Weaving Fate - Nora Ash Page 0,82

warm meal, but it was sustenance. I nearly purred when she, eyes closed from exhaustion, bit down on the sandwich I had provided, accepting my role as her alpha; her provider.

Idiot instincts.

The doors banged open behind us, and I spun around, ready to ward off an attack—but it was only Bjarni, dragging his father along by the golden rope.

“The trains won’t be running until the snow lets up. The sign said all transport across the continent is halted—even ships. Fuck!” Bjarni spat, kicking a row of seats.

“It’s okay—Modi has a way for us to get back,” Annabel said, looking to me. “He can call his father.”

“Uh… how about we just wait it out?” Loki asked, the grimace crossing his face more uneasy than I had seen him before.

I chuffed a derisive laugh. “What is the matter, trickster god? Not too keen on facing Thor, are we?”

“We’re not waiting out the fucking Fimbulwinter,” Bjarni growled. “If Thor can get us back to Valhalla in time, then that’s what we’re doing. Call on him—we can rest once we’re in Asgard.”

I nodded and undid my outer clothes to get at the ring adorning my right bicep, a birth gift from my father—my connection to him across all nine worlds. I had never had reason to use it before, but it had stayed with me from my first breath, a constant reassurance of my ties to my home.

Pressing my hand against it, I channeled the lightning in my blood, letting it sing through the gold until I felt the magic connection open.

Father, we are in need of your aid. We have captured Loki but are cut off from returning to Asgard.

I waited, the other end of the link lying dormant for a breath. Two. Three.

Father.

Another breath, and then I felt a click within the magic, felt a touch of consciousness before it died, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

I expelled a harsh breath, my eyes snapping open.

He had… He had rejected me?

He'd heard my plea, and he'd… rejected me.

Brown eyes focused on mine, their depths the only thing keeping me grounded as the Earth itself seemed to fall from underneath my feet.

“Modi?” Annabel asked, concern evident in her voice. Gloved hands closed around my wrist, the chill of them slowly bringing me back to my body. “What’s wrong? You feel…”

Our bond. She felt everything I did. I stared at her, knowing that the most intimate, the most painful moment of my life was laid bare to her—and through her to Bjarni, my enemy.

I breathed slow and deep, until my steel grip was back, forcing the depths of my despair down.

Finally, I freed my wrists of her grip and stepped back, unwilling to see the hope break in those pretty eyes.

“Thor is not coming,” I said. “We are on our own.”

Twenty-Nine

Bjarni

I frowned. “What do you mean, he’s not—”

Annabel’s hand on my arm quieted me. She shook her head just in time for me to catch on to why our bond echoed with pain: Modi.

“Thor’s not coming?” Loki repeated, the glee in his voice like nails on a chalkboard in the quiet hall. “How peculiar. Seems he’s really not bothered about bringing the so-called Betrayer to justice. Could it truly be he’s too busy knocking Jotunn skulls and drinking mead to save his little bastard?”

I glared at my father, but the smirk on his lips spoke all too clearly of his intentions. He wasn’t just unbothered about needling Modi—he was actively trying to bring him misery.

Once upon a time I’d have laughed at such antics, delighted in my enemy’s pain. But that was before a rope made of flesh and iron tied us together, making me feel every ounce of agony he did. Before I’d known for myself what pain came from your own father betraying you.

“I don’t know how we’re going to get back to Valhalla—but we will,” the redhead said, the determination in his voice subverted by the despair ricocheting through the bond tying me to Annabel.

I breathed in deeply, and without looking at my father, undid my thick winter coat to reach for the hidden leather pouch I carried close to my chest. “I may have a solution.”

Doubt mixed with curiosity was plain on his face when I pulled out the old map and knelt to spread it on the floor, smoothing the curled edges as I looked over it.

“Bjarni! No!” Loki jolted forward, reaching for the map. I jerked on the rope, sending him ass over teakettle without so much as a glance