“I was trying to stay warm. I was huddled under the poncho, thinking about me and Mani at the beach as kids.”

“Do it again,” Thorin said. “Think the same thoughts.”

I closed my eyes and slipped into the memory. Nothing happened. I tried harder. A lot more nothing happened. “I was cold, and hurt, and scared. Maybe that had something to do with it.”

“It’s not important anyway,” Skyla said. “You’re safe and alive. I’ll do my best to keep you that way.”

“Because if the wolves get me, the end of the world will come?”

“No,” Skyla said. “Because I’ve already exceeded the quota of friends I’m willing to lose in a lifetime.”

Thorin stood and seemed to fill the room. He loomed over the bed. “This has all been very thought-provoking, but I have a meeting in Anchorage today and I have to leave now if I’m going to make it on time. We will talk further about this when I return.” He turned to me. “Please make yourself at home. The refrigerator has been stocked.” With that, he strode from the room.

Skyla watched him leave and then turned to me. Unease etched lines on her face. “Here’s the kicker.”

I covered my eyes. “There’s more?”

“In the Norse pantheon, the head honcho is Odin. Sort of like Zeus with the Greeks.”

“Yeah, I know who Odin is. Well, I know more about Thor because Mani read the comics when we were kids, but I know Odin was his father.”

“Did you know Odin has multiple names, depending on what you read? He is less well known in the U.S. as Wotan.”

My stomach lurched, and acid pooled on my tongue. “Good Lord,” I said. “Val is Odin?”

Skyla rubbed her temples as if the idea gave her physical pain. “Or maybe a distant relation.”

“And what about Thorin? Are you going to tell me he really is the God of Thunder?”

“I don’t know,” Skyla said. “But believe me—we’re going to find out.”

I sipped from my coffee and rolled a mouthful around on my tongue before swallowing. “This is all utterly nuts.”

Skyla pushed herself up from the chair again. “I know.”

“How can you be so calm about it?”

Skyla exhaled a long breath. “I’ve always suspected there was more to the world—to me. This is all weird on the surface, but underneath it feels familiar.”

“I don’t feel any of that.” I shifted, waited to see if it hurt, then shifted again until my feet touched the floor. “I’ve never felt like anything but a regular person.”

“That’s a lie,” Skyla said. Her accusation surprised me, and I gaped at her. “What about your dreams? Mani told me you could know some funky weird stuff, and it usually came true.”

Skyla had a point and I didn’t want to admit it, so I changed the subject. “Help me up,” I said. “I’m tired of this bed.”

Skyla went obstinate, reverting to her protective, soldierly personality. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I pushed greasy hair out of my face and concentrated on standing. Dizziness threatened to set me on my rear. “As much as I want a shower, I’m willing to compromise with the couch. Thorin’s got to have a TV in this place. I’m sick of staring at the backs of my eyelids.”

Sympathizing, Skyla put an arm around my good shoulder. She held me steady and nodded to my bare legs. “Missing something?”

I inventoried my attire: one huge T-shirt bearing the logo of Thorin Adventure Outfitters. The T-shirt was the entirety of my wardrobe. Inventory concluded. “After you help me to the couch, your mission is to find me some pants,” I said. “I don’t even want to know how I got in this state.”

“Thorin—” Skyla began, but I signaled for her to hush.

“Like I said, I don’t want to know.”

Skyla helped me to the living room – each step sending shimmers of pain along my ribcage – and eased me down to the couch. She disappeared for a moment then returned, clutching a pair of plain, gray sweatpants. “Found these in a drawer. Will they do?”

I struggled into them. They gaped at my waist, bunched around my ankles, and obviously belonged to Thorin, but as long as I cinched the drawstring in the waistband and didn’t do a cha-cha, they would save my modesty.

Before she left, Skyla brought me my bottle of pills and a glass of water. She patted me on the head. “Get some rest, Mundy. I’ll check on you later.”

“Wait.” My heart lurched and danced a panicky beat. “Are you leaving me alone?”

She shook her head and backed toward the exit in the kitchen. “Girlfriend, I have barely left your side for the last couple of days. I’m not going to leave you now, but if I stay here, you’re going to want to talk. You don’t need to talk. You need to rest. Thorin said this apartment is locked down like Fort Knox, and I believe him. Never doubt the Boss Man. I’m just going to go hang out downstairs for a while. Joe and Hugh are down there, too. We’ll be close.”

“Are Joe and Hugh warrior princesses, too?”

Skyla turned the door knob and opened the door. She winked at me before she stepped out on the landing. “No, but they’re pretty good sidekicks.”

Chapter Sixteen

The next time I woke, I did it groggy, disoriented, and alone. Unfamiliar surroundings swam around me in a dizzy swirl before coalescing into the apartment living room above Thorin’s store. It was late. The sun had set, and the TV supplied the only illumination in the room.

My stomach rumbled. I had slept through several days of meals, unless the bottles of Ensure guzzled during my few moments of consciousness counted as meals. My hollow stomach insisted they did not. I hitched up the baggy sweats and pushed myself onto my feet. My wounds hurt far less than they had in days. If I managed to finish off a sandwich and a glass of water without incident, then I planned to add a long, hot shower to my short list of things to accomplish.

Thorin’s idea of stocking a fridge proved a lesson in gourmet staples. I dug past aged cheeses, mangoes, and avocadoes that must have cost a fortune. Sure, these foods were available in Alaska, but they came at a premium cost. And why had Thorin felt the need to spend that kind of money on me? If Thorin had known me better, he would have stocked the shelves with Spaghetti-Os and macaroni and cheese. But even if I was happy eating dollar-store dry goods, I wasn’t so proud that I would snub avocadoes and smoked Gouda. I claimed a package of shaved deli meats and a wedge of cheese and created a masterpiece. Subway, eat your heart out. I gobbled the sandwich, popped open a bottle of Perrier, and went in search of the bathroom.

Based on the utilitarian look of the apartment, I expected Thorin had installed only the most practical bathing accommodations. Instead, I found a warmly lit room, modern features, and a full-body spray system so beautiful that I might have cried a little, especially since I had to keep my stiches as dry as possible, and this shower was going to make that a difficult task.

I knew almost nothing about M. Aleksander Thorin, CEO, and he’d resisted the few personal questions I had asked him, but based on the refrigerator and the bathroom, I figured him for a man who appreciated luxury. The outdoor sporting goods and adventure business probably did all right, financially speaking, but Thorin must have possessed a portfolio more diverse than a storeroom full of expensive hiking boots and kayaks. Perhaps the other pies in which he had stuck his fingers connected to whatever was behind my brother’s murder. But how was I supposed to ask a man like him a question like that?

In the bathroom, I dropped the sweats to the floor and studied my huge T-shirt. A button-up would have better accommodated my injuries; how was I going to get the blasted thing over my head? I sucked in a breath, yanked the shirt up and off, and screeched when sharp stabs of pain rippled across my ribs and shoulders, leaving me woozy. I leaned on the edge of the sink and sucked in deep breaths until the sensation passed.

Cotton bandages covered the worst of my damaged skin. The dressings wouldn’t last long in the shower, so I plucked the tape, ground my teeth, and pulled away the gauze. Several places stuck and pulled. “Lord have mercy,” I wheezed.

My own blood and guts didn’t bother me so much, so I studied the wounds, searching for signs of infection. Thorin calling himself a competent medic was an understatement. Neat rows of surgical stitches had closed the worst lacerations. In a few spots, the top layer of skin looked like hamburger. Others resembled a case of road rash. It was undoubtedly the nastiest wound I’d ever had because, obviously, a girl like me doesn’t get nibbled on by a wolf every day.

A soft knock scuttled over the door, and the unexpected sound shocked me out of my skin. “Solina?” said a familiar voice.

“Val?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m getting ready to take a shower.”

“You need any help?”