Baldur stepped closer to me. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair until strands poked up around his head like a prickly seedpod from a sweetgum tree. “Maybe that’s why I’ve hesitated to say anything to Skyla. I’m afraid of her rejection. I’m afraid of hurting her more with the truth: that she has a family, and we abandoned her.”
I squeezed Baldur’s shoulder. “Skyla forgave Embla for keeping her distance for so long. She’ll forgive you. Just don’t wait until it’s too late. Don’t regret the time you could have been together with no secrets between you.”
Baldur swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re right. But I should tell her face to face.”
“Sounds reasonable.” I offered a conciliatory smile. “And maybe you’ll get your chance, sooner than later.”
Baldur arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Is Skyla coming here?”
“No.” I shook my head. “We’re going to her.”
He blinked at me. “We are?”
“I spoke with her a little while ago. The Valkyries are already in Vegas, looking for leads. It’s time I stopped hiding out here. I’ve got a wolf to kill, and it’s not going to happen as long as I stay holed up in this fortress.”
Baldur frowned. “Are you sure? If it’s too soon—”
“It’s been a week.” I’d overdosed on self-pity during my stay at New Breidablick, and I didn’t need more sympathy from Baldur or anyone else. “If I learned anything from Mani’s death, it’s that there is a time to mourn and a time to dance. I’m done mourning. Val doesn’t deserve any more of my grief. Now it’s time to dance, and preferably on some graves. Skoll’s will be my first.”
Baldur’s lips curled into a cagey smile. “Thorin will be glad to hear it.”
“I don’t care what Thorin’s glad to hear.” I was still trying to figure out how I felt about the God of Thunder after learning of his participation in Loki’s torture, Narfi’s murder, and Val’s abuse. Did something that happened eons ago matter anymore? Did I have the right to judge any of them after I’d murdered Mani’s killer myself and would have done worse, given the opportunity? Did I have the right, when I was still seeking to kill Skoll and possibly Helen Locke and anyone else who threatened to harm me or those I cared about?
Baldur snorted and rolled his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, Solina. You’re the only one who believes it.”
That night, as I had for many nights since arriving at New Breidablick, I dreamed of blackbirds, thunder, and rain. Dark places, roaring rivers, and darting fish. Fire and pain. The images swirled together, never coalescing into anything sensible.
A thunderclap woke me. Because thunder rarely occurred in winter, I attributed the phenomenon to Thorin expressing some unspoken sentiment. Frustration? Anger? He’d given me lots of space for most of the week, and I had a feeling he was losing his patience with me.
I stared at the bedroom ceiling and traded my questions about Thorin’s emotional status for questions about the visions in my dreams. I’d lived much of my life with this ability to foresee and yet see nothing at all. What value was foresight without comprehension? Maybe I understood why the oracles in the legends always spoke in vague and quizzical terms. Without context, my visions had little worth.
From past experience, I’d learned the visions might become more specific over time, as I drew nearer to the event inspiring the premonitions. But that left me playing catch-up too often. Every task I had undertaken since Mani’s death had come from a reactive position rather than a proactive one. Perhaps that would be my downfall, the undoing of us all.
I needed something more from my premonitions. I had to do something more to get those answers. My visions, no matter how stilted and unreliable, were a gift—one I had squandered for far too long. Perhaps, like a muscle, my psychic skills required training and exercise. As the development of my fighting and self-defense abilities had depended on the help of experts like the Valkyries, so too would my clairvoyant tendencies. But whom did I approach for that sort of training—Zelda, the palm-reading astrologist who worked from the little purple trailer on the outskirts of my hometown? Hmm, I think not.
If my abilities were real, maybe others like me existed—others with the same source of power: runes or ancient magic or Aesir blood. I simply had to find them, somehow. But not tonight.
I rolled over and punched my pillow, searching for a comfortable position. Nearly half an hour later, though, when I still hadn’t managed to fall asleep, I slid from the bed and went in search of distraction.
Somehow, I found myself in Baldur’s kitchen, studying the contents of a refrigerator stocked with enough provisions to supply a small army. After taking a water bottle, I backed away from the fridge and ran smack into Thorin. I squealed, flinched, and dropped the bottle. Thorin snatched it before it hit the ground and presented it to me.
“Sunshine.” He bit back a grin.
My hands trembled as I took the bottle. “Thorin.”
His closeness unsettled me—his dynamic presence, his body heat, and his fragrance of storms and summer winds. His casual elegance undid me. Long hair softened his warrior frame. His T-shirt stretched across imposing shoulders. His jeans sat low on narrow hips. My attention settled on his bare toes, peeking from ragged jeans cuffs, but even that set my heart racing—God of Thunder, barefoot and relaxed, unguarded. The familiarity of his presence was too much.
I stuttered something nonsensical, an excuse, an apology, and tried to push past, but Thorin held his place. When the son of Thor refused to move, he usually got his way.
“Don’t you think you’ve avoided me long enough?”
I swallowed. “I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie.”
“It’s easier,” I blurted. Then I clamped my mouth shut before I said anything else I didn’t mean to say.
One blond eyebrow arched. “You don’t do anything the easy way, Sunshine.”
I licked my lips. Mistake. Thorin’s gaze darted to my mouth. My pulse quickened, and I imagined he could hear that, too. “What do you want?” I asked. “Are you here to give me a hard time?”
“No. I came to tell you Baldur’s guys reported in. Your parents are home, and they’re fine. There’s been no sign of trouble.”
My shoulders slumped. I sighed and blinked back a sudden welling of tears. Baldur’s men had provided regular updates, and their news had given me no reason to worry, but with Helen and Skoll still on the loose, I took nothing for granted. “That... that’s good.”
“There’s more news, though. Baldur’s network got a hit.”
I nearly dropped my water bottle again, but I snagged it and clutched my fists around it, squeezing. After he had recovered Nina, Baldur had dedicated his information network to finding Helen and the wolf, but those communication lines had been frustratingly silent. “Who did they find?”
“Your favorite incestuous nephew.”
My upper lip curled, and a silent growl rumbled in my chest. “Nate. Where is he?”
“Baldur’s people are holding him in an office in a new project that one of Helen’s companies is building. I’ve already spoken to the Valkyries. Naomi and Amala are heading over there for backup until we get there.”
I snapped into alert mode. “What are we waiting for?”
