Page 26 of Odin

When Freyja woke and stumbled to the bathroom, she could barely walk. She probably shouldn't have had quite that much sex with Olaf, but he'd been so damn good and if it was the last time she ever got to...she'd be still riding him right now, if he was here. She'd never met a man with that kind of stamina – never met a man who lasted more than fifteen minutes, actually, let alone a dusk 'til dawn fuckfest that still left her aching for more.

They had time. The police weren't supposed to arrive until Monday, so there was still the rest of the weekend.

Maybe she could even entice Olaf into sharing a shower with her, she thought as she endured the lukewarm spray alone. If she could find him.

He'd left the library by the time she woke up, and he wasn't in the cafeteria, either.

The snow in the courtyard was starting to melt in the morning sun, she thought, or at least it looked like there was less of it, but there was no one else out there. It was almost like Olaf had left the lab entirely, which just wasn't possible. The driveway and the road all the way to the village were still as snowed in as ever, with no sign of shifting soon.

Unless a burst of summer weather came over the mountains, and melted it all away. That would still take days, though – time enough to do the last few things on her bucket list.

She donned her outdoor gear and headed out into the courtyard, where she began to shape snowballs. One after the other, until she had a massive pile of them. Then she began to pelt the stupid sundial.

The first few throws went wide, or glanced off it, so she took a step closer, taking a second to aim before she let fly. When that one hit, the sundial rang faintly, like the echo of a bell. The faintest shadow of what Olaf could do, like trying to mop up a flood with a single tissue.

It wasn't fair. The world was full of selfish arseholes like Amal and Saint Nik and whoever had stolen Karl's ice mummy. Why did she always have to take the blame for it? Three snowballs hit the sundial, one after the other.

Didn't she work every bit as hard, if not harder?

She threw two snowballs this time, though only one hit the target.

Didn't she deserve to be happy?

The next one smashed against the plinth the sundial sat on, shattering into slush.

Didn't she deserve to have a career...

Pof!

...a hot man in her bed...

Pof!

...and for things to go right for once?

She threw missile after missile, until she ran out of snowballs, and had to make a fresh pile. She threw those, too, her aim growing steadily worse as it became harder and harder to see through the tears streaming down her face.

She should probably go inside before they froze, or worse, Olaf came back from his morning run, and saw her like this. He'd never touch her again if he knew what a fucking mess she was, compared to his hot perfection.

Maybe it was best that she'd be forced to leave before he found out how much of a failure she really was. She'd fucked up everything else in her life – she was certain she'd fuck up a relationship with him, too, if they had one. It was only a matter of time.

And seeing as he didn't drink...maybe she should go inside and have that bottle of champagne with breakfast. It wasn't like she could fuck things up any worse today.

Freyja trudged back to the loading dock, to shuck off her snow gear, before padding in her socks to the cafeteria.

THIRTY-TWO

"Thor, Loki, Odin. Come to my aid, for I have need of you."

Odin stirred in his cold, metal bed. The call was faint, but familiar. Not Freyja's beloved voice, but another's. Another whose call was stronger, though further away.

"Thor, Loki, Odin, wake and ready for battle, for I need your help."

It must be Erik's witch, the girl whose spell had sent him to sleep for a thousand years. The one who'd cut out first Thor's heart, then Loki's. Yet if she was calling them, then they must still live.

Erik had kept his promise. Odin would not have believed it possible, for everything he knew about the man told him he was faithless, with no honour to speak of. Perhaps he'd been wrong.

Or perhaps it was the witch, and not Erik, honouring that promise. Odin had not known any witches, so he could not speak to their honour.

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