Ragnarök Rising Read online

“Fine. Hold his head still while I shoe his hind hooves then,” Grim said. Despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm at my presence as he disappeared into the stall, I was thankful he didn’t join in with his brothers’ teasing. “You two, get that bleating ball of wool out of my stables. Draugr hates it.”

  I turned my back on Saga and Bjarni just as Saga lifted Slagathor off his shoulders and slung her across Bjarni’s. “Go shear her before she manages to kick anyone’s ribs loose. I’ll make sure Grim doesn’t scare our pretty guest off in the meantime.”

  Bjarni muttered something that sounded an awful lot like a curse, but his heavy footfall disappeared out the stables, followed by Slagathor’s furious bleating.

  I ignored them both, and the goosebumps spreading down my back when Saga’s stare returned to my ass, and instead focused my attention on Draugr.

  “Hello, pretty boy,” I cooed, grabbing his harness with one hand so I still had one free to pet his muzzle. I hadn’t been around horses much since I started my postgrad, my academic schedule not leaving much time to a life outside the university. Once upon a time I’d been an eager rider, and the beautiful Icelandic horses were not a small part of why I’d been looking forward to visiting.

  I inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh smell of horse and hay—but wrinkled my nose when the scent of alpha hit. No matter how hard I tried to ignore them, it was impossible to escape the Lokisson sons’ presence permeating every inch of the compound.

  “There,” Grim said, lowering Draugr’s hind hoof. “He is ready to return to his friends now.”

  “I can lead him,” I said when he reached for the reins. Too late, I realized that Grim was reaching for them too, and our fingertips brushed against each other.

  His skin was so cold it chilled my skin, a sharp contrast to his brothers’ alpha heat. Icy tendrils traveled up my arm, making my heart stutter in my chest.

  He stared at me, capturing me with those mismatched eyes as effectively as a snake charmer.

  Once when I was much younger, I’d fallen through some thin ice. The water took my breath away, slicing through me, into my bones like a thousand knives. For a moment, my heart had stopped beating altogether. My dad was quick to pull me out, but I was sure I’d never be warm again.

  Touching Grim, and the way he looked at me when I did, made me feel exactly the same—as if I were being suffocated by my body’s inability to draw in breath from the shock of cold seizing it.

  A distant image echoed through my mind, a glimmer from the dream I’d had of him. He’d stood over me, face twisted in rage. Hatred burning in his gaze.

  I gasped and stumbled back a step, but Grim didn’t stare at me with violent rage in the real world, just silent disapproval as if my mere presence were an affront to him in some way.

  Grim narrowed his eyes slightly at me. “Draugr is not for you to handle. He will only follow me.”

  He took the reins without another word, shoulder-checking Saga on his way out the gate.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Saga said lightly, as if he hadn’t noticed the tension in the stables. “He’s always a bit of a prick, especially when it comes to his precious horses. Come, let’s see if he’ll be able to get his head out of his ass long enough to find you a gentle one to ride.”

  We followed Grim out to the pen where the other horses were. It was an open, massive space, save for the fencing around the perimeter, and teeming with fine examples of the Icelandic horse breeds. They’d shed their winter coats and were all the sleeker for it, meandering about in a kaleidoscope of gray, blond, white, and russet shades.

  I came right up to the fence, standing on its lowest cross section as Grim slipped Draugr free of his harness and lead. Then he opened the gate and ushered him in, locking it up once he was finished.

  Draugr trotted out to meet his friends, shaking his mane and pawing at the dirt to test his new shoes. A pale mare and her dapple-gray foal glanced up at him, ears twitching. It struck me that every horse in here was much bigger than typical for the breed.

  Just like Saga’s truck. And their house.

  “What do you use them for?” I said as Grim returned from the gate. There were so many, clearly they weren’t just work horses for the farm.

  “We sell them to others, mostly.” He was winding the leather lead around his palm and between his fingers. “For competition riding or leisure. Sheep herding, of course. We would have used one to fetch Slagathor, if Bjarni hadn’t insisted it impugned his honor.”

  Saga arched a sardonic brow. “Aren’t you going to tell her the other reason, brother?”

  Grim shrugged. “You told me not to upset her.”

  I climbed down off the fence, a sinking feeling settling in my gut. “It’s not for glue, is it?”

  “No,” Saga said. “It’s for eating. Horse meat is considered a delicacy. Though the leftovers do end up at the glue factory.”

  I winced. It wasn’t like I was so soft I couldn’t handle knowing, but the thought still hurt my heart, especially as I watched the little foal trot over to the water trough with its mother. Neither of them were likely to be on the chopping block; the mare was still in her prime, and since they’d bred her, the foal had to belong to a buyer. And surely that buyer would purchase an adult horse to butcher, not a baby.

  Right?

  “Um… could we take some out? To ride?” I asked, wanting desperately to take my mind off the grim reality of farm life.

  Grim sighed and headed back to the pen. When he returned, he was leading a docile-looking chestnut mare. She had gentle eyes underneath a thick forelock and nickered softly as he tied her to the fence.

  “I can groom her,” I offered, some of my gloom already disappearing at the prospect of running my fingers through her heavy mane.

  “No.” Grim didn’t so much as look at me as he turned around and disappeared back into the stables.

  “Is he always like this?” I muttered.

  Saga chuckled. “More or less. Don’t worry, sweetling. I am very happy you’re here. And I’ll keep my brother in check.”

  I drew in a deep breath when he slipped an arm around me. He was pleasantly warm against my stiff body, a sharp contrast to both Grim and the Arctic air, but the intimacy of the gesture unsettled me nearly as much as his brother’s mismatched eyes. The lungful of alpha scent I got when I breathed in didn’t help ease the churn in my abdomen, either.

  I squirmed out of his grip, and he let me, though when I shot him a glare for—yet again—grabbing me like we were in any way intimate, the amused challenge in his eyes had trepidation rising in my throat. Clearly, he wasn’t planning on relenting with this little game anytime soon.

  A touch of relief flickering through my chest when Grim returned, grooming tools, bridle, and saddle in arms. As much as the dark-haired brother unsettled me, I vastly preferred his presence rather than being alone with Saga for any stretch of time.

  I looked away from the two brothers, studying the landscape as Grim began grooming the chestnut mare. It was so beautiful here, even if the rugged nature of the terrain had a haunting quality, too. The dark clouds gathering behind the hills surrounding the farm were eerie in their majesty.

  Movement on a nearby ridge caught my eye, and I frowned when I caught sight of a hunched-down figure. At first, I thought it might be Bjarni, but then the wind picked up, tossing the man’s fire-red hair into the open.

  I looked over my shoulder at the two Lokisson brothers. “Do you have any farmhands around?” It would make sense, considering the size of the farm, but I hadn’t seen anyone but the three brothers so far.

  “No, why?” Saga raised his eyebrows in question at me, and I turned back to the ridge to point out the man watching us. But he was gone.

  In his place, a dark shadow stretched along the grass, creeping down the hill toward the Lokisson farm. It was so dark and menacing every hair on my body rose at the sight, and it took me a moment to realize it was the cloud casting its shadow on the ground as it rolled
over landscape.

  “That doesn’t look good,” Saga said, and despite his light tone I noticed the serious note in his voice. “I think we best get inside.”

  A few of the horses whinnied, gathering in clumps near the gate. A cool wind cut through the air, hitting my cheeks like a slap, and over its howl Grim said, “It’s starting. You go—I’ll settle the horses.”

  “What’s starting?” I asked, frowning at the clouds as the wind picked up, penetrating my clothes like knives made of ice. Without meaning to, I stepped back toward Saga, seeking out his warmth to combat the chill already sinking into my bones.

  “The storm,” Saga said, easing his arm around my midriff again. This time I let it stay there. It felt good—like a warm anchor ensuring I wouldn’t be torn to shreds by the freezing winds now tumbling off the hills. “Come—it’s going to snow any second. Trust me, you don’t want to be outside when it starts.”

  I followed when he tugged on me to get me to follow him, away from the horse pen and Grim toward the safety of the house. “You guys get bad blizzards this late in the spring?”

  “Not usually,” he admitted at a rumble, “though stranger things have happened.”

  It was such a clear day. “Where did these clouds come from?” I said, grimacing as an unexpected cramp pulled at my abdomen. Not this again. I did not want to get sick in the middle of a blizzard, this far from civilization and the nearest doctor.

  But it eased when Saga pressed a hand firmly against my lower stomach, engulfing it in warmth. “Precipitation. What do they teach you in American schools?”

  My gratitude died somewhat at his mocking, and I shot him a glare for good measure. He didn’t look down at me so he didn’t notice, but that insufferable smirk was back on his lips.

  Even if my random cramps turned out to be nothing more than the early onset of my period, I still didn’t look forward to the risk of getting snowed in on the farm with three alphas.

  Hopefully their parents would make it back before the conditions became too dangerous to travel in.

  The wind nipped at my nape, and I glanced over my shoulder at the ridge one last time. The redheaded figure was back. He was watching us as we neared the pond by the main house. I blinked, trying to clear my eyes to get a better view of him, but when I opened them again he was gone, leaving only the stinging kiss of the wind on my cheek.

  4

  Annabel

  “Father called,” Saga said on his way back from the kitchen where the Lokissons kept their landline. “They won’t be able to make it back while the storm’s raging.”

  I glanced up at him from where I’d curled up on the couch after dinner, a thick woolen blanket around me. Bjarni, surprisingly an avid home cook, had produced enough food to feed an army and insisted I finish two full plates before he let me leave the table. I’d been digesting for the past two and a half hours.

  “I didn’t hear the phone ring,” I said, the weirdly formal way Saga talked about his dad pulling me somewhat out of my food coma. That, and the prospect of being all alone with the three brothers overnight. A sliver of unease made its way past my sleepy contentment. The snow must have been several inches deep outside by now, the fierce mountain wind tapping on the sliding glass doors like an unwelcome friend seeking entry. Bjarni had lit the fireplace some time ago, but the howl of the storm made me shiver despite the warmth of the flames and the thick blanket cocooning me.

  Saga didn’t answer, and the sense of unease tingling at the base of my spine built.

  “How long does this sort of weather usually last?” I asked as he sat down at the other end of the sofa, cool gray eyes locked on me as I fidgeted under the blanket.

  “Usually we don’t have snowstorms this late in the spring.” The non-answer didn’t come from Saga, and I jolted when I realized Grim was in the room. I twisted around to see he was standing by the big windows overlooking the fish pond. He had his back turned to the nook where I was curled up, seemingly lost in thought as he watched the snow tumbling down. His arms were folded across the wide expanse of his chest. The muscles beneath were so tightly wound I was worried the cords in his neck would snap.

  “Usually it takes a couple of days tops, if it’s a bad one,” Saga offered, flashing me an easy smile. “Don’t mind him—we’re far enough north that the weather’s always a bit unpredictable. You’re perfectly safe, sweetling.”

  A couple of days. Alone, with the Lokissons. I rubbed my hands along my thighs underneath the blanket, trying to ease the tingle of awareness in my skin.

  “Are you feeling all right, Annabel? You look flushed.” For once, Saga didn’t smirk at me, but his darkened gaze unsettled me. His pupils seemed larger than normal, something about the way he tried to suppress rolling his shoulder as he looked at me setting me on edge.

  “I’m fine,” I rasped, coughing to clear my throat as I fidgeted under his stare. “Just jetlagged.”

  Bjarni chose that moment to push open the door from the kitchen. He was like a breath of fresh air, dispersing the beginning tension in the room with his broad smile and a waft of chocolate following him. He had two large mugs of hot cocoa in his hands.

  “Nothing like storm cocoa, hmm, sweetie?” His frosty eyes sparkling as he offered me a steaming mug, handle first. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “Thank you.” I forced a smile when he sat down right next to me, not in the least worried about such concepts as personal space.

  “No cocoa for me, brother?” Saga’s tone was sardonic as he watched Bjarni slip underneath my blanket as if I’d invited him and casually slung an arm over the back of the sofa behind me.

  “You know where the kitchen is,” Bjarni rumbled, without bothering to look in his direction.

  I stiffened at the alpha’s uninvited closeness, but the bear of a man didn’t try to touch me this time. He just leaned back by my side, stretching his long legs out on the wide chaise longue and blew into his mug.

  I guess so long as he didn’t start sniffing me again... I shot him a cautious side-glance before I looked into my own mug. At least two dozen tiny marshmallows bobbed on the surface of the sea of hot cocoa.

  My forced smile softened.

  Out of the three alphas, Bjarni made me feel the most at ease. Though earlier he’d practically mauled me in the stables, his demeanor was neither mocking like Saga’s nor cold and scary like Grim’s. His powerful build and the masculine scent that clung to him was all alpha, but there was an affability to him, an irreverence, as well as a consideration that bordered on tenderness.

  “Thank you,” I said again.

  He winked at me over the rim of his mug with a smile that made the heat from the mug warming my hands travel to my abdomen, easing the tension there just a little.

  We sat in comfortable quietude for a while, the roar of the storm as it beat against the windows and howled down through the chimney. I sipped my cocoa and, at first, relished the warmth it spread through my body. But soon, the heat from it, as well as the fire and my woolen blanket became too much. I kicked off the blanket and rubbed the back of a hand over my forehead. It felt warm and damp against my dry hands.

  “Is the temperature heating up again?” I asked, casting a look out the dark windows where Grim was still standing like a sentinel with his back turned. Despite the darkness outside it was impossible to miss the flurries of snow beating against the large panes of glass.

  “It won’t be warm again for a very long time,” Grim said, voice dark and solemn. Despite my rising body temperature, a chill traveled up my spine at the sound of it. The third Lokisson affected me in ways I didn’t understand. It wasn’t in the same way as his two brothers, though he was certainly every bit the rugged alpha they were. He didn’t set me on edge because I thought he might get too handsy if I didn’t stay on guard—far from it. No, it was that every time I was in his presence, that persistent sense of déjà vu set in, coupled with a dark sense of foreboding. A coldness, gripping my gut in a tight squeeze.
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  “You all right?” Bjarni asked, an eyebrow cocked as he looked at me.

  I touched my mug-free hand to my face, finding it scalding to the touch. But my mind wasn’t hazed or feverish, If anything, I felt… alert.

  I was definitely coming down with something. “I… think I need some water,” I mumbled, pushing out from our shared blanket to set the mug down.

  The three of them looked at me then, even Grim, and there was a matching darkness in all their gazes I didn’t understand.

  They watched me stumble toward the kitchen in silence. I pushed through the door and headed for the sink. The moment I reached it, the room spun. I grimaced and closed my eyes to stop it. When I opened them again, Bjarni and Saga were on each side of me. I hadn’t even heard them move.

  “You need to lie down, Annabel,” Saga said, the words rough on his soft lips.

  “Let us take you to your room,” Bjarni agreed. Even his deep voice was pitched lower than normal. He wrapped a strong hand gently but firmly around my upper arm, anchoring me like a tether made of cast iron.

  “No, that’s fine, I can make it there on my own,” I said, swallowing thickly as my pulse sped up. Something about their presence, from the rumble in their voices to their flared nostrils and their invasion of my personal space set me on edge. But despite that, and the nagging discomfort of instincts stirred from the close proximity of two alphas, part of me… wanted them to move in closer. My abdomen cramped, ligaments pulling tightly.

  I bit down on a pained groan and shook Bjarni off so I could reach for a glass. I filled it with shaking hands and downed its content in three deep gulps.

  When I turned back around from the sink, both Bjarni and Saga had taut expressions on their faces, hackles raised as though they planned to move in, to force me back until I hit the refrigerator. For the briefest moment, I imagined what a rough alpha like Saga would do to me if I let myself get caught in a vulnerable position. I could almost feel the cool nip of the fridge door cracking open at his behest, only for him to slam it shut again, my hair caught in the jamb to ensure I couldn’t move—that my throat was bared to him as he leaned down close to my ear and snarled.