hesitated to act until she had known her own mind. Now that she had chosen, there was no uncertainty, nothing to give him pause. He would find a way to protect her, whatever that meant.
They found caves at the base of the mountain, but it was well after dark, and they were stumbling by the light of a torch and the crescent moon. The shelter was shallow, and they did not see water nearby, but they were both too tired and too cold to continue looking.
They used the torch to light a fire near the mouth and Reu curled his body around hers, under the fur from the gazelle, and not even the cold kept her from falling asleep.
Eve woke to soft footsteps on stone and a softer whuffling. Hot air blew against her face and she stared into gold eyes and ivory teeth the length of her smallest finger. The animal’s curiosity overwhelmed her, and she scrambled back from its reach.
The lion snarled at the sudden movement, its eyes becoming slits, and one massive paw, claws unsheathed, grasped the edge of her robe, stopping her. She tried to tug it free, but the lion snarled again. She froze. Its nose and whiskers twitched delicately as it sniffed the air around her, tickling her skin.
She glanced to where Reu still lay under the fur blanket. His eyes were open, his face tense, his hands in fists. She felt his caution and fear, warring with the desire to act. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and held still.
The lion released her robe, though its nose didn’t stop twitching. It sat back on its hindquarters and began to lick a paw without taking its eyes from her. This was the curiosity she had felt yesterday, the interest in her otherness. The lion had followed them across the grassland, staying out of sight, waiting for an opportunity to inspect them. Now that it had backed away from her, she could see blood on its muzzle, which it began almost at once to wash away.
Reu shifted, and the lion turned its head, ears perking and narrow eyes focusing on him. It growled and stalked forward, stopping to smell the fur. Eve could sense its confusion. A roar from outside the cave caught its attention, and the lion turned abruptly away, padding back out. Eve exhaled, relief flooding through her, but the lion did not even go a stone’s throw from the mouth of the cave before it gave a roar of its own and lay in the dirt and grass.
She was shaking, trembling, her heart pounding in her chest. Reu crept to her then, and pulled her with him to the back of the cave, wrapping her in his arms and holding her against him.
“Shh,” he said, when she started to weep, gulping back sobs. His eyes were on the lion, which rose to its feet at the approach of another of the tawny beasts. She watched it through his eyes, her face hidden against his neck. The lions greeted one another, rubbing their heads against each other’s bodies and making rumbling noises.
He stroked her hair, trying to calm her, though she could feel his own worry. Her heartbeat slowed and her breathing became more regular again. The two lions threw themselves back to the ground and yawned.
“They hunt at night,” Reu was saying, his voice just a breath against her ear. “They should sleep soon, and perhaps we can get around and away without waking them.”
“What do they want?”
He held her closer and she felt him shake his head. “You would know better than I would. A full belly, and a place to sleep out of the sun, maybe. And we’re lucky their stomachs were already full, or I might have been their next meal.” Then he hushed her and stroked her hair again, because she began to tremble. “You’re safe, Eve. A lion can’t kill you. Nothing in this world but Michael’s sword will kill you or Adam before your time. Elohim has made it so. You’re safe.”
But it wasn’t her life that she feared for. It was the image in her mind of the carcass on the bank of the first, wide stream, and what those teeth and claws could do to Reu’s warm skin. Reu, her husband and protector. Reu, who she loved, who she knew she was meant for, whose children she was meant to bear.
She had to keep him safe.
Chapter Thirty: 180 BC
Odin refused him the right to a divorce, of course. And refused, too, to forbid Sif from Thorgrim’s village on the coast. Between Sif’s threats and his father’s determination, Thor was tied more closely to Asgard than he had ever been. During the days, he might go out, traveling by lightning to any lands he knew, but he could not risk an absence of more than a night, for fear of what Sif might do. Nor did he dare to frequent the House of Lions and the lands Zeus had ceded him. Ra took pity upon him, and Athena, too, watching over them, even reminding them of their history when they lost their way.
But with Thor’s declaration of loyalty to Eve, Sif and Loki gave up all pretense of disinterest, flaunting themselves before him at every opportunity. It wore at his patience and his pride, leaving his temper badly frayed, and the thunder of his anger lurked much too near. So Thor walked the Earth, and when he returned to Asgard, he drank to drown the fire in his blood, but his mind wandered, reaching toward Eve, and what he could not have. So he drank more, to keep himself from thinking and let the Valkyries flirt and tease him to distraction.
Perhaps he drank too much.
“Thor.”
He lifted his head from the table and tried to focus his eyes on the person before him. Too much mead. The voice was odd, though without seeing who spoke, he couldn’t put his finger on why.
There was a sigh, and then he was slapped across the face. Hard.
Anger and lightning burned away the blur in his eyes, and when Athena raised her hand to slap him again, he caught it by the wrist, rising to his feet with a growl. “You have no business here, Greek.”
“Because you’re so obviously drunk, I’ll forgive the intended slur.” She pulled her arm free from his grasp and her eyes flashed as she glared up at him. “I came at your brother’s invitation, though I cannot say Odin is entirely pleased.”
Thor grunted and dropped back to the bench, rubbing his face and trying to calm himself. Athena was his ally. Eve’s protector. Tora. His Eve. His lovely, brave Eve. “She is well? Sif and Loki—?”
Athena’s gray eyes narrowed. “This is neither the time nor the place for that discussion, Thor. How could you allow yourself to become this—what could you possibly be hoping to accomplish by drooling on the table?”
“Peace,” he grumbled, but he let the lightning consume the alcohol in his blood and tried to clear his mind. Using his power this way always left him with a ferocious headache, and he did not love Athena overmuch for giving him need to abandon his stupor. “As long as I remain here, drooling, as you put it, Tora’s village is left alone, and so are the others. But I can hardly tolerate that—” he jerked his chin up, indicating Sif, where she sat upon the Trickster’s lap, “without help.”
Her voice softened, and she touched his arm. “This is not peace. This is poison and pain. Your brother says you spend your days drinking until you black out, and he carries you to your bed. If she is holding your people hostage—”
“What?” he demanded, unable to hide his bitterness. “I should appeal to my father?” He barked a laugh, but didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the judgment in her eyes or the pity in her face. Easier to watch Sif, feeding Loki bits of fruit and cheese, tracing her fingertip over the curve of his ear. “It is no business of yours what goes on in these lands.”
“It is not the lands I care about, nor even the people. We have need of you. Sif and Loki have not been idle while you were leashed to Asgard.”
He watched Sif rise, casting him a sly smile as she took the Trickster with her from the hall. It seemed she did not even care enough to be jealous of Athena, now that she had Loki to satisfy her. “No, I do not suppose they have.”
“Thor.” Athena’s hand tightened on his arm, her fingers digging into the muscle and drawing his attention. He glowered at her, but her expression stopped him. She looked gray with stress and worry, lines fanning out from around her eyes that had not been there before. “They are calling for Eve’s death.”
