Morgan's Fate

“In honor of your service and devotion to the Well and Yggdrasil, you may pass.”

Skye smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Guardian.”

“You are welcome.” Heimdall raked his gaze over the rest of them, only nodding to Travis. “You may all pass.”

Travis returned Heimdall’s nod regally. “Thank you.”

Morgan sometimes forgot that Travis, aka Tyr, had himself been the leader of a pantheon. It had, in fact, been the pantheon Heimdall belonged to. Did the Guardian still see himself as one of Tyr’s?

“Go. What is happening in Valhalla is…” Heimdall grimaced. “If I could interfere, I would.”

Logan swayed. “Shit. The Old Man really does know we’re coming.”

“Yes.”

“Kir?” Logan’s tone was uncertain, afraid.

“Let’s go.” The dark storms still dashed across Kir’s eyes. The clouds had lightened, but not by much.

Morgan wasn’t looking forward to what they would find when they entered Valhalla. If the Guardian felt the need to warn them, it was going to be very, very bad.

Chapter Thirteen

She’d forgotten exactly how large Valhalla was. The principle seat of the former king of the gods, it was imposing and intimidating. Valhalla stood before them, the enormous hall guarded by the golden tree Glasir. The hall’s roof, thatched with the golden shields of fallen heroes, glittered under Asgard’s sun. Mingling on the grass were the spirits of those the Valkyries had called home, heroes and kings who’d fallen in battle and been taken under Odin’s banner. The spirits stared at them curiously, but upon seeing Gungnir clasped in Kir’s hand drifted away.

The doors of the ancient gate Valgrind guarded the entrance. They would have to pass through Valgrind in order to reach Valhalla. If they’d been going for the front door they would have had to deal with the wolf Grimm had hung in front of its west doors. It struggled against its bonds, but instead of whimpering and crying it howled and snarled, snapping at any who were foolish enough to approach it. Who that wolf was, she did not know, but it was vicious.

She glanced up, not surprised to see an eagle hovering above the hall. That eagle had been there before Valhalla was even built. She sometimes thought it had been there long before, when Yggdrassil was nothing more than a sapling and the only worlds were Muspelheim and Nifleheim.

“We need to make our way to the stables. That’s where Sleipnir will be.” Val loosened his sword, making sure he could draw it easily. It was a familiar gesture, one she’d seen countless warriors perform over centuries of watching them.

“I can sniff him out, I think. I still remember his scent. If he’s not in the stables, we’ll need that to find him.” Logan shifted into a bloodhound and began scenting the air. He quivered once, then looked up at Kir and woofed softly.

Kir waved his hand, and Valgrind opened for them. “Lead the way.”

Morgan’s eyes were so wide she was surprised they didn’t roll out of his head. “Whoa.”

She grinned. “The gates are responding to Gungnir, much like the warriors did.”

Logan took off, his nose to the ground as he led them toward Valhalla and, hopefully, Sleipnir. Before too long he shifted back to human. “I smell blood.”

They flew across the grass, right under the golden tree, racing for the stables and Sleipnir.

What they saw when they arrived at the stables drew a shocked gasp from Skye and a low, tortured moan from Logan.

Grimm was slowly and methodically whipping Sleipnir into a bloody mess. Sleipnir’s pale hair and skin were soaked with blood, his dark eyes glazed with pain. Sleipnir’s eyes widened when he saw them, hope banishing the despair that had covered his face. “Pappa.”

Logan roared and knocked Grimm to the ground. The whip flew out of his hand, bright red drops arching away to stain the straw beneath them.

Grimm rubbed his jaw and glared up at Logan. “Somehow I knew you’d survive.”

Logan grinned viciously. “Rina didn’t.”

For one split second Skye saw such grief and rage on Grimm’s face that she thought he would go after Logan on the spot. When instead he dove at her, she was so shocked she didn’t get out of the way in time.

Grimm punched her so hard she fell into Sleipnir, who was swinging from the rafters by his wrists. Sleipnir cried out as she was knocked into him.

Magnus lost his famous temper. He swung at Grimm with the Mjolnir pendant.

A pendant that was suddenly a hammer, striking Grimm with such force that he broke through the stable walls, landing on the grass some twenty feet away.

“Cool.” Val pulled his blade and sauntered through the Grimm-shaped hole.

“Holy shit.” Skye, dazed that somehow Magnus had managed to change Mjolnir, pulled herself to her feet. She got out of Logan’s way as he freed his son from the bonds, gently holding him in his arms despite his whimpers.

Magnus stared at Sleipnir, his jaw clenched, rage burning in his eyes. A flash of lightning struck the ground out of a cloudless sky, startling them all. “Grimm will pay for this.”

Sleipnir held out his shaking hand to Magnus, who took it gently. “Be careful.”

Magnus nodded once before sprinting through the hole Grimm had made.

Skye had to see what was happening. Sleipnir was safe with Logan, Kir hovering protectively over them. Morgan was stepping through the hole, taking the path his brother had to Grimm.

She stepped into the shadow of the building—

And screamed as an arm came around her. A dagger pressed against her throat. “Your sisters send their regards.”

The knife slashed across her throat, the pain so sharp and bright she would have cried out if she could.

The twin sons of Thor scrambled toward her, Mjolnir flying through the air, but none of it could help Skye now. She was dead, doomed. Killing Grimm would bring them vengeance, but nothing more.

“Logan!” Morgan screamed the Jotun’s name so loudly the walls of Valhalla shook.

Skye’s vision began to fade. Crap. Crappity crap crap. She hadn’t told Morgan yet she loved him, and now she was drowning to death in her own blood.

“Shh. It’s okay, Skye. Logan’s coming.” Something dripped onto her face, blood or tears, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was the deep, masculine voice was not the one she wanted most to hear. As much as she cared for the Terminator, it was Morgan’s voice she longed for. “We’re going to save you.”

She tried to speak but couldn’t. She could hear the scissors snapping, threatening to end her once and for all.

“Shit. It’s not working, Kir.”

She struggled for breath, but it was too late. The darkness had closed in around her. The scissors were snipping her thread. She could feel them tearing at the cotton, shredding it, her sisters’ glee as they destroyed the one they felt had betrayed them.

She was done.

“Not yet, little sister.”

“What the fuck?” Kir’s tone had taken on that deep, godly timber. Baldur had roused.

“Logan, I thought you said it wasn’t working.” Val’s voice was rough with tears.

“It wasn’t.” Logan sounded baffled.

She could hear her friends arguing around her, but none of them mattered. Only the voice in her mind did. “Who are you?”