Chapter 13
The tavern smelled completely different as early morning light drifted in through the wall-sized windows on the eastern side. Most notably the blood of all varieties, some long dried and some fresh, most belonging to the dead piled around the settlement. They’d deal with clean-up over the coming days, because now was a time to celebrate before everyone fell over and slept.
Nizhny had survived the Longest Night without a single causality.
Gunnar grinned, couldn’t help himself, three pints deep into Clan B?dvar’s homebrewed honey mead. He sprawled on a chair near the front doors, elbows on the table behind him, watching the people he’d fought to the teeth with all night make asses out of themselves.
The only serious injury of the night fell on one of the younger úlfheenar, a boy named Uffe who had a reputation for being reckless even among his berserker kin. He’d chased down a wounded bukavac to its lake, got gored when the six-legged beast fought back at the last second.
An odd thing to witness, since the úlfheenar fought with their spirits. The boy’s wolf had battled to the end, then collapsed and vanished like smoke. There was lots of noise from his fellows—wolves and boars and bears—but they’d kept on fighting, trusting those back at the station to take care of Uffe when he woke. The boy fell pretty early, maybe one in the morning. When they’d all trudged back here at first light, Uffe’d been waiting, bandaged and bitter over missing the bulk of the battle.
Gunnar snorted as a verse got bawdy. Afi Frode, the enormous man as furry as his bear spirit and Clan B?dvar’s head, stood on the table swaying with his two sons, his daughter, and Rina all linked arm to arm. Unlike the berserkers, Rina was absolutely filthy and didn’t seem to give a shit about the mess she was making of her tavern.
Old Norse wasn’t a tongue Gunnar had needed before coming to Nizhny, and they were so fucking drunk a lot of it slurred into nonsense. He’d caught something about fucking and fighting and mayhem and not getting enough of the former after the latter? Everyone cheered. Gunnar took another drink, grinning into his mug.
He’d never been part of anything like this before. All the rough shoulder pats, the howls and cheers every time he killed, or nods of thanks when he helped drag someone’s ass out of the fire. No one flinched at his black eyes here; he was a brother-in-arms in a war, a monster they were all happy to have on their side. They stayed comfortable with him even now; the mood was relaxed and fevered and exhausted, unwilling to let the moment of victory go just yet.
Gunnar still kept himself back. Anyone who walked by greeted him, toasted him, but it was a lot of noise and bodies. The smells merged into sweat, blood, and dirt, all that stony soil and loamy moss heavy on the air. He’d met everyone at least once, not enough for him to really know people, not yet. All he smelled right now was the unified ease that everyone had survived the Longest Night this year.
He’d gathered that hadn’t always been the case.
Gunnar glanced up as E wandered over and sat with a seat between them, mead horn in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other. The smith set the plate between them, motioned with a rough palm for Gunnar to help himself.
“Didn’t know you shared these,” Gunnar drawled, helping himself. It didn’t go with the mead, but he’d already gorged on Aster’s bounty, his gut heavy with rich meat and vegetables too damn good to be called healthy.
E smoothed his thick beard, shrugged as he took a deep drink. The man rarely talked to anyone, including Rina and Audrey. Right now, he smelled well and truly drunk off his ass. “Your girl made them for everyone. She’s been running the ovens with Aster since sundown.”
“She didn’t sleep?”
E snorted, leaning back in his chair; his feet didn’t quite reach the floor. Gunnar’s skin prickled under the focused attention. The dvergar was obviously an Aperien, likely one of the original manifestations given the power underscoring his scent. E was otherwise unpresuming. Without his senses, Gunnar would have dismissed him, which only made the man that much more dangerous.
Despite being in a village of outcasts, Gunnar couldn’t help wonder who E was or what he’d done, in mythos or reality, but it was none of his business.
Gunnar scanned the room for Audrey, who was most decidedly his business, starting with the fact she hadn’t slept. She’d greeted him when he’d come back, of course, saturated in worry, then relief, before ushering him to a seat and bringing him an overflowing plate. Once she’d settled him, she gave him a tired smile and then raced back to help Aster get food and drinks for everyone else.
Before he found her again, Gullin lumbered over, blocking his view and reminding Gunnar about the pitfalls of staying in one place too long.
The Aperien towered near eight feet tall, ducking around the antlered tavern lights, his honey-colored beard swaying to his knees. He was as a filthy as Gunnar, coated head to toe in dried blood and muck. Twigs and leaves matted his hair, more shoved between the creases in his leather armor. He thumped his oversized wood axe on the empty table.
“Da,” he greeted E with a nod, reeking of honey mead. When his icy gaze shifted to Gunnar, Gullin smirked. “Vileblood.”
Gunnar took another drink from his mead horn. Ignoring the asshole was worth the flared nostrils and the sharp sting of annoyance flavoring his otherwise strange scent. The Aperien always smelled like metal and magic that reminded Gunnar more of a powerful weapon than a living being. He really couldn’t parse Gullin beyond that by scent, not on any meaningful level.
That didn’t make Gullin less of a prick, at least toward Gunnar, but fortunately, he didn’t spend more than a few days at a time in Nizhny. Audrey had gathered bits and pieces of his story over the last six months. Gullin and E both searched for something, but Gunnar didn’t give two shits what it was as long as he didn’t have to deal with Gullin.
“Go on,” E said, breaking the tension with that gravely grumble of his. “This night is for honoring the living and old sacrifices, not pissing.”
“Not worth my spit or piss,” Gullin said.
Gunnar didn’t look at him. “Plenty of other places for both.”
“Came to talk to my da, not you.”
“Yeah, well.” Gunnar shrugged. “I was here first.”
“We were here when Rina set roots. Seven years we’ve held this ground.”
Oh, he was getting mad now. Anything Aperien just loved when their lowers didn’t bend and lick their boots. Gunnar cocked a brow up at him. “I heard all about it while I was out there slaughtering with the rest of you.”
Gullin grimaced, all blustering, loud, and irritating when he started in with, “Rina should have never—”
Only to have E cut him off at the knees. “Rina decides for Nizhny.”
The smith’s steel gaze settled on his . . . whatever they were to each other, because Gullin clearly wasn’t a dvergar. Gullin defused, not bothering to address Gunnar again before he gathered his axe and left for the tavern’s far side. E’s scent remained as calm as a frozen pond.
Gullin would be gone before train day; with any luck, it would be months before their paths crossed again.
Gunnar drank more.
He’d always be vileblood. Nothing would change people hating him for it, despite being exonerated for existing. Gunnar caught sight of Audrey then, who watched the singing and table dancing from the bar as Aster tapped another cask.
Aster was another Aperien in town who was unassuming, the cornflower wraith tended both the tavern and the summer fields here. Everyone knew to follow her rules and not piss her off. Odd, because at first glance she looked no more threatening than Audrey, a slim woman with long golden hair who always wore deep blues. Her eyes though, they gave it away, a piercing azure that took in more than any human ever could. She’d taken to Audrey the same as everyone else, appreciating her help in the kitchen. It helped Audrey’s interest in learning about everything never came off in the prying kind of way that drove a lot of Aperiens and dusters to suspicion.
Everyone laughed then, the quartet stumbling, tipping the table. Gunnar picked out Audrey’s laugh over the din, watched her instead of the show, his frown lessening.
Missing a night of sleep hurt no one, but he was protective of her, had been since that moment in the alley, her safety one of the few things that kept his nature subdued. That part of him wanted her to take a damn nap as soon as he convinced her to go home for the day.
She looked tired but happy. Her nose wrinkled as she watched the chaos, hands covering her mouth as Rina and Frode’s stumbling devolved into a wrestling match that sent food flying and chairs crashing. Aster yelled about brawls and breaking things before throwing entire loaves of bread into the fray. Frode’s wife Hertha, ever the voice of reason, shouted at them both.
“Idiots,” E grunted.
“Cheers to that,” Gunnar drawled.
The wrestling settled down, songs dwindling maybe an hour later as fatigue set in. A few of the Clan left first, younger children who’d fallen asleep in the corners carried home. The harpy flew out on silent wings. The only one she’d interacted with the entire morning was Audrey when she offered her food. A broken table got Aster throwing hexes until Rina intervened, their fearless leader drunk as shit. Rina took over the bar so Aster could retire, slurring promises about “clean-up day before train day after rest day.”
Gunnar chuckled. E yawned, gave Gunnar a nod. He hesitated, then grabbed up the rest of the cookies and wandered off to his rooms. He hadn’t fought with them, instead fortifying the station to keep those inside safe during the long dark, a task just as vital. Gullin followed him, saying his farewells to everyone save Gunnar, which suited him just damn fine.
Across the tavern, Audrey yawned as Rina talked louder than she needed in Russian, so fast and slurred he knew Audrey only caught every other word of it. The general idea became clear when Rina lifted Audrey off her feet in a bear hug and she returned it with a giggle. Back on her feet, she searched the room, and he waited until she found him in the darkened corner and lifted his mead horn in her direction.
She rolled her eyes, made her goodbyes to Rina and the rest, then joined his quiet corner.
“Well, all that was exciting,” Audrey said, sitting in the chair beside him with a huff and slumping toward him.
He leaned toward her when she did, inhaling her particular, sweet scent with a hidden smile. It’d been hard to pick her out in the crowd, and he was pleased to find she smelled content, happy, and tired but not entirely exhausted. She also smelled like sugar and spices from all the cooking.
She smelled good. Really good.
He slung an arm behind her, ran a hand over where her braid was coming apart. She let out a little sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. He gazed down at her, feeling lazy and content with her back where she belonged.
Gunnar frowned.
He’d learned a long time ago being a vileblood granted a resistance to most venoms, toxins, and poisons, thanks to the Mother of Monsters’ contribution to his heritage. This included alcohol, killing almost any chance for him to get drunk, or even a good buzz going.
Whatever those damn berserkers brewed, whatever magic they wove into the drink? He wasn’t burning it off like he normally did.
Between the mead and the hours of fighting and the adrenaline dying back, his entire being purred at Audrey’s proximity.
Not good.
He cleared his throat and shoved his drink away, rising on slightly unsteady feet. “Should get you home.”
She blinked up at him with a yawn, then nodded.
They made it about halfway up the rails before Gunnar slung her over his shoulder like a sack despite her protests and laughter; the girl was falling asleep on her feet.
As he shut the cabin door behind them, Gunnar let out a long breath, realized how spooled him up he’d been at the tavern. He couldn’t relax, not entirely, not with so many other people around him. He was used to never relaxing if anyone was nearby, but now “anyone” excluded one person. He chuckled as Audrey told him to put her down, grumbling about him being a big oaf, but he didn’t argue since she was right. Gunnar stumbled as they reached the bathroom, wincing as he set her down.
He thought he’d hid it, but she was on him in a second, a frown turning down her pretty mouth.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her mouth.
Fucking honey mead.
“Are you hurt?” Audrey put her hands on her hips.
Gunnar leaned on the doorframe. “Not really.”
“Not really,” she deadpanned back at him, then sighed. “Why didn’t you let me patch you up when I was helping everyone else?”
“Don’t like being exposed around so many people, you know that. And they don’t need reminders of what I am.”
Seeing his black blood, he meant. She didn’t like that thinking, he knew, but she didn’t argue with him this time. He wondered if she’d overheard Gullin, but probably not. She’d been too far away.
“Go sit down and let me see it.”
“You need to sleep.”
“And I won’t if you’re bleeding.”
He let her move him toward their sitting area. With a growl, he slumped down on their couch, a hand-me-down from Rina. It had taken weeks for it to stop smelling like anything but him and Audrey. He closed his eyes for a few seconds while she gathered her homemade healing kit. This wasn’t nearly the first time she’d patched him up.
He liked it, he’d realized early on, and it gave her the sense of purpose she always chased, being useful as she called it. Gunnar rubbed his face as he waited, wondering when she’d realize her just being, just existing? Having her around was more than enough. He’d never had anyone around. Never kept anyone around.
Never wanted to keep anyone around.
He frowned again.
He shouldn’t be thinking about keeping her. She wasn’t his. Couldn’t be.
Fucking hells, this damn mead.
And all the more reason to get her a place of her own. He didn’t need to get dependent on anything. Sure, this was working out, but shit went tits up at any time. Being prepared was the best call, another reason he was glad everyone in town saw her value.
Audrey set her bag on the table, poked him in the shoulder. “How bad?”
He shrugged. Their definition of bad rarely aligned. “A scratch.”
He pulled his shirt off, the dark fabric damp from blood, but there was a reason he wore dark colors. The slices came from a strzyga; one snuck its claws under his guard while he dealt with a flight of them. Zhadan fared worse, but together they’d brought them all down. His undershirt showed four claw marks through the thin fabric, along his side and lower ribs. Gunnar tossed the shirt to the floor, knowing Audrey would insist on stitching it up for him.
She was on him in seconds, kneeling beside his chair as she examined his wound. He breathed through his nose, not liking the bitter tang of unhappiness coming off her skin.
“Jonathan.” There went that name again. “This would have only taken a few minutes, but you sat there and bled for hours instead? And you were drinking. It thins your blood.”
Gunnar shrugged again, and she glared up at him. There was flour on her cheek. He brushed it off, showed her his fingertip.
Audrey blushed. “I made a lot of cookies last night.” Her cheeks stayed pink as she washed away the blood with a warm cloth. It stung, but he didn’t flinch.
“E took a whole plate back to his rooms.”
“I wondered where the rest went. You know, he still won’t admit he made that oven for me.”
He watched her work, frowning at the way the inky black of his blood stained her fingertips, deciding to stare at the ceiling instead. “Man doesn’t talk much.”
“He really doesn’t, but you two sat together for a while today. What did you talk about?”
“Nothing.”
She laughed, grinning up at him when he smirked down at her. “Why am I not surprised?” She washed her hands, and Gunnar relaxed more once she poured the bowl in the sink and brought back clean water.
He’d never mentioned how he felt about his blood touching her, but she seemed to know. She never washed up when she treated someone as much as she did for him.
“Gullin as friendly as always?”
“Mhm.”
Audrey rolled her eyes. “At least he’s always traveling,” she muttered. “I’d offer something for the pain, but then we’ll have a whole debate about how you don’t need it, and I’ll say how it will make it easier, and you’ll go on about how pain is no big deal and I should save it for someone else.”
“You’re sassy when you’re tired.”
“You try waiting tables for eighteen berserkers. See how you feel.”
He chuckled, watching as she stitched. The way her brows pinched in concentration, the way she chewed her lower lip as she worked. He hunted overnight most times to hit his quotas. A lot of the more dangerous mythos around here were tied to the dark. He’d come in quiet, but she’d always be on his ass in the morning if she’d slept through his return, demanding to treat each minor cut or bruise.
The light came in the windows differently now. Warmer. Made her hair lighter in the mid-morning sun. It was a clear day, the entire room brighter than he normally cared for, but he found he didn’t much mind, not like this.
He canted his head, his body a bit heavy, lazy as he studied the curve of her cheek. The slender column of her neck. If he closed his eyes, he could hear her heartbeat. Gunnar let out a long sigh, which made Audrey giggle.
“You’re tired too, you know.”
“Mhmm.”
“Almost done.”
“Mmm.”
He found himself transfixed by her soft fingers taking care of him. Another person, a good person, willing to touch him at all. Always there, waiting for him, looking forward to him. Smiling. Beautiful.
He inhaled on impulse, leaning forward as she pressed the bandages to his bare skin, his body dwarfing hers. He was watching the fine bones in her wrist move as she worked, her scent blooming, pleased, when she said, “There, finished.”
And she smiled up at him, expression warm and open, cheeks flushed with pride and fatigue. Her fingertips lingered against his skin, lips parting to ask him a question.
Hmm, what would the sound coming out of those lips taste like, he wondered, the darker part of him rolling over in delight at the idea of finding out.
He jerked back.
The fuck.
This was Audrey.
Audrey, not some woman to slake his lust. His beast.
Fuck. Shit. These were not thoughts he allowed. Ever. He needed to get away from her while he was out of control like this.
He pushed to his feet, grabbing his dirty shirt. “Thanks. Get some sleep.”
Audrey rocked back on her heels, confusion saturating her scent. “What about you?”
“I’ll be back,” Gunnar said, throwing on his jacket. “Just need to take care of something.”
He stepped out into the cold without looking back, the iced air helping beat down that heat inside him. Gunnar jogged toward the station, needing to get this mead the fuck out of his system.