Dana Bell - Morgan's Fate

“Yup.”

“Just because you grab your spear and make it grow—”

“Hey, now.” Jordan stood and wagged her finger. “I like his spear.”

Logan’s grin turned wicked. “I’m rather fond of it myself.”

“Can we not discuss Kir’s spear?” Magnus shuddered. “I still have nightmares about that elevator ride.”

Kir sighed and grabbed the bridge of his nose. “Children.”

While Logan, Magnus and Jordan were playing around, Skye had backed toward the front door. Morgan jumped up and blocked her exit, holding out his hands when she tried to move past him. “Wait. Hear the rest of it.”

She glared up at him. “Let me go, Mr. Grimm.”

Ouch. She was pissed. “Please.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Fine. But only because you asked nicely.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to the table. “Even if you are…all… Holy shit. ”

Morgan glanced over to the table to see what had her all pale and wide-eyed. “Oh. That. Yeah, he does that sometimes.”

“Morgan.”

“Hmm?”

“He’s made of fire .”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s not screaming in agony.”

“No, of course not. Why would he?”

“ He’s eating pancakes .”

Morgan shrugged. “He’s hungry.” She stared up at him. “What? It’s been a long day.”

She sat down abruptly. Unfortunate, the Tate-Saeters didn’t have chairs by their front door, so Skye wound up on the floor, bouncing a little as her ass made contact with the maple. “What is he?”

“Logan is Loki, a pure-born fire Jotun who became blood brothers with Odin after saving his sorry ass, something I’m sure he still regrets.”

“Nah,” the man of fire responded. “If I hadn’t I wouldn’t have become immortal and I wouldn’t have Kir and Jordan.”

Kir smiled at Loki, but Morgan noticed he didn’t take his lover’s hand. Kir might be invulnerable, but he could still feel heat. Everyone else had backed away from the burning man.

Morgan pointed to Kir. “Kir is Baldur, son of Odin and brother of Thor. And my uncle.”

“Ah. Okay.” Skye put her head between her knees. “I think I’m going to puke.”

He knelt at her side and began rubbing her back. She felt good beneath his palm, even trembling with fear. “Believe us now?”

She looked so lost it almost broke his heart. “Where do I fit into all of this?”

Morgan took hold of both her hands and held on tight. “You’re the only one who can explain our future.”

“Where do you think you are going?”

Oliver Grimm reined in Sleipnir as the deep, familiar voice rolled over him. His shoulders tightened, expecting the worst. After all, the man asking the question had given him nothing but trouble since Baldur took up the Godspear. Rina, sensing his agitation, pulled her blade.

He had no desire to face the Guardian. Not now, and certainly not here, on the Bifrost Bridge. Here, Heimdall was the stronger of them and could easily refuse Grimm passage. Grimm would be forced to obey or be tossed from the bridge, his plans abandoned.

And that just wouldn’t do.

As it was, he’d have to arrange for something to befall the Guardian before too much longer. He couldn’t risk Heimdall blowing his horn, signaling the true beginning of Ragnarrok. If Heimdall took it into his head that Odin’s reign was over…

He gritted his teeth. Technically, his reign over the Aesir and the Vanir was already over. His bastard of a son, Baldur, now held Gungnir , giving him supremacy over all the other gods. With Loki and Tyr whispering in Baldur’s ear, egging him on, it was only a matter of time before the younger gods that followed Baldur turned on Grimm once and for all.

But that was an issue for another day. Today, he was off to see some very important ladies, and he couldn’t afford to be late. “I’m going to Yggdrasil.”

The sense of tension in the air increased as Heimdall studied him with a cold, impartial gaze. “You’re going to see the Norns.”

Grimm nodded. This was where Heimdall could fuck up his plans. Grimm would have to be honest. Lying to the Guardian now wasn’t an option. Heimdall would sense it, and it would all be over. “Yes.”

He waited in silence, knowing this was it. If Heimdall kicked him out, Grimm would have to go with the next plan. Skuld would still die, but it would be far messier than he’d like. Getting to her now that she was behind Loki’s fucking wards would be near impossible. He’d have to wait, bide his time, and pray that she didn’t give them the information that they sought. If she did, they would finally have the information they needed to see to it that Odin’s life ended.

He wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t afford to let them discover the true destiny of the gods.

“You may pass.”

He didn’t allow the relief he felt to bend him. He sat straight and tall, as befitted the true ruler of the gods. He nodded regally. Even if he couldn’t see the Guardian, the courtesy was ingrained. Even he was afraid of the man that would someday kill Loki. “Thank you, Guardian.”

“Do not thank me, Odin. I know why you go to see the Norns, and I know what your plans are. Remember this, Father of Lies. It will be what it was meant to be.”

“Not if I can help it, Guardian.” Odin kicked Sleipnir viciously, setting the horse galloping across the bridge toward Yggdrasil, and answers. Sleipnir whinnied in protest, but what could the dumb beast do but obey? It was a pity the rest of the Aesir and Vanir weren’t as obedient as his steed. None of this would have happened otherwise.

Damn the Norns, and damn their prophecy to hell. If they hadn’t come forth from Jotunheim, he would have been the ruler of the gods for eternity, a golden age that all the gods had adored. They’d had gold aplenty, food enough to make even Thor satisfied, and women, ah women, soft and pliant and ripe for the picking.

But, no. The Norns had to come forth from Jotunheim, taken one look at the World Tree and declared that mortals deserved more than what the gods had given them.

How dare they place themselves above gods and men? They were nothing more than Jotuns, giantesses, no better than Loki. Yet they dared to spin the destiny of men and gods, for good or ill, sending their acolytes out to perform the tasks allotted to them. To some, like Baldur, they gave good fortune, determining that he would one day rule over a golden age he hadn’t earned. To others, like Odin, they gave nothing but strife, grief and blood.

The Norns had come from nothing, yet they held his fate in their grasp. The only time he’d ever felt free had been when Fenris had been unable to kill him. That shining moment had lasted for two whole days.

Then he’d remembered. There was more than one wolf in the world. Rina had scurried fast, efficient as always, readying for their trip to Yggdrasil and the answers both sides now sought.

He should have killed them long ago, before prophecy had spilled from pretty Skuld’s pink lips. He would have, had it not been for the tie they’d somehow established with Yggdrasil. To destroy them would be to destroy the World Tree and everything associated with it. Odin would die, and everything he’d striven for would be for naught. The only attractive point of the idea was that all the others would die along with him. Jotun, Lios Alfar, Dökk Alfar, all would be stricken by the falling world branches, screaming into the night as their lives were snuffed out like a child’s birthday candles.

If it came to it, if he absolutely could not win, Grimm was willing to chop the damn tree down himself. It would be worth it just to watch Tyr burn for stealing Gungnir from him and giving it to Baldur.