Redeemer (Night War Saga Book 3) Read online

  Despite my exhaustion, my brain clicked into high gear the minute my head hit the pillow. The enormity of our task weighed heavily on my shoulders, and anxiety about locating the remaining weapon pieces, combined with sorrow over Nott’s heartbreaking history, kept me from drifting off. I shifted to my side, willing my energy to settle, or at the very least to quiet down enough to let me have a modicum of peace. But my energy wasn’t having it. I blinked at the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains covering the window. Didn’t the Liv have some kind of sleep-inducing function? A little melatonin drip or something that I could use to slow the thoughts spinning around in my head like whirling dervishes?

  I called up the energy that resided beneath my ribcage, but instead of soothing me, the Liv just made me jumpier. I let it fizzle out and rolled onto my other side, staring at the wall for a full minute before I remembered that the one thing that had the power to calm me, even on a frostbite-inducing, jotun-laden mountain, was sleeping right across the hall. I could stay where I was, and battle with my overwrought brain . . . or I could climb into Tore’s bed, and find a better way to distract myself.

  I chose the latter option.

  Careful not to wake the snoring Mack, I quietly opened my door and tiptoed across the hallway. My knuckles rapped softly on Tore’s door, and when I didn’t hear an objection I turned the knob and stepped silently inside. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating a spectacular sight. Holy Lord. Tore lay shirtless, face-down on the top of his bed. His loose sweatpants hung low on his hips, and the thick muscles of his back rose and fell gently with each breath. The poor guy must have been so exhausted, he’d passed out before he could get under the covers . . . or put on a shirt. Lucky me.

  “Tore?” I whispered as I closed the door and crossed to the bed.

  “Mmm?” he mumbled into his pillow.

  I bit down on my bottom lip. I didn’t want to wake him. But I didn’t want to go back to my own room—and my own thoughts—either. “Can I stay with you?”

  Tore didn’t say a word. He just rolled to his side and held out his arm. I hurriedly climbed on the bed and nestled in next to him, breathing in the soothing scent of spearmint and winter and Tore. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close, and I rested my fingertips against the expanse of muscles that made up his chest. They were firm and warm, and they rumbled as he pressed his palm to my lower back with a sigh.

  Shirtless Tore was all kinds of yummy.

  “Love you,” I murmured as I settled into the bubble of safety that was being in Tore’s arms. My energy calmed and my brain decompressed, and before I knew it, my breaths had slowed to match Tore’s rhythmic ones.

  For the first time in entirely too long, I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the security of knowing I was exactly where I was meant to be.

  ***

  “Afternoon, Pepper.” The low murmur in my ear pulled me from my sleep. I forced my eyes open and drank in the delightful view of Tore’s beautiful stubbled face, framed by his tousled blond mane. The long strands draped over his thick shoulders to brush against my bare arms.

  “Afternoon.” I grinned. The pressure on my lower limbs let me know we were a tangle of legs and sheets, and the twinkle in Tore’s eyes suggested he was every bit as happy about our sleeping arrangements as I was. “Wait. Afternoon? How long did we sleep?”

  Tore reached behind him to pull his phone from the nightstand. He glanced at it before tossing the device back to its resting place. “Not sure what time you came in here, but I’ve been out for thirteen hours. I couldn’t tell you the last time I slept that long. Apparently, I like you in my bed.”

  My cheeks warmed. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t want to be alone last night.”

  “No apologies needed.” Tore returned his hand to my butt and gave a light squeeze. “You can come in here any time.”

  I snuggled closer, and ran my fingers along his biceps. “Keep sleeping shirtless and maybe I will.”

  “Is that a promise?” Tore brought his mouth down to mine. He took my bottom lip between his and sucked lightly, sending a slow burn through my body. I moved my hand up to fist his hair, then pressed myself against him, letting the burn turn into a full-on inferno. We’d already slept most of the day away; a few more hours off were hardly going to kill us.

  Though the abrupt removal of Tore’s lips from mine might kill me. Seriously? He was stopping now? Why?

  “No way.” Tore’s entire body tensed. He lifted his head from the pillow, and angled it toward the door.

  “No way, what?” I all but whined. Come back, Tore’s lips.

  “That whistling.” Tore paused. A faint melody broke through the quiet. “It almost sounds like . . .” Tore sucked in a sharp breath, then withdrew his leg from between mine. Come back, Tore’s leg, too!

  “What’s it sound like?” I reluctantly propped myself up on one elbow. Clearly, we’d be taking a raincheck on what would have been an awesome moment. Again.

  “My mom used to whistle that song when she washed the dishes.” Tore grinned. “I asked Mack to get her a job working with us, and I thought it would take him a while to make it happen. But it sounds like she’s downstairs.”

  I sat up so fast I nearly head-butted Tore’s perfect face. “Your mom is here? And I just spent the night in your bed?”

  “Easy, Allie.” Tore sat up beside me, all shirtless and sexy and not nearly freaked out enough that we’d just been making out with his mom in the house.

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled. “You don’t have to go see your significant other’s mom with bedhead.” Or with a major case of hormones.

  “You always look beautiful.” Tore pressed a kiss to my forehead, and leaned over the edge of the bed to pick up a T-shirt from the ground. “But brush your hair if it’ll make you feel better, and we can walk downstairs together.”

  “Right.” I jumped out of Tore’s bed, and scampered across the hall. Once in my room, I threw on jeans and a clean tank top, brushed my hair and teeth, and thoroughly examined myself in the mirror. When I was confident I’d cleaned up enough to avert the walk of shame, I stepped into the hallway, prepared to meet my boyfriend’s mom. Again.

  “Ready?” Tore held out his hand, and I took it.

  “Are you?” I asked. No matter how nervous I felt, I knew his anxiety would be ten times worse. The poor guy had to re-introduce himself to his own mother. At least we had her safely in our home, and we’d be able to find out how much she actually knew about our—and her—world.

  “I can handle anything, so long as you’re with me. Let’s go.” Tore guided me forward, and I followed him down the stairs. We crossed the living room, walked past the empty table that offered a somewhat formal dining area, and paused at the entry to the kitchen. Tore held out a hand, and I stepped through the doorway first. Here goes nothing.

  Inside the kitchen, Tore’s mom scrubbed plates at the sink, her back to us. A narrow island cut through the center of the room, with a good-sized kitchen table situated in front of the window on the right wall. It’s slightly scuffed surface had obviously seen more use than its more formal counterpart in the other room. Bodie and Johann occupied two of the kitchen table’s chairs, locked in an intense game of War. Bodie looked up as we entered, his gaze darting between me and Tore. His lips turned up in a smirk, and he opened his mouth, no doubt intending to embarrass the daylights out of us.

  “Don’t even think it.” Tore spoke first. “Where’s Greta?”

  “She and Mack took Killer into town to pick up some gear for all of us. Clothes, movies, the stuff we lost back in the . . .” Bodie glanced over at Tore’s mom. “Uh, stuff we forgot to bring with us.”

  “Got it.” Tore tilted his head at his mom, and Bodie nodded.

  “Mrs.—uh, I mean, Ophelia,” Bodie spoke to the blonde-haired woman. She turned, looking over the island to gaze at the card-playing occupants of the in-kitchen table, and I was struck again by her resemblance to Tore.

/>   “Yes, Bodie?” She smiled. Good—she knew Bodie’s name. Her short-term memory was fine, at least.

  “I’m not sure if you remember the rest of our, uh, group,” Bodie fumbled. “But this is Tore, and Allie.”

  “Of course, I remember you.” Ophelia smiled warmly at us. “You seemed very flustered when we met the other day. Hopefully you’ve caught up from your jet lag.”

  “Right,” Tore said slowly. He gripped my hand tightly, and I knew it killed him to have to pretend he didn’t know his own mother. “It’s good to see you again. Thank you for, uh, helping us out around the house?”

  “Ja,” Ophelia said. “Mack said you needed some assistance getting settled, and I certainly don’t mind taking a break from the fields. I’m so sorry. When we met, I thought you were just passing through—you didn’t bring much luggage with you. I didn’t realize you were Asgardian transfers.”

  “Asgardian transfers?” Tore turned to Bodie and Johann, his face a mask of what is she talking about? Seriously? Ophelia didn’t remember she was a mom, but she remembered Asgard?

  “Ophelia told us that she’s a domestic servant from Asgard.” Johann spoke slowly. “She’s lived in Trondheim for as long as she can remember, and she assists the local Asgardians with whatever tasks they need to keep the city operational. Mack spoke to her supervisor at the lingonberry farm and requested that she come and help us. Thankfully, everything worked out.”

  “Until recently, I was tending the crops.” Ophelia wiped her hands on a dishtowel before filling a kettle with water. She carried the kettle to the stove, and turned it up to boil. “Our locals love their pastries, and our farm supplied the bakeries with most of their lingonberries.”

  My heart squeezed as Tore’s grip tightened on my hand. This had to be so hard on him—his mom was a healer, who’d once lived in a glass palace in the realm of the gods. Now she believed she was a—did Johann say domestic servant?—whose fate rested in the hands of whoever her farm supervisor was. I studied her face, but found no sign of sadness. A gentle nudge to her fourth center revealed a small brown hook surrounded by sunshine and seedlings and an image of early morning walks in the fields. Despite the hook, which I sensed was her soul’s remembrance of her life in Asgard, there was tremendous peace in her heart. I hadn’t expected to see that, given the way she’d ended up here. Interesting. Whether by choice or some whacked out revenge-god programming, Ophelia experienced her life in Trondheim through a lens of happiness. Maybe Vidar had done her a favor after all.

  Though she still should have had some choice in the matter.

  “Mo—er, Ophelia?” Tore stumbled, and a surge of sorrow pulsed through my chest as I ran my thumb along the back of his hand. Don’t cry, Allie. Keep it together for Tore. “How long did you say you worked on the farm?”

  Ophelia looked up thoughtfully. “You know, I can’t recall. To be honest, I had a bit of an accident and was diagnosed with amnesia a few years ago.”

  Wait. She knows? My breath caught at her admission, but Ophelia just took some mugs from the cupboard, and set them on a tray with a box of elderberry tea bags.

  Tore shot me an emotion-laden look before choking out, “An accident?”

  Ophelia tilted her head. “I don’t recall experiencing a trauma, but there must have been one. One doesn’t simply forget an entire lifetime without a major physical injury. Ja?”

  Oh, there’d been an injury. But it had come from a bat-skit crazy revenge god, not from a physical trauma.

  “Allie?” Tore looked down at me, concern shining through his icy blue eyes. “You okay?” He gently pried my fingers from his hand, tilting his head toward the marks my nails had dug into his skin.

  Oops. I took a slow breath and willed my heart rate to steady. “I’m good,” I lied, curbing my frustration at Vidar’s cruelty. I turned to Ophelia and drew my shoulders back. “I’m sorry for your memory loss,” I said evenly. No emotion, Allie. You don’t want to scare her. “It must be very difficult to know there are pieces of your life you can’t recall.”

  Ophelia shooed me away with a hand. “Tusen takk, but there’s no sense fretting over things we can’t change. The important thing is that my short-term memory is intact, and I’ve been here plenty long enough to pick up some excellent recipes.” She winked at me, as if it was no big deal that she didn’t remember the majority of her life. She seemed to have made peace with her reality. Poor Ophelia.

  Bodie’s head snapped up from his game of War. “Do you remember your lingonberry cookie recipe?” he asked. Johann reached over and elbowed him.

  “Shh,” Johann hissed.

  Bodie had the sense of mind to shoot Tore a rueful look. “Sorry,” he mouthed.

  Tore glared at Bodie in a look that very clearly communicated, don’t confuse my mom, idiot.

  We all held our breath as Ophelia tilted her head. “Now, how did you know about that recipe?”

  “I didn’t,” Bodie said hastily. “I just, uh . . . hoped?”

  “Well, it just so happens that I do have an extraordinary lingonberry cookie recipe.” Ophelia beamed at Bodie. “I’ll make it for you soon.”

  Whew. Crisis averted. For now.

  Ophelia carried the tray over to the table. I extracted my hand from Tore’s and crossed to the stove to lift the kettle. “Oh, thank you, dear,” Ophelia said.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  “Please, sit down.” Tore pulled out a chair for his mom. “Tell us about your life in Trondheim.”

  Ophelia distributed the cups, and placed a tea bag in each one. She took the offered seat as I poured hot water into each mug. “There’s not much to tell, really. My work has been very consuming—it’s left little time for much else. Farmers work the fields from sunrise until supper; we only break for lunch. Tea breaks like this were rare.” She smiled up at me.

  “That must have been very tiring,” I surmised.

  “Yes, but it was quite satisfying. I found working with the earth to be extremely grounding.”

  What did she say? The kettle slipped from my hands as I lowered it back on the stove, and I hastily wiped up the spilled droplets. ‘Grounding’ was definitely an energy word. Either the farm where Ophelia worked was über Zen, or she remembered some things from her life as an Asgardian healer. And if she remembered something about her time as a healer . . . then with a little work, she might be able to remember Tore. The Liv flared to life in my chest, sending a spark of blue through my palm. I wanted to heal Tore’s mom so badly that my fingers trembled.

  “Allie?” Tore placed a hand on my lower back before guiding me to the kitchen table. I lowered myself onto the bench opposite the chairs with shaky legs, and slid over enough to make room for Tore. He sat on the bench next to me, his intense gaze never leaving my face. “You okay?”

  I tilted my head at my now balled fists. A faint, blue glow seeped through my fingers.

  “Oh, my! Is that the Liv?” Ophelia stared at my hands. “Mack told me that you were gifted with it.”

  Mack did what now?

  Johann set his mug down so quickly, tea splattered on the table. My protectors and I exchanged glances. How much had Mack told Ophelia about our operation?

  “You know about the Liv?” Tore’s voice sounded calm, but the bulging vein along his jaw revealed his strain. Why hadn’t Mack prepped us before bringing Tore’s mom into the house? Oh, right. Maybe the prep session had happened while I’d been sleeping the day away. In Tore’s bed. Yum. Also, blush.

  Ophelia’s brows furrowed. “Of course I know about the Liv,” she said. “The Norns in town talk about it, too—it heals the gravest of injuries, and has the power to give life. Correct?”

  “Uh, correct.” I took a slow breath and willed the Liv to ebb from my hands. It simmered in my chest, before snuffing itself out. I wrapped my fingers around my mug, and took a drink. Warm tea slid down my throat, but the usually soothing liquid did nothing to calm my mood. How was it possible that this woman understood
so many things from her world—our world—but couldn’t remember her role within it? She’d been a healer; she was the wife of Revenge, and mother to his heir. And yet, here she was, living in Midgard, having tea with her son . . . and she had no idea.

  Greta and I were going to fix this if it was the last thing we ever did.

  “What else did Mack tell you about our, uh, transfer here?” Tore parroted Ophelia’s earlier words. He slowly lifted his mug to his lips and drank. I mirrored his movement.

  “He told me that you were warriors sent to Midgard on a secret mission for the Alfödr. He said that he enjoyed cooking for your team, but that he needed help cleaning and taking care of the house and the dog while you were away on business. And he asked that I move into the guest cottage once your dragon arrived.” Ophelia said the words ‘your dragon’ so calmly, for a moment I thought she’d misspoken.

  And then I remembered.

  “Scarlet’s coming? Here? How?” My head whipped from Ophelia to Tore. “How’d you talk Mack into letting her come? Wait, won’t the humans notice?”

  Tore furrowed his brow, clearly unsure how to answer. Neither of us knew how much Ophelia knew about us, though a whole lot seemed to be the appropriate answer. Thankfully, Bodie jumped in again.

  “Before you guys dragged yourselves out of bed—” he smirked as Tore and I shot him twin glares, “—Ophelia told Johann and me that this section of Trondheim is shielded from the mortals. The Norns maintain its sanctity under the Alfödr’s command. This part of the town is cloaked, so the humans literally can’t see it.”