Chapter Twenty-Six

Trace couldn’t figure out what hurt more—his head or his heart. The reality of Laila’s lie slapped him hard, sucking the air from his lungs.

She’d known. All this time and she’d known it was more than a simple walking cane. He could have accepted a magical weapon, worked with her to retrieve it, take it…

Home.

“Ah.” Blanco chuckled, crossing his arms in front of him. “I see from your expression that your lover wasn’t totally honest with you about the cane. Doesn’t surprise me. After all, you’d only put it under glass, away from her forever. Back in the Valkyrie’s Tomb, lying beside its owner.” He clucked his tongue. “What a waste. People would walk on by with no idea of what lay in front of them—proof of a higher power, verifying the existence of not only Valkyries but all the other entities therein. The Fenris Wolf, Odin, Freyja… Just imagine what a kick in the head it’d be for people to discover they were real.”

Trace glared at the arms dealer. “You want to kill me, kill me. Save me from listening to more of your speeches.” He shot Jacob Blanco an angry look. “There’s a place in Helheim for traitors. It’ll be a very special family reunion with all of you there.”

The senior’s lips pulled away from his mouth in a mocking grin, light heaves of his chest showing he was laughing.

Trace yanked hard on the ropes, rocking the chair back and forth. He spat out a mouthful of blood in the old man’s direction.

Blanco gestured at the male nurses standing nearby. “Take my grandfather back to his room, let him rest. This is a lot of excitement to put on the old man. There’ll be plenty of time for him to watch Dyson twist in the wind.”

The room fell silent, save for the squeak of the wheels on the hospital bed as they wheeled the older man out.

Trace waited. There was a reason he was there alone with the younger Blanco.

Something he didn’t want to talk about in front of his grandfather.

Blanco walked to the sliding doors and looked outside. The horizon was afire, the morning sun fighting to dispel the last of the storm.

The drip, drip, drip of rainwater penetrated the living room, matching Trace’s heartbeat.

He looked around him, searching for some sort of weapon. Some chance to…

With his hands tucked behind his back, Blanco turned. “I’m a bit more… pragmatic than my grandfather. I know when to push and when to pull, when to negotiate and when to use force—skills my father and grandfather didn’t cultivate. Jacob’s been holding on to life by his fingernails. He should have died months ago.” Daniel paced around the room. “When the Wolf made me that offer, it gave my grandfather the resolve he needed to keep fighting.”

“To watch me die,” Trace said. “To see my family finished off.”

“To watch the world change one more time. He lived through a major shift in the world once.” He glanced at Trace. “He was a good soldier.”

“Bullshit. I saw his service record. He never went into battle. He never faced the enemy. He was a thief, stealing from his country and those of our allies. Any medals he’s got, he bought on the black market—false honor.”

Blanco’s eyebrows rose, showing Trace’s words had cut deep. He walked by the chair and stared at the wall.

After a few seconds, he rolled his shoulders back. “Whatever he did, that was in the past. What you and I do now, that’ll affect the future for everyone.” He shook his head. “Your fate is already determined. The only option you have now is to help me decide when you die.”

Trace stopped struggling. “What?”

“I need Laila to push that button.” Blanco’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know if she has to be alive or not when that happens. The Wolf wasn’t clear on the details, and I’d rather not find out.”

“Why? I thought you enjoyed hurting people.”

Blanco gave a noncommittal shrug. “I enjoy getting the job done. And if I can do it without hurting her…” He raised one eyebrow. “Convince her to help me, to activate the spear willingly, and I’ll see to it that she’s given to you—you’ll both survive Ragnarök.”

The offer slapped Trace across the face. “What?”

Blanco raised a hand. “Don’t think I’m letting you walk away. You’ll be nothing more than a slave, a toy for my family. But you’ll be alive, with her by your side.”

“How will your grandfather like that?” He spat out the words like bullets.

“My grandfather’s life is in my hands. I arranged the deal, and I dictate the terms. All the Wolf asked for was the spear, whole and ready to serve his bidding. After Laila does that, her life is forfeit. But you can save it, and your own. You’re not the first or the last to be lied to by a woman. Turn it to your advantage.”

“By getting her to activate the spear.” Trace studied the silver rod lying on the table. “What makes you think I can make her do anything?”

“If you don’t, you’ll both die. The need to survive is a pretty strong emotion.” Blanco shrugged. “I’d rather give her a chance to do it on her terms than on mine. My way…won’t be pretty.” He showed Trace the small jagged wooden piece.

“I can shove this under her fingernails until she screams for mercy, take her sight in one eye with a single stab. After each attack, I’ll ask her again. And again, and again, until she pushes the button. Convince her to do it willingly, and you both live. Don’t, and…” He eyed Trace. “The Wolf is waiting.” With a wave of his hand he dismissed Trace.

The guards came forward and picked up the chair, carrying him away from Blanco and the cane.

The beefy men didn’t break a sweat as they moved down the hallway, turning and twisting before stopping in front of a nondescript door, the thick deadbolts signaling it was more than just a guest room.

The first man grunted as he punched Trace in the stomach, doubling Trace over as they untied him and pushed him through the open door.

It shut as he fell to the cold cement floor, gasping for air as he held his stomach, fighting the nausea.

Laila.

What was Blanco doing with her?

…

Laila, still bound, sat in the chair, looking around the room. It appeared to be an ordinary office—a rosewood desk sitting by the window, bookshelves filled with classic works with a variety of bindings, a small bar set up on a nearby table… But this wasn’t an ordinary man’s workspace. It was where Blanco made his deals, selling dangerous and deadly weapons to whoever paid the most—resulting in the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands of people.

The door opened, and Blanco stepped in.

“Let me adjust this.” He walked to the wall and twisted the thermostat, sending a rush of cold into the room.

“And this.” He came to her, pulling a knife out of his belt holster. Before she could react, he’d sliced through the ropes holding her in place.

She tensed up, readying herself to launch at him.

He wagged the blade in the air. “Before you think about doing anything foolish, let me point out that my men are outside the door and this window. You won’t make it far.” He slid the knife back into the holster and walked behind the desk. “You might have been invulnerable in Valhalla, but here you’re just a mere human like the rest of us.”

She rose slowly from the chair, glaring at him. “Maybe I don’t want to escape. Maybe injuring you would be my goal. Crippling you, messing up that face you’re so fond of.”

His eyes widened, signaling her words had hit home.

“Why not kill me?” He cocked his head to one side, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Why settle at injuring?”

“Because I’ve seen enough death while collecting valiant warriors for the Great Halls. I’m sure some died from the weapons you’ve sold.” She took a step forward, pulling her fingers up into fists. “Your blood will not be on my hands.”

“Not even to save your beloved Trace?” He sat down behind the desk. He entwined his fingers. “How much do you know about Trace Dyson? Other than he’s your lover and knows lots about antique items?”

“He’s a good man. His family fought for years to restore artifacts to their rightful owners.”

One edge of his mouth curled up in a snarl. “Dyson is no hero. He’s a thief and a swindler, a fraud, and a liar. The only reason he got a badge was because of his father’s influence.” He gave her a warm smile. “You are a Valkyrie, one of Freyja’s Blessed. You deserve better than to associate with an outlaw, tomb robber, and thief.”

She scowled at him. “And you’d offer—what? A chance to be with you, a criminal who’s made a deal with the devil? The Wolf is not your friend.”

“He doesn’t have to be.” Blanco rose from behind the desk, spreading his hands. “He offered me a deal, and I took it. Wanting to better oneself isn’t a sin.”

She fell silent.

“The Wolf promised to save my grandfather and me from Armageddon. Is wanting to survive such a bad thing?” He tucked his hands behind his back, advancing on her slowly. “Trace, what can he offer you? A quick night of pleasure and then what? But you… Once you give me the lance, the Wolf will grant my wishes. If you wanted to return to Valhalla after Ragnarök, rebuild it in your own image…” He stopped in front of her and grinned. “Who could stop you?”

The vision flashed across her inner eye, the Great Halls emptied of warriors and replaced with her sisters, each enjoying the fruit of their long labors. Sitting at the tables, relaxing—never having to fly into battle again. The doors of her long-hidden brethren opening and the women emerging into the light, freed from their mental shackles and trauma at having to reap souls.

“Imagine it.” Blanco’s voice came to her down a long, dark tunnel. “You could take Freyja’s place, ruling over Valhalla.”

She saw herself in robes, moving among her sisters who bowed in acknowledgment of her status.

“And if you wanted Dyson—you could have him.”

Trace came into sight, wearing a dark robe. He knelt by the fountain.

She strolled to him and smiled, reaching down. She cupped his chin in her hand and brought his face up.

His eyes were blank and unseeing, nothing behind them. All signs of consciousness were gone, wiped clean by Blanco and the Wolf.

“Ah!” Laila woke from the dark vision with a gasp, shaking her head.

“It can be yours. Just give the Wolf the spear,” Blanco said in a slow, low intonation.

Her eyesight cleared, and she looked at Blanco, an icy hand gripping her heart. “He lies. He always lies. He won’t give you anything but death and destruction. Ragnarök says only a few will survive, and I doubt the Wolf’s choices will be among them. And as for Trace…” Her voice broke, the weight of the lies she’d told him heavy on her heart. “He has integrity and an inner strength you could only dream of. Tell the Wolf you renounce his offer and give the spear to me to save your soul and that of your grandfather.”

Blanco scowled. “You are in no position to dictate terms here. My offer stands—but not for long.” He walked past her and opened the door, revealing the guard standing there.

“Take her to Trace. Let them discuss their ‘future’ together.” Blanco stared at her. “If you change your mind, let the guards know, and they’ll bring you to me. If not, well…”

His grin turned into a sneer. “I’ll stop being polite.”

They escorted her down the hallway, away from the smiling arms dealer.

…

Trace looked up as the door opened, admitting Laila. She walked into the room, leaving the two thugs behind.

“We’ll be right here.” One man said. “If you want us, call out.”

The door slammed shut, leaving them alone.

“Trace.” Laila knelt beside him, pulling him into her embrace as he took a deep breath, willing the last of the pain away. “Thank Freyja.”

He ground his teeth together, fighting the emotional storm whirling around his mind. “For the time being.” He opened his eyes. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Blanco… He made me an offer.”

“Of course, he did.” Trace propped himself up against the wall. “That’s what men like him do. Make offers, try to split teams up. What did he say? He’d give you Valhalla?”

She drew back, telling him he’d hit home on the first guess.

“Figures.” He sat up and looked around the room. “Blanco’s good at figuring out what people want. He’d never keep that promise, you know. He lies about everything, everyone.” He took stock again of the room, trying to avoid looking at her directly.

A thin mattress lay in one corner, threadbare and nearly flat. A single lightbulb, tucked inside a wire mesh protector, hung overhead. The walls were plain white, the sterile appearance even more unsettling.

Laila helped Trace settle against the wall, sitting beside him. She fussed with her hands for a few minutes before speaking.

“I guess I have some explaining to do.” She touched the bracelet, still dangling from her wrist. “It’s…complicated.”

He wiped the blood from his mouth, wincing as the swollen flesh protested. “No shit.”

It was impossible to keep the anger out of his voice, and he didn’t want to.

Laila stood up and walked around the room, pacing like a caged animal. “I didn’t tell you everything about the lance because the information wasn’t relevant to retrieving it.”

“Of course not,” he snapped sarcastically. “But what was relevant was you telling me that you planned to take it with you when you left.” He shook his head, his heart aching with the revelation. “This was your plan from the start. Back in the cafe, you lied to me. Lied straight-out to my face about bringing the cane back to the exhibit and placing it beside your sister.” It was hard to keep his voice down below a yell. “You were going to take the spear and run, disappear without a trace. And I’d be left behind, sweeping up the mess we’d made together.” Trace pressed his palms to his eyes, pushing until it hurt. “You swore on your honor. Your damned honor as a Valkyrie.”

“I didn’t…” She sighed. “I couldn’t… I told you I’d return the cane to the exhibit. But it’s not a cane, so technically I wouldn’t be breaking my promise.”

“Seriously? You’re saying that shit out loud? Gods…” He threw his hands down. “What the fuck was Freyja thinking, sending you down alone to retrieve the cane? No backup? No partner? You played right into his hands.”

“Whose? The Wolf’s or Blanco’s?”

“Both.” A throbbing started behind his left eye. “Might as well have blown a trumpet when you arrived in New York City, let everyone know you were about to set off Ragnarök.”

“Only a Valkyrie could have taken the bracelet, used it to find the lance. There was no other choice,” she snapped back. “You haven’t found it in decades—there was no way you would have succeeded without my help. As for arriving with a troop of Valkyries, do you have any idea how much chaos that would have caused? The Wolf would have felt a need to respond, to send his minions against us—a fight for ownership of the lance. There’s no way it wouldn’t have been witnessed, your social media carrying the images around the world in seconds. Imagine how your people would react, finding out about Valhalla, Helheim…the Fenris Wolf.”

He shifted, hearing the truth in her words.

“I don’t know why I was sent alone. All I can think is that Mother Freyja didn’t know about Blanco’s deal with the Wolf. If he hadn’t touched it, let the evil infest him, I would have been able to take the spear without a problem. We would have switched the cane out and returned to the boat where I’d…”

“Ascend to Valhalla,” he snapped. “Or were you going to leave me on the beach? Were you even planning to say goodbye, or just disappear when my back was turned?”

“I—I hadn’t thought about it.” Her face went red—whether from embarrassment or anger, he wasn’t sure. She clenched and unclenched her hands. “I will not let the Wolf get the spear. What he can do with it—”

“He’ll screw everything up,” Trace said, “in other words.”

“Yes.” She stopped and stared at him. “He’ll be able to go to Helheim, pull souls from that damned place and add them to his forces. It will unbalance everything, throw the universe into chaos—initiate the final battle.”

“Ragnarök.” The word was bitter in his mouth, the syllables taking on new weight.

“Yes.” She hugged herself, the dark sweater hiding her hands. “I cannot be responsible for all that death and destruction.”

“That makes two of us.” He pressed a hand to his side, running his hand over the sore spots to check for any further injuries. “Daniel Blanco offered me a deal. Offered us a deal,” he corrected.

Laila stood up straight, listening.

“You press the button, and he’ll let you live. Let us both live.” He paused, weighing his words. “He’ll get the Wolf to allow us to survive Ragnarök.”

The snort rolled up from her belly, a world-class indignant reply. “And you believe him?”

“I don’t know what to believe right now.” He lifted his hands. “You tell me.”

“You heard what I said in the other room. The Fenris Wolf is a liar. Worse than Loki, worse than anyone, anything you can imagine. Whatever he’s promised Blanco, he won’t deliver. He’ll take the spear and kill us all, add our damned souls to his army, and we’ll die again on the battlefield, fighting those we love.” She went to the door and pounded on it. “Do you hear me? Nothing but lies come out of the Wolf’s mouth. He won’t give you immortality. He won’t give you anything but pain and death. He is not to be trusted.”

She slammed her fist against the door one more time before turning around and pressing her back to it. “This will not go the way Blanco thinks.”

“Are you sure about that?” Trace levered himself up, leaning against the wall for support. “What if Freyja sent you down here as bait, some small cog in a bigger machine? How do you know what the truth is?” He took a shallow breath, his ribs aching. “Maybe you were supposed to get played, used like this. Who knows?”

“What are you asking? To put my faith in the Wolf and hope he keeps his promise? Turn my back on Freyja and my sisters? And since when do you trust Blanco’s word over mine?”

The verbal slap dug deep into his gut.

“I’m not saying I believe him. But right now, I’m not sure about anything.” He shook his head. “What else haven’t you been honest with me about?”

“Nothing,” she snapped. “I only neglected to tell you about the lance because I knew it’d pain you, seeing it vanish from Midgard forever. I didn’t want to hurt you.” She knelt and took his hand, pressing it to her heart. “I swear, I’ve held nothing else back from you.”

His fingers dug into the rough black fabric as he studied her face. “And us? What about us? Was that honest emotion, or—”

Laila swallowed hard. “That wasn’t in my plan. Any plan. I never saw this coming.”

He drew a long, deep breath before releasing it in a slow, shuddering exhale. “I believe you.”

She kissed the top of his hand before letting go.

“I understand why you did what you did, even if I don’t like it. I’ve had orders, and I know what it’s like to be told to keep secrets. But I just want you to survive. If that means giving the spear to the Wolf, I’m open to that,” he said softly. “Is that so bad?”

“It is when you’re willing to give up the universe for one woman.” She closed her eyes. “It’s not a fair trade.”

“Maybe it is to me.”

Laila moved to one side. “I will not push the button. I will not.”

“He’ll break your arm and press your finger to it while you scream in pain. He’ll hurt you, do anything to make you do what he wants.” He kept his voice low, knowing they were likely being monitored. “I don’t think you understand how far he’ll go to make this happen.”

“I know.” She stared at him. “You think Blanco is the first bad man I’ve encountered in my life?” She shook her head. “Sven died when plague ravaged my town, taking my parents as well. Do I need to describe what monsters roam loose in such a place, targeting those who can’t defend themselves?”

An invisible hand gripped his throat, choking him into silence.

“By the time Freyja came to me, I had been running for my life, fighting my way out into the wilderness.” Her hand reached down to where the boot knife would have been, removed while they’d been knocked out. “I had only the knife I’d left my house with. I was cold, hungry, and heard the wolves howling nearby. They’d gotten fat on the corpses we were unable to bury, and now they wanted fresh meat. I vowed I would not die at their claws, bitten and bleeding out in a long, awful death.”

A chill slid through his veins, holding him in place.

“But before I could prepare to die, Freyja came to me and offered a chance to escape my fate. I took it and served her proudly for centuries.” She gave an angry shake of her head. “I will not let the Wolf devour all of mankind, not before Ragnarök.”

“But he’ll hurt you.” Trace searched for the right words. “He won’t hesitate to torture you, beat you to get what he wants.”

“I’m not worried about what he does to me. I’m worried about what he’ll do to you.” Her whispered response broke him. “Because he’ll try to use you against me. And I can’t let him.” She took his hand. “Freyja help me, because I’m not sure I’m strong enough to hold out.”

The door opened.