For millennia, back when the earth was new, Asgard and Midgard were connected by the Bofrir bridge, made from the bones of the dragons who came before. One terrible day the bridge was destroyed. The damage to the bridge was permanent, and the cause of its destruction came as a surprise to all, for the culprits were revealed to be Fryr of the Vanir and his great friend Loki of the Aesir, two daring young gods whose childish prank brought a terrible consequence. The bridge was the root of the gods’ power, and Loki and Fryr were accused of trying to take the power for themselves.
As punishment for their actions Loki was banished to the frozen depths for five thousand years, while Fryr was consigned to limbo for an indefinite period since his crime had been the greater one. It was his trident that had sent the bridge to the abyss.
With the bridge destroyed, the gods were separated. The Vanir, the gods and goddesses of hearth and earth, were trapped in Midgard; while of the Aesir, the warrior gods of sky and light, only mighty Odin and his wife, Frigg, remained in Asgard, both of their sons lost to them for thousands of years. Their sons: Balder and Loki. Branford and Killian Gardiner.
Killian Gardiner. Loki. Killian. Loki.
Her lover. Freya knew what she had to do once Ingrid told her about the breach of Yggdrasil. The toxin was the sap from the poisoned tree, and there was only one man in the whole universe who would find it amusing to destroy the very foundation of their world and bring about Ragnarok. The end of times. The doom of the gods. Freya realized that the sand giants were Loki’s Snow Giants, his guards. They had come back and circled the house at Fair Haven, to be close to their master. She raced as fast as she could to Fair Haven and found Killian in his usual place, aboard his beloved boat.
She climbed on board and faced him. “I know, you know,” she said. “I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.” The realization had been slowly dawning. She’d denied it, never dared to admit it to herself, even privately, but now there was no way to ignore it.
Killian took her hand in his. “I’m so glad. I’ve been waiting so long . . . five thousand years, with just 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 weapon, but she was too late. The barrel contained six bullets. The last shot rang out, but this time there were no broken windows or cratered ceiling. The bullet had found a home in one of the brothers.
With ferocious strength, Freya ripped Killian off Bran, who lay motionless on the ground, and Killian tumbled away, his leg covered in blood. A hole was torn through his pant leg and blood poured from the open wound. Without thinking, she pressed her hand to the wound, stopping the flow for a moment.
Killian groaned, and all the color drained from his face; but he would live, Freya thought contemptuously. She got up to tend to Bran, but with a shock, she saw that he had disappeared.
There was no one else in the room.
chapter forty-three
The Curse of
Freya and Balder
Loki! What did you do! Where is he?!” she screamed. Where was her beloved? Had he left her forever?
Killian blinked his eyes open and looked at Freya. “Loki? He escaped? You have to catch him . . . follow him . . .” He coughed. “Before he . . .”
“Stop it! Stop lying. What do you mean Loki has escaped?” she said, feeling as if she were about to lose her mind, just when everything had begun to make sense.
Killian shook his head, and he looked so wounded that it was as if a light began to catch fire in her mind. Everything that had been hazy and confused and twisted before began to dissipate into the cold, clear light of the truth. When she said his name, it was as if she were waking up from the deepest sleep. “Balder, is it really you?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Killian’s face, bloodied and weary, broke into a beautiful smile. The smile of the boy who had won her heart in Asgard. The smile of her beloved. He looked the way he did when she had first seen him, a beautiful boy playing his lyre at the edge of the forest. With those gorgeous blue-green eyes, merry and playful and light.