He nodded. “It’s the only safe place I can think of right now.”

“What about the Valkyries?”

“They can fend for themselves.”

“How do I get to New Breidablick from here?” I had only made the trek via Thorin’s magical means, and while I knew Lake Tahoe’s general direction, getting there required a more specific knowledge of highway navigation.

He fiddled with the GPS system. A pleasant English lady’s voice instructed me to travel north on Las Vegas boulevard. He slumped against his window and closed his eyes.

“Promise me you’re not about to die over there.”

“You worried about me, Sunshine? Takes more than a couple bullets to put me out of my misery.”

I wheeled us out of the parking lot and followed the hotel drive to the main drag. The lady in the GPS reminded me which way to turn. I checked my rearview for signs of pursuit but saw nothing beyond the ordinary.

“You lost a lot of blood,” I said. He needed rest, maybe sleep, if not total oblivion. I also desperately wanted to clean him up and feed him something. Whether he usually ate or not, losing that much blood, even for an immortal, had to be rough on the system.

“Didn’t say I felt particularly chipper,” he said, “but I promise not to die.”

After retrieving his cell phone from Thorin’s pocket, I used it to call Skyla. Despite Thorin’s demands that she stay in contact, the call went directly to her voicemail. I left her a message telling her what to expect if and when she and the Valkyries returned to the hotel. “Tell Embla to warm up her runes. She’s going to need them if she’s going to clean up that disaster.”

I drove north from Vegas until the car lights in front of me blurred. My eyelids had gained so much weight I could barely hold them open anymore. Just over the Utah border, in the town of St. George, I pulled over at a decent-looking motel and reserved a room.

“Zombie movie extra,” I told the motel clerk as he eyed my bloody clothing.

He shrugged, swiped Thorin’s credit card, and passed me the receipt to sign. He handed me a set of key cards and motioned in our room’s general direction, all without uttering more than four or five words.

“Why are we stopping?” Thorin grumbled when I opened his door to help him out.

“I can’t hold my eyes open anymore. We need sleep and food, and I want to clean you up and make sure the bleeding has stopped.”

“You want to get me out of my clothes?” He grinned.

I slapped his unwounded shoulder. “Blood loss makes you loopy. No more talking until you feel better.”

After opening the door and flicking on a light, I pushed him into the room and shut the door behind us. After turning the deadbolt, I flipped the swing latch into place. Not that it would keep out mythological beasts, but we had seen that even mundane intruders could prove problematic, and an extra lock might buy us some time. Also, habits.

“Get in the shower. I’m going to run out and get some food.” I eyeballed his bloodstained shirt. “I’ll see if I can find you something clean to wear, too.”

Not waiting for his reply, I turned and started for the door. Thorin snagged my wrist and towed me back. “You don’t need to go anywhere looking like you just butchered a deer. I’ve got a bag in the rear of the truck. It has some clean clothes in it. It’ll get us by for now. Why don’t you take a shower first, and I’ll get the clothes?”

“I’m not the one who got shot. Quit being a hero, and go clean up. I’ll go get the bag.”

He nodded and released my wrist. No arguments and following my commands? This compliant side of him worried me even more than all the blood.

“Solina?”

“Yes?” I turned to look at him.

He met my stare and dropped his tough exterior. He let me see his pain and fear and something more... something I refused to name. His openness stole my breath. “I—”

I waved a hand, cutting him off. No matter what he was about to say, it would have been too much. It would have wrecked me, and I wasn’t ready to be undone by him. Not yet. Not in some cheap roadside motel halfway between Vegas and Tahoe. “Whatever it is, it can wait. We’re both worn out. Exhaustion tends to make people maudlin.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Maudlin? You?”

In reply, I rolled my eyes, unlocked the door, and ducked into the night.

When I returned a few minutes later, the hiss of spraying water told me Thorin was in the shower. I set his bag on one bed and stretched out on the other. I meant to watch TV and wait for my turn in the bathroom, but I passed out the moment my head hit the pillow.

A warm hand on my shoulder woke me. “Sunshine. You can’t sleep in bloody clothes.”

I rolled over and rubbed my eyes until my vision cleared. Thorin stood over me, wearing nothing but his jeans, his iron Járngreipr bracelets, his Memegingjörð torc, and a few tantalizing water drops. I turned away as if it would help, as if not looking at him could stop the wanting.

“Okay, yeah, thanks,” I muttered.

I dropped my feet to the floor and trained my eyes on the carpet—utilitarian, boring, safe hotel carpet. I stood and started toward the bathroom. He moved, barring my way. I must have looked like an idiot, standing there, blood crusted and stubbornly staring at the floor.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Waiting for you to look at me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re trying so damned hard not to.”

I did look at him then, irritation diluting my desire. He was perfect, lovely, golden skinned, and unbelievable. No bullet holes, no blood—only a few ancient scars that spoke of another time and another world. He took my hand and set it over his heart, over the place where I had seen a bullet explode from his chest. Warm flesh, the opposite of Amala’s.

“Not even a mark?”

He shook his head. “I’m perfectly whole and still very much alive.”

“One of those men carved something in your chest with a knife. After you’d been shot. Twice.”

He shrugged. “I vaguely remember that.”

“But you don’t know what he was doing?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? My wounds are healed.”

“It’s good to be you, isn’t it?”

He pulled my hand away from his heart and pressed his lips to the heel of my palm. I gasped and tried to wrench myself free, but he wouldn’t allow it. “I’m trying to say, ‘Thank you.’”

“I-I owed you one,” I stuttered. My mouth had gone dry.

“Can’t you just say, ‘you’re welcome’?”

“Would you have been all right if I had left? Would you have recovered on your own anyway?”