Thorin snorted. “There’s no one left who would care if any hurt was done to me.”
“I would be hurt,” Baldur said.
I would be hurt, too, I didn’t say although it was true.
Thorin gestured to Baldur. “Anyone who wanted to take revenge on you vicariously, through someone else, would just take it out on Nina. Not me.”
“Then it looks like you’ll have to wait to find out what this is about until tomorrow,” I said. “Because we’re not going to figure it out on our own.”
“So, in the meantime, we sit and wait?” Baldur stuck out his bottom lip like a petulant child. “I hate that plan. I could put his name out to my network, see what comes up.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said, “and we probably should have done that a while back. Now, it’s probably too late. We don’t have much time.”
Baldur lowered his gaze and shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “It’s my fault for not taking his potential threat more seriously.”
“Then I’m equally as guilty,” Thorin said. “I underestimated him.”
“It’s too late for playing the blame game.” I shook off my blanket. “Let’s find something better to do with our time than play the Shoulda Coulda game.” After rising to my feet, I turned off my internal radiator, spread my stance wide, and bounced on the balls of my feet. “C’mon, Lord of the Rain Dance.” I rolled my hand in a come-hither gesture. “Let’s see what you got.”
Thorin smirked. “What are you doing?”
“Asking you to dance. What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re asking for a butt kicking.”
I rolled my head, stretching my neck until several vertebrae popped. “Let’s see how you do without your hammer, Holy Thunder.”
Baldur whooped.
Thorin narrowed his eyes at me, but a smile played on his lips. “Holy Thunder?”
“It’ll be your professional wrestling name. Or how ’bout Wonder of Thunder?”
“I like that one,” Baldur said. “It rhymes.”
In a flash too fast to see, Thorin left the couch, tripped me, and dropped me to the floor.
I wheezed until my breathing found its pace again. No harm done. Thorin had been gentle in his assault, and I had sort of asked for it. “Rolf moves fast like you do.” I rolled over to my knees and pushed myself onto my feet.
Thorin paced a circle around me, a stalking tiger. “You want me to slow down, Sunshine? Make myself a better match for you?”
“This isn’t about fighting me.” I sought my fire again. Subtle flames filled my palm, but I held them low, at my side. Thorin continued his orbit, seemingly unaware I had armed myself. “This is about you fighting another immortal—someone a lot more like you than I am.”
“How do you know he’s immortal?” Thorin asked.
“Call it an educated guess.”
“You said you fought him before. How did you overcome him?”
“Smoke and mirrors.”
Thorin came to a stop in front of me. “What does that mean?”
I lunged and threw a regular punch at Thorin’s jaw. When he leaned away from it, I brought up my fireball and swung for his chin, but my handful of flames burned only the empty space where Thorin had stood an instant before. Good thing that’s not my only magic trick. When Thorin reappeared behind me, I was already turning for him.
He struck out, an open-handed blow at my ribs. He pulled his punches for me, in consideration of my fragile, human body—I had learned that while fighting him at the Aerie. Instead of dodging or blocking the hit, I stepped into it. Softened or not, his strike drove the breath from my lungs and weakened my knees. But the maneuver had served its purpose, and the shock on Thorin’s face temporarily dulled my discomfort.
Taking advantage of his stunned state, I rammed a fiery uppercut into his jaw. His head snapped back. I kicked his knee, and he crumpled into a kneeling position. I am a generous god. I require only that you kneel. Mwa ha ha!
Thorin recovered and stumbled back, rubbing his jaw and staring at me as if I had sprouted a second head.
“And that, good sir, is the fine art of misdirection,” I said, still breathless from the effects of his punch. “That’s how I fought Rolf.”
“You took a punch?” he asked, incredulous.
“No. I surprise-attacked him with pepper spray. The point is, improvisation is key. If you can’t win by skill or might, do the unexpected.”
“Who taught you that?”
“A police officer in San Diego.” When Thorin opened his mouth to ask about Tre, I cut him off and said, “Not relevant. Point is…” I stopped and grinned. “I got past your defenses.”
“In more ways than one,” Thorin grumbled. “But I get your point. You’ve seen that sword in action when Grim used it against you. I’ll prepare for this fight as best I can. I won’t let him take me by surprise again.”
After I threw on some clothes and another layer of insulation—a parka and snow boots—Thorin, Baldur, and I moved outside. Thorin set aside his bracelets and torc before he jogged the porch steps leading down to the front yard, and the snow came to his knees. It didn’t deter him. Without saying a thing, Baldur joined him, and the two men sparred.
Baldur and Thorin moved in a fluid style, like ocean waves battling wind. And the snow, kicking up in puffs and clouds as they skipped, lunged, kicked, and punched, created a mystical haze, insinuating magic and heightening their otherworldliness. Mostly, they moved too quickly to comprehend, but in the still moments, they epitomized the archetypes of balance, poise, and lethality. I had never seen anything quite so beautiful or so deadly.
No wonder mankind worshipped them, once upon a time.
