of me. I had pushed down my confusion and pain when she had reminded me that this was the Norns’ plan, that there was nothing we could do one way or the other, and that none of us had to like it. Her words rang true, and it made it infinitely easier to cope.
If I was destined not to die in glorious battle, but to instead sacrifice my sanity in an attempt to stop Ragnarök? Fine. I was willing to do that.
But it did not stop the gnawing in my gut as I watched Annabel quietly comfort her other mate. There was such an ease to it, as if they were two pieces of the same puzzle coming together without any of the jagged edges I felt in my own bond to her.
As if her speech about "none of us wanting this" only referred to me.
Just instincts. Just dumb, animal instincts.
My father was right—glory and honor were the only things that mattered in the end. I would have that. I would bring Loki back to stand trial for treason, and I would stop Ragnarök. I was nothing but a means to an end for Annabel, and she was the same to me. What care did I have if the other alphas tied in our web of Fate wanted more from her than access to her powers?
I did not.
We stopped a little ways in, the hum of Annabel’s exhaustion causing Bjarni and I to set up camp without exchanging a word. We did not have to—when it came to the omega’s needs, we shared a direct link.
“Eat. It will help your body keep warm,” I said, throwing some of the weirdly packaged stuff I had scavenged from the shops below the apartment at her. The moment we had stopped to make camp, she had dusted snow off a fallen log and plopped down, arms wrapped around her body and forehead resting against her knees.
She took the offered food—or that is at least what they called it—without protest this time, opening the packaging with a rattle of shaky fingers.
“We cannot risk making a fire if Loki’s close,” I said, feeling the need to explain why I was not doing more to keep her warm. Stupid instincts. “Bjarni will have our shelter ready in a moment.”
“I know," she said, offering me a small smile between bites. “Thank you.”
I grunted an acknowledgement and turned my back, taking a few steps to the outskirts of the small divot we had made our temporary home. Our enemy was close—my focus needed to be on him, not her.
“Annabel, the tent’s up. It’s time to sleep,” Bjarni called from behind me.
She didn’t answer, but I heard her get up from her tree trunk and head toward him. Heavy footfalls came my way, and I turned my head to nod at the blond alpha as he stopped by my side.
“I will take first watch,” I said in response to his unasked question.
“Loki’s hideout is about four hours from here, taking Annabel’s pace into consideration,” he answered. “We won’t gain anything by approaching in the dark—for facing the God of Mischief, daylight is our friend. Wake me before dawn. Once you’ve slept, we’ll head out.”
I nodded again and he turned around and headed back to the tent. And Annabel.
I kept my focus on the quiet woods around us. Only the faintest sounds from the critters who awoke at night disturbed the peace, and even they were dampened by the thick cover of snow.
From the tent, I heard Annabel’s voice. She was murmuring, her pitch soft. Comforting.
My gut knotted as I imagined her arms wrapped around Bjarni, her dark hair tickling his skin as her gentle words soothed the loss of his familiars.
Just instincts.
There was silence again, save for a fox crossing a drift some yards away. It stopped to stare at me for a brief moment before it continued into the night.
Only when Bjarni’s soft snoring reached me some minutes later and my muscles relaxed did I realize I had been tensed in anticipation of them having sex.
I was not entirely sure what I would have done if they had—whether I would have quietly seethed with the knowledge that it was his right as her mate to lay with her whenever he pleased, or if I'd have given in to the primitive instincts roaring at me to rip the imposter off my woman.
Perhaps I'd have taken his place between her thighs.
I ground my teeth, irritated at my cock already rising