Chapter 25 Storm and Thunder
twenty-five
Storm and Thunder
Thori
Thori was losing his mind.
He’d thought that being Njord’s thrall would destroy him; instead, his captor had always been lenient with him, almost gentle at times.
But now Thori was downright coddled. Njord had insisted that he get some rest after the revelation of the Bog Mother’s true origins and Odin’s betrayal, had guided him to bed personally and stayed at Thori’s side until sleep finally took him.
The next morning, Thori found Njord already up, planning the defense of the fortress with Skalmold and Gylfa in the tactics room. And when Thori had joined them, still sleep-ruffled and yawning, Njord had simply offered him the seat by his side and called for a servant to bring him breakfast.
The dark-haired maid who’d been kind to him earlier tended to him regularly now.
She’d told him her name was Hildur, and that she liked to pray to Freyja.
The nice ones were drawn to his sister, as per usual.
Hildur had winked at him when she’d witnessed Njord casually wrapping a cloak around his shoulders, and Thori had been at a loss.
Also, Gylfa’s husband had checked in twice to see how his wounds were healing, and between Thori’s divine power to withstand damage and the healer’s abilities, the wounds had faded to barely visible scars.
By now, Thori was treated more like a royal guest than an enslaved enemy, and Njord made him feel more valued and at home than he’d felt in Asgard for a long time.
Was he being manipulated? Enchanted even?
Quite possibly. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, because manipulation was all his father’s court had ever offered him.
At least Njord bothered to make it feel good.
Still, Thori was restless. He’d never coped well with the breathless calm before an impending battle, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, it was him who had to plan and double-check and fight for every decision.
“Maybe Gylfa should position some of her archers up here?”
Thori had been brooding over a map of the fortress for hours, well aware that Njord was trusting him with crucial information about Nóatún’s layout. Njord had just returned from his evening inspection and looked over Thori’s shoulder with interest.
“You think Sveinn might attack from the open sea?”
“He had more volur with him when he captured me than I’ve ever seen on a single longboat. They might easily change his course and carry his fleet to open waters.”
Njord smiled, his eyes crinkling.
“Clever.”
“Just a warrior’s observation.”
“Is that what they told you in Asgard?”
“In Asgard, a warrior learns very quickly that a few tactical considerations are void compared to the schemes of the gods of wisdom and cunning. But you know that. You lived there, and you outsmarted my father at least once when you managed to return to Vanaheim without giving up your sister as a hostage.”
Njord’s smile turned rueful.
“Odin would claim I betrayed him.”
“He respects a good betrayal.”
“Yes, quite possibly.” Njord stepped closer, resting his hands on Thori’s shoulders. “I’ll ask Gylfa to adjust the positions. Your instincts are sound.”
More praise. Thori’s chest tightened with a confusing mix of pleasure and unease. He didn’t deserve this, and yet he craved more.
“You must be hungry,” Thori said abruptly, rolling up the map with hands that weren’t quite steady. “I could fetch you something from the kitchens. Or send for Hildur.”
“I’m not hungry. I ate earlier with Gylfa and Andora. Hildur brought your nattmal, I understand?”
“As per your orders.”
“Good. Now I order you to give that clever head of yours a break. You’ve been thrumming with tension ever since you found out about the Bog Mother, but you’ll need your strength in battle.”
“I’m not tired,” Thori said, knowing that rest wouldn’t come to him in a state like this.
“We’ll see about that. Come.”
Njord pulled him to his feet, guiding him toward his sleeping chambers, and Thori followed without protest because part of him was fatigued and he wanted to see if Njord could, by some miracle, make him relax enough to sleep.
Unlikely.
But he could make do with a few of Njord’s sweet words, or maybe even a lovers’ tryst to distract himself from the utter disaster he’d let his life become. So, he allowed Njord to pour him a cup of mead and watched the sea god change into his sleeping garments.
The mead was strong and sweet, and Thori, suddenly feeling bold or maybe not caring enough about appearances anymore, shed his clothes and strolled into bed naked.
To his delight, Njord sucked in a sharp breath and followed him, pulling the furs up around them both.
His arm slung around Thori’s waist, solid and reassuring, and Thori found himself relaxing into his warmth.
Clarity washed over him like in those moments in battle when he suddenly knew exactly what he must do.
“When Sveinn comes, I’ll fight with you.”
“I know,” Njord said as if he’d no doubt whatsoever about Thori’s honor and bravery.
“How can you be so sure about me? I’m the son of Odin. I killed Jokull.”
Njord sighed deeply, and Thori could only guess at the grief he was carrying. All Thori’s fault, and he would never be able to make up for it.
“I could—” He stumbled over the words, knowing full well that they were inadequate, but he forced himself to say them anyway. “When Sveinn arrives, I could help with my thunder. If you’ll allow it.”
Njord froze.
“Are you asking me to remove your collar?”
There was a dangerous note to Njord’s voice that had Thori shudder for mostly inappropriate reasons. He was aware of what he must sound like. As if he were asking for freedom, for the chance to turn his power against Njord the moment the collar came off.
“No,” Thori said. “I’m not asking you to remove the collar.”
“What are you asking then, Thunderer?”
“You could just…lend my thunder. Like you did during the council. Tap into my power.”
Njord didn’t answer, and Thori’s chest tightened with shame. Stupid. Of course, as the master of storms and seas, Njord wouldn’t bother with a weapon as unreliable as the power of another god. Thori was still his enemy, still nothing but a thrall—
Njord flipped him onto his back so quickly that Thori yelped in surprise. Fingers tangling in his hair, Njord kissed him, deep and demanding. And with a small sound he’d be embarrassed about later, Thori melted into the contact.
“You’d do that?” Njord whispered against his lips. “You’d let me use your power?”
“Yes.”
“Norns,” Njord breathed, looking at him with bright, marveling eyes. “You’re even braver than your sagas claim. And so noble.”
More, Thori wanted to say. Please. Tell me I’m good. Tell me I’m enough. He could’ve curled up in Njord’s embrace and never left if only Njord kept talking to him like this.
“Do you want to try it?” Thori mumbled, suddenly shy. “I mean, we should make sure you can tap into my power before the battle. Just to be safe—”
Njord fixed him with a dark look that had heat pooling in Thori’s belly.
“What do you have in mind?”
Exhaling a shuddering breath, Thori closed his eyes.
He needed to convince Njord that he was serious about helping to defend Nóatún, so he reached for the thunder living under his skin.
It came easily, like a well-trained hunting dog.
The collar around his throat hummed, containing his thunder but not suppressing it, and Thori let the power build.
“Take it,” he whispered, opening his eyes to meet Njord’s gaze. “It’s yours.”
He could feel Njord reaching out, the power of storm and sea contained oh-so carefully, taking over with gentleness instead of crippling force.
Thori gasped.
Lightning crackled between them, bluish-white and beautiful, and Njord guided it with the same ease he commanded the tides. It danced across Thori’s skin, the sensation foreign and pleasurable.
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Thori shook his head. “Feels…good.”
Njord kissed him again, and it felt like coming up for air after he’d been drowning. Brushing from his shoulders down to his flanks, Njord’s touch left trails of lightning in its wake, and Thori arched into the caress with a moan.
“Do you have any idea how stunning you are?”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. Beautiful. Brave. Cunning.”
Thori shivered.
“Please—”
He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for. More praise? More touch? Just more of Njord’s attention focused solely on him? Probably all three.
Njord’s hand slid down his chest, fingertips igniting sparks in their wake, making Thori shudder and writhe.
“Like this?” Njord murmured against his lips. “Or more like…that?”
Pushing Thori’s arms up above his head, Njord made lightning wrap around his wrists in ribbons of crackling power.
Thori tugged experimentally at the bonds and found they wouldn’t budge.
Being taken over by his own power was the strangest feeling, intoxicating even, and maybe he could have broken Njord’s grasp on his thunder, but he really, really didn’t want to.
“That,” Thori gasped. “That’s good.”
The ropes of lightning tightened gently, drawing his wrists further above his head, and Thori’s breath caught.
“Look at you,” Njord cooed. “Who’d have thought that the mighty god of thunder could be so sweet?”
Settling between Thori’s thighs, Njord smiled down at him. He opened his braid and shook his dark hair loose, making it fall around his shoulders. He was gorgeous.
“Can you—Would you take off your tunic?”
“Why, I didn’t know you liked my tattoos, Odinsson.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m Thori of the thunder. I’m—”
“Mine. My brave warrior.”
The way Njord said it sounded more like a chieftain declaring a warrior as part of his lie than a claim of ownership, and Thori nodded mutely. He shouldn’t fall for this fantasy, but he wanted to be important to Njord so badly.
“Yours,” Thori said. “Master. Chieftain.”