Claimed by Gods Page 2

  “If the success of every endeavor were judged by its first five minutes, civilization would be a terribly desolate affair,” Loki said breezily.

  “She’s fine for the moment,” Baldur said beside me, his voice as slow and melodic as always. As bright as his twin was dark. “I calmed her mind.”

  “Right.” I pulled my thoughts away from my younger brothers and our trickster companion, back to the matter at hand. “Let’s find some way to make her more comfortable so she’ll be in a better mood the second time she wakes up.”

  Freya ambled over and motioned with a graceful arm. “Bring her up to the usual bedroom. We should find her some clothes. Something to eat. And perhaps give her a little time on her own before she has to face the lot of you again?”

  Loki chuckled, but he didn’t argue. Hod looked happy enough to have the problem taken care of without him, and Baldur… Well, it was hard to tell what Baldur was thinking these days in general. Not a whole lot seemed to penetrate that dreamy glow around him. He didn’t look bothered by the suggestion, anyway.

  I eased my arms around the girl and lifted her. In sleep, she felt like barely anything. Keeping the sheet tucked around her, I rested her head and shoulders against my much wider shoulder and carried her to the stairs.

  Freya followed me up. As I laid the girl on the bed in the room the other valkyries had used for the brief time they’d been with us, the goddess opened the wardrobe and considered its offerings. She took out a white silk blouse and a pair of gray linen slacks, folded them, and set them in a neat pile with various undergarments at the end of the bed. Then she stood and contemplated the girl.

  “Do you think we should have listened to him?” I asked. She knew who I meant by him.

  “Loki has gotten us out of trouble at least as often as he’s gotten us into it,” she said. “As… questionable as his methods may sometimes be. And it’s true our first few tries didn’t get us very far.”

  “Yes.” My jaw tightened as I remembered the other young women who’d slept in that bed. Who’d been in our presence for just a few days and then…

  We didn’t even know for sure what had happened to them. They hadn’t come back. That said enough right there.

  “If that trickster has ever been loyal to anyone, it’s Odin,” Freya added. “He wants to find him as much as the rest of us do. I’m sure he wouldn’t have suggested anything he suspected would hurt our cause, in any case.”

  “Point taken.” After all the time I’d spent in Loki’s presence, all the crazy exploits he’d gotten me wrapped up in over our long lifetimes, I still couldn’t say I had any idea how that bizarre but clever mind of his worked. Norns knew I hadn’t come up with any brilliant new plans on my end.

  The goddess let out a sigh. I glanced over at her, focusing for a moment on her instead of our valkyrie. On the woman I could almost call my stepmother, except that the term felt a little ridiculous when I’d already been several centuries old at the time of the new marriage. Sometimes Odin hardly felt like he could be my father. When he wasn’t there in the room with that vast presence of his, anyway.

  I should extend some kind of courtesy. As sort-of family, and, well, fellow god stranded here on the human plane. I didn’t dislike Freya. We just didn’t have a whole lot in common.

  “Are you holding up all right?” I said.

  Freya’s gaze slid to me with an amused twitch of her full lips, as if she could tell how much effort it’d taken me to pick what seemed like the best question. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. It’s not as if I’m any stranger to your father’s long rambles.”

  “It’s never been quite like this, though.”

  “No, it hasn’t.” She shook her head and turned toward the door with a huff. “I’ll get those refreshments for her, since apparently the other three in this house can’t be bothered.”

  I didn’t know what to do but stand there by the bed as I waited for Freya to come back. A furrow creased the girl’s brow. Suddenly she didn’t look so peaceful anymore. What else could I do for her that would make her feel safe when she woke up?

  I moved the pile of clothes up the bed so she’d see them the moment she opened her eyes. That didn’t seem like enough, but nothing else occurred to me.

  Freya swept back in with a glass of water and a plate with an apple and crackers. “Just something to tide her over,” she said when I raised my eyebrows. “Not everyone can eat a whole roast every hour like the insatiable Thor.”

  “I’ll have you know the most roasts I’ve ever eaten in one day is five,” I said. We wouldn’t get into how many other things I might have eaten that same day. My stomach grumbled. Maybe I’d better put something in it to hold me over until dinner.

  Freya let out a little laugh, and the girl stirred. Her lips parted with a murmured breath, her fingers curling into the pillow I’d rested her head on. The goddess and I both went still.

  “We should leave her,” Freya said under her breath. “I don’t think she’s going to be happy to see any of us quite yet.”

  And just leave the girl alone in this unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar house? My legs balked. But on the other hand, was seeing an unfamiliar person in that room really going to comfort her any?

  “All right,” I said. “But we’ve got to make sure we do right by this one.”

  “We meant to do right by all of them,” Freya muttered as we slipped out, and a lump settled in my gut that had nothing to do with hunger.

  3

  Aria

  Sunlight seeped through my eyelids. Time to wake up. I opened my eyes cautiously. My heart thudded with a sudden lurch that told me something was wrong.

  That thought dredged up a wash of memories: the strange men around me and the glimpse of the wing—the screech of tires before that, the crunch and the pain—

  None of that was here now. I tensed against the soft duvet that was cushioning my body but stayed still as I took in the room.

  Blue wallpaper with a faint leaf pattern covered the walls. A big window stood across from the foot of the bed, closed, the gauzy curtains on either side drifting in a current that must have been thanks to an air conditioning system. A sheet was wrapped loosely around me, but the air against my face was cooler than made any sense for July.

  If this even still was July. Who the hell knew with all the bizarre stuff I’d experienced in the last few hours… or days… or however long it’d been? Maybe I had gone dancing and someone had slipped me something awful that came with hallucinations?

  But I was usually pretty careful about my drinks. And it wasn’t like some wacko drug could explain what I was doing here, or where here was.

  I pushed myself slowly into a sitting position. My pulse leapt for a second at the pull of the sheet against my shoulder, but the strange weight on my back was gone. I reached behind me to feel down my shoulder blade and found nothing but my regular bare skin. A breath rushed out of me.

  Okay. So the wing, at least, has been a hallucination. Or something.

  And the jeep hitting me? The agony and the bones I could swear I’d heard cracking?

  I tested my arms and touched my ribs. Not even my skin was broken. Nothing hurt. Hell, I felt better than I did most days when I woke up, honestly.

  There was also no sign of the row of tiny scabs I’d had on my wrist from a scuffle a week ago. I studied it, frowning. Maybe I had been out of it for longer than a day or two.

  That idea made me edgy. My gaze fell on the clothes in a pile on the bed beside me. Preppy looking stuff, not what I’d have usually worn at all, but it beat going around naked. That part, and the sheet, had been real. The guys might very well be real too. Who knew when they might turn up again?

  I pulled the clothes on quickly. The silky shirt was a bit baggy, but the pants fit without falling off my narrow hips, thank God. A light rose scent wafted off of them. That wasn’t my usual style either, but I felt a hell of a lot better with that much less of my skin exposed.

  W
hat had happened to the clothes I’d been wearing when… when the jeep had hit me—or hadn’t hit me—or whatever? What had happened to the things I’d been carrying in those clothes? My heartbeat stuttered again, and this time I couldn’t find quick reassurance. I couldn’t see anything in the room that belonged to me.

  My fingers curled into my palms. My switchblade. I had to get it back. It was the only thing I had…

  You hold onto this, and you use it if you have to, Ari. For the times when I can’t be here.

  I closed my eyes against the icy jolt and forced myself to breathe deep. In and out, until I felt a little steadier.

  I’d get my knife back, and I’d deal with whoever had carted me off here. But first I needed to be prepared.

  The view out the window showed me a three-story drop and a sprawling lawn with a border of trees. I couldn’t see any neighbors, which meant it wasn’t likely anyone out there could see me, and if I tried that jump—if the window would even open—I really would break all my bones.

  Okay, so what did I have in here that I could use?

  A glass of what looked like water and a plate with a Granny Smith apple and a stack of crackers sat on the bedside table. My eyes lingered on them. A pang crept up my throat, reminding me how dry my mouth was. My stomach was too tight with tension for me to want to put any food in it, though, even if I’d trusted this stuff. The people here could have put anything in it.

  The bed’s solid oak frame didn’t offer much. Inside the matching massive wardrobe I found only more clothes, all in white and shades of gray.

  The room had two doors—one, closed, beyond the enormous oak wardrobe, and another on the other side of the bed that was halfway open, revealing white tiles and the edge of a sink. I scooted across the bed and went into the bathroom.

  My reflection in the mirror over the sink looked the same as usual. Maybe my gray eyes looked a little frantic, and the waves of my blond hair were particularly messy, but that was definitely still me: Aria Watson, twenty-two, short and scrappy and wingless.

  I turned the tap and scooped a little water into my mouth with my hand. I trusted that stuff more than what was in the glass. Then I tried the mirror. It opened to a cabinet with a couple extra bars of soap, a dented tube of toothpaste, and a silver comb.

  The comb’s pointed handle looked like it could do some damage if used right. I grabbed the thing and tucked it into my right hip pocket.

  A knock sounded on the other door, the one that must have led to the rest of the house. My shoulders stiffened. I drew the comb back out, wrapping my fingers around the teeth so I could stab with the pointy end if I needed to.

  An elegant female voice carried through the door. “Hey in there. Would you mind if I came in? I’m thinking you must be rather confused. Any questions you have, I can do my best to answer.”

  A woman, not one of the men. The same woman I’d seen with them, who hadn’t done a thing to help me? But then, maybe she hadn’t had a choice with them around. Even if she was in on this scheme with them, I’d have a better chance of getting out of here if I figured out what was going on.

  “Okay,” I said tentatively. “But I definitely want those answers before anything else.”

  As I stepped back into the bedroom, the door eased open. It was the woman from before—the tall graceful figure with a cascade of honey-brown waves who looked as if she could have walked right out of a magazine fashion spread, Photoshopping still in place. Her perfectly fitted lilac sheath dress only amplified that impression.

  She shut the door behind her and gave me a small smile that was a bit tight. Her gaze took in the comb clutched upside down in my hand, and one elegant eyebrow lifted.

  “That isn’t going to be necessary,” she said.

  “I’d like to take my time deciding that,” I said. “And I’m staying over here. You can start explaining now.”

  She practically floated to the bed and set herself down gingerly on the edge, her body turned toward me. I backed up a step, but not too close to the wall. If it came down to a fight, I needed room to maneuver.

  Not that this gal looked like much of a fighter. But you never knew. The prissy pretty ones could have cores of steel under all that polish.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “The boys really made a hash of it, didn’t they? You’d think after all the centuries they’ve lived, they’d have learned better manners.”

  All the centuries? “You’re not really making things any less confusing,” I said.

  She inclined her head. “The most important fact is this: You died, and together we summoned your essence here and reformed you. With… a somewhat different constitution than you’re used to. That’s why you feel so strange. That’s how you ended up here.”

  She stopped. I kept staring at her, waiting for her to follow that explanation up with something that sounded like part of reality, but apparently she was finished. Apparently that was supposed to explain everything.

  A guffaw jolted out of me. “You’re trying to tell me that you brought me back from the dead.”

  She looked back at me steadily. “It isn’t that difficult a thing, when you’re a god. Or a goddess, as the case may be.”

  Okay, I still didn’t know how I’d gotten here or how the car crash I’d thought had ended me factored in, but clearly I was being held by a bunch of total psychotics. They thought they were gods? That couldn’t be good. People deluded enough to think they were invincible were the most dangerous people out there.

  But if I was going to get away from them, I’d have to play along for now.

  “And what would a bunch of gods and goddesses want with me?” I asked.

  The woman opened her mouth to answer, but at the same time the bedroom door whisked open. I flinched, my hand tightening around the comb.

  The figure in the doorway was one of the men I’d seen when I’d first woken up: Slim. Still tall and lean as before, his amber eyes as bright as his light red hair. The green tunic he was wearing made his hair gleam even starker.

  He grinned at the two of us, the smirk as sharp as the angles of his handsome face, but his voice came out warm and smooth. “I don’t think you should be doing all the talking here, Freya. I know you’ll just make the rest of us look bad.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I think the rest of you did an excellent job of that with no help from me.”

  He made a scoffing sound and focused on me, with a little dip of his head that was almost a bow. “My apologies for your unsettling awakening earlier. Loki, at your service.”

  The woman’s name hadn’t quite connected, but I knew that one without even having to think. “Loki… like the Norse god who was supposed to destroy the whole world?”

  His eyes gleamed even brighter. He sure looked the part, as crazy as he might be.

  “I don’t think I can take quite that much credit,” he said. “It really was a joint effort.”

  I didn’t know whether it was the stress of the situation or the ridiculousness—well, probably both—but all at once laughter bubbled up from my chest, too fast for me to catch it. I clutched my comb-weapon and pressed my other hand over my mouth, but the giggles spilled out anyway.

  The guy who thought he was Loki looked at the woman who was supposedly Freya and said mildly, “You know, I don’t think she believes us.”

  Then he snapped his fingers, and a burst of fire leapt from his hand, wide as his head and licking all the way up to the ceiling. A waft of heat cut through the air-conditioned room to brush my face.

  I stopped laughing.

  “Nice little trick, isn’t it?” he said. With another snap of his fingers, the flames disappeared. His slender pale hand looked unmarked, but the fire had left a faint yellow-brown scorch mark on the white ceiling plaster.

  Freya glanced up at it and wrinkled her nose. “Was that really necessary?”

  “It seemed the quickest way to cut to the chase,” he said. “So what do you think, pixie? Good enough, or do you need a little
more? I could do a little shapeshifting …”

  He passed his hand in front of his face, and before my eyes his features shifted. His narrow jaw rounded, his angular features softened around the edges, and the pale red hair that had drifted over his high forehead spilled down to his shoulders in a cascade to rival Freya’s. I’d swear even his eyelashes grew. In the space of a second, a lovely if shockingly tall woman was gazing back at me.

  I blinked and blinked again. The bottom had dropped out of my stomach. This was insane. Impossible.

  But also way too real.

  The guy... who maybe was the Loki from the myths I’d read as a kid? Was I really going to go there? He waved his hand, and his face fell back into its previous sharply handsome state. “Convinced yet?” he asked me.

  “I, um…” My hold on the comb had faltered. I adjusted my grip, keeping my body rigid to stop myself from shaking. I didn’t know what was true, but I couldn’t deny whatever was going on here, it was deeply fucked up.

  I wasn’t going to get out of it unless I kept my head.

  I pulled my posture a little straighter, glancing from Loki to Freya and back again. “I still want to know why either of you would have brought me here.”

  “Well, it’s a bit of a long story,” Loki said. “The gist of it is, we needed a valkyrie, and out of all the recently deceased young women in the area at the time we put out the call, you fit the profile the best. My profile, that is. The first few, we used different criteria, but those didn’t work out all that well.”

  “A valkyrie,” I repeated. He’d said that right before that other guy had knocked me out before. When I’d seen that wing…

  The memory sent an uncomfortable shiver through my nerves.

  “Yes, you know: Odin’s champions, overseers of the battlefield, so on and so forth.” He waved vaguely. “You see, we seem to have misplaced the Allfather, and having a valkyrie on hand ought to make tracking him down much easier.”