Witches of East End - By Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,89

the memory of your kiss to sustain me . . ." He gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead. "I missed you so much. More than you will ever know," he said.

Even if she burned with hatred, she allowed him to kiss her and to lead her to the cabin below. She had to keep him there until Ingrid could figure out how to fix what he had broken; she had to keep him distracted and keep him company. There was the same urgency in his kisses that had been there the night of the woods, the same passionate intensity.

And then Freya noticed they were not alone.

"Madame said I would find you here, but I did not believe it at first." Bran Gardiner stood in the doorway of the cabin holding a gun. His brown eyes shone with a deep despair. "So, you have what you wanted after all, brother." Freya had forgotten: she was supposed to meet him at the North Inn an hour ago, and of course he had gone looking for her. This was supposed to be their big joyful reunion.

Bran Gardiner. Balder. The God of Joy and Peace, of Beauty and Light, who personified everything that was good and true in the world. The best of them all. Her kind and gentle mate. They were made to be together. His mother, the goddess Frigg, had decreed that nothing on earth could hurt him. Yet she had forgotten to shield him from the most dangerous thing of all. The mistletoe. Her kiss. Her love.

Once upon a time in Asgard, the goddess Freya had two suitors, two handsome brothers to claim her hand. She had chosen Balder as her immortal mate. Enraged and jealous, Loki vowed revenge; and on the eve of their wedding, his poison-tipped arrow met its mark. The arrow pierced Balder's heart and sent him to the Kingdom of the Dead.

Freya lost herself to grief and madness until her sister, Erda (Ingrid), who could see the future, gave her a ray of hope. She comforted Freya, telling her that in her lifeline, she saw that one day, in a different universe, in a different time and place, she and Balder would find each other again.

Thousands of years later, she met Bran Gardiner and she knew he was the one she was waiting for. Her own dear Balder. They had found each other, only to be destroyed by Loki once again. This time, she had let the snake into her bed.

Freya stood up from the bed and started to speak, but Bran shook his head. "Don't," he said to Freya. "I can't even look at you."

"Bran, put down that gun, it's over," Killian said hoarsely, as he moved slowly away from the bed and toward his brother. The two men sized each other up, and Killian appeared larger than he had been just moments ago, looming over Bran with an unexpected strength.

Bran wavered, and the gun tilted from his hand. Killian took the opportunity and knocked the gun from his brother's grip. The weapon twisted violently around, and Killian's fingers wrapped the trigger and squeezed. The sound was thunderous, like a crack from the heavens. This was no ordinary gun. Freya screamed. The bullet flew just over Bran's shoulder, nipping the edge of his neck and drawing blood. Thick red blood seeped from the cut, spreading outward in a crimson circle that quickly enveloped his shoulder.

Freya heard a snap then, like bones cracking, as the two men were pressed chest to chest; four hands wrapped the gun, both men pawing wildly at the weapon as they tried simultaneously to control the gun's trigger and to point the barrel at the other. Killian yelled in pain and pushed back hard, heaving forward with both legs. The force of his blow sent both of them tumbling to the ground with Killian on top.

The weapon fired twice more and both shots cut through the drapes and burst the windowpane. She couldn't tell whose finger had triggered the shot, as their bodies concealed the gun. Anyone could be in control. Bran freed his left hand from the weapon; drawing backward quickly, he caught Killian hard in the jaw with a punch. Without stopping he drew back twice more, delivering two hard punches to Killian's face. Two more shots fired. A stream of plaster drifted down from the cabin ceiling.

Who had fired the gun? Freya wondered. Who was winning? She dove toward the men, her hands scrambling for the