Weaving Fate - Nora Ash Page 0,65

show you how to truly reach your potential—he isn’t experienced enough with the kind of power that lies within you. I am. I can teach you to control it.”

“Stop it!” It was a roar so fierce it shook me out of the daze I hadn’t even realized had settled around me. I looked up at Bjarni’s rage-twisted face just as he pulled an arm back and socked Loki right in the nose.

Blood spattered, and a sickening crunch mixed with the god’s pained wail as he tumbled into the snow, unable to break his fall.

“If I ever catch you using your powers on my mate again, I’ll kill you myself!” my blond giant snarled. He glared down at Loki for a few seconds before he turned to me, his features softening at my confusion.

“Don’t listen to him. His tongue is dipped in poison—he will deceive you first chance he gets.”

I blinked, looking back at Loki as realization dawned. He’d manipulated my insecurities, twisted my fears until his suggestion seemed like the only solution. I had no doubt that if Bjarni hadn’t intervened, I’d have fallen fully under his spell and accepted his offer.

Eyes narrowing, I glared at the God of Mischief. “Nice try.”

He grimaced past the blood running down his face from his broken nose. “You kno’ I‘m righ’. You don’ ‘ave ‘e streng’ do save ‘em.”

It was a lot easier to ignore the chill of the god’s words when he sounded like a fifth-grader with a cold. Looking away from him, I leaned into Modi.

“Let’s make camp for the day. I have to rest. Tomorrow we bring this asshole to Valhalla and get your brothers back.”

It wasn’t just rest I needed—Modi and Bjarni knew that as well as I did—but I wasn’t about to admit what else I required in front of Loki. Not that he wouldn’t be able to hear it, seeing as there was only a tent wall separating us.

“Here, sweetie. It’s not the feast a warrior deserves after taking down an enemy as magnificent as the God of Mischief, but at least it’s warm.”

I looked up at Bjarni as he pushed through the tent flap carrying two steaming bowls of something that smelled delicious.

“A warrior, eh?” I said, eagerly grabbing one of the bowls. It contained a meaty stew. Leave it to Bjarni to conjure up a beautiful meal in the middle of the woods during a blizzard.

“You’re a warrior if I ever saw one, Annabel,” he said softly as he sat down in front of me with his own bowl, legs crossed. “We could never have captured my father if you hadn’t been here. What you did today is no small feat.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” I reminded him, blowing on a spoonful of stew. “I couldn’t have done it without you and Modi. I don’t know what happened out there, but…”

“But it wouldn’t have happened without you,” he interrupted, blond eyebrows pulling into an uncharacteristic frown. “I don’t really understand magic, but I do know that thing came from you. Even the, ugh, connection between Modi and I ran through you. Through our bonds to you.”

“You think?” I asked before finally shoveling the first spoonful of food into my mouth. It exploded in flavor and comforting warmth on my tongue, and I closed my eyes to savor it.

“I know. Our bond is the one thing that isn’t complicated to me,” he said, his voice still quiet. “Everything else around us, yes. But not this.”

I opened my eyes again to look at him, the memory of his regret at claiming me flickering in my chest. “How can you say that when you wish you’d never created it?”

The words escaped me before I could bite them back, bitterness tingeing my voice. A stab of agony flared through that bond, and guilt instantly made me regret saying anything.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I don’t blame you. Either of you. This wasn’t what any of us wanted.”

“It was what I wanted,” he said, his voice rougher than I’d expected. He pressed his free hand to his heart. “I wanted our bond and everything that came with it. I wanted you to love me like I love you.

"Yes, I wish I’d never claimed you, because the agony of knowing that my mate hates our bond? Wouldn’t have chosen me if she’d had a choice? Knowing you’ll never love me? It’s fucking unbearable!”

He threw the bowl to the ground with a clatter, stew sloshing out to stain