Chapter 15
15
Shalendra’s fear spiked as she narrowed her gaze at the notorious trickster god. The way he said the word was unsettling. “What do you mean by finally ? Were you waiting on me?”
“In a way.” Loki floated closer.
She held out her hand, her palm facing him. “Just stop right where you are.” He stopped, surprising her. “Please explain. How could you have been, in a way , waiting on me? I didn’t even know I was coming here.”
She gripped Cyran’s limp body, wishing he would wake up. She was way out of her league with Loki. No one, not even Freyja, could talk sense into him or manage to change his opinion about anything. Whatever plan the god had hatched, he would see it through, no matter who he hurt…or killed. This was a terrible situation, and she had no idea what to do with Cyran in his current predicament.
Loki crossed his arms over his chest, studying her. “When I was imprisoned here, I was told to expect someone I should know but don’t and that they would be the one to free me—after a grand sacrifice. This person would be of blood and pure of heart. I never believed someone with a pure heart existed anymore.”
She frowned. “Thank you… I think. And whose sacrifice?”
Loki smiled with a slight shrug. “No idea, but I’m hoping it’s not my sacrifice. I don’t do things like that.”
“I know,” she sighed. “The entire multiverse is aware of how selfish and narrowminded you are.”
His smile morphed into a scowl. “I don’t much like your tone. I need to talk with my daughter about what she has been teaching you. Now.” He waved his hand at Cyran. “How about we ditch the dead guy and go home?”
Her grip on Cyran tightened as a tremendous force tried to pull him away. She glared at Loki, focusing on holding her elf to her. “Leave him alone, grandfather ,” she bit out, each word an effort. Her gaze dropped back to Cyran, his skin almost transparent.
She pressed her fingers against the carotid artery on the side of his neck, praying for a pulse, but found nothing. “You have no fight with him. He has done nothing to you, but I need him to be okay.” Her chin shook as she stared down at Cyran’s pale face, the pain in her chest agony. Desperation forced her hand—she could not lose him.
Her hand smoothed the hair from his brow as the truth of her words hit her. She loved this annoying, prickly elf more than she had ever loved anyone and had no clue what to do about it. “I realize you don't understand what I’m feeling or even what true love is, but I would give my life for his.”
“Have you told him this?”
She shook her head, his beautiful face blurring as tears filled her eyes. “No.”
“Well, that’s a relief. For a moment, I thought you were lost. I still have time to convince you that love isn’t anything like the stories. There is no happily ever after.”
She caressed Cyran’s cheek, her thumb moving back and forth, his skin silky smooth and unlike her father’s. Of course, her father had been covered in hair from head to foot, cursed in the form of a wolf most of her life, so she did not consider that a great comparison. “I will do anything you ask of me, just save him.”
Raising her tear-stained face to Loki, she exhaled, trying to calm the hard tremors inside her body, unwilling to think about the alternative. “Please.” She dropped her gaze to Cyran’s lifeless face.
“You really want this? You realize a relationship with an elf like him will likely not last. He will leave you, and you will pine away into a shell of the female you once were.”
She scowled. “You have no idea what you are talking about. You said it yourself. You have no understanding of love or relationships. Everyone in the Nine Worlds realizes who you are and that you are untrustworthy. I don’t think taking your advice would be very intelligent. Besides, you don’t even know Cyran.”
Loki shrugged. “I don’t have to. He’s several thousand years old, if not older, and unmarried. He probably doesn’t have a woman since he is traveling with you. For someone that old to not be married, it tells me he doesn’t want to be involved with anyone, or he is impossible, and no woman would have him.”
He stared at Cyran’s still-unmoving form, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Of course, he could be widowed, which would be worse for you. He would still be pining for his lost love and never recognize you.”
There was not a single word Loki said that she had not already thought of. Never in a million years had she planned to fall for Cyran. Quite the contrary. Her original impression of him had not been favorable, but spending time with him, even as rushed and crazy as it had been, her opinion had changed. Cyran had captured her heart.
Once past his defenses, she discovered a man who cared about the welfare of others, was generous to a fault, and, from how he talked about his mother and the co-regents, longed for a family, which meant he was more than capable of loving someone. Why not her?
“Loki, you don’t know that.” She tried to calm her shaky voice, unable to stop her shivering body as the frozen rain struck them. She never realized how clean ice smelled or how much it stung. “You don’t know either of us or what we are capable of, so quit the negative rhetoric. Are you going to heal him or not?”
“You are willing to help me leave this godforsaken world?”
Studying his face, Loki was handsome, but something flickered in the depth of his eyes—a craftiness she did not much care for. Unfortunately, she had no choice. Knowing she could have saved him, she would never forgive herself if Cyran died.
“Yes, I am willing to help you leave J?tunheimr, but nothing more. Promise me, Grandfather. You will do nothing bad to Cyran and not try to trick me into anything else.”
He sneered. “You drive a hard bargain, but I want off this frozen hell hole too much, so yes, I agree to your terms. Although, Granddaughter ,” his voice lowered, making it difficult to hear him over the driving wind. “I take care of my own. I have never let anyone close enough to learn that about me, and I would like it to remain that way. To the world, I am uncaring, inconsiderate, and willing to trick anyone if it gets me what I want, and I’ve worked hard to maintain that persona.”
He stepped closer and laid one finger against Cyran’s forehead. “Now, before Frick and Frack show up, we need to leave.”
“What is that—frick and frack?”
“Not a that but a who. They are my guards and are never far behind when I decide to disappear. It’s like they have some tracking beacon, or some such thing, implanted on me. I never have more than ten minutes alone before they find me.”
“And this time is no different, Loki.”
At the low, gravelly voice, Shalendra ignored Loki’s pained groan. Still unable to move with Cyran’s weight holding her in place, she twisted her neck to see behind her and wanted to groan when she saw the three male Frost Giants.
Only a bit taller than a typical elf, their bodies were slender, and their faces seemed flat and very similar, reminding her of the Asian races on Midgard. Their skin was pale but slightly blue, as if the heat were leaving their bodies.
Each was dressed in what looked like black armor-plated, fur-lined coats. The black fur accentuated the paleness of their skin. Peeking through the bottom of their coats, she caught sight of black leather pants. The one in the middle stepped forward.
The brown-haired giant to the far left gripped a bow, much like the elves carried, and the cropped, red-headed giant on the far right wore two axes crisscrossed on his back and stood with his thick arms folded across his chest.
The middle and most imposing warrior was the one who had spoken. He had long, black hair pulled back from his forehead, a metal clip holding the braid. An impressive sword stood between them, his hands resting on the handle with the tip of the blade piercing the ice as if he did not have a worry in the world.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you called giants when you are only a few inches taller than us?” Shalendra asked, hoping to get an answer to her long-held question. “You seem very much like elves to me.”
“What you see is our normal forms. When we are driven by strong emotion, such as rage or extreme grief, our bodies change to a much larger size.” The brown-haired man answered.
“You grow taller?”
The red-haired man shook his head. “We grow both in height and girth. You would only recognize us by our features.”
She bit back a smile, unsure she could do such a thing. “That might be difficult since you and the brown-haired warrior look like brothers.”
Studying these two giants closer, she realized a few noticeable differences. While they had almost the same facial structures, the brown-haired man’s eyes were green, and the red-headed warrior sported dark blue eyes. “Are you two related?”
Her gaze met the leader’s. His black brow rose, and from the twinkle in his black eyes, she could have sworn he was smirking at her. “You have a good eye. As you probably noticed, I do not resemble either of my companions, who, by the way, are cousins.”
“Frost Giants are like all other races,” he explained. “We have many similarities and just as many differences in our features, shapes, and personalities. We have good and bad among us, and our ice cities are filled with art, music, and technologies yet to be discovered on Midgard or any other world.”
Shalendra could listen to his voice forever. She had never heard such a fluid tone as if the man sang each word. A low growl filled her head, and she frowned, glancing around to discover where the sound had come from. Other than the three giants and Loki, she and Cyran were alone.
“I will not return with you, Brath.” Loki straightened, his black eyes glittering like obsidian. Shalendra’s gut churned as a distressing sensation moved through her.
“Why should this time be any different?” Brath’s gloved hands tightened around the pommel of his sword.
“Brath, my name is Shalendra Elasalor. And, while I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Loki, my companion is in bad shape. He needs shelter and healing. Can you help us? Please?”
The imposing Frost Giant turned his dark gaze on her, momentarily dropping to Cyran. “Why are you in J?tunheimr? Without his knowledge or permission, no one gets past the king’s wards.”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. One minute, Cyran and I were escaping Nazi soldiers on Midgard. The next moment, we were flying through space, talking, and then he lost consciousness. We shifted off course and landed here. Believe me, it’s the last place I want to be right now.”
Brath leaned in closer, his face scowling down at Cyran’s immobile form, his face partially hidden against her stomach. “Did you say his name was Cyran ? His surname wouldn’t be Daralei, would it?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes, it is. How in the world do you know him? Is it normal for people to travel from world to world? If so, I have some serious questions for my father.”
The brown-haired giant grinned, if it was a grin. His facial muscles did not seem to be used to the lopsided movement. “Cyran is a special friend to our king. My name is Kubrel Oldrok, and the redhead is Badoch Oldrok. Our fearless and rude leader is Brath Khuunverath. And yes, we all travel to different worlds quite often.”
“With his face planted against your chest.” Badoch's lips twisted as he tried to suppress his smile. “We now know why he never returned.”
She shifted Cyran’s head, ignoring the burning sensation spreading over her face as she gave them her fiercest scowl. “Was that necessary? It would be best if you learned female anatomy—my chest is higher, and he is facing my stomach. Get your mind out of the gutter. Will you help us or not? I trust you three more than I do Loki, so please get us out of here.”
Badoch leaned closer to his cousin. "What's a gutter and why would my mind be in it?"
Loki gave her an exasperated glance. “Seriously? What have I ever done to you? That’s the thanks I get for rescuing the two of you? Without me, you would be plummeting through space, probably frozen peoplecicles by now.”
She glanced over her shoulder with a frown. “What did you just say?”
Loki stared up at the sky, his brows drawn together in thought. “Well, I said you two would be plummeting through space, frozen.”
“Frozen like peoplecicles,” she said in a hushed tone. “I have never heard that word in all the centuries I’ve lived, and now, in only a few days, it has been said twice.”
Loki shrugged. “I first heard it about a century ago, I think, on Svartálfheimr when a young bloodminer got irritated with his grandfather for making him stand in an icy stream. It’s one of those words that sticks in your mind, so I borrowed it.”
She couldn’t stop the smile spreading over her face. “You borrowed Castien’s word. I can’t wait to tell him the great Loki is using it. He will either run for the hills, screaming all the way, or like it. I’m betting on the screaming reaction.”
She brushed Cyran’s damp hair with her fingers. “I guess you can’t be all bad if you would borrow a word like that.”
“You two are weird.” Badoch scowled, his gaze landing on Shalendra. “Who are you again?”
“I am the daughter of Hel and émilien Elasalor.”
The three warriors warily looked at each other and then turned their gazes back on her. “ The Hel? As in the queen of Helheimr? And émilien—the cursed guardian of the Shadow Lands?” Brath asked.
Shalendra nodded and could have sworn they turned white, their skin almost matching the snow-covered landscape, but they were so pale to begin with, it wasn't easy to tell. “That would mean Loki is your grandfather.”
This time, it wasn’t a question. “Sadly, yes. And before you ask, I had no idea he was here until we landed. It was quite a shock. I know no one who wants to be related to Loki.” She ignored the breathy grumbling coming from her grandfather’s direction. “But since he is family, I can’t leave him behind, so I guess he comes with us.”
“I will do no such thing! I didn’t escape to be recaptured?—”
Before Loki finished his sentence, Brath held up his hand and blew in the god's direction. A small cloud of blue crystals surrounded her grandfather, and in a single blink, he was covered in ice—a literal peoplecicle. She sucked her lips between her teeth, but the laughter burst out despite her efforts. This was just too good not to enjoy.
Wiping the tears from her streaming eyes, she glanced at Cyran’s pale face. “You would have enjoyed that.” Meeting Brath’s sparkling gaze, she chuckled again. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time, so thank you. Knowing Loki’s reputation, though, I’m amazed you were able to get the jump on him.”
Kubrel waved his hand toward Loki in disgust. “He falls for that every time. I’m beginning to wonder if he has an intelligent brain cell in his head.”
Her smile disappeared, remembering some of the stories her father had told her over the years. “Oh, he does. I think you were able to trap him because of me. I was a total surprise, and he thought to use me.”
“Why would he think that?” Brath asked.
“He said when he was imprisoned here, he was told that someone he should know but doesn't would show up and free him after a grand sacrifice of some kind. And, before you ask, neither of us knows if it’s his or my sacrifice.”
Her shoulders slumped forward as another struck. “I'm so tired of everyone else controlling my life and destiny. Do they believe I can’t take care of myself?” She met the lead warrior’s black gaze. “Do they think I am lacking in intelligence?”
He almost smiled, and she decided to ignore the humor dancing deep in his eyes. “No, little one. Not for one second do I believe that. You are intelligent and, unlike your grandfather, use it without fanfare. You didn’t bat an eyelash when you faced three of the most feared warriors on J?tunheimr and did so, I might add, with courage and respect. I imagine Cyran has only tried to protect you and, in doing so, made you feel inadequate. It is a product of leadership, I’m afraid. Am I right to state you have never fought together?” Shalendra nodded, his words starting to soothe her hurt feelings.
“A leader’s responsibility is to win the battle and protect his soldiers. Males of all races have a darker side, which is necessary to protect those who are weaker. Women are love and light to males’ darkness. They give us hope and acceptance. If we are lucky enough, we find our soulmate who will stand by our side for eternity. If you are that for Cyran, he is a lucky and very deserving elf.”
She stared at Cyran’s handsome face, caressing his temple with the pad of her thumb and loving his hair's soft, silky texture. “I know little about him other than he is like a brother to the Elven co-regents and that his father is, perhaps, worse than Loki.”
“If you are talking about Haman Daralai, then you are correct,” Kubrel said. “Haman is wanted on several of the Nine Worlds. He is no healer but an outright murderer.”
Brath kneeled beside her and held out his hand. She studied it, noticing the long fingers and steady strength as he waited for her to decide. “I will apparate the two of you to the castle. Badoch and Kubrel will deal with Loki.”
Her gaze popped up to his. “I may not know him well, but he is still my grandfather. Although deeply buried, I've felt the good in him and do not want him harmed.”
She held her breath and sensed Cyran’s faint spirit surrounding her as if to provide protection. Silly elf. You couldn’t protect anything right now, but I thank you for the effort. Heat momentarily filled her cold body, giving her a brief respite from the biting wind that had picked up during their conversation.
A glance at the darkening sky overhead announced the beginning of one of J?tunheimr’s notorious snowstorms. Over the mountains, still a distance from them, lightning cut through the swirling cloudbank in jagged streaks. From tales told to her by Freyja and her father in her youth, they would not survive the storm without the frost warrior’s aid.
If this is a mistake, Cyran, please forgive me,” she whispered to his blank mind and laid her hand on Brath’s.