Dark Devotion: Dark Series 3 (14 page)

The images were suddenly gone and Odin let out a breath. The last thing he had witnessed was Freki running while Rhys consumed Geri’s body – a grizzly and oddly satisfying scene for Odin to watch. There was one absolute that he’d learned, though, and that was that Rhys was not progressing in his search for Loki as quickly as Odin would like. If anything, it looked as if he was waiting for Loki to fall into his lap. It was clear that intervention was needed and Odin
would
intervene, risking himself in doing so.

*

Maverick watched the wolf disappear into the night, its inky fur blending in with the shadows. She’d seen the light elf lurking around at the club again and had decided to follow him. After about half an hour at the War Hammer, he’d left, only to be attacked by two gods who had thrown up a veil to keep the humans from seeing anything.

She hadn’t exactly been sure it would listen to her – it was a killer through and through – but she had to take the chance. She could see from its aura that it was mindless, feral, and feeding off its base instincts. It had been ready to kill that woman. But Mav had also seen its second aura, the golden one that gave away its identity. That aura belonged to the light elf who had been asking about Loki, although now she wasn’t sure he was just a light elf. He was a shape shifter for sure, but only the most powerful of gods were capable of taking another form like he had. In fact, she only knew of two: Odin and Loki.

With a thought, she faded to the alleyway beside the Eye and stepped up to the back door. She punched the code into the keypad and stepped into the hall.

“What did you find out?”

Mav looked up to find Korvain standing in the doorway to Bryn’s office. She respected the Mare a lot, especially since he’d saved Bryn from Loki the first time around. “He’s a shape shifter.”

Korvain’s expression darkened. “How is that possible?”

“There are more things in this world beside gods and goddesses,” Bryn gently reminded him.

Mav waited for Korvain to wrap his head around the information. “How do you know?”

“I saw him transform into a huge wolf.”

“A wolf?” This was from Bryn. Mav looked at her leader and shrugged. Of all the shape shifters, the wolf was the most common.

“What caused him to shift?” Korvain asked. He’d stopped pacing to stand beside Bryn, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to his body. His aura suddenly exploded with brilliant red, the starburst decimating his usual gray.

Mav looked away, fixing her attention on Bryn instead. “He was attacked by two gods. The elf stayed in human form for a long time, but it looked like it was taking a toll on him. When he shifted, it was fast. I think I barely blinked and then he was a wolf the size of a small car.”

“Was it a random attack?” Bryn asked. “Do you know who the two gods were?”

“I didn’t recognize them, but one of them was called Geri. I assumed the other was Freki. I also heard Loki’s name mentioned, so I don’t think it was random.”

“Those two are …
were
Odin’s wolves. How can they be human? And why are they serving Loki?”

“I don’t know,” Mav replied. “The elf killed one of them. He tore him apart and partially ate the body. The other brother escaped.”

“Could they have helped Loki to kill Thor, too?” Bryn said, looking from Korvain to Mav.

“It’s a possibility,” Korvain replied. “Where’s the shifter now?” He was back to pacing.

“I told him to leave.”

Bryn looked startled. “You actually spoke to him?”

“As a wolf, yes,” she conceded. “I told him to fade, but he shook his head. I don’t think he’s able to while in his other form.”

“Where did he go then?” Korvain barked the question at her.

“I couldn’t tell you.”

Bryn walked up to Korvain. “We need to find him,” she breathed.

“I will,” Maverick said. Bryn turned. “I’ll find him,” she repeated.

“He’s dangerous.”

Mav folded her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t matter. If he’s looking for Loki, he’s doing it for a reason. He did say he wanted to kill him. As far as I can tell that’s a good thing for us. He’s not our enemy. We should be helping him.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to kill Loki,” Bryn said. “But you’re right.” She nodded at Mav. “Find him. Loki still needs to pay for what he did to us.”

“And what about Odin?” Korvain’s dark voice was amplified in the long hallway. “Loki is obviously still looking for him, which means he must be trying to get to you.” He inclined his head in Bryn’s direction. “Whichever way you look at it, you’re still the key Loki needs.”

“I know.” Bryn sounded bitter. “Even without being involved in my life, Odin still manages to fuck it up for me.”

Anxiety spiked, making Tove’s stomach turn. The last three weeks had gone too quickly for her. Summer was behind them now, fall firmly set in place. The end of the good weather also signaled the end of her life, as far as she was concerned. The ceremony joining her and Floki together was tomorrow. No matter how hard she tried to petition her father, he wouldn’t listen to her. He’d said that her marriage to Floki would strengthen the weakened bond between their family and his. Halvdan needed to have a strong ally by his side as more and more chieftains were rising up against him.

Soren touched the side of Tove’s face, jerking her out of her own thoughts. “Are you thinking about tomorrow?” he asked gently, his fingers skimming down her arm. Goose bumps broke out in his wake, leaving her shivering. He had snuck in after her father had gone to bed and they were sitting in front of the fire in the great hall, sharing what would be their last night together before she became Floki’s wife.

“Aren’t you?”

He nodded sharply, his jaw tight. She knew he was holding back the words he’d been repeating for weeks now. He’d been trying to convince her to run off with him, to just leave and marry him and live somewhere far away, but Tove’s sense of duty and love for her father prevented her from doing that. She loved Soren, but she loved her father more.

“If you would just—”

“What?” she interrupted sharply. “Leave? Be a coward?”

“You wouldn’t be a coward,” Soren tried to reason. Tove had thought seriously about his request, and for half a minute she thought it was possible to simply disappear and leave her responsibilities behind. The only problem was that she knew her sense of obligation would eventually win out. Her mother had been a shield maiden – she had been honorable, and she was well known, beloved and respected for that honor. Tove wanted to be like her more than anything, and if that meant agreeing to an arranged marriage, then she would. After all it had worked out between her parents. Perhaps she could find a small measure of happiness with Floki.

 “I would be, Soren,” she replied, turning to face him. The golden glow of the fire illuminated half his face, making him look like a god of Asgard and a demon of Muspelheim at the same time. She touched his face, smoothing away the wrinkles on his forehead, trying to erase the scowl that had permanently set in the moment her father had told them about the betrothal. “I have to obey my father in this.”

Soren’s normally kind brown eyes took on a sharp edge. “And what about me? What am I supposed to do, Tove? Celebrate your marriage? Wish you luck and a happy life together?” He surged to his feet, pacing along the skins they’d been lounging on. “Because I won’t do it. I
can’t
do it. The moment I see Floki, I will want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze the breath from his lungs.”

Me too
, she thought hopelessly. The worst part of this whole thing was that Soren would be left behind. Both of their hearts will be broken, but if she was honest, hers had broken the moment her father had told her she was to marry someone else. She had no choice; she was the chieftain’s only daughter. She sighed. “I should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Soren stopped pacing and faced her. “You’re giving up on us.” He stated it so forcefully that she knew he believed it.

“Never,” she whispered. “I’ll always love you – until my hearts stops beating, it will belong to you.”

The fire crackled and hissed, embers shooting into the air as a log fell. Soren’s gaze fell onto the flames. “I won’t be there tomorrow. I won’t watch you give yourself to another.”

No, no, no.
He was her strength; his love was keeping her going, and would continue to keep her going through her life. But she wouldn’t tell him. She wanted him to have the freedom to choose – something she wasn’t able to do. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he spat, raising his voice slightly.

“What do you want me to do, Soren?” she asked, exasperated.

Grasping her arms, he pulled her into his embrace. She melted into the feel of his strong chest, placing her ear against his ribs to listen to his heart. “I want you to leave this place. Tonight. Now. We’ll go west. I can take a boat and we can sail until we hit the shore of Northumbria.”

Tove stayed quiet, absorbing every last second of her time with Soren. When she pulled away, she could see that he knew this was the end. The look in his eyes was foreign, hard and unforgiving – nothing at all like the warmth and love she normally saw there. Stepping out of his arms, she retreated a few steps. “I love you.”

He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but in the end he just shook his head and walked from the hall. Tove watched him go, feeling the tears pooling in her eyes and trembling on her lashes. She understood why he couldn’t stay. It didn’t make the hurt any less, though. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she promised herself they’d be the last she would cry for the life she could have had with Soren.

Floki Dalgaard was her future …

Her bleak, dark future.

*

At dawn, Tove was awakened and taken to the bath-house. There, one of her mother’s oldest friends informed her of her duties as a wife, gave her advice on the best way to live with a man and other religious observances she had to make as a married woman. She was stripped of all her old clothing, and the
kransen
– a gilt circlet used as decoration on her loose hair – was removed. Symbolically, this was the biggest change. Tove had walked into the bath-house as a maiden, and when she walked out, she was ready to become a woman.

By mid-morning, the sun had still refused to come out from behind the clouds. Perhaps the gods were reflecting her mood onto Midgard. Nobody else seemed to notice it though. All around her, the villagers were excited. Marriages called for great celebrations and great celebrations called for great feasts. Food was being prepared and animals that had been slaughtered the previous day were already roasting on fires. Her father had chosen to forego the week-long celebration of her marriage – a small consolation to her, she felt.

“Let’s get you dressed,” someone said behind her. Tove drew in one more breath of air and turned to see Aslaug standing there. The girl was perhaps only two years younger than her, and beautiful in her own way. She had also been Tove’s personal servant for the past four years. She followed her into her sleeping area, stopping just inside the room. Her father was waiting for her there, sitting on the edge of her bed. His expression was solemn and in his lap was a rectangular wooden box.

“What’s that, father?” she asked, approaching him slowly.

Halvdan’s fingers caressed the carving in the lid lovingly, a small smile appearing on his lips. “This was the dress your mother wore on our wedding day.” He looked at her. “I think she would want you to wear it.” Placing the box onto the bed, he stood up and approached her. Kissing her forehead, he said, “I’ll leave you with Aslaug to get ready.”

Aslaug stepped close to Tove and started to undress her, stripping away the ankle-length woolen dress and the linen dress underneath it.

“Are you excited?” Aslaug asked.

“No,” Tove answered, surprising herself with her honesty.

“It is a good match.”

She looked at the girl. “For who?” she asked acidly.

Her curt reply left Aslaug with nothing more to say. When Tove was in her mother’s dress, a brooch was attached at her throat before the girl started brushing out Tove’s long hair. After today, she would never be able to wear it loose and uncovered. It was just another reminder of her fate.

After Tove left her room, she was escorted to the grove where the ceremony was to take place. A sow was sacrificed to Freyja to ask for her blessings for fertility, and then she got her first good look at the man who was to be her husband.

Floki was shorter than her by a good few inches. She would have to stoop to kiss the fool. He was losing his hair despite only having seen five more summers than her. All his features seemed too small for his long face, and his eyes were cruel. But all of those things she could ignore. The thing that held her attention more was the cloak of dark pink and dark green – two colors she associated with negativity and resentment – hovering over his head. Once more her stomach clenched into a tight knot.

The entire ceremony was a blur after that. She recalled exchanging swords and rings, but could not remember saying the vows. The next thing she knew they were feasting in the great hall at her home. She ate the food and drank the wine but she did not taste a thing. More than once, Floki leaned over, placing his hand high on her thigh and whispering in her ear, “Are you not having fun, wife?”

She said nothing. She just watched the way his aura flared with irritation.

Unable to remain beside Floki any longer, she left the table and went to speak with some of her father’s supporters, catching part of their conversation about the upcoming harvest of their barley crop.

“There won’t be enough to see us through,” one of the men said. “The summer was too hot and we planted too late.”

Another said, “But surely Dalgaard will be willing to trade with us now.”

“I will ensure Floki’s father trades with you,” she told the men with a warm smile.

“Mistress?” Aslaug said softly.

Tove apologized to the men and turned her attention to her servant. “Yes?”

“It’s almost time. I’m going to prepare your bed with the linens from your dowry. When I’m done, I will come and collect you.”

Tove nodded to the servant girl and tried to focus on the conversation again, but all she could think about was what was to come. Soon she would have to lie with her husband for the first time, and the thought was terrifying.

She glanced in the direction of the long table up in front of the dais. Her father was whispering something to his advisor while Floki’s father seemed to be watching everyone in the room. Her gaze settled on her husband. She expected him to be watching her, but his attention was on Aslaug as she left the hall. His aura shifted colors. After a beat, he stood up and followed her out.

“Oh, no,” Tove whispered. Without excusing herself from the conversation, she hurried after them both, but an older man she had never seen before stopped her.

“Congratulations, Tove, on this special day,” he said. She gave him a small smile, and started to step past him when he added, “You know, I was at your parents’ wedding too. Now
that
was a feast to remember.”

“Thank you, sir. But you must excuse me.” She walked away without waiting for his reply and slipped into the hallway at the back of the house. Just outside her bedchamber, she was brought to a dead stop. Aslaug’s screams made all the hair on the back of Tove’s neck stand on end. Pushing aside the skins which had been hung for privacy, she stepped into the room.

Floki had Aslaug pinned against the mattress, her skirts up around her waist, the bodice of her dress ripped down the middle so her breasts were exposed. He slapped her hard across the face before entering her body forcefully. Aslaug screamed again, and Tove could see blood where they were joined.

“Please,” Aslaug begged softly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t.”

“Shut your mouth. They’ll hear you.”

“I already heard you,” Tove said, finally finding her voice.

Aslaug’s eyes widened when she saw Tove. “Mistress, I—”

“She begged me to take her,” Floki spat, pulling Aslaug up from the bed and holding her in front of him like a shield. Aslaug was shaking, holding the torn dress to her body. This man was even more of a coward than Tove had first thought. “She’s your servant, which means she’s also mine now.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Floki.” She took a step closer, looking the girl in the eye. “Aslaug, come to me.”

Floki’s grip tightened, causing Aslaug to cry out in pain. “No. She stays here with me.”

Tove watched his aura flare again. His desperation was scrubbing out his lust. “Let her go, Floki, and I won’t mention your indiscretion to my father.”

“Nobody will be talking about this to anybody,” he replied, suddenly pulling out a knife and bringing it to Aslaug’s throat.

“No!” Tove cried, throwing out her hand to try and stop him, but she was too late. He ran the blade across Aslaug’s throat like she was a sacrificial goat. The wound gaped, and blood welled. He pushed Aslaug aside as she dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. “No,” Tove whispered, watching her servant’s eyes go dull. She refocused on Floki, the ember of her anger flaring to life.

The bastard was smiling at her. “I’ll tell everyone that she was trying to steal from me.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why didn’t you just let her go?”

“Because she was my property, just like you are my property, and I can do what I like with it.” He stalked toward her, gripping her upper arm and pulling her close. She could smell the ale on his breath, she could see his malice cloaking his shoulders. “Turn around and bend over,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

He held the knife to her throat. “I am your husband. Do as I command.”

He meant to take her now, like this? Aslaug’s body was not yet cold, yet like a pig in rut, he wanted to mount her. Even though she wanted to fight back now, she had learned that biding your time for a more advantageous position was sometimes better. Appearing to yield to his will, she turned toward the bed.

Floki placed the knife on the edge of the mattress and gripped her hips from behind. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said into her ear.

In one swift motion, she scooped up the dagger and spun around to face him. She had caught him by surprise, but his shock soon turned to conceit. He actually laughed at her.

“Knives are not meant for the hands of noble-born girls,” he said, chastising her. “Give it to me.”

“Never,” she spat.

Floki’s rage crackled, filling the air with clouded red. He lunged at her, trying to drive her onto the bed. She couldn’t move in time, landing heavily with him on top. One hand cinched shut around her wrist, his other hand trying hard to remove the dagger. She always slipped out of the way though; the gods were on her side. She swiped at him, drawing first blood on his upper arm. He struck her, his fist landing on her cheek. Thrown to one side, pain exploded through the side of her face, dazing her for a moment. Floki tried wrenching the knife free, but she knew if she was disarmed, he would take her by force.