Dark Devotion: Dark Series 3 (20 page)

Without warning, she was jolted off Loki. Mav’s ears started ringing and her lungs emptied of breath as she tried to pinpoint the cause of the searing pain in her stomach. She touched just to the left of her navel, her fingers coming back bloody. She looked up to find Loki smoothly climbing to his feet. Seeing the smirk on Loki’s –
her
– face as he took a step closer made her blood run cold. Her gaze dropped down his body, noticing the gun in his hand.  

“You know, I didn’t think it would be this easy,” Loki said. Holstering the weapon behind his back, he walked to where her sword was lying a few feet away. Despite the pain, Mav smiled. Nobody could touch it but her – not even Odin had that ability. But without hesitation, the Trickster easily picked up the sword.

Mav’s eyes widened, and her heart started hammering beneath her ribs. “That’s not possible,” she whispered.

He studied the weapon then looked at her. “I can assure you it is possible. I have taken your blood into my body. I am you in every way, which means that my hand can touch your sword – can wield your sword. I don’t even need your cloak to kill you now. All I need is this.”

Mav’s eyes darted down to the black steel of her sword. She had longed for death for a long time after Soren and her father died. There was a time when she’d wanted to turn her own blade on herself and just end it all …

But she never could. Bryn had given her a second chance at life, and she’d sworn she’d spend it protecting the Valkyrie who’d saved her in more ways than one.

Mav wasn’t ready for Loki when he swung the blade at her, but despite this, she dodged the blow, slowly rolling across the floor and dragging her body away with her less injured arm. With each movement, pain rocketed through her. She was getting light-headed from the blood loss, but she knew that even a tiny scratch from her sword could kill her instantly. She got to her feet with the help of a cabinet handle and lurched for the kitchen doorway. She staggered through it, only partially aware that Loki had started to laugh. In the dining room, her foot got caught on the Oriental rug beneath the table and she stumbled. Loki was on her in an instant. He rolled her over onto her back and brought the tip of her black sword to her throat.

She was going to die and she had only two thoughts. The first was how relieved she was that she was being killed in battle.

And the last was of Soren.

*

Rhys’s head jerked up at the sound of a gunshot. The scent of fresh blood blanketed over the other scent that he’d been able to smell as soon as they’d set foot into the house.

Kill,
his beast whispered. Rhys shook his head and tugged a little tighter on the reins of his self-control. For the first time he could remember, he’d managed to stop himself from shifting – from wanting to shift – once blood had been spilled. Out in the courtyard, he had felt like losing control, but knew he would endanger Mav’s life if he did. So, like before with the goddess at the War Hammer, instead of fearing his wolf and putting distance between them, he’d embraced it. He’d run his hands over its shoulders and back, soothing it. The animal hadn’t relaxed completely, but it had stopped scratching to get out.

Rhys crept to the bottom of the stairs, letting his senses roam. The smell of blood was getting stronger. Outside, a raven’s haunting call rang through the night. Checking the rooms immediately to his left and right, he found his way to the dining room. He paused at its threshold, seeing a shimmer hanging in the air. It was just like when he’d been attacked in the street by Geri and Freki. Someone had put up a veil of magic then, and they had again now. Stretching out his hand, his fingers breached the magic. The veil dissolved instantly – like popping a bubble – revealing Mav’s body on the ground. He approached her slowly, looking for any signs of life. But her chest was still.

“She’s dead,” a cruel voice said behind him.

Rhys spun around and stared at the man who was casually leaning against the wall. He had his arms crossed loosely over his chest, one foot placed over the other. He was the picture of calmness. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” Rhys shook his head and the other man’s face changed to Henry Craine’s. “How about now?”

“Loki,” Rhys hissed. Mentally, he loosened his grip on his wolf, letting the animal come forward, letting it take control.

Loki spread his arms wide. “The one and only.”

“You killed Galen.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Loki replied offhandedly, staring at his nails. “But the person who I really want to suffer, who I really want to die, is a lot harder to get to. I have to kill or maim a lot more people in order to get to him, and I’m afraid that you are one of those people.”

“Was Mav one of them too?” Rhys spat. His wolf shifted beneath his ribs, the movement drawing Loki’s eyes.

“Yes,” the god replied, his eyes still firmly on Rhys’s chest. “She was.” He disappeared from sight. Rhys’s wolf snarled and snapped inside his head. He spun around to find the god holding a gun. He had it trained on Rhys’s heart. “Did Odin send you after me?”

Kill.

Rhys was on board with that idea, but he had to calm his racing pulse before he could fade. When he didn’t reply, Loki began to laugh.

“Of course he sent you after me. My blood-brother has always been very good at delegating.” He took a step closer, bringing the muzzle of the gun flush to Rhys’s chest. The cold metal penetrated through his shirt. “What did he say to finally make you come after me?”

“You killed Galen,” Rhys repeated, only this time, his wolf added its voice to his. The sound was a layered growl.

Loki narrowed his eyes as he studied Rhys. “For once, it wasn’t a lie he told to get his way.”

The wolf bared his teeth at the Trickster and jostled for position in Rhys’s head. Rhys tightened his metaphoric grip. “So you admit that you did kill him? When? After Craine –
you
– said you had to speak with him in private?”

Loki answered with a sharp nod, and Rhys could feel all the rage he’d been holding back surge against the wall in his mind. That would fuel his wolf, but he wouldn’t shift yet. He couldn’t fade in his other form, but he was confident he could control himself.

Rhys smirked, enjoying the look of confusion of Loki’s face for that brief moment, and then faded just to the right of him. With his hand over the top of the gun, he pulled down hard, throwing Loki off balance. Rhys snatched the weapon away and faded to the farthest reception room. He opened up the closest window and tossed it out.

Move,
his wolf warned. He ducked to the side, hearing the air whistle as a blade aimed at his neck flew past. It missed his carotid by less than a quarter of an inch. Behind him, a mirror hanging on the wall shattered.

He recovered in time to deflect another blade and maneuvered himself into a better position. He scooped up Loki’s knife, and held it out in front of him.

Rhys and Loki circled one another, each looking for a weakness in the other’s defenses. Rhys struck quickly, trying to catch Loki unaware, to see if he panicked or not. The god remained calm, his free hand brushing away each move effortlessly.

Rhys took a few steps toward the grand piano, and Loki followed. The god lunged and slashed at Rhys’s dominant arm. Blood sprayed, running down his arm in thick rivers. Beneath his ribs, his wolf shifted impatiently. Behind his eyes, he could feel it looking out.

Loki frowned and Rhys took the moment of distraction. He attempted to stab the guy, but only succeeded in running the tip of his blade over the other god’s chest. His skin split open and blood soaked into his shirt.

Rhys’s wolf became stock-still. In his mind’s eye, he could see it was sniffing the air – taking in the scent of Loki’s blood. The moment of silence was shattered when the animal inside went berserk, thrashing wildly, attempting to rake its claws through Rhys’s skin. A growl bubbled from his throat, the sound cutting off when Loki tackled him. They landed on the glass-top coffee table. It shattered under their weight, glass skidding on the hardwood floor. Bringing his arm up, Loki started to stab wildly – his intended targets Rhys’s throat and chest. Only a few strikes landed, but they were deep. Blood flowed freely, running down the side of his chest. Rhys backhanded Loki, making his head snap sharply to the right. Loki turned back to him slowly, tweaking his jaw.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” the god taunted.

Ignoring the bite of glass in his back, Rhys made a club with his fists and slammed them into the center of Loki’s chest. There was a loud crack. The god sucked in a sharp breath and keeled over, rolling onto his side as he struggled to suck in enough oxygen.

Rhys got to his feet and disappeared the dagger that Loki had been using. With such force that Loki’s body was shifting a foot each time, Rhys repeatedly kicked the god while he was down, then fell to his knees, straddling Loki’s waist and landing blow after blow to his face. Blood sprayed when his nose broke and blood started to foam from the corner of Loki’s mouth. When Rhys finally stopped, Loki’s face was unrecognizable. Rhys looked down to find his knuckles busted open and bleeding. Climbing off the body, he sat back on his haunches and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

His head whipped around when he heard a tapping at the window. He looked up to find a raven on the sill. It cawed once and took flight. Rhys fell back onto his ass, resting his arms on his raised knees. He bowed his head, letting out a deep breath. Silence blanketed the house, and there was something so peaceful about it.

“You can’t kill me.”

Loki’s barely whispered statement made Rhys lift his head. The god’s eyes were open, and he was grinning at Rhys, baring teeth that were covered in blood. Rhys’s wolf growled. Scrambling back onto his feet, Rhys cocked back his arm and swung again, but his fist went straight into the hardwood floor; Loki had faded. The wood splintered and jagged shards became lodged in his hand. More of his blood joined the growing puddle on the floor. He stood up, looking around the room. Where had the bastard gone? In his mind, he saw his wolf’s head lift to the air. Its nostrils flared and its fangs flashed as it picked up Loki’s scent.

Courtyard.

From outside came the sound of gunfire. Rhys quickly went to the piano and yanked up one of the wires then faded into the courtyard. Loki had recovered his gun and was now taking aim at the raven sitting on the courtyard wall.

What is he doing?

Quietly, Rhys wrapped each end of the piano wire around his fists a couple of times and tested the tension. There was hardly any stretch in the wire itself, the sharp snap of steel punctuating the night. Fading, Rhys looped the cord around Loki’s neck from behind and applied pressure. Loki jerked in surprise, his finger flexing on the trigger; another round went off. Rhys pulled back hard, and the god stumbled. Loki dropped the gun, bringing his hands to his throat in an attempt to pry off the garrotte. Rhys increased the tension, his muscles straining to keep up the pressure.

Loki gasped and his legs began to give out. He landed heavily on the cobblestones, and Rhys followed his movement, falling to his knees too. Loki struggled to ease the tension, but Rhys wasn’t about to give the god responsible for Galen’s death the opportunity to survive. Loki’s breathing became shallower and shallower.

Like hell you can’t be killed,
Rhys thought darkly.

He waited until the god had become completely still before he released his grip. Loki fell forward, landing violently face-first onto the ground. Rhys let the wire unravel from his fists. It tumbled to the ground beside him, covered in Loki’s blood.

He looked up when he felt eyes on him. There, on top of the wall, the raven was watching everything. “Get out of here,” Rhys said. The raven cawed once, but didn’t move.

Behind,
his wolf snarled urgently.

He turned around to find Loki clambering to his feet. There was a thick slash running along the front of his throat from the piano wire and blood was pouring from the wound.

“Fuck.”

Loki smiled, his lips twisting into a grotesque sneer. “I told you,” he whispered, his voice distorted.

The god disappeared from view.

Behind,
his wolf warned.

Was his wolf
tracking
Loki? Rhys’s thoughts refocused when the god jabbed the muzzle of the gun into his lower back. “I could put a bullet in your spine right now and there wouldn’t be a damn thing you could do about it.”

The raven cawed again, and the pressure eased just as Loki growled, “I’ll teach you to spy on me,
brother
.”

Rhys turned around in time to see the bird flap its wings, taking to the air with a long throaty cry. His ears rang when a bullet exploded out of the gun. The raven fell from the sky, landing on the cobblestones, blood pouring from its chest.

Loki swung the weapon back to Rhys. Staring down the barrel of the weapon, Rhys faded to the other side of the wall. Tense, he waited for Loki to follow. When he didn’t appear beside him, Rhys realized that the god couldn’t track him. He faded back, rematerializing behind the god. He raised his arm to stab Loki between the shoulder blades, but Loki spun around, knocking the knife away. It clanged to the ground.

Loki snarled and disappeared from view. Rhys followed his wolf’s lead, hunting down the scent of Loki’s blood. He rematerialized and looked at his new surroundings. It was dark, but it looked like they were underground. He had no idea if they were even still in Boston. An ominous sound rumbled through the thick concrete walls, and he watched the dust fall in waves ahead of him. That was when he caught sight of Loki.

The god looked over his shoulder when Rhys started after him. Raising the gun, Loki took aim. The flash from the muzzle was almost blinding in the darkened space. Rhys staggered back a step as the slug hit him in the shoulder. It took a moment for him to regain his equilibrium, but nothing would calm his wolf now; it was pulling violently against the symbolic chain Rhys was holding it back with.

With an almost deafening roar still resonating in his head, Rhys let some of the chain’s links glide through his fingers. Although he had the power to contain the vicious beast, in this moment, he didn’t want to. He wanted to inflict as much damage as possible. Moving faster than he ever had before, Rhys batted the gun from Loki’s hand and aimed a clenched fist at Loki’s shoulder. Rhys had intended to simply shatter the clavicle – and he did – but he hadn’t expected to find his hand completely embedded in Loki’s body.