He was right, damn it. I paused and considered his argument. Should I leave Thorin to fight mostly on his own or abandon Skyla and ignore this opportunity to destroy the wolf? Had I ever been stuck between a bigger rock and a tighter hard place? “Baldur’s holding it together now that Nina is helping him. Your brother, as we both know, needs no help. He’ll fight Helen’s army as long as it takes. There’s one key to winning this war, and it’s at the Aerie. You can be the one to end it.”

Light flickered in Grim’s eyes. Appealing to his ego had weakened his resolve, it seemed. He licked his lips, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “There’s also a very good chance Skoll could kill you, and we lose everything.”

I shook my head. “Never. I won’t let him.” I poked Grim’s chest again. “You won’t let him.” He wavered again, so I went in for the kill. “You want to be the hero in this story, Grim? Well, now’s your chance.”

He growled and lunged for me. Had he decided to kill me right then and there—go back on his word and save everyone a mountain of trouble? I reached for my fire as he latched onto my shoulders, jerked me against his side, and swore in my ear as it popped from pressure change, a sure sign we were entering the æther.

“Damn it, Solina,” he said as the whirlwind of interdimensional travel surrounded us. “You’d better hope you know what you’re doing.”

Grim and I dropped to the ground in the Aerie’s front yard. The old mission-style home perched on the cliffside above the Pacific Ocean, and a thick cloak of mist shrouded its blue-gray waters. A cold breeze stirred the air, intensifying the smell of salt spray and seaweed, but it was a paler, weaker sister of the storm we’d left at New Breidablick. Still, after Grim and I parted, I shivered and rubbed my arms. Our brief contact had given me insight into Grim’s thoughts and memories that chilled me more than any storm ever could. When Thorin said Grim had lost more than him at Ragnarok, he had downplayed the worst of it.

Images of bodies—broken and burned children, dead women, dead animals, crumbled and blackened and incinerated things—had filled my head. Breathless and close to retching, I shoved the visions away and stiffened my spine. Grim kept his back to me as he surveyed the landscape, searching for Embla or Skyla, but only the eerie cry of seagulls welcomed us.

If I was immortal, if the hurt could go on forever... It was what I had said to Val, understanding that an eternity of pain could drive one to extremes. If I could find empathy for Val, could I do the same for Grim, even though he had tried to kill me not so long ago? Time will tell. His actions today will go a long way toward redeeming him. Or not.

I fingered the gold chain around my neck—Mjölnir’s lanyard. With it, Thorin could track me anywhere. Grim and I had left Lake Tahoe without explaining our departure. Thorin would find me if I didn’t return to New Breidablick soon, and he would surely be pissed when he did. I’d take his wrath though. It was an acceptable price for saving Skyla. I’ll take Thorin’s anger because he has to be alive to be pissed off at me. I’ll take anything from him, so long as he’s alive and well when this is over.

“I don’t like this.” I observed the stillness and silence.

Grim huffed. “Neither do I.”

We could separate and cover more ground, but anyone who had ever seen a thriller or a horror movie knew splitting up meant certain death. Despite my aversion for him and the horrible things inside his head, I grabbed Grim’s shirt sleeve, careful not to touch his skin. “No matter what, we stick together.”

He thinned his lips, and his nostrils flared. “Obviously.”

I started forward, and he fell into step beside me, heading for the Aerie’s front door. I jiggled the handle, and the door opened, swinging on silent hinges. No creepy horror house screech—the Valkyries kept their home well maintained. Our footsteps echoed through the foyer as we crept inside. The interior smelled musty, as if no one had opened a door or window in a while, but a lingering undercurrent of smoke perfumed the air. The ghost of the Aerie’s fire would haunt the house for a long time.

“I guess you and Tori were right,” I said as we tiptoed through the dim interior. A watery, late-afternoon sun provided enough light for us to make our way, and we kept our heads on a swivel as we eased into the kitchen.

“Right about what?”

“There being a traitor within the Valkyries.”

“Of course I was right.”

“But you didn’t know it was Embla?”

He shook his head. “I thought it was all of them.”

A chill swirled through my gut. “I hope you’re wrong.”

He stopped so suddenly I nearly face-planted into his back. Wearing a grimace, he peered down at me. “If the bird was telling the truth, we only have Embla to worry about.” He turned around and started forward again toward the rear of the house. “One woman is no threat to me.”

“You think I’m not a threat?” I nearly growled.

Wisely, Grim refrained from answering.

“Embla is Baldur and Nina’s daughter,” I said. “She’s a direct descendent. Doesn’t that make her as much Aesir as you or your brother?”

We wandered into the Valkyries’ vacant living room and paused. “Embla has never trodden on Asgardian soil, breathed its air, ingested its nutrients, bathed in its sunlight.” Grim tossed me a smug smile as he said the word sunlight. “She’s too much of this world. She’s too human.”

His statement stirred an uneasy feeling in me. I had walked through Asgard, had breathed its air, had eaten Idun’s apples, and, arguably, was the physical embodiment of Asgard’s sun. Still haven’t figured out how that one works yet...

What did that mean for me? Had I changed somehow—more than I already had?

“Not so human if she’s working runes to keep Hugin and Munin out of her head.”

Grim had no reply other than a shrug. After making quick work of searching the rest of the house and finding nothing more than shadows and dust, we eased out the back door and surveyed the rear of the Aerie. A short, stubbly lawn dropped off at the edge of a cliff descending several dozen feet into the Pacific. Clearing the main house left us few other places to search.

I pointed toward the outbuilding housing the Valkyries’ School of How to Be a Badass. “Maybe they’re in the training barn.”

Grim shrugged and motioned for me to take the lead. As I stepped forward, a shout rose through the mists below us. A broken, strangled voice cried out. He looked at me, and our gazes locked.

“The beach,” we said in unison.

Grim drew his sword and darted forward, heading for the path winding down to the rocky shore, and I raced after him. As we descended into the fog, a faint memory rattled in its storage box in the back of my mind. I grabbed his sleeve and tugged. “Wait. There’s something...” I furrowed my brow and worked the lock on my memory box.

“There’s no time—” he started, but I yanked his arm again and cut him off.

“Yes there is. This is dèjá vu...” I gasped as understanding hit me. “No. It’s a premonition. I had a vision—Thorin, stabbed through the heart with Odin’s spear on that beach. There was fog like this. The wolf was there. He attacked me.”

Grim drew back and gave me a wary look. “Odin’s spear?” He shook his head. “No way. I’ve been looking for it for centuries.”

“My visions never lie.”

“Thorin’s not here, so what are you worried about?” Grim twisted free from my grip and worked his way down the precarious path until it leveled out on a stony beach enrobed in thick, oily fog.

Unsatisfied with his response, I followed close behind and explained my concerns. “I had the vision the first time we all came to the Aerie. I thought I had prevented it coming true by sending Thorin away. I thought that was the end of it, when we left the Aerie, but I saw the tail end of that dream again when I was in the Norns’ well.”

Grim stumbled to an abrupt halt. He looked at me over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. “You were in the Norns’ well?”

I flapped a hand, tossing aside his question. “Long story. But trust me, it happened. I saw Thorin bleeding out on the beach, and the spear was in his chest.” In my mind’s eye, I zoomed in on the image. A man lay prone and unmoving, awash in blood and sea foam. Blank, empty eyes stared from a familiar face that looked so much like the one glaring at me that same moment. I gasped and blinked at Grim. “You and Thorin look a lot alike, sometimes.”

He raised his shoulder and dropped it. “So?”

Before I could express my concerns, a sharp thwak—half mechanical, half musical strum like a guitar string—echoed through the fog. Without thinking, without considering the danger or my own mortality, I flung myself at Grim and tackled him. My attack surprised him, and he lost his balance as well as his grip on the fire sword.

As we tumbled down, a hoarse, raw scream clawed from Grim’s throat.

“Shit.” I grunted and rolled away from him.

He lay beside me, his face crumpled in an expression of agony. He bared his teeth and groaned. A short shaft protruded from his shoulder, and the weapon’s point had buried itself deep in his deltoid. But a deltoid wound was not lethal. At least, I didn’t think so.

Grim cracked an eyelid and peered at me through a dim slit.

“You believe me now?” Spitting hair and grit from my mouth, I rose to my feet only to wind up flat on my face again, inhaling more sand and salt. A hundred-plus pounds of claws, teeth, and fur strained my ribs and ripped at my spine. As I screamed, fire bloomed over me, intense and bright. I inhaled, screamed again, and called my flames higher, hotter.