Forged by Fate

He bared his teeth. “If you wish to test that theory as well, then stay where you are and we will see which of us is more determined. Because I assure you, wife, the bars of my cage are broken.”

Maybe it was because the sky had gone black above them, or perhaps because of the calm in his voice, for he had firm control of his temper as he lifted the hammer, but Sif rose, stumbling back, as he advanced. She had too much pride to run, and too much sense to stand between him and the Trickster. He was not certain he was glad of it.

Loki did not so much as sit up when Thor’s shadow reached him, his silhouette stretching toward Sif where she had pressed herself to the wall.

“You know what I love most about you, Thor?” he drawled, examining his fingernails.

“I’m sure you have every intention of telling me.” Mjolnir’s handle was shorter than he might have liked, but he’d make do. He tested his grip, but the hammer fit perfectly to his hand, its thirst burning the back of his throat.

Loki lifted his gaze, a terrible grin splitting his face. “You are so easy to drive into a rage. So predictable. And yet, still, you surprised me. I should have known from the beginning it was Elohim’s daughter, but you had us all so convinced of your loyalty to Sif. I cannot wait to go to her, dressed in your skin. How startling it will be, when the man she loved appears before her eyes. I think I shall kiss her first, to see how sweet she is, before I beat her bloody and—”

Thor brought the hammer down on his face.

A gasp sounded behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder. Sigyn stood by the kitchen entrance, a mug clutched too tightly in her hands.

“Have no fear, Sigyn. He won’t be killed.” Even as he said it, Loki was scrambling back, barely stunned by the blow.

“What do you think you’re doing, you oaf?” Loki demanded.

“You seem only to understand one language, Trickster.”

Thor swung the hammer up with both hands, catching Loki by the chin and throwing him back against the hall. He was sure he heard the crack of his jaw that time, and Loki screamed. The first strike had merely been a warning, without any of his strength behind it. This one was something else entirely, and Mjolnir hummed in his hands.

“Thankfully, it is one I speak.”

Sigyn began to weep, but Thor ignored her and dragged Loki to his feet by his tunic. Blood poured from his nose and mouth, and Thor guessed he had bitten his tongue. Good.

“If you so much as think of touching her, Loki, or dare whisper another word against her life, no power on this earth or any other will stay my hand. The lesson will last much longer, and damage done to more than just your mouth.”

Loki jerked himself free, and spit blood in Thor’s face, though his expression did not hide the pain it caused him to do so.

Thor wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, and lightning crackled overhead, though his voice remained eerily calm. “Do you understand me?”

Sigyn pushed past Thor where he stood, still holding the hammer. Loki could not speak around his tongue, and spit again, glaring sidelong as he turned away to the comfort of his wife. It had always galled Loki that he couldn’t read minds as Thor did, though he used what strength he had to plant suggestion, and those were powerful enough. His contempt and fury was obvious in the single thought he shared.

As you say, Odin-son.

Thor left his wife behind, but the hammer—the hammer he took with him.

Chapter Thirty-one: Present

“Oh, Abby! Look at you! Big as a house!” Her mother hugged her while Garrit welcomed her father. “Has Mia arrived yet? Garrit is so kind to invite us all here for the holidays.”

“Yes, he’s very thoughtful.” She stepped back to let her parents into the house.

Not that Garrit was at all thrilled with the idea of inviting Adam back into his home. They had discussed it for weeks and ultimately, there had been no other choice. Eve was safest in France, and the less travel at this point in her pregnancy the better. Since Garrit couldn’t invite her parents without Mia, and he couldn’t invite Mia without Adam, he would suffer her brother’s presence once more. And Eve would reassure herself that her sister still wasn’t being manipulated while she tried not to have nightmares of Michael.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Adam will return what he stole from you without further threat,” Garrit had muttered the morning her family was supposed to arrive.

“Garrit. Try to be civil.”

“Have you ever known me to be anything otherwise?” She raised an eyebrow at him, but he only kissed her cheek. “I’ll be civil. Unless I’m provoked.”

“The trick is to be civil even after you’re provoked.”

He laughed. “Yes, and you do that so well when it comes to Mia. I can only imagine how long that civility will last faced with your parents, your sister, and your brother-in-law.”

In spite of the challenges, and Garrit’s doubts, Eve was pleased she wouldn’t have to travel. Even climbing the stairs took more energy than she had lately. Just standing in the foyer with her parents was making her feet swell.

“Come in, please. Make yourselves at home.” Garrit had waved to one of the staff to collect their luggage from the car. That was another argument she had lost as her stomach had swelled with his son. Staff to cook and clean and do all the things she normally would. “Abby, I am certain your parents cannot expect you to wait on them in your state.”

“Oh, dear, no!” Her mother immediately ushered her to one of the sitting rooms. “You shouldn’t be on your feet. You look as though you’re going to give birth any moment. Really, Abby. There’s no need for ceremony.”

“Yes, Mum.” She sighed and let herself be persuaded into a seat on the couch. Of course if she hadn’t been at the door, her mother would have insisted she not laze about. It was only Garrit’s obvious desire that she rest which saved her from her mother’s censure. She stroked her stomach.

Not much longer now. Less than a month. But Garrit really didn’t need to fuss. She had explained to him repeatedly that she was made for this. As long as she ate properly and slept enough, the baby would be just fine, and she would too. Hadn’t she borne Ryam six children, all healthy, without a single stillborn baby? That two had died of illness before their fifth birthday had been due to circumstances beyond her control. That she had only lost two had been a miracle in itself in those days, though it paled in comparison to six healthy and easy births. But it was a husband’s prerogative to fuss over his wife, she supposed. Ryam had done the same.

“Now, when are you expecting your sister?” her mother pressed.

Garrit poured her mother a glass of wine, and her father a tumbler of port before sitting down beside Eve. “Before dinner, I’m sure,” he answered for her. “I was surprised you didn’t all choose to travel together.”

Her father sat down with his port and an appreciative sigh. “Oh, well. That Ethan has his own way of going about things. Wouldn’t hear of taking the train. Of course, your mother and I can’t stand to fly. Will your parents be joining you for the holidays as well, Garrit?”

“Oui. They’ll be here after dinner, with Aunt Brienne and her family.”

Eve tried not to grimace. Garrit wouldn’t let Adam into the house without at least his father for help if needed. And Brienne, as matriarch, had been impossible to dissuade. She wouldn’t be surprised if Jean arrived at the last minute, too, just to reassure himself Mia wasn’t being mistreated.

“A full house, then. Won’t that be merry!” Her father raised his glass, using the excuse to drink a good portion of the port.

Garrit smiled politely. “I expect you’ll hardly know they’re here. It takes quite a number of us before anyone gets crowded.”

Eve squeezed his hand. He raised hers to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. A tendril of jealousy