Arctic Dawn (The Norse Chronicles Book 2) (6 page)

Thorin’s response came after a lengthy pause. Maybe my frankness confounded him.
That would be a first
.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said. “Try to relax and enjoy the ride.”

Val Wotan met us in the entrance hall of the Sacramento Executive Airport, a small annex for private jets near the larger, commercial airport. The moment I sighted Val’s familiar face, my emotions jumped up and took off in a confusing swirl. Anger partnered with affection and spun a dizzying waltz. Antipathy and longing locked eyes and stalked around each other like partners in a hostile tango.

Val set his mouth in a thin line. His jaw jutted, and blue sparks glinted in his narrow stare.

“This is going to be a long trip if you’re going to insist on brooding all the way to New Breidablik,” I said as I passed him on my way into the airport’s small lobby.

“I’m not brooding,” Val said through gritted teeth. He stalked behind me, and I imagined him panting and growling like an angry bear. “You lied to me, and I am trying desperately hard not to shake you until your teeth rattle.”

I hacked a derisive laugh and spun around to face him. “You haven’t learned anything, have you? Don’t you know by now that I don’t respond well to threats?”

Val sneered. “Maybe I need another lesson.”

“You’re being a humongous jerk about something that isn’t that big of a deal.”

Val’s face shifted, and something pained and frightened showed in his expression. He stepped closer and loomed over me. He didn’t touch me, but he had to know his superior height and size intimidated me. Except for a desk clerk, whose attention Thorin was currently occupying, the tiny airport lobby was empty. No one noticed Val’s hostility.
So much for airport security
.

“You were gone for
nine weeks
,” Val said in a strained voice. “We didn’t know what happened to you other than you lied to us and ran off from the Aerie’s relative safety with three women of disputable loyalty. There was no one to fight, no quest to undertake to bring you back, no oracle to consult.

“Just…
poof
”—Val spread his fingers to mime smoke disbursing through air—“you were gone. And you think I’m supposed to act like nothing happened? You think I’m being unreasonable? Get a clue.”

Well, when he puts it like that…

Val leaned down, and his eyes bored into mine. “You might hate me, Solina. But every moment you were gone was agony for me. Don’t ever do that again.” Without giving me an opportunity to form a rebuttal, Val dropped his gaze and turned his back to me.

I didn’t hate Val, but I didn’t like him a whole lot, either, and I refused to placate him or soothe his ego with apologies and self-justifications.
I shouldn’t have to. I haven’t done anything wrong.

Thorin finished checking in with the counter clerk and returned to the waiting area, where Val and I stood in a cold and stifling cloud of silence. Thorin glanced between us, rolled his eyes, and motioned for us to follow him outside. A sexy, lustrous charter jet awaited us, and it brought to mind glossy Tag Heuer and Polo advertisements. In the commercial playing in my head, some exotic creature, a leopard or a panther, descended the airplane’s steps wearing a diamond-studded collar.

She was no slinky jungle cat, but the flight attendant who greeted us was close enough. She introduced herself with, “My name’s Samantha, but please just call me Sam,” and purred over Thorin and Val. She moved about the cabin with preternatural grace despite her three-inch heels. I didn’t hate her for her sophistication and elegance, but man, I really wanted to.

While the guys settled into their seats, I went to the galley and searched for something to drink. The flight attendant tried to intercept me, insisting she would provide the refreshments.

“I got it under control,” I said. “I’m professionally trained and everything.”

She arched a manicured eyebrow, shrugged, and turned away. I passed beer bottles to the guys and sat down with my own tumbler of ice and Diet Coke.

“I know you’ve already explained everything to Thorin,” Val said. He leaned back in his seat, folded his hands in his lap, and kept his face arranged in a pleasantly neutral expression—neither apologetic nor critical. “But I’d like to hear it for myself. Tell me everything that happened from the moment I last saw you at the Aerie.”

I closed my eyes and let my head drop against the headrest. “I’ll tell you, but let’s be clear about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I am not defending myself. I stand by every one of my actions, every one of my decisions. The fact that we are all still alive today has a lot to do with the choices I made, and I will not apologize for misleading you.”

“For lying.”

If that’s not a donkey calling a mule ugly
… I opened my eyes, leaned forward, and glared at Val. “For doing whatever it takes to ensure that Helen does not win.”

Val winced. Then he nodded. After that, I told him everything: of the dream about Helen attacking the Aerie and killing Thorin with Odin’s spear; of going to Oneida Lake; of losing Kalani; of Inyoni’s betrayal; of my fight against Skoll and my transformation. I told him about waking cold and wet on the banks of Lake Norman, about the park ranger finding me and taking me home. About my days on the road and getting a job in San Diego before I had to run away again.

“Why San Diego?” Val asked.

“It was as far away from home as I could go.”

“Why didn’t you call us right away? Why didn’t you come back to Alaska or go back to the Aerie?”

I huffed. “I couldn’t go back to the Aerie alone because I don’t know who to trust there anymore. Helen has infiltrated at least some of the Valkyries, if not all of them. As for going anywhere else… I was hoping I could just be a ghost. I was bankrupt—no powers, no fire, no way to protect myself. Letting everyone think I was dead or gone was the safest thing for me at the time. Or so I thought. I have since discovered it’s impossible to completely disappear in this world.
Someone
always knows how to find me.”

Val’s face softened. He leaned forward, and his blue eyes peered solemnly into mine. “You don’t get it, do you? Helen is intent. With or without you, Solina, she intends to rule this world. If she can’t recreate Ragnarok, she’ll find another way.”

I turned away and stared out the window. “I can’t control Helen, and maybe I can’t stop her. Not yet. But at least it wouldn’t be all my fault.”

“Your parents are worried sick about you. They’ve opened up a missing-person case. They believe they’ve lost both their kids. Don’t you think you should call them?”

I had put my parents out of my thoughts, purposely refusing to think about them or consider the pain I must have caused them. If I thought about them too much, my resolve might have faded. I might want to go home again or call them and tell them I was okay, but that was too risky. “Do they think I’m still alive?”

Val shrugged. “I don’t know what they think at this point. It’s been two months since anyone knew where you were.”

“I think it’s better they believe I’m dead. I think it’s better if everyone does. If things go badly in the end, then they won’t have to mourn me twice.” Saying that aloud sounded coldhearted, but the weight of my parents’ expectations inhibited my freedom. Their continued involvement in my life made things harder and more dangerous. A ghost could move about freely, so it made sense to keep playing dead.

Thorin cleared his throat, disrupting the morose atmosphere that had settled over our group. He rose to his feet. “I’m going to get another beer.”

Val raised his empty bottle. “I’ll take another one, too.”

Thorin glanced at my drink and raised a questioning eyebrow.

I studied the last few inches of Diet Coke in my glass. Then I wrapped my lips around my straw and sucked up the remaining contents in a rude and prolonged slurp. When I had to stop and let out my breath, I smiled, handed him the empty glass, and said, “Thanks, Thorin. You’re a real sweetheart.”

Chapter Seven

A
n hour or so into our flight, Thorin’s phone rang. He tugged it from his pocket, swiped his thumb over the screen, and put it to his ear. “Yes,” he said to the caller. “We just left Reno. We should be back in Siqiniq by—”

The caller cut him off. Only one person could interrupt Thorin without igniting his immediate irritation: Baldur.

“Why, what’s happened?” Thorin asked.

I sharpened my hearing after noting the concern filling Thorin’s voice. Baldur said something, and Thorin’s expression darkened.

“Okay. I’ll talk to the pilot,” Thorin said. “I’ll see if we can change our flight plans. I’ll call you and let you know our ETA.”

“What’s up?” Val asked after Thorin ended his call.

“Baldur,” Thorin said.

“What’s he want now?”

“He’s got a lead on Nina, so change of plans. He wants us to meet him in Vegas.”

Ah, Nina, Baldur’s wayward soul mate
. I should have known. I had mostly forgotten about her over the past few weeks, but of course Baldur hadn’t.

Val exhaled a noisy breath. “And the Allfather always gets his way, doesn’t he?”

Thorin went to talk to the captain but returned a few minutes later wearing a grim expression. “The captain can’t change our itinerary. He already has a return flight booked on the other end. The best he can do is drop us off in Salt Lake. We’ll arrange something from there.”

Thorin and Val spent the next several minutes focused on their phones, searching for transportation from Salt Lake City to Vegas.

“I’m having déjà vu,” I said.

Val looked up and arched a questioning brow.

“Feel like I’ve done this before,” I said. “Gone off on the Legend of Nina quest. I wasn’t terribly fond of the idea last time we did it. I’m even less game now.”

Thorin glanced up from his phone. “Have you got urgent plans that I’m not aware of?”

“Finding Skyla, getting rid of Helen
and
the wolf, saving the world…” I said, flicking up a finger for each point. Then I waved those fingers at Thorin. “I’ve got
four
urgent items on my to-do list, and you
should
be aware of them already.” I pointed to my unextended thumb. “You’ll notice that, once again, Baldur and Nina are nowhere on my list.”

Val watched our exchange, wearing a carefully neutral expression, although I suspected he sided with me.

Thorin’s nostrils flared, and he huffed. “Baldur has as much interest in locating Skyla as you do in tracking down Nina. If you expect him to do you a favor, then maybe you should do one for him, too. Quid pro quo.”

I sighed. When had Thorin gotten so good at making reasonable arguments? If assisting Baldur meant having his help in return, I could make hunting for Nina a temporary priority—emphasis on
temporary
.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go to Vegas. I mean, it worked out so well for us last time. What could go wrong?”

When we touched down in Salt Lake City, Samantha-just-call-me-Sam escorted us from the plane. She lavished her charm on Thorin and Val, passing them her business card and assuring them of her eagerness to accommodate them anytime they should need her services. For me, she offered a perfunctory smile and a brief “Buh-bye.”

We disembarked and headed toward a black Yukon parked nearby. Thorin and Val marched behind me like wardens transporting a dangerous prisoner, Hannibal Lecter style.
Wonder how their livers would taste with some fava beans and a nice Chianti…
I tolerated their behavior because airports were notoriously bad places to exercise displays of agitation. One tends to end up in secret federal detention centers when one starts setting things on fire.

“Come on, Solina,” Val said when he noticed my lagging pace. “You can stretch out in the back. It won’t be so bad.”

He opened the door for me, and I sank into the supple leather of the Yukon’s backseat.

A yawn cracked my jaw as I settled into a mostly horizontal position. “What’s the point of owning a private jet if you can’t use it when you need it?”

“Seemed like it made good business sense.” Val shrugged. “Sometimes I question whether that’s true.”

Val’s tight grip on my knee jolted me awake. “C’mon Solina. We’re here.”

He shook my shoulder until I cracked an eyelid. The Yukon had stopped, the doors were open, and darkness had fallen outside, but the SUV’s bright interior light stung my eyes.

I grumbled, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to ignore Val, but the aroma of coffee wafted through the air, and the powerful scent could have raised the dead. Against my will, I sat up. My body had gone zombie, and coffee was the
braaains
it craved. Val’s shadowed figure loomed in the Yukon’s doorway, but the interior lights shone like God’s heavenly light on the jumbo white cup in his hand.

“You want it?” He waved the cup before my face. “Come and get it.”

“Jerk,” I mumbled, but his enticement got me out of the Yukon, onto my feet, and shuffling in the right direction—a donkey chasing a carrot. My cognizance returned in bits and pieces, bringing awareness of my surroundings. “The Bellestrella?” I asked, recognizing the familiar neon lights. “Won’t Helen know we’re here?”

“We’re not staying,” Thorin said, startling me from behind.

I flinched and spilled searing hot coffee over my hand.

“We’re just swinging by to pick up Baldur.”

“Then what?” I asked and licked coffee from my burnt fingers.

Thorin stopped our group outside a door, presumably one leading to a villa like the one we had stayed in last time we were in Vegas. “I don’t know. Baldur said he would give us the details when we got here.”

Thorin knocked, and Baldur opened the door a moment later. As soon as he saw me, Baldur wrapped me in a hearty hug. He smelled fresh, like crocus blooms and cool spring mornings, but the images his touch inspired were nothing so pleasant. In a flash as brief as a blink, I saw a murky room that might have been a cavern, or it might have been a mansion. Stalagmites and stalactites stretched from floor to ceiling like cathedral columns intermingled among lush carpets and drapes and gilded furniture. At the end of the huge, open room, a woman sat on an elaborate throne carved from ivory—
or is it bone?
—and she looked like death incarnate.
Hela?

The vision dissolved, and I shivered, but no one seemed to notice my discomfort. I refrained from mentioning what I had seen because it was irrelevant and possibly upsetting to Baldur, and people generally disliked knowing I could sometimes see into their heads. Besides, what I had seen was just a memory, something he already knew. Baldur chattered about how glad he was to see me and how happy he was that I was okay, but when the door closed behind us and we spread out around the living room, Baldur dropped the banter and dove into business.

“We’ll have to act fast, before this lead on Nina goes cold,” he said. “Helen’s holding her.”

“How do you know this?” Thorin asked.

“I’ve been working on getting to someone on the inside.”

“Who? How do you know this person can be trusted?”

“He’s an employee of Helen’s private security firm, and he’s greedy and lecherous. I greased his palm until he finally gave me some useful information. It’s all I’ve got, but I have to take it.”

“Does Helen know we have Solina back?” Thorin asked.

Baldur shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”

“She
does
know,” I said and told Baldur about Rolf Lockhart and his intentions of taking me to Helen. “Unless he was lying about his connections to Helen, and why would he do that?”

“I don’t know who he could be,” Baldur said. “Rolf is based on an old Germanic name, Hrolf, and the Old Norse Hrólfr. It’s a conjunction of Norse words meaning
notorious wolf
. But whether he means the name in a literal way or not…” He shrugged and held his hands out as if apologizing for not having any more information.

I huffed. “I find it hard to believe there are so many of you still roaming around out there that you could have lost track of someone. Didn’t Ragnarok make the Aesir an endangered species?”

Val sniggered but cut off his laugh when Baldur glared at him.

“He may not be Aesir,” Baldur said. “Some of the other realms escaped Ragnarok’s destruction. This mystery man of yours could be any one of Helen’s dozens of bastard cousins and kin.”

I blanched. “Sorry I asked.”

“It’s important we know these things. We must consider all possibilities when conceiving a plan.”

According to Baldur’s corrupt information source, Helen kept a woman held in secure locations and moved her on a regular basis to make her difficult to track. Helen had assigned Baldur’s informant to guard Nina during the next transfer, which explained how he knew any information worth selling. The possibility of it being a baited trap to bring in Baldur did not escape any of us.

“They’re transferring her tonight,” Baldur said. “They’re driving her from a holding in Vegas to some of Helen’s warehouses in Mojave County, over the Arizona border.”

The three amigos converged around the coffee table to study satellite images on Baldur’s laptop—what looked like warehouses, Helen’s, I presumed. I tiptoed out of the room and headed for the bathroom, intent on taking a lengthy and overdue shower.

The hot spray washed away hours of delirious travel, soothed my nerves, and went a long way toward restoring my good mood. A day of rest and a night of solid sleep might rid me of any remaining complaints, but I suspected I wouldn’t be that fortunate.
Miles to go before I sleep…

I had just finished drying my hair when a knock rattled the bathroom door. Thorin’s deep voice carried through the thin barrier. “Let’s go, Sunshine.”

I set down the hair dryer and opened the door. “Not that I want anyone to suffer the likely inhumane treatment of Helen Locke’s hospitality, but I can’t see how going along with you on this rescue attempt is anything but a very bad risk.”

Thorin gestured, implying he wanted to come in. I moved aside, and he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

“Any other day, I’d leave you here,” he said, “but I’ve got no idea what’s going down tonight or if we’ll be able to come back here. We might have to run for it. We can’t take the risk of being separated.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this. It’s like walking into the middle of the enemy’s camp.”

Thorin frowned. “Aren’t you the one who said we needed to be proactive? What if Helen’s there? Maybe this is our chance to end things.”

“Proactive means gathering information and making a plan. That’s not what this is. This is running in blind.”

Thorin’s eyes darkened, but not in anger. A muscle worked in his jaw. He scraped his fingers through his hair and cursed something under his breath, a word from his ancient tongue, if I had to guess. The tenseness in his shoulders and the way he pressed his lips thin indicated frustration and uncertainty. His promises to protect me and his loyalty to Baldur must have been tugging him in opposite directions, and I felt a little sorry for him. But only a little. An immortal being who possessed the power to subject thunder, rain, and lightning to his will didn’t need much pity.

“I
have
to do this thing for Baldur,” he said. “My vows—”

“I know,” I said. “So, how about we compromise?”

Thorin raised an eyebrow as if to say,
“Oh? And how does that work?”

“I’m going to cooperate with you. No, don’t give me that look. I mean it. Whatever you want us to do next, I’ll do it, and I won’t give you a hard time. In return, I expect you to make a complete commitment to helping me find Skyla.”

Thorin’s lips thinned. “I said I would. I don’t go back on my word.”

“All right. Then we have an understanding.”

Thorin leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Have you had any dreams about this? You know…
premonitions
like the one you had about your brother’s death? Have you had some forewarning about Nina and Baldur or Skyla that you’ve been holding back because you think it will protect someone?”

I huffed and waved a hand, dismissing his question. “I’m not Zoltar the fortune-telling machine. It doesn’t work that way. I’ve had some dreams, but there’s no context. They don’t make sense.”

“Tell me about it?” Thorin took my hand.

Maybe he meant it as a sympathetic gesture, but my fingers burned against his. Could he feel it, or was it all in my head? I hesitated, expecting one of his thoughts or memories to overcome me, but the moment passed, and my awareness remained firmly in the present.
What does that mean?

To avoid invading Tre and Nikka’s thoughts, I had shunned prolonged physical contact. When Tre and I trained together, I focused on his instruction and my technique and refused to dwell on the occasional unwelcome mental image. At most, I saw flashes of things mostly likely inspired by Tre’s experience as a cop. I never lingered on those visions or made opportunities to explore further.

I was in no way prepared to go spelunking in Thorin’s head. For whatever reason, the contents swirling through his gray matter remained locked behind his skull. And for that, I was immensely grateful.

I swallowed and cleared my throat. “I, uh, there were apples.” I told Thorin the rest, the bit about the orchard and the fire and how it had burned my hand.

“It sounds a little like Idun’s orchard,” Thorin said.

“I thought so too.” When he quirked an eyebrow, I shrugged. “What? My research assistant is missing, and I had some time on my hands. Would you have preferred that I stick my head in the sand?”

Thorin grinned. “That makes for an interesting mental image.”

“Not helpful.” I poked his shoulder. “Do you have any idea what it means? It makes no sense to me.”

Thorin shook his head. “I don’t know what it means either, but I assume we’ll find out soon enough.”

For a moment, Thorin and I stood in silence, my hand still gripped in his, but I blinked, and the moment passed. I pulled loose from his hold and backed away, eager to breathe air that didn’t smell like him. When I opened the bathroom door, Thorin took my hint and strode out to the living room.

I followed him out and found that Baldur and Val had changed into a matching set of Commando Ken outfits. They wore black cargo pants, black T-shirts, and black caps—possibly in an attempt to blend into the darkness outside. I had failed to notice before, but Thorin was dressed in similar attire.

“Here.” Thorin grabbed another black T-shirt from the kitchen counter and shoved it at me. “Put this on and meet us out front at the truck.”

I snatched the shirt and marched into the bathroom. The fabric had molded to every plane and angle of the men’s physiques, but if I knotted the hem around my hips, it looked slightly less like a trash bag on me. I braided my hair and pulled up the hood of my black sweatshirt. “Good as it’s going to get,” I said to the mirror. My reflection didn’t disagree, so I turned off the lights and hurried to catch up with the guys.