Magpies & Moonshine (Toil and Trouble Book 6) Read online

  That slick blond man must be related to Georg, however distantly.

  Styx sees my pinched look and misunderstands, taking my hand again and squeezing reassuringly. “Bruin royalty,” he confirms. “They might bow to the Vasilisas but they’re not really a part of his house, just on its fringes. You’ll see a lot of royalty around these parts, Carly, don’t worry about it. We’re so close to the entrance of Asgaard, it’s to be expected.” He shakes his head dismissively. “Come on.”

  I follow him into the hotel, but I can’t get the man out of my head, or the way he was looking at Styx. It was like he’d seen a ghost, but that isn’t quite right either. It kind of reminded me of the way Seph looks when a bunch of hipsters walk into the T&T and she knows she’s going to sell a crap ton of premium liquor.

  Weird.

  Then Styx wraps his arm around my waist and I forget all about the snooty guy with the limo.

  6

  One bed.

  Of course there’s only one bed. No doubles left.

  Not a big deal. Or it shouldn’t be. I was hoping to be used to her presence by now, but that’s a fucking joke. As far as I can tell, the power this witch has over me is never going to wane.

  Quite the opposite, in fact.

  I’ve been proud of my restraint, not that it hasn’t faltered now and again. I touch her all the time, even though I know I shouldn’t.

  Her hands, her face, her hair. The small of her back. I can’t help myself those little indulgences, though I scarcely allow her to touch me. It’s been working. We’ve slept in the same bed many times. Gods know, I’ve fallen asleep counting the freckles on her nose.

  But that was before the kiss.

  That stupid, foolish moment of weakness that put a dangerous crack in all my shored-up defenses.

  I should have walked away ages ago, but after that bullshit with the wolves, how could I leave? Finding her in that cave, knowing how close I had come to losing her forever shook my resolve to leave.

  I know I can’t have her, but I told myself I could wait awhile, be her protector until things settled down. Conveniently, the only way to do that was to give her the illusion of a relationship. I needed Carly to let me into her life, into her bed, into her heart.

  I’ve only used that bed to watch her dream. But here we are, about to share a different bed, and the beast inside me has been shaken awake. Not fully aware yet, but stirring. Sleeping beside her before was a slow torture.

  Now it will be agony.

  I toss our bags on the comforter, then yank my eyes from the snowy-white expanse with its bright embroidery, following Carly’s progress to the small table in the corner. The room is beautiful, all gleaming pale wood with flashes of rich colors to echo those outside: forest green, fjord blue, buttercup yellow, cloud white.

  She picks up the hotel menu off the table surface, squinting as if that will help her to figure out the unfamiliar language. “You think they have room service this late? I don’t want to be a bother, but I’m so hungry.”

  She’s not the only one, a rough voice growls inside my head.

  I close my eyes briefly before crossing to her.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you something.” I snatch the menu away before she can see the English on the back, which states the kitchen closed two hours ago. “What do you want?”

  She shrugs, then yawns. “I don’t care, you know what I like.”

  Other men might find her ambiguity annoying. I don’t, because she’s right. I’ve catalogued each of her guilty indulgences with obsessive fascination. She likes Chinese food, even cold. Gnome moonshine when she’s very stressed or very happy and beer when her mood falls somewhere in between. Sammy’s Pizza with pineapple. Frozen custard. Culver’s onion rings. And wild-blueberry pancakes make her light up like the stars on the blackest of nights.

  I taught myself how to make them just to see her smile.

  I’ve no idea what is available in a Norwegian hotel kitchen after midnight that might appeal to my eccentric American witch, but I’ll find something.

  “Ward the door, sweetheart.”

  I know she listens; her rhyme tickles the back of my neck and I feel her power slide through the air. But outside in the hallway, I lift a finger and draw my own mark on the door. It’s a risky move, but I don’t expect anyone to actually lay eyes on it. As long as it lasts, the feel of that mark should be enough to make every FTC in the vicinity turn tail and run, even if they don’t know exactly why.

  It’s almost an hour before I slip back into the room, a covered plate in hand. Carly’s on the bed, and the sight of her stops me in my tracks.

  She’s curled up on her side with her back to me, wearing nothing but a black tank top and white panties. The hem of the tank has ridden up, exposing the dimples at the base of her spine. Her ass is curved and round and the shadow between her thighs makes my breath come short. Her panties have strawberries on them.

  The back of my neck goes hot and prickly as I force myself to step all the way into the room and shut the door.

  At the sound, she smiles sleepily and sits up, pushing that thick mane of curls off her face. Her bare legs swing off the bed, dainty feet brushing the polished floor. Her toes are painted a soft pink that matches her lips and those strawberries on her panties.

  “Dinner is served.” My voice sounds strained to my own ears, but she doesn’t appear to notice, intent on the food.

  “What’s this? It looks yummy.”

  “Pannekaken. It’s a kind of rolled-up pancake with lemon curd and powdered sugar.” Or so the night-shift housekeeper I bribed to sneak into the kitchen and whip up the meal told me.

  “Mmm, they look kind of like Ana’s crepes. Thank you.” She gives me a look that makes me feel like a conquering hero instead of a monster who’s currently thinking of all the different and delicious ways he could devour her. I manage a smile, willing my hands not to shake as I pass the tray over.

  She takes a big bite, a puff of powdered sugar flying up and dusting her lips as they close over the fork, drawing the treat slowly over her tongue. Her eyes close in visceral pleasure.

  My teeth snap together as I bite back a groan.

  After she swallows, she opens her eyes and smiles at me again. “The kitchen wasn’t open, was it?”

  I brush the powdered sugar from her lips with my thumb so I can resist the urge to lick it off. “Not in the strictest sense, no.”

  “Traveling with you will have its perks, I see.” There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes that lets me know she isn’t talking about the food anymore.

  I play dumb. “You want some water?”

  “Yes, please,” she says softly.

  I get up and get her some from the tiny fridge. When I sit back down, she offers to share her food, but I don’t trust myself to eat right now. Indulging one desire could set off others. Carly doesn’t know it, but I have an insatiable appetite. For a lot of things.

  And I’ve been starving for years.

  Watching her eat is a masochistic treat. Each little flick of that pink tongue sets my teeth on edge. The movement of her throat when she swallows makes me want to nip at the soft skin there, to feel her moan against my lips as my hands wander freely . . .

  “Thanks,” she says again I don’t know how many minutes later. Her voice is hushed, but it startles me.

  I take the tray away from her and set it on the floor, pushing it away from the bed with my foot with equal parts relief and regret.

  “No problem.” I clear my throat. “You ready for—”

  It’s a sneak attack. One second she’s next to me on the bed, the next, she’s in my lap, her mouth on mine.

  I freeze. Then she winds her fingers through my hair and tugs. Just like that I’m lost. Sliding greedy hands down her spine, finding that round little ass so I can haul her right up against me. My painfully hard cock presses between her thighs and she makes a soft, wondering noise against my lips.

  Knowing she’s never felt
a man like this before makes me even harder. I barely resist the urge to grind into her, to make sure she remembers the way I feel forever and fucking ever. Some part of me retains enough control to realize that would be a very bad idea. I ease her back instead and focus on her mouth.

  She tastes like lemon and powdered sugar. Her tongue slips into my mouth first, hungrily mimicking my earlier exploration. Carly’s a quick study, from first kiss to ungodly temptress in one day. She explores my mouth with increasing abandon, rapidly pushing me over the edge.

  Before I know what’s happening, my fingers are tightening in her hair, tugging her head back so I can run my teeth over that cord in her throat that has been driving me crazy for months. I follow it down to the delicate arch of her collarbone, exploring the curve with my lips. Her breasts are in my hands, luscious and full, her nipples tight, pressing against my palms through her tank.

  Her spine bows as I squeeze, throwing her hips against mine again. The heat of her core surrounds me through the thin barrier of her panties and my jeans. My cock throbs. I slide a hand behind her, coaxing her closer, my fingertips slipping under the waistband of her panties, cupping that sweet bare ass. Her skin is silken and warm. I dip my head, seeking her nipple with my mouth. When my lips brush the fabric over one taut peak, it’s her keening whine, the sting of her nails digging into my shoulders that finally snap me out of it.

  “Enough, Carly! Fuck.”

  I lift her bodily off my lap and toss her to one side, my hands shaking as I leap from the bed and stomp to the other side of the room.

  I am way too big and badass to feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, but that’s exactly who I am. Except my white rabbit is one sexy, stubborn, redheaded witch. When I glance back at the bed, it hurts to look at her. Her lips are swollen, the skin around them pink and flushed from my stubble. Her eyes are heavy lidded, a melting pool of emerald-infused sapphire. Her nipples are outlined in the ribbed T-shirt, her tits bobbing as she tries to catch her breath. My cock throbs and my balls ache.

  You could be inside her in seconds, the beast taunts. Be inside her all night. While we take and take and take.

  Until there’s no more left to take.

  I snarl and turn away.

  “Styx?” she whispers. I snatch up the tray and mutter something about cleaning up before slamming the door on my way out.

  I’m gone all night.

  Sunrise comes early to Norway this time of year, but I barely notice the growing blush of the sun against water and sky. I keep staring out at the sea as I have been for hours. I forgot how soothing it is here, next to this endless expanse of blue. It should be easy to drown myself in the sheer vastness of it, to calm the monster inside of me, but no matter how hard I try, I remain restless and on edge. It’s not only my rapidly eroding control with Carly; being this close to Asgaard makes me twitchy.

  My people are no saints, but the gods here remind me of petulant children. Especially one of them.

  Odin.

  I’ve seen how he’s portrayed in human lore. Strong, maybe cold and a trifle cruel at times, but largely a wise and benevolent father figure. A pretty myth even the FTC world embraces. Odin has great PR.

  The reality is somewhat different.

  He’s vicious, ambitious and utterly lacking a conscience. I suppose we made him that way.

  A long time ago, there was a war between the gods and my people. The details don’t matter, but in the end, my kind, despite being the more powerful of the two factions, abandoned this corner of the universe forever rather than see it destroyed. Only one remained. I didn’t mind. In fact, I volunteered. I liked it here, in the youngest of Odin’s realms.

  I was known by another name and form back then.

  I look at the blazing horizon with a thin smile. He thinks of me as a mortal enemy, but Odin wouldn’t recognize me now. While I’m not in the least scared of him, that’s for the best.

  Others that displeased Odin in that war also went through changes, though not the physical sort.

  Hel. Gone underground, quite literally. She has been guardian of the realm I abandoned for so long it’s now known by her name, even to humans.

  And Loki. He lost his family in the war, every one of his children perishing at Odin’s hand. He seemed to accept the loss as the price of being on the losing side, but it wasn’t too long after the deaths of his children that the capricious elemental got serious about becoming a god. If you ask me, that one is just biding his time. After all, chaos is eternal.

  My lips tighten. I don’t want Carly anywhere near Asgaard and those bastards. But I can’t tell her why without giving myself away, something that would not only put her at risk, but also every other soul on this planet. Odin’s hatred runs deep, deep enough he sought to trap me eons ago. He failed, but I couldn’t take the chance that he might succeed the next time. I disappeared. I haven’t set foot in Asgaard since and I shouldn’t be this close now, disguise or not.

  Doesn’t matter, though. I turn away from the sea at last, no more calm than when I left, but there is no way I’m letting Carly go to Trolltunga without me.

  It’s a long walk back to the hotel. By the time I get to the lobby, it’s after eight. I take the stairs two at a time, my booted footsteps echoing against the walls, the hollow sound tearing at my already-frayed nerves. I shouldn’t have left her alone this long.

  When I get to our floor, I jog down the hall to open the door. The room is too quiet. Empty. Carly must have gone down to breakfast without me.

  Guilt tightens my shoulders. I spin around to head downstairs and find her, but something makes me turn back instead and head deeper inside the room.

  Two strides later, I see it.

  Her vibrant red backpack is lying behind the bed, as if someone knocked it to the floor. Items are scattered everywhere, her brush, some scrollwork, a fancy bottle of perfume. Her phone. I pick it up, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach. She probably knocked it over in the middle of repacking for the day and left the mess to be dealt with when she got back from breakfast.

  Except that doesn’t feel right.

  Carly may be your typical absentminded creative type, but she’s a tidy one. Even pissed off and hurt, she wouldn’t leave her stuff like this. I look around one more time and my gaze catches something on the wall. My heart grinds to a halt in my chest. I squat down to look closer. Three minute drops of blood glisten above the baseboard, below a slight dent in the plaster.

  In that instant, my mind sees it all.

  Carly bent over the bed, shoving things in her backpack, worried about me, probably starting to get mad, wondering if she’s going to have to head up the mountain at Trolltunga alone. Someone coming up behind her, easing through the door I left unlocked, my symbol on the wall drained of power by the long hours of the night.

  She doesn’t notice, because she’s somewhere between sad and pissed, her eyes shining with tears instead of the desire I saw in them last. Distracted by my continued absence.

  The attacker grabs her shoulders and swings her face-first into the wall. Her head strikes it, making that dent in the plaster, blood flying from her mouth or nose before she slumps to the carpet, her limp hand dragging over the bedspread, spilling the contents of the backpack over the floor.

  I sit there, staring at the blood of the woman I love. The woman I’ve neglected and kept at arm’s length all so she wouldn’t get hurt.

  Well, she’s hurt now, and someone is going to fucking pay.

  The growl builds in my throat until the walls begin to vibrate with the force of it, louder and louder until the glass in the windowpane bows outward, shattering as a roar finally bursts from my lips.

  I don’t know who took her, but they’re already dead.

  They just don’t know it yet.

  7

  I don’t know where I am. My head aches and my arms burn. I know the reason for the headache, because I remember being slammed into the wall, but the pain in my arms is a puzzle. Then the
chains rattle and my eyes snap open.

  My hands are stretched high above my throbbing head, my bare feet barely touching the cold stone of what might be a cavern.

  It’s hard to make anything out. Either my vision is fuzzy or the shadows are too thick. Or something else entirely.

  Because considering I’m trussed up like an extra for some nasty scene in the Red Keep, with my head throbbing and blood dripping in my eye, you’d think I’d feel scared, or at least a little nervous. But I don’t.

  In fact, I feel giddy, like me and the world have an inside joke, if only I could remember what it is. Just one thing bothers me, but it’s so faint I can’t put my finger on it. Oh, I’ve got it! Someone should be here, but they’re not.

  I wish I could remember who.

  A giggle rises in my throat, but it can’t get through the tape on my mouth. So using my rhyme is out, even if I could remember it. It’s a counting one.

  One, two, Freddy’s coming for you.

  No, that’s not it, dammit. Something about birds. Magpies.

  Magpies are a symbol of death. That thought brings a tightening in my stomach, low down and cold, but it can’t gain any ground over the happy-go-lucky trip of my heart.

  “I see you’re awake.”

  I’m not sure if the man walked into the room this second or he’s been there all along, but as he steps forward I recognize him at once. The man from the hotel, the one who was watching Styx and I. His voice matches his appearance: refined, cultured and supremely arrogant.

  He reaches for my face, then draws his hand back, giving me a stern look that makes me giggle again.

  “I want to talk to you, so I’m going to take the tape off, but I’ll warn you first. I had a sprite cast a spell on you while you were asleep. Trying to use your magic would be a bad idea, for both of us. Do you understand, witch?”