Page 20 of Odin

Erik's witch had commanded him to rise when she called, but Freyja was not that witch. Yet it was her call for help that had awoken him...she who compelled him to love her, to obey...was this some sort of sorcery, too?

No, he decided. Freyja was not a witch, for all that she enchanted him. Love was a magic all its own, and he knew what he felt for her just as he knew he'd never loved Frigg...and he would never stop loving his lost sons. Not even if he lived another thousand years.

But a lot could happen in a thousand years. More than he could learn about in any maintenance manual. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the other books in Freyja's scriptorium. The chamber where she slept, so he must hurry if he meant to borrow some of the books before she retired for the evening.

Warming her bed was a wondrous thing, but he needed to understand her world so that he could properly protect her. If that meant reading every book she had, then he would do so...and he would not return to her bed until he deserved her trust.

TWENTY-THREE

Freyja finished the chips, chasing them down with a cup of water, because she definitely didn't want another foul beer. When Olaf still didn't return, and her eyes grew heavy, she decided to go to bed, taking one of the lanterns with her. If Olaf was right, the solar panels would start working again when the sun rose, and there would be power in the building again. Light and heat and, most importantly, power for the coffee maker.

She half hoped to find him in the bed they'd shared last night, keeping it warm, for it was going to be a cold night, without any power. But the library was cold and empty, so she stole a bunch of spare blankets from one of the guest rooms to help keep her warm through the night.

He had to return eventually. Where else would he go?

Then again, now he'd heard her dark secret, maybe he didn't want to share a bed with her, not even to keep warm. She remembered the horror in Saint Nik's eyes when he'd mentioned the rumours of necrophilia – and he was a man who went after any woman on campus. But he kept well away from her.

Could she blame him, really? Even if she hadn't been guilty of any crime, she was still a disgraced doctor, one no hospital or clinic would employ. It was only a matter of time before she became a disgraced lab manager, too.

If she could find somewhere else to sleep, far from all her failures, she would, too.

She shucked off her jacket and her shoes, but left the rest of her clothes on for warmth, before burrowing under the blankets.

But instead of her body warming them, the blankets only seemed to chill her further, stealing all her body heat until the chill invaded her very bones. It never got this cold back home.

Had she made a mistake in coming here? Running halfway around the world to get away, when the rumours had still followed her?

She'd hoped for a fresh start, and for a time, she'd had one. Until the rumours had arrived, more virulent than any virus, so that not even the office sleaze would dare touch her. Not that she'd wanted attention from Saint Nik, especially when rumour had it he preferred students and people he had power over, and he'd learned quickly that making false complaints about her wouldn't fly. She might be a disgraced doctor, but no one knew better than a medical professional how well good documentation could cover even the most sizeable arse. Amal's wrongly dated death certificate had been her downfall, and it wasn't a mistake she'd ever repeat.

Maybe she should have stayed home, where it was warm. She might not be able to practice as a doctor again, but there were surely some public health positions in dire need of experts right now.

If her father really could pull some strings...

She sighed, her breath condensing in the air. Fuck, it was cold. She'd give anything for Olaf to share her bed again tonight. Just for warmth. Nothing else, no matter how much she wanted it.

She should never have told him her story. Especially not tonight. If there was any chance he might trip and bump his head, so he forgot the last few hours...

No. She wouldn't wish that on anyone. Head injuries were tricky things, with complications that could go on for weeks or months or even years, undetected.

Maybe she was the damaged one, and she could blame all her bad decisions over the last few days on hitting her head when she'd lost control of the scooter, just before she'd met Olaf. If she could blame a head injury for all of her mistakes since then...

No. Not even a head injury would explain away the missing body. Better for the injury to have been fatal, and she'd never know the consequences of her second fall from grace.

Because she wasn't sure she had the strength to start over a third time.

Maybe...maybe it was best that the power was out, and she was freezing. If she succumbed to hypothermia tonight, no one would blame her for anything. Just like no one had dared pin the rightful blame on Amal for signing his own death certificate and escaping hospital to go to a party, of all things.

Was this how easy it had been for Amal? Just falling asleep, knowing you'd never wake up and have to face any consequences for your actions?

She'd always felt sorry for him, when she hadn't been furious at him, wishing she could raise him from the dead so she could kick him in the fork for fucking up her life. Selfish arsehole.

But right now, being selfish seemed like a really good idea. Slipping away so someone else could be held responsible for everything, just for once. Maybe they'd blame Olaf for the power outage, and he'd magically produce the missing body out of guilt.

Then again, if she was really being as selfish as Amal, she'd want one more night with Olaf. One last almighty orgasm.

She drifted off to sleep, dreaming about what she wanted, but didn't dare have.

TWENTY-FOUR

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