Kettlingr flew up to meet the attack. The blade skittered against a wall of ice that dissolved as soon as the sword completed its swing. Mist sang, and her j?tunn blood, the blood she had not known she possessed, sang with her. Strength greater than that of mortal or Valkyrie throbbed in blood and blossomed in bone. Battle runes flared before her eyes. The giants retreated with cries of rage and dismay. She advanced, slashing at any flesh within reach. For a moment it seemed that she might even win.
But the new power didn’t last. She felt herself falter under the weight of uncertainty. They were her kin . Any one of them might be …
She never completed the thought. Hrimgrimir roared and swung a giant fist, knocking her against the wall. Somehow she kept her grip on Kettlingr, but the blow had paralyzed her arm. She knew then that she was going to die, and she would not be returning.
Sliding up the wall, she grinned into the giant’s face and prepared herself for the final, crushing blow. Hrimgrimir bellowed and raised his hand. The back door swung open, and a thickset blond man staggered into the room, his head swinging right and left in confusion.
“Wa’s goin’ on here?” he drawled, leaning heavily against the door frame. “Can’ a man ge’ any sleep?”
Hrimgrimir and the other j?tunar swung to face the man. “Get out!” Hrimgrimir snarled.
“Mist?” The man took another step into the room, eyes widening. “Issat you?”
She caught her breath and worked her shoulder, feeling it come back to life again. Váli was a drunk and a slackard, but he wasn’t as stupid as he looked. He had some part in all this. He knew what was happening, and he was trying to help her.
With a hoot of laughter, Váli stumbled his way past the j?tunar with arms extended. “So … gla’ to see you,” he said, his full weight crashing into Mist. “Missed you.”
Smothered in his bearish embrace, Mist felt the pressure of his body pushing her away from the wall. He was moving her toward the door to the bar, inch by subtle inch.
“Get out of here,” he hissed, his mouth pressed to her ear.
“Where is Vídarr?” she whispered.
“You can’t see him.” They reached the door, and Mist heard the hinges creak. “Save yourself.”
Save yourself . Vídarr wasn’t in league with the evil ones. He was in trouble. Bad trouble.
Without warning, Mist shoved Váli aside and ran for the back door, swinging Kettlingr in a deadly arc. Hrimgrimir swiped at her and missed. The rest were too startled to intercept her before she got to the back door and flung it open.
Vídarr sat in a battered chair in what served as his office, his face blank as uncarved stone. His eyes barely flickered as Mist entered the room.
“Well, you have created quite a disturbance,” a voice said from the shadows behind the chair. “I had hoped you would take warning and flee. After all the pleasure you’ve given me, I had intended to spare you.”
Eric . But it wasn’t Eric’s voice. And the figure that emerged from the shadows was not tall and broad, but as lean and wiry as a stoat. Tight black leather covered him from neck to toe. His long, handsome face was smiling. The expression wasn’t friendly.
Mist wasn’t feeling particularly friendly herself. “I’ve come for Gungnir, Slanderer,” she said.
“How charming.” Loki walked past Vídarr without a glance in his direction and stood before her, hands on hips. “You always were impulsive, my dear. That was what made you so good in bed.”
Mist swung Kettlingr at his head. Loki sent the sword spinning to the floor with three short words and a wave of his hand.
“It’s no use,” Vídarr said, his voice thick with despair. “You can’t beat him.”
“Listen to him, Villkatt,” Loki said. “Like you, Odhinn’s son has been corrupted by his long residence in Midgard. He proved remarkably clumsy in his attempts to interfere.” Loki reached for the glass of red wine that stood on the nearby desk and sniffed it critically. “In fact, we had nearly reached an arrangement to the advantage of both of us.”
Mist ignored the pain in her hand and stared at Vídarr. “What arrangement?”