Very Much Alive (3 page)

Fuck it. She’d learn the truth sooner or later. To his mind, it was better to lay their cards on the table before things went too far.

And if that didn’t work, there was always Logan’s back-up plan. Tying her up and carting her off, whether she liked it or not, held a certain appeal. He tamped down his urge to do just that, explanations be damned.

What is wrong with me?
He’d never, in all their long years together, even been attracted to anyone other than Logan, but the small, curvy woman seated behind her desk drew like no other being had since…well, since Logan.

“Mythology?”

The slow way she drawled it, sitting back in her seat with a blank look, said it all. She had her voice back under control, too, the smooth, anchorman, androgynous accent back in place. Odds were good that, after his story, they’d be falling back on Plan B. He held back a shiver of lust with difficulty, keeping his gaze off Logan. There was nothing he wanted more than Logan’s happiness, and it would kill Logan if he saw desire for another person on Kir’s face. “Yes, Ms. Grey. Mythology. Norse mythology in particular.”

Her gaze darted to Logan and back to him. Those wide, dark brown eyes were carefully blanked. He viewed that with regret. They’d been lovely filled with her laughter. He wondered briefly what they would look like full of passion, or languorous with sated lust. “Okay, I’ll bite. What bit of Norse mythology should I become acquainted with?”

“The bit where Loki was directly responsible for the death of Baldur.”

“I’m familiar with that myth, yes.”

The careful way she was wording her responses wasn’t encouraging. “I thought so.” He leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “I want you to think about the myth, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.”

“Baldur was invulnerable to all substances, save mistletoe, which was, at the time, too young a plant to give its word not to harm him. Loki supposedly discovered this, handed the blind god Hodr a dart or arrow tipped in mistletoe, and guided his hand. Baldur died as the mistletoe pierced his heart. Loki fled as the gods killed Hodr for Baldur’s death.

“Hel claimed she was willing to release Baldur back into the world if every living being cried, mourning him. But the gods found one holdout, a witch named Pokk, who was supposedly Loki in disguise. Pokk refused to weep. Hel held Baldur in her grasp and refused to let him go. When the gods realized they’d been tricked they returned to the cave, determined to exact revenge. Pokk fled into the back of the cave, turned into a raven, and flew off into the night. Eventually the gods tracked Loki down, tied him to a mountain with the entrails of his own son, there to writhe in torment until Ragnarok.” He turned to Logan. “Did I miss anything?”

“Nanna’s death.”

Kir winced. “Right. The goddess Nanna, on hearing of her spouse’s death and the failure of the gods to bring him back to life, committed suicide.” And it galled him to say the lie. There was no way Nanna would have killed herself. Grimm had murdered her to protect his secrets, and whatever she’d known had died with her. And going to Hel and trying to speak to the dead was an exercise in futility.

“Right. So, now that our cultural anthropology lesson is done, what does this have to do with my grandfather?”

He ignored Logan, who was shaking his head in disbelief. That sardonic look was back on his face. From the relaxed way he sat, hands crossed over his stomach, Kir knew his lover was ready for anything. Logan always looked the most relaxed just before he sprang into action. “Have you ever wondered how much truth there was in the old myths?”

She leaned forward in her chair. Her elbow landed on the desk as she rested her chin in her palm. “Not particularly, no.”

“All right. Think like a detective, then.”

She smiled. “Yes, that will be
so
difficult for me.”

Her sarcastic drawl had his eyes narrowing.
Damn, she’s asking for it.

Part of him wanted to give it to her, too. He eyed Logan sideways, not surprised to see his lover’s eyes narrowed on him. He turned his attention back to the woman seated behind the desk and ordered his cock to stand down.

“If you’re familiar with Loki then you’re familiar with his ability to shift shape, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you familiar with the fact that the
only
form Loki couldn’t shift into was a bird?”

She looked thoughtful. “No.”

“He had to borrow Frejya’s cloak to do it.” He nodded towards her computer. “If you like, I’ll wait a moment while you verify that.”

She shook her head, frowning. “No, that’s okay. I believe you.” It was obvious she had no idea where he was going, or how all of this tied into Grimm.

“So if Loki couldn’t turn into a bird without Frejya’s cloak, how did he, as Pokk, turn into a raven in the back of the cavern and fly away from the gods?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it, clearly stunned. “I…don’t know.”

“And whose bird is the raven?”

“Odin, of course.” She blinked, a frown crossing her face. “Wait. Are you saying
Odin
framed Loki?”

Kir shrugged. “Odin is a shapeshifter. He’s always been associated with lies and trickery.”

She tilted her head, her gaze narrowing on him. “Is?”

She’s sharp. Good.
He nodded.
Now for the difficult part; convincing her that myth and reality are a lot more closely related than she thinks.
“Is.”

She sat back, her hand flopping down onto the top of her desk with a thunk. “You think you’re Baldur?”

“No.” He smiled when her shoulders sagged in relief. “I
am
Baldur.” Or was. As far as he was concerned, Baldur died that day, staring down at a bleeding man, filled with the knowledge that his father wanted him dead. Had, in fact, succeeded in killing his brother.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let me guess.” She waved her hand blindly in Logan’s direction. “And he’s Loki, right?”

“Yes.”

She opened her eyes and glared at them both. “Very funny. Ha ha.” She stood and pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Logan stood and stuck his hands in his pocket. “Plan B, blondie?”

“Not yet.” Kir stood as well, watching Jordan carefully. “We can prove it, you know.”

Logan grimaced. “Uh-oh. Is she done enough for Plan A1?”

He ignored Logan’s mutter and concentrated on the woman in front of him. “Would you like us to prove it?”

She put her hands on her hips and grinned, full of cocky assurance, that accent of hers bleeding through the sophisticated façade. “Sure, go ahead. Prove he’s a fire giant and you’re an invulnerable god, and I’ll work for you. Hell, I’ll do it for free.”

Logan’s grin was full of demonic delight. “Bargain made.” He winked at Kir, waiting for him to make the first move.

Kir shrugged. “Okay.” He picked up her dagger-like letter opener, put his hand on her desk, and stabbed as hard as he could at his hand. The metal bent sideways with an audible screech, refusing to touch his skin.

That made her gasp. Logan’s trick, however, made her scream. After all, it wasn’t every day you watched a man made out of fire clean his fingernails with a bent letter opener.

Her shriek brought her coworkers running, nearly knocking a quickly human Logan onto his ass. Kir held up the bent, blackened blade of the dagger-like letter opener. “Believe us now?”

Logan watched Jordan blanch and almost felt sorry for her. He hated when Kir pulled this last-minute surprise kind of shit, but they’d done it Logan’s way before and look how far he’d gotten them. Nowhere, which sucked the big fat hairy one. This time, Kir had insisted he be the one to get the ball rolling.

Too bad he’d had to pull out the friggin’ catapult to do it.

He watched Jordan sink into her seat, her pretty, dark chocolate eyes wide and blank. He took his time, enjoying the sight of all those curves bouncing as she landed hard. She reached up one hand and tugged on her earring in a defensive gesture that had Logan fighting not to go to her.

It had been a very long time since someone other than Kir caught his interest. And it would add all sorts of complications to an already complicated situation, if Kir’s reaction to her was anything to go by. Unless he missed his guess, his lover wanted her, too, and was fighting it with everything in him. With anyone else, it would have worked, too. Kir had become a master at hiding his true feelings. But there was no way he could hide them from Logan.

He turned back and studied the woman he knew was going to change their lives, whether they wanted it or not. Tousled dark brown hair his fingers itched to stroke framed a long, narrow face with full, pouty lips. Dark slacks hugged a sweetly rounded ass, and a pink summer sweater caressed her generous breasts. Low-heeled black boots added an illusion of height she just didn’t have. She looked like a corporate casual secretary, someone who could pass just about anywhere without notice, which was undoubtedly what she wanted people to see.

She was smart, she was funny, and she was cute as a button. And he was doomed. Her father was going to rip his gonads off and stuff them down his throat if he found out the thoughts Logan was entertaining about his baby girl. And if her stepfather found out… He winced, knowing
exactly
what her stepfather would do to him.

Hell, Kir they’d probably welcome with open arms. Kir’s lover? Only if it involved red-hot pokers and bamboo shoots.

Kir put the bent blade back down and sat, ignoring the two other people in the room as they babbled. He crossed his ankles, watching the pandemonium around them with a serene smile.

The smug bastard. It was a good thing he was so cute.

When Kir looked over at him and winked, Logan nearly laughed out loud.

“It was a parlor trick, really. I only
thought
he’d stabbed his hand.”

Jordan’s explanation seemed to calm her coworkers. It hadn’t occurred to either of them to look for a stab mark in the wood, or why the blade had bent rather than sticking (or why it was blackened, either), but apparently they were willing to buy an obvious line of bullshit rather than see the truth. Humans had a habit of seeing only what they wanted to see. Hell, they were completely ignoring the scorched carpet and the smell of smoke, too, although the redheaded guy was giving all three of them some mighty strange looks. He’d have to keep an eye on that one.

The two finally left, sending worried glances over their shoulders on their way out the door. Logan reached back and closed it behind them, grinning at the faint, outraged squawk the short, curly-haired redhead (Jenny? Jamie?) let out.

She let go of her earring and focused on Kir. “You’re Baldur.” She scrubbed her face with both hands when he nodded. Her attention turned to him, and Logan felt his dick twitch in a surge of lust. “You’re Loki?”

He bowed from his seat, knowing how arrogant he looked and not giving a fuck. If she couldn’t deal with him the way he was, well…she would just have to get used to it.

“And you want to prove that Oliver Grimm, God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, framed you for the murder of Kir, who is Baldur. Which means that Grimm would be Odin.”

“By Odin, I think she’s got it!”

That earned him a glare from two sets of eyes. He grinned, pleased when Kir chuckled. “Asshole.”

He thought about answering, “Later, dear” but decided Jordan had had enough surprises for one day.

“If Grimm is Odin, who is my father?”

Logan sat up a little straighter. “Are you sure you want the answer to that question?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve already blown my world apart. What else can you do to me?”

Lots of things, little girl. Lots of things.
He cleared his throat and tried to block out the image of her bent over her desk, Kir’s cock between those sweet, strawberry colored lips, while he fucked her hard from behind.
Kir and I are going to have to have a long talk about this.
Not for anything would he hurt Kir. “Frey.”

“Fred is Frey?”

“No. Fred is Thor. Your biological father, Adam, is Frey.”

It came out a little harsher than he’d intended; visions of her naked and wanting made his voice gruff with lust. Her face turned whiter, if that was possible. He was beginning to become seriously concerned that she’d pass out, a vision that turned off the sexy fantasies he’d been having ever since he and Kir had entered her office. He stood and marched around the desk, ready to catch her if she fell, every one of his protective instincts going into overdrive.

Kir mirrored his movements on her other side, his own concern obvious. Kir rested one hand on the back of her chair, the other on her desk. “You didn’t have to blurt it out like that, Logan.”

“How the hell else do you tell someone that their father is a god? ‘Hi, honey, here’s some flowers and chocolates, oh by the way your dad throws lightning bolts at mortals for shits and giggles’?”

“My mom?”

Both men blinked and looked down at her croaked words. “What?”

“Is my mom a goddess?”

He exchanged a look with Kir, who shrugged. “No.” He had to swallow to stop himself from tacking on “sweetheart”.

Oh, yeah. So doomed.
He looked down into her sweetly stubborn face and sighed.
But what a way to go.

Chapter Three

Jordan sat in the passenger seat of Kir’s cherry red Mustang and tried to process everything the two men had told her, and shown her, in her office. They’d insisted she wasn’t capable of driving, and, from how lightheaded she still felt, she had to agree with them.

Okay. So, Dad is Frey. Mom is mortal. Grey, Frey…nobody said Dad was the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

If Dad is Frey, and mom is human, what the hell does that make me? And does Mom know? What about Jamie and Jeff? Or Magnus and Morgan? Are they full gods? Two sets of twins, one half mortal, the other…what?

God, my head hurts.
She almost chuckled out loud at the irony of that phrase.

She rubbed her aching head and saw Kir glance at her. She ignored it, still trying to puzzle out who knew what, or, hell, who
was
what.