”

I shook my head and turned away to bury my attention in the plate of food. “Not special. Important, maybe. You were dedicated to preventing my death. You gave me Mjölnir to hold for you after I recovered it from Helen. You said I was the only one you could trust with it, and it might be good for others to think it was still lost.”

Thorin’s brow creased as he thought about my words. “But my brother knew I had it?”

“You had to use it once, to protect us, and he said he could feel its power. I don’t understand how that works.”

“The hammer speaks to Thor’s blood kin. We all hear its voice. But why did I use it if I wanted to keep it a secret?”

“You fought Skoll with it.”

“I did?”

I told Thorin what had happened in the desert. He listened, enraptured, but nothing I said ignited his own memory of the event. His brow creased again. “If I was protecting you, how did my brother get you?”

“Long story. You sure you’re up for it? You probably need to rest.”

Thorin readjusted his position on the couch, sitting up straighter and hardening his face. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

I poured another glass of wine and took a huge gulp. Then I turned to Thorin and said, “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Solina Mundy. She had had a twin brother named Chapman Mundy. He used to work for you.”

I talked late into the evening, stalled by a million interruptions—Thorin asking questions or requesting more details. I switched from wine to water once the alcohol and the warmth of the fire softened my focus. At some point, I pillowed my head on my hands and leaned against the sofa cushion next to Thorin’s leg. At some point, his hand found its way to my hair, his fingers combing through the loose strands—so intimate and so unlike him. I said nothing, for fear he might take his hand away.

“I can hardly believe it,” Thorin said after I finished recounting my story. “It all sounds too fantastic.”

I didn’t move an inch, not daring to break our connection. “You’re a god. Everything about your existence is fantastic.”

“We shouldn’t stay here much longer,” he said in non sequitur. “The location is compromised. Too many people know where to find you.”

I waved toward the door. “Where should I go?”

“Where do I live, now?”

I raised my head up at that, and Thorin’s hand slipped away. “You don’t remember that either?”

Thorin’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he struggled with his memory. “I remember a place on a mountaintop. Lots of snow. I’m not sure how old the memory is. Does it sound familiar to you?”

“I was told such things were sacred to your kind, and you don’t give their locations away easily. I’ve never been to your home.”

“Never?”

“For all we’ve been through together, we barely know each other. Well, I barely know
you
, anyway. Not the personal stuff. But I trust you. You’ve risked your life for me. You’ve killed my enemies.”

“That’s a lot.” Thorin slid his fingertips under my chin and urged me to look up at him. “Trust is what’s most important.”

“I have trusted you with my life almost from the first day I met you, but I’ve never trusted you with much more than that.”

“Oh?” His brows arched in question. “Nothing in your story suggested I’ve been cavalier with your feelings.”

“You’ve never had a chance to.”

Thorin chuckled at my petulance. “Despite everything you’ve told me, everything you’ve been through, you chose to stay here, alone, with me. That tells me all I need to know.”

Thorin let me talk him into taking one of the bedrooms and moving from the confines of the sofa. He tested his weight on the mattress, and the springs groaned in protest.

“Maybe we should go to your store first.” I leaned against the doorjamb. “Going somewhere familiar might jog your memories.”

Thorin leaned over and unlaced his boots. “I have a store?”

I huffed. “What
do
you remember?”

Thorin kicked off one boot and went to work on the other. “When Baldur first found me up on the mountain, I couldn’t even remember my name, but after he started talking, a lot of old memories came back.” He kicked off the second boot, stood, and peeled off layers, starting with a bulky wool sweater.

“I regret that I don’t remember your brother,” he said, the words muffled by his thermal shirt as he pulled it over his head. “I especially regret not remembering you. But our kind heal quickly. In the morning, I would be surprised if I haven’t mostly recovered.”

Thorin shed layers down to a thin undershirt that hugged every line, every curve, plane and valley. That too came off, leaving him bare chested and me dry throated. It went against the laws of everything good and holy for a man to look that fine. I turned away.

“This place has some sort of bathing accommodations, correct?”

“Y-yup, um, down the hall.” I pointed dumbly, still looking anywhere but at him. “There’s, uh, there’s a-an extra towel or two on the shelf in the bathroom. You can use my soap and stuff.”

The floor creaked as Thorin stepped closer, pausing in the doorway beside me. His scent filled the space between us. I did not inhale and savor it. I swear I didn’t.

“Thank you,” he said, his words low and gruff.

I swallowed. “No problem. Least I could do since you saved my life and all.”

Thorin didn’t move or say anything. I sensed he wanted me to look at him, to see him rooted in place so close to my side… Too close, too warm. I swallowed again, steeled my nerves, and pried my eyes from the ceiling. Once he had my full attention, Thorin let a charming, devilish smile curl at the corner of his lips. “Good night, Miss Mundy.”

“You call me Sunshine.” The words came out raspy.

“Do I?”

I nodded.

Thorin smoothed a loose hair from my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. Every function in my body stuttered to a halt. “Well, good night then,
Sunshine
.”

Thorin slid past me, and his touch warmed me from head to toe. It lit fires in my cheeks, and champagne bubbles fizzed in my veins. He padded down the hallway into the bathroom, and the moment the door shut behind him, I broke from my daze and fled down the hallway back to the safety of my room.

What’s going on with him
? I wondered as I slid under the quilts on my bed.
A little amnesia and all his personal constraints disappear?

I turned off the lamp on my bedside table and stared up into the darkness.
No problem. I have more than enough inhibitions to cover us both.

Chapter Thirty

W
hether I meant it to or not, my hearing tuned in to every creak and groan of the house, every noise Thorin made—the abrupt cessation of running water, the rattle of shower curtain rings sliding across the metal rod, something clattering in the sink. A moment later, the bathroom door creaked open, and heavy footsteps crept down the hallway. His bed squeaked as it accepted his weight. I imagined I could hear his breathing, but it was only the wind.

I lay awake long into the night, holding my breath, listening, picturing Thorin with his hands tucked behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember. When I had roomed with Val, he acted sleepy in the mornings, but he had also wanted to hide his godhood. Maybe, like eating, sleep was optional.

Before that day, I had never caught Thorin sleeping, or even tired for that matter, but the recent trauma must have tested even
his
stamina.

I had never allowed myself to think too long or too hard about my feelings for Thorin. Recent revelations proved my emotions had grown beyond superficial attraction. But even before my exposure to the dangerous world of immortal gods, I had trouble with relationships, particularly the romantically inclined ones.

Once, when Mani and I had gotten into some petty fight, he told me everyone called me an ice princess—ironic, considering my heritage. The reputation was justified when I looked back on it. I never felt superior to anyone as gossip suggested. Mostly, I was afraid—afraid of rejection, afraid of being hurt, afraid of losing. Until Mani died, my feelings had been unfounded. I never really knew loss or heartbreak, nothing to make me dread forming attachments.

Perhaps I’d been composed with the memories of a life-before. Maybe they were ingrained in my DNA, and maybe those memories struggled to dictate my life. Over the centuries, Sol must have suffered a great number of hurts and lost many loves. Did her fears whisper in my atoms?

I knew one thing for certain: losing Mani was the single most horrible experience of my life. If I cared for Thorin a fraction of how much I had cared for my brother—and I suspected the amount was much more than a fraction—then letting Thorin get past my defenses was a huge risk. Failure was too great a threat, and success posed its own separate hazard.

Any relationship I built with Thorin had a limited shelf life from the start. One way or another I would die—by sickness, old age, or wolf. Thorin was immortal, I was not, and that created a formula for certain disaster.

I would do well to remember that.

I slid into sleep at some point and dreamed of Asgard for the first time since having left Thorin in Idun’s garden. All subsequent attempts to initiate interdimensional travel or arouse precognitive visions had resulted in nothing more than a headache. My insight asserted its own will and ignored my demands for obedience.

I strolled through my orchard, grabbing at apples but never plucking them free. Like a ghost’s, my fingers passed through the fruit, encountering nothing solid. I strolled up and down the rows, not quite lost but unable to find my way out.

I maintained my calm at first, but time passes in a peculiar way in dreams, and I realized I had wandered the orchard for hours without reaching Idun’s house or the wrecked city of Asgard. A cold drop of panic trickled down my spine.

Up and down the rows, ducking through trees and looking for something familiar, I ran faster and faster until I tripped and sprawled face-first on the lush green grass. I rolled over and examined the scene, expecting to find a root to blame for my fall. Instead, I had stumbled over a scroll. To discover such a thing in the middle of an apple orchard seemed perfectly rational, as strange things often do in dreams. I picked up the scroll and unrolled the parchment.

On its aged and deteriorated surface, I recognized the outline of a genealogical chart, one similar to those I had studied at the Aerie’s library when I helped Skyla search for the grimoire. The chart tracked Baldur’s lineage and Nina’s reincarnations and the births of their offspring. If the Valkyries possessed a match to that record in the physical world, then they had stored it somewhere other than the library because I had looked through every scroll in the Aerie’s collection without ever finding one like that.

I traced my finger along notations until I arrived at one marking the birth of the most current children and grandchildren of Baldur and Nanna, aka Nina. Three daughters had been born over two decades. The first, Thea, died as an infant. The second, Embla, was still living. And a third, Kara, died after giving birth to two children: one boy, named Paul, and one girl, named…

Skyla Frigga Rodriguez.

Thorin’s voice ripped me from my dream. Frantic and hoarse, he roared in the language Baldur had used with him—Asgardian, perhaps. A cold sweat broke over me, and my heart climbed into my throat, fluttering like a bird trapped in a chimney. Someone had found us.

I eased out of bed, tiptoed through the darkness, and pressed my ear against my door. Something heavy crashed to the floor as Thorin railed against his attacker. But why go for Thorin instead of me? I eased my door open and peered into the dim living room, where the dying fire provided the only light. After finding nothing alarming there, I ventured out, stepping like a cat, listening hard enough to make my ears hurt.

Thorin went silent. I hurried forward, balancing on the balls of my feet, hoping to sneak to his room in silence. Thorin roared again, and something else crashed.
So much for stealth.
I dashed the last few feet and pounced into his doorway with my fire crackling, ready to burn, devastate, and consume whichever of my enemies dared breach the sanctity of my little cabin.

Instead, I found Thorin, feral, raging, and naked except for his iron bracelets and torc. I would have felt embarrassed for him if I thought it bothered him… or if he hadn’t looked so completely magnificent. He appeared to have fixated his attention on fighting a ghost or maybe a whole legion of them, the way he swung his weapon. He had reduced his nightstand to kindling, and an old upholstered chair lay on its side, beaten to within an inch of its life.

“Thorin.” I stepped farther into his room.

Thorin spun on me, Mjölnir raised high. He said something in his ancient tongue. I didn’t understand it, but the way he forced his words through gritted teeth made me step back and reconsider.

“Thorin?” I said, speaking in a low and soothing tone. “You’re dreaming, having a nightmare. I need you to wake up, okay?”

I reached behind me, feeling for the light switch. I kept talking, hoping to soothe him and ease his agitation. “You’re with me now, and you’re safe. You’ve fought bravely, but it’s time to give it a rest.”

Thorin stepped closer, baring his teeth. The light from my fire reflected in his eyes, and shadows daubed his face so he looked like a hellish fiend. I slid one foot back, preparing to retreat if he decided to attack, but it came up against the wall. I had run out of room.

“It’s time to let that demon go,” I said. “We’ve got plenty more to chase after, and I need you to be cool about it, okay?”

Thorin stepped closer yet, still clutching Mjölnir and panting, ribs heaving like bellows. His breath coursed over me, hot and humid.

“Thorin, please, you don’t want to hurt me.”

Apparently, he disagreed. His hand flashed to my throat and circled it, squeezing.

“Thorin!” I gasped and choked. With a ball of fire gathered around my fingers, I swung and slapped him across his cheek. “Wake up!”

Thorin fell away, blinking and shaking his head as if aggravated by a bothersome gnat. I found the switch and flipped on the overhead lights. He blinked again and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Still pressed against the wall, I waited for an indication that he had gathered his wits—what little of them remained, anyway.

Thorin looked around the room, taking in the damage, and turned his gaze back on me. “Solina?”

My lungs froze, and my muscles tensed. I couldn’t have blinked if my life depended on it.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around the devastated room. “What…?”

Something inside me thawed, and my systems came back online. “Thorin?”

He looked back up at me, his eyebrows raised. His gaze focused on me in a way it hadn’t before, sharp and full of familiarity. “Sunshine?”

Relief coursed through me, as swift and powerful as a tidal wave. “You remember?”

Thorin blinked again. “Why wouldn’t I?” He glanced down and noted his nudity. His head shot up, and his eyes locked on mine. “What’s going on, Solina?”

I breathed a huge and gusty sigh and wiped away my pending tears before Thorin noticed.
He’d hate to think I was crying over him
. I cleared my throat and put on a neutral face. “Bad dream, I guess.”

Thorin noticed Mjölnir still clutched in his fist. He flipped his wrist and turned it back into the golden pendant. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

I shook my head. “Not so much. I can dish out almost as well as I can take.”

Thorin stepped closer, and I tensed. He noticed, and his brows drew together. His gaze dropped to my neck. He reached out and brushed his fingertips over the bruise forming beneath my jaw. “I did this?”

I mimicked his gesture and touched my fingers to his cheek, displaying an angry red welt in the shape of my hand. “And I did this.”

Thorin caught my hand on his face and held it there. His eyes, dark and glittering, bore into mine. “I worried about being able to protect you, but I didn’t think it would be from myself.”

I swallowed, but my voice still came out gruff. “I’ve been ravaged by a wolf, converted to pure energy and back, and I’ve been nearly frozen to death. This is nothing.”

“Still, I am sorry.”

I stiffened my spine and moved away from him. “C’mon, put on some pants, and let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll make us some tea. It’ll calm our nerves.”

Without any hint of self-consciousness, Thorin crouched and dug his pants out from somewhere beneath the bed. Maybe he didn’t care, but I turned away and gave him a moment of privacy. I started down the hall, and he fell into place behind me, still zipping zippers and fastening buttons.

In the kitchen, Thorin leaned against the counter and watched me rifle through the cabinets, looking for my box of chamomile. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you with Baldur?”

I found the tea and set about filling a kettle with water. “Someone had to wait for you. I’ve lost too many people already. I don’t want to lose any more. Besides, Baldur is only focused on Nina. They’re both a little…” I swirled my finger around my temple to insinuate their current mental state. “What else should I have done?”

“You should have run. Kept moving. Staying in one place too long is dangerous. You shouldn’t risk yourself.”

“You’ve told me that before.”

“I see you didn’t take my advice.”

“I told you that I don’t automatically do everything you tell me.”

Thorin’s blond brows arched high. “Yes, I remember.”

I set the full kettle on the stove, lit the burner, and motioned to the kitchen table. Thorin slid out a chair for me and settled into the one beside it. I sank into the seat and let out a heavy breath.

“So tell me what has happened since I saw you last,” Thorin said.

“Since you gave me to Baldur in the cave and stayed behind to fight Grim?”

“I remember, up to the point where Baldur took you away. From then until you woke me just a moment ago, everything is a blur.”

And so, for the second time that night, I told Thorin everything he had missed.