Richelle Mead - The Immortal Crown

This is Justin’s fault, she thought.

Immediately, she knew that was unfair. In the past, she’d been able to lay any number of grievances at his feet, but not this new world view of hers. Having her eyes opened to the insidious forces lurking beneath the surface of her reality was the result of many factors, some of which had been in play since the time of her birth. Like her, he was simply trying to stay afloat in these treacherous waters. He’d even tried to help her, but she’d thrown it back in his face.

No . . . now she was being unfair to herself. She’d tried to help him . She’d come here to remove that temptation from him so that he could be free of divine entrapment. If she was gone, that god—whoever he was—could no longer use her as a bargaining chip against Justin. She wished Justin could’ve seen it that way, but the pain in his face had suggested otherwise. It hadn’t helped matters that what she’d seen in him had pretty much been a mirror of what she felt inside of her.

He’ll get over me, she thought. He has to. He’s probably picking up someone in a bar as I sit here. He’s never been serious about anyone. Why should I think I’m special? Hopefully he’ll stick to women who have no involvement in the supernatural.

But as she thought about that last night, the things he’d said to her, the protective way he’d held her in sleep . . . Mae knew she was being unfair to him yet again. That made her own healing process that much harder. Far easier to believe that he didn’t care. And Mae had no interest in seeking quick distraction in the arms of another—though she’d had plenty of opportunities. A few guys had already made flirty passes at her, in that way praetorians had between active assignments. She’d rebuffed them all politely—despite her internal fear and revulsion—wanting to keep things friendly with her new comrades but unable to imagine herself opening her body up to anyone anytime soon. That encounter with the phantom-Justin had scarred her deeply, leaving a taint on her that she couldn’t shake.

“Going to Mexico soon, praetorian?”

An officer in the gray-and-maroon of the regular military sat down beside her at the table, which she hadn’t even realized had emptied of the other praetorians she’d eaten with. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that time had slipped by. She’d been unable to muster much of an appetite, and an uncharacteristic headache was now coming on. She rubbed the back of her head, waiting for the implant to dull the pain.

“Yes, sir.” The man’s uniform identified him as a major, putting them roughly at the same rank. Technically, he might be a little higher, but the praetorians were in a separate branch and ordering system. “I came in with a group from Vancouver. We’re waiting for another bunch to join us before heading out. Are you going?”

“You might see me there.” He crossed his long legs and leaned back in the chair, striking a remarkably casual pose for someone of his rank, even if he was off-duty. “It’s certainly my kind of place. All sorts of chaos there. Did they give you any of the background? That it’s an area Arcadian settlers took to a while ago? Unfortunately for them, it’s full of oil, which even the RUNA can’t entirely shake its need for. So off to war we go. It’ll be grand, I’m sure.”

Mae looked him over uneasily. If they weren’t actually in the middle of a base, she might’ve thought he was someone dressing up in costume. “Are you sure? We were told this is an area that wants to become a Gemman protectorate but keeps getting threatened by Arcadians and other local dissidents.”

He gave her an exaggerated wink with hazel eyes that bordered on yellow. “Yes, of course they told you that. That’s a much nicer story. Much easier to believe you’re fighting against nasty insurgents instead of innocent settlers who just want to be left alone—even if they are Arcadians. I understand you’re not the biggest fan of their culture, and I can’t really blame you there. A place like that has no appreciation for a girl of your talents.”

“Who are you?” she asked, a chill running through her. Her involvement in Arcadia was highly classified. No one of his rank should know. Gan had granted her this reassignment, but now she wondered if he’d done it with strings. Had he sent someone to spy on her?

“A great fan of yours, Praetorian Koskinen,” he said softly. He leaned toward her and smiled. Aside from the unusual eyes, the rest of his features were uniformly plebeian, and his long face, though handsome, had an odd quality that made it difficult for her to pin an age on him. Thirties, maybe? “A very, very great fan. I thought you and I might never meet, but fate unfolds in a way that even the gods can’t predict.”

Mae stiffened. “You’re one of the elect.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “Don’t belittle me. I’ve said nothing but nice things to you.”

“Then what are you?” she demanded, her thoughts spinning, despite the pain of her growing headache. Was this some entity like Justin’s ravens?

“Someone in need of a Valkyrie, and I’d like you to be mine. I’ve always wanted one, and as I said, I’m a great fan of yours. I think the two of us would get on beautifully, and I’d do much better things for you than Freya ever could.”

Mae almost laughed. “You talk like you’re a—” She stopped, unable to say the word.

He tilted his head. “Yes? Do go on.”

“That’s impossible,” she said, looking around uneasily. Surely, surely if she were having a conversation with a god in the middle of a cafeteria, someone else would notice. But all those gathered, soldiers and civilians alike, moved about their business as though Mae and her companion didn’t exist.

“I’m surprised ‘impossible’ is even in your vocabulary anymore,” he told her in a chastising tone. “I am what I am and have gone to the trouble of a personal appearance to ask you into my service.”

“If you know so much,” she said, “then you know I’m done with gods and their affairs.”

“I know you’re done with gods who can’t protect their own. With gods who don’t deliver.” He trailed his fingertips along the edge of her jawline, and she found herself powerless to pull away. “No Valkyrie of mine would be forced to leave her lover behind. No Valkyrie of mine would be victimized by another of the elect.”

Mae’s breath caught. “Do you know who it was?” Then, the question that had really been eating at her: “Do you know what it was? Was it one of the elect?”

“Most certainly. I mean, I wasn’t there, and no, I don’t know who, but the powers involved are consistent with an elect. What else do you think it would be?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was just afraid it . . . it wasn’t human.”

He chuckled and dropped his hand. “Well, don’t be afraid then. Not of that, at least. Lesser entities—spirits, demons—have no romantic interest in your kind. And gods . . . well, let’s just say we wouldn’t have to go to nearly that much effort. No, my dear, your mysterious assailant was all too human, and I will help you find him.”

“I told you, I’m done with gods.”

“And I told you, you’re done with loser gods, gods who leave their servants vulnerable and play mind games. Here I am, talking to you directly, making my offer in plain terms. No games. No cryptic visions.”

“But there are strings,” she said. “There are always strings. You offer to help me, but what do you want in return? What does it mean to be your Valkyrie? A lifetime of slavery?”

He shook his head. “Hardly. That would be boring for both of us. I don’t have the attention span for a lifetime of commitment. I simply need someone to conduct my earthly matters for the time being, and all I’d ask is that you do so until the time I help you find your attacker.”