Chapter 17
17
Cyran’s gaze narrowed, his gut tightening at the thought of Loki loose once more in the Nine Worlds. Ignoring the two Frost Giants’ outbursts, he concentrated on the possible outcomes. Every thought ended in disaster, but the idea of a demon in league with the Dark Fae scared him more. That would result in an even worse outcome.
Loki was a trickster god and created chaos for his own end—namely, to have more power. Demons were notorious for complete anarchy, and with Fer-Diorich unleashing the Unseelie Court’s prisoners, no world would survive.
“You’ll leave over my dead body!”
Cyran glanced up at Badoch, his usual easygoing composure gone. The giant now stood a bit taller, and his muscles more prominent. Badoch’s anger and frustration not only beat at him but seemed to be forcing his alter ego to make an appearance, which would only result in the chaos Loki thrived in.
Reaching out, he laid his hand on his friend’s thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Badoch, we will figure out what needs to be done. It would be best if you pulled back. Letting your emotions take over won’t help any of us.”
The giant's dark blue eyes speared his, the zigzagging lines of blood leaching through the whites of his eyes receding as he pulled back his anger.
“Better?” Cyran asked. At the other male's slight nod, he turned his attention to Loki. “None of us have the power to release you—only King Khuunverath can reverse the curse and set you free. I fear he will not listen to reason. Not after you betrayed his trust the last time.”
Shalendra’s gaze jerked upward, frowning at her grandfather. “You’ve been here before? Grandfather, what did you do?”
Loki’s expression was unreadable. “Which are you referring to? When I was here the last time or what I did?”
Her scowl deepened. “You know darn well what I’m referring to. It does not matter when you were last here, but what you did. How old must you be until you realize your actions are everything? Even a child learns about repercussions.”
“You sound just like your mother. What I did wasn’t that bad. Who I did it to, though, got me in trouble.” Shalendra’s eyes closed to mere slits, and Loki exhaled. “Fine, I will tell you the whole story, but it doesn’t matter because King Uppitypants will never forgive and forget, much less allow me to leave this horrible place.”
Loki turned and stepped closer to the fireplace, his hands rubbing his arms. The telling motion was unusual for him. “The last time I was here, the king’s mother decided she would try her hand at taming my desire to cause trouble. At first, it was ridiculous and very annoying. I was thousands of years old, and she treated me like a child.”
“You are a child,” Badoch muttered.
Ignoring him, Loki continued. “One day, the king arrived unannounced and saw me at my finest—throwing a tantrum. His mother’s house was all but destroyed. She took it in stride because, unlike her son, she had complete faith that I would be remorseful later and return everything to its proper place. The king didn’t allow me that courtesy. Ignoring his mother, he sent me to the dungeons, where I met someone who could free me. Unfortunately, that would set in motion events I couldn’t control.”
Shalendra gripped Cyran’s arm and then rose, moving closer to Loki. She laid her hand on his hand, her face serene as she looked up at him. “Grandfather, what happened?”
Loki turned his head, and Cyran witnessed the momentary acceptance of her question and the brief glimpse of sorrow. Strange, coming from the god of mischief. In all the centuries he had known Loki, he had never seen any sign of emotion other than greed and devilry.
Loki turned his gaze back to the fireplace. “I met a demon named Azazel who promised me freedom if I helped him. Stupidly, I never even questioned him. I just wanted out, so I agreed. He took me to an even deeper level where two more prisoners were being held. A couple named Olivier and Jessica Elasalor. Your aunt and uncle, although I didn’t know that at the time, not that it would have made a difference.”
Loki straightened and turned to face her and the two Frost Giants, who were, surprisingly, quiet. “I didn’t like how the demon behaved with the couple, especially the woman. He was drawn to her, and she seemed to calm him. Once we left this world, it got worse. I later discovered this demon is actually the leader of some rebellion, and in several religions, he is blamed for others’ sins. He would have bouts of uncontrollable anger and righteousness, drawing energy from Olivier, becoming one with him.”
“I don’t understand,” Shalendra said. “What does that mean, becoming one with him?”
Cyran moved behind her, drawing her back against him as he studied Loki. “He means they became symbiotic. Once free from the prison, the demon’s powers were unleashed and will continue to worsen until the man’s energy is used up.”
Shalendra’s small whimper tore at his heart. He kissed the top of her head, his gaze meeting Loki’s. “Do you have any idea where they ended up?”
“I have my suspicions. This story gets even more twisted and layered. We went to Midgard, and Azazel met up with a Dark Fae—Fer-Diorich—and Haman Daralei, who were plotting to help a Nazi named Himmler with a project to guarantee the Axis armies won the war.”
“Werewolves.” Shalendra closed her eyes a second and continued in a small voice. “They were creating an army of werewolves to help Hitler win the war on Midgard and help óeinn gorge on power. According to my father, the Dark Fae planned on overthrowing both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts to kill off the king and queen and take over the realms.”
“Dear gods…” Kubrel and Badoch said in unison.
“This is worse than we thought,” a new male voice said behind them. They all turned to see Brath and an older man standing just inside the doorway.
Kubrel and Badoch bowed at the waist. “My Lord,” they said in unison, their voices so similar they sounded like one man.
Cyran smiled and, moving past Shalendra, walked toward them and clasped the man’s arm at the elbow. “Sondor, it is good to see you again.”
Sondor returned the warrior’s gesture. “I heard you weren’t doing so well and had Brath bring me in case you needed me.” He peered around him, his merry gaze on Shalendra. “But I see you are in excellent hands. Now, introduce me to your lovely woman, my friend.”
“Certainly, my lord.” Cyran turned, holding out his hand. Shalendra threaded her fingers through his, and he pulled her forward, wrapping his arm around her slender shoulders. “Shalendra Elasalor, this is King Sondor Khuunverath, Lord and Regent of J?tunheimr.”
The king shook his head and grimaced, but Cyran caught a glimpse of laughter in his dark blue eyes. “We are not so formal here, at least I’m not. I would prefer you address me as Sondor—your friend.”
Shalendra nodded, regal in her own right, and smiled. “Thank you, Sondor. It is an honor to meet you.”
“Did I hear right? Your last name is very familiar to me. You wouldn’t be related to émilien Elasalor, would you?”
“Yes, sir, he is my father.”
The king’s black brows rose in surprise. “Really? I had no idea he had a daughter. That would make Hel your mother?”
Shalendra nodded and glanced at her grandfather. “Because of a certain rebellious relation, they chose to keep my identity a secret until recently.”
The king’s mouth thinned. “Wise decision. Loki is a trying individual, isn’t he? When you think he is reformed, he does something stupid.”
“I can hear you, you know,” Loki muttered. “And I’m just misunderstood, that’s all.”
Brath’s laughter filled the room, but he didn’t say anything and tried to stifle the outburst. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat a couple of times.
Sondor glared at his cousin, then walked around Cyran and Shalendra to stand in front of Loki. “This will be the second time I give you my trust, mischief maker, but so help me…"
He moved in close, almost touching Loki’s nose, his expression savage. At that moment, Cyran saw the fierce warrior his enemies knew in battle—the enemies now dwelling in the land of the dead, deep in Niflheimr.
“If you go back on your word and do not help your granddaughter or Cyran, who is like a son to me, then I will personally hunt you down and kill you myself. Believe me when I say you will spend the rest of your days in extreme agony. You will take them where they need to go, and you will right the wrongs you have wrought through your selfish actions. Do you understand me?”
Loki exhaled and nodded. “Yes, sir. In this case, I regret every decision I made. You may not believe me, but I did try to stop the Fae and elf healers’ plan. Even the demon tried to help me, but the Fae’s dark magic is too strong for one person. If we band together, we may be able to defeat them. I give you my word and pledge my allegiance to my granddaughter and her mate.”
He locked his gaze on Shalendra’s. “I pledge to protect and keep her safe, ending this once and for all.” He turned back to face the king. “I will do everything possible to find and save Olivier and Jessica.”
Sondor briefly stared at Loki, then nodded and took a few steps back. “I will hold you to your word, Loki. I grant you leave of J?tunheimr. Your sentence is served. BUT.” His chin lifted in a regal pose. “I retain the right to reverse this pardon if you should fail this mission or harm comes to Cyran or Shalendra.”
Loki turned and offered one hand to Shalendra and the other to Cyran. “Take my hands, and I will take us to the last place Olivier, Jessica, and Azazel were.”
Shalendra glanced at the king and mouthed thank you, then laid her hands over Cyran’s and Loki’s.
The icy-covered world flowed away, morphing into a cacophony of colors as they sped through space at light speed. Cyran could not distinguish individual stars, planets, or objects they should be seeing.
He wanted to ask Loki how this was possible—how he could travel at this speed. He couldn't think of anyone, not even Heimdall, who could accomplish such a feat.
No sooner had he opened his mouth than he found himself back in a familiar hallway. Loki had brought them back to Castle Hartheim, and, from the tiny swastika fashioned around the door’s eyepiece, they had returned during World War II.
“I don’t remember this door.” Shalendra frowned. “Loki, where are we?”
“Haman had Fer-Diorich create several alternate hallways. If you open the door in the main hallway, you will see the regular hall. This door, however, is spelled and will open to the morgue. Close it and quickly reopen the door, and you will be in this hall. The room behind this door is where he held your aunt and uncle.”
Shalendra wrapped her hand around the doorknob, but Loki stopped her, laying his hand over hers. “Be certain this is what you want. When I was last here, just before my imprisonment on J?tunheimr, they were both in bad shape. You might not find what you wish.”
She stared at his hand, then nodded and twisted the knob. The door swung inward. Besides a soft blue light in the room's far corner, the interior remained black, even though the hall’s light should have filtered through the doorway.
Cyran moved in front of her, not allowing her to face whatever remained in the room. Stepping inside, he waited with bated breath, letting his senses soar through the good-sized space.
From the back of the room, he felt rather than saw a shadowy movement slink to one side. On the edge of his vision, it moved again, now closer. He forced his body to remain motionless.
Something stalked him as if he were the prey. Shalendra, can you hear me?
Yes.
Slowly move back into the hallway so whatever this is cannot see you. Make sure Loki stays with you. Something is in this room—something foul.
Is that what I feel? Like I bathed in dirty oil?
He silently chuckled . Interesting description, but yes, dirty oil describes it. I understand you can fight, my starlight, but stay outside in the hall—for me.
He edged away from the door, his gaze moving around the room. From the corner of his field of vision, Shalendra pressed against Loki, inching them back into the hall.
The moment they were out of harm’s way, he threw a barrier in the opening so whatever this was could not attack them. The slight sound of fur brushing against the wall came from the right, stopping his forward motion. Listening, he heard it again, closer and less stealthy as whatever it was gained confidence.
A slight scraping against the wall to his left made him pause. Across the room, another shadow slithered along the wall. How many beings stalked him? With the room in almost total darkness, he closed his eyes, not trusting his vision if magic was involved.
As the oily sensation grew overwhelming, he fought the nauseousness roiling in his gut and had no doubt dark magic was at play.
He opened his mind and called on the magic deep inside.
Darkness around me, lighten and thin.
Unveil the creatures who walk in sin.
Surround and protect my body and mind.
Open my path to seek and find.
The subtle pulse of his spell grew and flowed through the room, touching on emptiness until it surrounded the bodies of several large creatures. Opening his eyes, his vision turned to dark shades of gray, but the downside to this spell was the creatures hunting him saw him too.
Two werewolves stared at him from across the room. The centers of their wild, yellow eyes glowed red, and their fur was patchy and matted with god knows what. Long scratches traveled down their legs and torsos as if they had already been in a previous battle.
Their elongated, snarling faces gave him pause as he stared at the dark blood covering their dagger-like teeth. The sight made his stomach turn.
The being to his left, however, was different. In the form of a slender man, he could not tell what or who this was. Strangely, though, he did not sense the same malice from him. The sensation was wicked and improper but still dark, not entirely evil. It confused him because his spell made the man visible.
Never letting the werewolves out of sight, he whispered, “Who are you?”
“Neither friend nor foe.” The stranger kept his back to the wall as the creatures crept closer.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Sorry. It’s the only one I’ve got. I can tell you, though, I am no friend to those beasts.”
“ That’s a good answer. Why are you here?”
“I was sent in here with them to kill you, but I have never followed orders, so why start now? I also smell Loki on you. Where is he?”
“He is near and waiting for me to clear out this room so we can find the traitor, Haman, and his cohort, Fer-Diorich. We have business with them.”
The stranger raised his arm, and a sword appeared in his hand, aimed at the werewolf nearest to him. “That could be difficult. Like Loki, Fer-Diorich disappeared almost a month ago in Midgardian time. Haman has been in charge ever since.”
Cyran summoned his sword and faced the snarling black monster in front of him. Out of nowhere, the creature’s massive paw swung at him, and he jerked his head back just as four dagger-like claws sliced through the air where his face had been.
With a forward thrust, his blade slashed the wolf’s side. As if Cyran had only just run a feather across the matted fur, the werewolf howled and swung his other arm, sliding off the side of Cyran’s head in a glancing blow, but not before he inhaled the creature’s stench. He couldn't decide whether to retch or cough, but his nostrils burned as if coated in acid.
“Do not let the claws touch your skin. They are laced with poison.” The stranger said, grunting when his opponent shoved him into the wall. “The effects are quite painful.”
“So is their stench.” Scoring another hit, the tip of Cyran’s blade slid across the beast’s thigh, forcing him to move back to the wall. He edged sideways, drawing the werewolf away from the other side of the room where the beast seemed to be leading him.
A glance showed the far corner, which remained cloaked in total blackness. Narrowing his gaze, he caught a quick shimmer, and then the corner moved in a slithering, rolling motion.
“Thanks for the warning. I’m Cyran, by the way, interim royal healer of Alfheimr. You are?” The werewolf facing him snarled and snapped, narrowly missing his arm as he flung his sword arm away with a twist. Following through with the motion, he circled the blade back around, stabbing the creature in his thick bicep.
“You may call me Zel.” The slender man sidestepped the werewolf facing him. Before the stranger pulled back his arm, the beast’s head turned, and his bloody teeth clamped down, holding his forearm like a vise.
With another quick twist of his blade, Cyran sliced through the thick neck muscles of the werewolf and used his sword’s momentum to arc through the air, his blade cutting off his werewolf’s arm and opening his furry chest down to his left side.
He needed to end the fight soon. He wasn’t at full strength yet, and his energy was disappearing.
A howl of pain-filled rage flooded the room, but instead of continuing the fight, the creature jumped backward, twisted on his back paws, and leaped into the black mass roiling in the far corner.
Cyran turned as Zel’s sword became two identical weapons. With crossed arms, he brought the blades together in a loud clang, their sharpened edges slicing off Cyran’s opponent’s head in one fluid motion.
As the body fell, Zel leaned forward, and Cyran realized he wasn’t as slender as he had first thought, his black pants accentuating his muscled legs. “That’s for touching her and biting me, you bastard. I hope you rot in hell for your choices.”
Cyran raised one brow. “Well, that was an impressive ending. I’m positive he won’t enjoy his afterlife, no matter which underworld he ends up in. I know a few kings and one queen hunting for blood because of what’s happening to their worlds.”
Zel’s blades shimmered with a blue fire, cleansing away the gore before the swords disappeared. He turned to face Cyran, his expression angry. He had tanned skin, and his dark eyes looked black in the dim light as he shoved his hand through his short, wavy black hair.
“They have every right to be,” the newcomer said. “What Haman and the Fae are doing will not only disrupt the Nine Worlds but could very well end the Megaverse if they are not stopped. There is a reason the Celtic Courts are separate. The Seelie Queen and Unseelie King share a love like no other, but she is of the light, and he is wholly dark—evil dark. They will never be able to meet in the middle.”
Cyran frowned. “You seem to understand a lot about what’s going on. Care to fill me in?”
“Because he’s been in the thick of things since the beginning.” Loki pulled Shalendra into the room and slammed the door shut behind them. “There were a few too many soldiers with nasty magic-coated bullets flying everywhere out there. I thought it would be safer in here.”
Zel turned his glare on the god, crossing his arms over his chest, unmindful of the blood still dripping from his shredded arm. “It’s about time you returned. Where have you been?”
“Trapped on J?tunheimr, if you must know. Thanks to these two, the king set me free so I could come back and help you. How are Olivier and Jessica?”
“I’m here, so what does that tell you? Jessica is fading fast, and Olivier is not doing well either. I searched Svartálfheimr for the stone you told me about, but it wasn’t there. I returned here to find Fer-Diorich gone and Hamas on a killing rampage as his experiments increase.”
Cyran noticed Shalendra’s hands twisting together as she stared at Zel’s arm. She glanced up at him and then, in one step, moved in front of Zel and placed her hands over his injured arm.
“I’m sorry, but I have to heal you.” She closed her eyes, ignoring the way Zel tried to pull away. A white light appeared, surrounding her hands and bathing the horrendous wound. The light turned blue and then faded.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Zel snarled, grabbing her hands. Turning them so her palms faced up, his thumbs slid over the pristine skin. He frowned, his dark eyes popping up to hers. “How are you not injured? Your skin should be burned.”
Shalendra smiled. “It is my gift to heal. While your blood is acidic, it recognized my intent was only to give you aid and will not harm me.”
Cyran’s gaze narrowed on Zel’s face. “Why would your blood burn her? Who are you?”
Zel smiled. “Maybe you should ask what I am, Elf Lord. I am the demon Azazel.”