Fate Undone (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 5) (4 page)

Esha was a soulceress, a type of Mythean who drew her power from the immortal souls of other Mytheans. It wasn’t conscious on her part, but it was damned unpleasant for others to feel the shivery sense of their power slipping away. They’d be temporarily weakened, unable to manifest their magic or immortal strength. Because the perpetrator of their misery only got stronger, most Mytheans despised soulceresses.

Sylvi had never actively despised Esha or any other soulceress because, frankly, she didn’t have the interest in despising anyone who wasn’t outright evil. Ten years was just a blip of time to someone like Sylvi, who’d been here for half a millennium. She’d just never noticed Esha, not when work and life flew by so quickly.
 

Then Warren and Esha had gotten together and Esha had started working part-time for the Praesidium. Sylvi had finally noticed the other woman now that she came to the Praesidium more often and realized that she liked her a lot.

Ever since she’d been evicted from Asgard and her life had gone to shit, she’d been searching for a home.
 

Here, at the Immortal University, she’d finally found it. Amongst the beautiful old buildings and rolling green lawns spotted with enormous oaks, she’d found others who were like her. Mytheans, those supernatural creatures of religion and myth who’d been created by the beliefs of mortals, had established the university hundreds of years ago as an institution of learning.
 

In the following centuries, necessity had dictated that it grow from a mere school into an enormous organization that acted as the informal governing body of supernatural creatures in Britain. It took organization, support, and policing to keep Mytheans’ secret from mortals, and that’s where the university came in. That’s where she came in.

She was halfway across the lawn separating the main buildings from her little cottage at the edge of the forest when that back-of-the-neck itchy feeling returned. Her chest tightened.

Weird. She’d shaken it off by the time she let herself into her little one bedroom cottage. Warm lights flared to life when she flipped the switch and illuminated the cozy space she’d made her own so many years ago. It had seen a whole lot of modernization since she’d moved in four hundred years ago, but it was still quaint and quiet, with colorful furniture and art gracing the old stone walls and wooden floors.

As was her habit, she was out of her clothes and in the shower in less than five minutes. A quick side trip to the fridge had snagged her a beer for shower time—a little tip from Esha—and now she had all the time in the world to wash away the soreness in her muscles.

Logan stumbled across the small stretch of lawn separating the forest from the little cottage. The hand he’d pressed against the wound in his stomach was coated with blood and his head was woozy.
 

He might be a god, and therefore immortal, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be seriously, if only briefly, put down by a couple of bullet wounds. The wound in his shoulder was less than nothing. Straight through the muscle and out the other side. The one in his gut, however…
 

The pain and weakness racking him indicated that the bullet had taken out some vital organs on its way through his flesh.

It had made it impossible to fly after only a few hundred yards. He’d crashed into the forest. He’d come to in his original form, as Loki. It wasn’t very different in appearance from how he looked as Logan, which made the Logan identity easier to hold for centuries. Still pale skinned and dark haired, just with slightly harsher features.
 

Because he was so badly injured, he was no longer able to hold any kind of illusion and he’d started off on foot, intent on outrunning the guards who were no doubt following him. Soon, he’d realized he wasn’t going to make it. Even gods needed functioning organs.

When Sigyn had walked across rolling hills toward the little cottage, he’d stopped in his tracks, once again idiotically drawn to her. It had gotten him shot, for fate’s sake, but he’d done it a second time. He had a plan to come back for her once he’d eliminated the threat to his life and hers, but she kept pulling at him now that he was near.
 

Ever since they’d parted eight hundred years ago, he’d wanted her. He’d never stopped wanting her, but it hadn’t been the right time. When he’d learned of the construction of the labyrinth nearly a century ago, it had thrown his whole life into perspective.

The end was finally coming for him. What had been fated—what he had feared above all else—was finally being set into motion. Imprisonment and death. The mere thought sent chills across his sweaty skin.

He’d vowed that if he could evade death and his fate once again, he’d come for her. That had been a century ago—a blip of time to an immortal like himself and nothing compared to how long they’d been apart.

After all this time, he was close to her once again.
 

As he’d stood at the edge of the forest, staring at her, the lightheadedness had come.

Blood loss. Enough to fell even a god, if temporarily. Temporarily was all it would take for the guards to find his body. She was his only hope. He set off toward her little cottage.

Finally, he reached the front door and stumbled through.

The lights within were lit, revealing a cluttered little cottage with cozy furniture, colorful paintings on stone walls, and a big empty hearth. Photos lined the mantel. Sigyn grinned out from them all, surrounded by friends. More often than not, the setting appeared to be the university.
 

His soul warmed just to be in her home. This was the place she’d made her own. He felt like he were with her again, and the warmth it put inside him almost overwhelmed the pain of his wounds.

His attention was dragged away from the photos by a low hum of water. A shower. Sigyn was in the shower. Naked.

His feet moved as if they were separate from his brain. He should just collapse on her couch and hope she took mercy on him when she came out. He should not go spy on her in the shower. Hell, especially not after he’d gotten shot because he was playing Peeping Tom outside her window earlier tonight.

But he found himself at the entrance to the small bathroom anyway. It’d been right off the short hall leading from the living room to the bedroom. A matter of a few steps, really. He had to see her. Now that he was so close to her after so long, any opportunity he had couldn’t be ignored.
 

The door was swung open to reveal a small white bathroom. An old, claw footed tub with a shower overhead was surrounded by a semi-sheer curtain. Sigyn stood within, tall and slender. As soon as he caught sight of her pale skin, reality snapped back into place.

He was fucking out of line and fucking creepy, spying on her like this. He should get himself together and get out of here.

Motion erupted behind the curtain. Before he could blink, Sigyn had whipped back the sheer fabric and thrust her long wooden staff at his throat. The tip pressed sharply into his windpipe, cutting off his air. She was in front of him in seconds, moving so fast that she must have bent time and the aether to appear in front of him. The mystical blue cloak hung about her shoulders and concealed most of her nudity, leaving only a long strip of gleaming skin down the middle that he dragged his eyes away from.

Her brows drew low over eyes that flamed. “What the hell do you think you’re—”

“Hello, Sigyn. Looking good.” She looked more than good. She looked amazing. Even more beautiful up close. Light shined from within her. She’d always seemed to glow and that hadn’t changed.
 

Shock froze her features, as if she couldn’t process what she was seeing. Her green eyes were dark and deep. Was she seeing their past?
 

He wasn’t. His thoughts were too full of her in the present. Beautiful and angry and so close to him that it clouded his mind even more than the pain.

“Loki,” she said. She had the slight accent of a Norwegian expatriate. Similar to his, he’d guess.

“You’re not the girl I remember.” This woman was tougher, more skilled, and potentially very, very dangerous. And hot as hell.

He was in trouble.

“Hardly.” Her gaze ran over him and her eyes widened at the sight of his blood-stained prison guard’s uniform. “You. You’re the escapee.”

“Yes.”

“But how? You’re not Ian MacKenzie. And if you’d been here for long, I’d have eventually noticed.”

“Would you?” Would she have felt what he felt when he was near her? That tug, that pull, as if everything his soul needed was right here before him, so close he could touch?

“How?” Her eyes were hard, her jaw firm.

“It’s a long story. A private one. And I need some help.” He jerked his chin down toward his wounds.

“Indeed. You’re bleeding all over my floor. But you’ll sure as hell tell me what’s going on before I even consider helping you.”

He nodded.

“I’m going to need more than that, Originator of Deceits.”

He frowned at the name he hadn’t heard in decades. Centuries. It had been one of his titles in Asgard, honestly earned, in fact. But it wasn’t helping him any at the moment.

He felt his muscles weakening and his mind fading. He needed a place to recover. Medical attention would be even better, though it wasn’t necessary. And he didn’t want to leave her side now that he’d found her.

“I vow upon Fenrir.” He chose something of true value to him, his wolf who was long lost.
 

Her face paled, her expression stricken. “You dare mention him to me?”

He cursed inwardly. Mentioning his wolf was not the way to get her help. Fenrir, and his own actions, had driven her away from him so many years ago. “I can’t change the past. And you know I mean the vow.”

Sylvi nodded and forced words through the shock bombarding her mind. “I do.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off him as she grappled with the reality that he was actually here. When she’d heard the intruder, she’d been fine. She could handle anything that came through her door.

Except Loki. When she’d seen him, tall and strong and too handsome, the pleasurable surge of battle in her veins had been replaced with shock. And then with a wash of memories that had dragged her back to a time when she’d been young and in love.
 

Or had thought she was in love. He’d quickly revealed her error.

And now he was here in her tiny bathroom, nearly eight hundred years after she’d seen him last. Here. At the university, the home she’d created for herself out of the rubble of her past.

Oh shit.
“How are you on campus?” she demanded. He was a god; the wards should have kept him and all other gods away. If they were broken…

He raised an arm and a roughly hammered silver band glinted around his wrist. “This is enchanted to allow me past the wards.”

“You’re alone?”

“Yes.”

“So no other gods can enter the campus?”

“No. Worried?” There was something beneath his voice, a harshness she couldn’t decipher.

“Of course. The university has enemies. Not all gods. Not even most. But some. And if enough of them could get past the wards?” She shook her head.
 

It could be bad and he knew it. The university staff was made up of all sorts of Mytheans—those supernatural creatures created by mortal belief in myths and religions—and they took their jobs seriously. One of the university’s primary mandates was to ensure peace between the afterworlds—as the heavens and hells of mortal belief were called—in order to ensure the safety of Mytheans on earth.
 

Maintaining the safety of Mytheans on earth meant secrecy from mortals. Mortals might have once believed Mytheans into existence, but in present day, secrecy was of utmost importance to peace for all species. Some gods didn’t like to be restricted and therefore didn’t like the university. They sought loopholes to get onto the university campus. If they found them, they could wreak whatever havoc they chose.

It’d be a nightmare.

“It’s just me,” Loki said.

“Why?”

“That’s a long story. But first—” he gestured to his bleeding torso “—could I get some assistance?”