Morgan's Fate

Chapter Nine

It had been two weeks since they’d found Mjolnir, two weeks since Skye had moved in with him. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.” Skye turned on her heel and began again. “One, two, three, four—”

“What are you doing?”

Skye stopped counting and looked up at Morgan. “Counting the steps of my prison cell.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve only been here two weeks.”

“Two weeks without fresh air. Five. Two weeks—six—without Starbucks and my grande caramel Frappuccino. Seven. Two weeks—”

“—without a vision.” Morgan shrugged. “You take the good with the bad.”

She stopped again. “True.”

He held out his hand and smiled. “Nothing bad has happened for three weeks. No burning men, no suddenly revealed pasts.” His smile dimmed. “No deaths.”

She sighed and took it, shivering slightly. She could get used to the feel of his skin. It warmed her when little else could. Hell, even his home made her feel warm.

She glanced around feeling more and more at home here with every second. Where Jordan, Logan and Kir’s condo was all bright whites and pale blues, glass and chrome and light woods, Morgan’s condo was full of warmth. Whether he realized it or not, he’d done his condo in a warmer, more inviting version of his twin’s. He’d decorated with burnt umber and rich golden-browns. The furniture was plush and soft, rounded where Magnus’s was sharp, inviting you to sink into it with a good book and a mug of cocoa. The fireplace was surrounded with stone, which would have looked cold except he’d chosen orange-and beige-toned stones to complement the decor. The hardwood floors were hand scraped and soothing against bare feet. Even the lamps, with their gold and orange swirled bases, made her feel all toasty inside.

She hadn’t realized how cold she’d been, how alone, until she stepped into the warmth of Morgan Tate’s home and thawed. Not even Magnus’s condo appealed to her as much as Morgan’s did.

Still, she wasn’t sure she should stay here. It would be so easy to get used to living with Morgan. “I could go back to my condo.” It was the same thing she’d been saying every day for two weeks. Every day it came out less and less sure.

She didn’t want to be alone. She’d been alone all her life, and now she got to be with Morgan. Hell, she’d even put up with Jordan’s obsession with pineapple if it meant keeping Morgan in her life.

He stroked her palm, his expression warming as her breath hitched. She bet he could seduce a nun without half trying. “I could paint my toenails pink too.”

She tilted her head, fighting a grin. “Only if you use the glittery kind.”

He laughed. “C’mon, you.” He tugged her forward, and she allowed him to tuck her under his arm. Really, the man was simply massive. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “Lunch is ready.”

Morgan had been an incredible roommate and a generous lover, giving her the guest bedroom for her office and refusing her offers to help with the cooking. And honestly, he was a better cook than she was, so that was working out far better than she’d thought it would. She’d chosen to take over the dishes, dusting and vacuuming, and each took care of their own laundry. In all respects except one, he treated her like a treasured roommate, allowing her to pick movies more than half the time and letting her alone when she told him she needed time to herself. Hell, he’d even been caught researching ways to turn the third bedroom into a darkroom for her.

And, oh gods, she could so get used to the constant, heated glances, the soft touches to her arms, her hands, her hair. He was doing everything in his power to prove to her that she was safe with him, that he wanted her to the exclusion of all else.

She had to admit, it was working. Instead of constantly blushing and stammering, his gentle touches and warm regard were whittling away at any resistance that she might have had. Not that she’d had all that much. Her memories had completely returned, except for the one large, gaping hole where the changed prophecy resided. She still didn’t know what she’d done to alter things.

Before she could sit down to the tuna melts he’d made for their lunch, her phone rang. She sighed, knowing her sandwich would be good and soggy before she got a chance to bite into it, but something she couldn’t explain demanded that she answer the phone immediately. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

Her gaze darted to Morgan as she recognized the shaky, terrified voice. “Sleipnir.”

“I don’t have a lot of time. The ravens are watching.”

The ravens. Odin’s ravens? Oh, shit. If he was calling them while the ravens watched, it was bad. “What’s wrong?”

“Beware Heimdall.”

“What?”

“I can’t. They’re watching, and I have to go. He’s going to come for me soon, so I don’t have much time.”

“Wait! Why should we beware Heimdall?”

“He’s going to kill my father. Warn him. Watch. Keep away from the Guardian.” A stuttering breath later, Sleipnir whined. “Oh, shit. I have to go!”

The phone clicked as Loki’s child hung up the phone. “Morgan.”

“I heard. C’mon.”

They left their lunch and darted across the hall to Logan’s condo, both of them pounding on the door until a tousled-looking Jordan pried it open. “What?”

“Sleipnir called.”

Jordan cursed quietly and opened the door further. “C’mon in. Logan’s going to want to hear this.” They followed the pregnant woman into the house. It was obvious that she’d been in bed, but whether she’d been alone, Skye wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Of course, when Kir came into the room wearing nothing but a skin-tight black tank top and jeans, his feet bare, she thought maybe she could handle hearing a few details. When Logan followed his lovers with a yawn, his chest bare, his jeans zipped but not buttoned, she was certain of it.

She wanted Morgan, but she wasn’t dead, and those were two examples of prime grade-A beef.

“What’s up?” Kir’s lazy grin faded as he took in their expressions. “What happened?”

“Sleipnir called.” Morgan led Skye to the dining table, the one that had enough room for all the Aesir and the Vanir who’d chosen to follow Kir. “He had a message for you, Logan.”

Logan’s expression tightened. “What did my son say?”

“Beware the Guardian. He seems to think that Heimdall is going to kill you.” Skye settled in her chair with a smile of thanks. No matter what, Morgan always saw to her needs before anything. “Thing is, I don’t remember anything about it in the prophecies.”

The two men exchanged glances, but it was Jordan who voiced their thought. “I thought Tyr was supposed to kill you.”

“Why would you think that?” Logan tugged Jordan down until she was seated next to Skye. “Tyr was never the one who was going to kill me.”

“It’s one of the reasons we’ve never really trusted Nik.” Kir yawned and headed into the kitchen. “Anyone want pizza?”

Logan groaned. “Blondie…”

“C’mon.” Gods, Kir made even whining look sexy as hell. “I haven’t had pepperoni in days.”

Jordan bit her lip and shot Logan a guilty look. “Can I get mine with extra pineapple?”

Skye shuddered. The woman had an unhealthy obsession with the stuff. The whole condo reeked of it. She’d heard of pregnancy cravings before, but Jordan was taking it to a whole new level.

“Fine, order away.” Logan flopped gracefully into the seat next to Jordan. He lifted her bare feet into his lap and began rubbing her arches. “What do you remember about my death?”

She closed her eyes as Kir’s soft murmur rolled over her. “The Prose Edda says that after Fenris dies—” she ignored Logan’s pained sound, “—Loki and Heimdall will kill one another, but it doesn’t say how.” She opened them