Chapter 45 #2
The words die in my throat as I see what's behind Gullfax.
There's my brother, sprawled in the hay like he's been hit by Thor's hammer, clutching a bladder of mead like it's his last friend in the world.
The devastation across his face tells me everything I need to know about how last night went down.
Fuck.
"Hey, brother." The words scrape past the sudden tightness in my throat. "That bad, huh?"
Erik's laugh is a broken thing, sharp enough to cut.
He lifts the bladder to his lips, missing half his mouth as mead streams down his chin.
His silver eyes are glazed, unfocused—he's been at this a while.
"Your powers of observation remain unmatched, brother.
" The words drip with that familiar dry sarcasm, but there's something darker underneath.
Gullfax shifts aside with a gentle pat to his chest, letting me into the stall. The hay crunches under my weight as I sink beside Erik, the scent of alcohol and despair thick in the air. "What happened? I thought—"
"Your optimism was misplaced." Erik's precise, measured tone cracks at the edges. His fingers tighten around the bladder until his knuckles turn white. "The logical conclusion I predicted has come to pass. She wants nothing of the mate bond." Another long pull from the bladder. "Nothing of me."
My jaw locks so hard I taste blood. Fuck.
This is worse than bad—this is catastrophic.
I've heard the stories, the aftermath when a vampire's mate rejects them.
The darkness creeps in, eating away at their sanity until there's nothing left but a feral beast. The thought of Erik—my brother, my right hand—losing himself to that kind of madness makes my beast howl in rage.
"Hey." I grip his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath my fingers. "This isn't over. I know what I saw—"
"You saw what you wanted to see." Erik's words slur slightly, his usual precise diction fraying at the edges.
He waves the bladder in a mockery of his typical controlled gestures.
"Your powers of observation are... questionable at best when it comes to matters of the heart, dear brother.
" He misses his mouth again as he takes another drink, mead spilling down his chin.
His silver eyes, usually sharp as steel, are clouded with something more than just alcohol.
"Our fierce Valkyrie"—his voice catches on the word—"has clarified her position.
Duty to ásgard comes first. Can't have a mate mucking up her grand destiny.
" A bitter laugh escapes him. "After the whole prophesied mate disaster with you, she's determined not to repeat history's mistakes. "
The false lightness in his tone pisses me off.
He's trying so hard to maintain his usual analytical facade, but the cracks are showing—in his voice, his hands shake, and the despair rolling off him in waves.
"And did she actually say any of this?" I arch an eyebrow at him.
"Or are you just sitting here making assumptions like the overthinking bastard you are? "
"Oh, yes." Erik fumbles for another drink, mead sloshing. "She made her feelings quite clear." His speech slurs into something bitter and raw. "Right to my face. Quite... efficient about it."
Fuck this. I snatch the bladder from his grip, ignoring his protest as I haul him to his feet.
My palm connects with his cheek—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to focus those glazed silver eyes.
"Enough of this pathetic bullshit. You think I got my mate by sitting in the fucking stables drowning in mead? "
Erik sways like a tree in a storm, trying and failing to fix me with his usual stern glare. "Brother—"
"No. You're going to listen." My fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him steady.
"You think Dani just fell into my arms? That she didn't fight this every step of the way?
I had to chase, convince, and show her what we could be.
And I didn't give up." My voice drops lower, rougher.
"If you roll over and accept this, we'll lose you.
All of us. Even Dani. And I won't fucking let that happen. "
Erik's finger wobbles as he points it at my chest, his usual dignity entirely undermined by how he can barely stand straight.
"Brother…." He draws the word out like he's giving a lecture, though his hiccup somewhat ruins the effect.
"I am not you. I don't... I won't be some barbaric caveman, taking what isn't freely wanted. "
"For fuck's sake." My fingers rake through my hair as I stare at my brother's pathetic drunk ass.
Playing matchmaker isn't exactly my forte, and this shit's wearing thin.
"I'm not telling you to drag her off by the hair, you dramatic bastard.
Just..." The words stick in my throat. Maybe Dani should handle this—she's better at the emotional crap.
"Don't give up, Erik. And for the love of Odin, stop this pitiful shit.
We need you functioning. Starting with getting you sobered up. "
The water trough looms outside the stable doors—a behemoth of carved stone big enough to water a dozen war horses at once. The morning frost has left a thin sheet of ice across its surface, and the water beneath promises to be balls-freezing cold.
Perfect.
Erik stumbles face-first into the snow as I drag him out, cursing in three different languages. Some warrior. Confused, he blinks up at me as I crack through the ice with my fist.
I haul him up by his jacket, his eyes widening as he spots the trough."What are you—?"
The question dies in his throat as the splash echoes across the courtyard as his drunk ass hits the water.
His thrashing sends waves over the sides as he flails like a landed fish.
When he finally finds his footing, he looks like a drowned rat, silver hair plastered to his face, clothes soaked through.
"Son of a bitch!" Erik's usual elegant vocabulary dissolves into sailor's curses as he spits water. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Water streams down his face as he tries to muster his dignity. "That was entirely unnecessary."
"Was it?" I lean against the trough, watching him shiver. "Because from where I'm standing, you needed a wake-up call. Now get your ass out of there before your balls freeze off. Though at this rate, it doesn't seem like you're using them anyway."
The crunch of footsteps on snow draws my attention from Erik's pathetic form. Dani's eyes widen as she takes in the scene—Erik half-drowned in the trough, me standing over him like a disapproving parent. Her gaze locks with mine, a silent question in those honey depths.
I give a slight shake of my head, jaw tight. Her face falls, realization dawning like a fucking sunrise. She knows. And from how her shoulders slump, she knows exactly how bad this is.
"I'm gonna go find Bryn." The words come out in a rush, her voice strained. She spins on her heel, long, brown hair flying as she sprints across the courtyard.
Erik slips beneath the icy water again, this time voluntarily. "Just end my misery now, brother." His words bubble up through the freezing water, all pretense of dignity finally abandoned. "I hear drowning is relatively peaceful."
"Keep dreaming, asshole." I reach into the trough, hauling him up by his soaked jacket. He hangs limp in my grip; all the fight drained out of him. "You don't get to take the easy way out, brother. Not while I'm still breathing."
He doesn't respond; he just stares at the ground like it holds all the secrets. Fuck. I've never seen him like this—not in all our centuries together. It's like watching a part of him die right in front of me.
I tighten my grip on his jacket, shaking him until his eyes meet mine. "Listen to me, Erik. This isn't over. You hear me? We'll figure this out. But first, we need to get you dried off and sobered up. Can't have you facing the entire royal palaces like this."
He blinks slowly like he's processing my words through a haze. Then, with a nod so slight I almost miss it, he straightens his spine. It's a far cry from his usual composed self, but it's a start.