Death's Daughter Read online

  “Leave her alone.” Tyr growled, feeling the bones in Freyr’s throat whine as he pressed down even harder. “She’s none of your concern. One day to rest and recoup, then she’s heading west.” Or rather, he was sending her west. If he could convince her to leave.

  “Shhhee…ugh…” Tyr relaxed the pressure on the golden god’s neck enough that Freyr could talk. “She is my concern because you’ve been locked in here staring at that damn schedule for five hours straight. Odin’s checked out, and we can’t afford to lose you too. You’ve gotta keep it together. If she’s a distraction, send her away.” Some of the light came back into Freyr’s eyes, and they actually sparkled. “Or…let me handle her.”

  “You’ll leave her alone,” Tyr demanded. “She’s not distracting me.” Five hours? Had he seriously been sitting here for five hours?

  “Then at least tell me who she is.”

  “Hunter, Hunter Wallace.”

  Freyr went limp beneath Tyr’s hold. “The war chieftain’s daughter?” A low whistle as Freyr blew out a long breath. “The Scottish princess, who they say is possessed? No shit? I’ve heard all the rumors, you know…”

  Mir’s sarcasm echoed from the doorway. “No shit.” The redheaded god was already shaking his head as he stepped into the War Room. “She shouldn’t be here, Tyr. Hunter Wallace is a menace.” Since Mir was the God of Wisdom and knew every ugly detail about Hunter’s past, Tyr didn’t bother disputing it.

  Freyr’s voice turned speculative. “No fucking wonder… You can let me go now, bro.”

  “Don’t bro me.” But Tyr released him and gave him a hand up. The fact that the truth was out in the open left him feeling on edge instead of relieved. Because Mir was right about Hunter. Sooner or later, this whole thing would blow up spectacularly.

  “So…Hunter Wallace, huh?” Freyr rubbed his neck, curiosity written all over his face.

  Best to shut that dangerous interest down quick, Tyr thought, as he redirected, “The Orobus and his army of the damned destroyed New York.” Freyr’s eyes widened, and Tyr motioned Mir closer as he continued to give them the rundown. “Hunter barely got out alive.”

  “No wonder she’s pissed.”

  “Yeah. Losing your home will do that to you.” Tyr shook his head. “Plus, she blames me for it.”

  Mir’s lips quirked. “Of course she does. Well, she can add this to your ever-growing list of transgressions, right?”

  Freyr looked between them, and then his voice turned serious. “Better run me through everything that’s gone wrong between the two of you, Tyr. You know me. The more you tell me, the less likely I am to fuck things up.”

  Tyr didn’t even try to fight the bitter smile twisting his lips. “You’ll fuck it up, anyway.”

  Freyr beamed. “True enough. But not as badly as if I’m left in the dark. Besides, now I’m curious. Exactly what happened to New York? I loved that city. I used to know a girl there, well, a few girls, actually…” When Mir groaned, Freyr shut his mouth.

  Tyr’s voice turned flat as he ran it through, concentrating on the pertinent details. “The Orobus sent out a blast of magic that knocked out the power grid and most of the taller buildings, then a wave of Dark Elves swept in, picking off any mortal stragglers. Hel followed with her Grim.”

  At Mir’s searching look, Tyr added, “The New York team fought back, taking heavy casualties. By her estimates, her team killed a couple thousand Grim and even more Dark Elves. But then the Orobus hit them with another surge of power. Managed to evac a few survivors, but was lucky to get out alive. She spent the last week fighting her way to us. She hit a few pockets of mortal resistance around the smaller cities, so the humans are fighting back, but they’re vastly outnumbered.” Tyr tapped a pile of papers. “Which backs up Loki’s initial reports. Most of the Northeast is gone.”

  Tyr continued, “There’s worse news. In three days, we’ll bear the combined strength of the Orobus and all his armies, plus Hel and her Grim.” He was already working out possible scenarios around that inevitability.

  “Why would he come back here at all?” Freyr wondered out loud as Mir pondered the report.

  Tyr met Freyr’s gaze steadily. “Your guess is as good as mine. Could be the dolmens, or…us. It doesn’t matter. Our job is to stop him. If he accesses the circle and opens a doorway to one of the other realms, he could unleash something even worse than the Dark Elves. We have to prevent that from happening.”

  “You know what?” Mir looked up at Freyr, his face thoughtful. “Screw the Orobus.”

  “Screw the Orobus?”

  “Yeah, screw the Orobus. The real question is, why did Hunter Wallace come to you, Tyr?” Mir spun the map around, shoving it beneath Tyr’s nose, his finger tracing the long, black line from New York to Chicago.

  “Why would anyone travel this far…

  “Just to see the person they hate most on this planet?”

  3

  The Dispossessed

  Hunter counted the stones in the vaulted ceiling above her, set by masons back in 1920. If all that weight collapsed and buried them, her worries would be over. She sighed. If only it were that easy. A thousand years, a hundred wars, a million regrets, and she’d never felt like she did right now.

  Weak. Useless. Defenseless.

  Yet. Everything faded away when she’d set eyes on Tyr.

  His familiar visage still strong and unflinching. Those dark, deep-set eyes still shrewd, yet steady. Tanned from millennia spent on battlefields. And his long, dark brown hair was tied back with a leather thong, exactly like it had been, a thousand years ago. He hadn’t changed at all. Which pissed her off even more. The whole damn world coming to an end, and she was going to stew over this. The bastard who still held some infinite, subtle power over her.

  She hated it. She hated him for it.

  Flipping over, she stared out the window into the clouds, thinking about the first time she’d seen Tyr. He’d been in full armor, that long hair bound back by a gold circlet, mounted on a huge war horse that had shaken the ground when he’d galloped into their small village.

  Her father, Domnall MacWallace, was the chieftain of a clan of mighty warriors, and even so, Tyr had bound her father with a sworn blood oath. Forced her da to swear fealty on bent knee, to fight in the War God’s bloody vendetta against these demons he called the Grim. It was a forced fealty, sworn over too much whiskey and even more testosterone, but her father swore the oath just the same.

  Tyr’s bloody war stained the Alban fields black. True, she’d heard tales of these monsters, but never thought they’d reach her tiny village nor her quiet valley. But Tyr swore the demons were approaching, and curious, she’d followed against her father’s orders, lagging behind the battle party, hoping to keep one eye on her father and the other on the God of War. What could she say? He was a dark and handsome stranger.

  And she’d been curious.

  The war band took a stand on a high cropping of rock, against a horde of invading Grim so large they’d taken her breath away. No explanation was given for why the monsters came to their little village that day. She’d never bothered to ask.

  She’d only watched, torn between horror and fascination, flattened in the hillside grass as the swarm of monsters crested the rise before spilling down into the green valley where her village lay. The God of War raised his sword, bellowing a war cry, and the warriors surged after him. And then, the Grim began slaughtering the people she loved.

  Her people.

  Without thought, and certainly without any regard for her life, she’d swung herself up onto her horse and ridden straight into the melee. Picking up a sword from a dead solider, she’d hacked her way toward her father. She found Domnall Mac Wallace in the middle of the carnage, surveying his fallen men. And for the first time in her life, her da looked vulnerable. Frail. Old.

  Sobbing, she’d reined her horse away. Away from all of that death. And ridden straight into Tyr. They’d circled each other for a moment. Wary
strangers. No, she remembered, it had been more than that. Her hand hadn’t left the grip of her sword. And that arrogant smile never left his face.

  In the end, she’d galloped away, hating the war god for the dead clansmen strewn across that battlefield. For the broken man he’d left her for a father. Hated him for destroying everything in her perfect life.

  She hated him more than she’d ever hated anything.

  But more than that, Hunter despised herself for being too much of a coward to kill him, right then and there. And later that night, when he’d sent for her? Hunter squeezed her eyes shut. Well. Everybody has regrets, don’t they?

  “I’m sorry, I…”

  Hunter shot off the bed, hand to her knife, crouching, face to face with a slip of a girl. Long, platinum hair framed a beautiful, waif-like face dominated by a pair of huge gray eyes that her gram would have said were ‘tetched by the Fae.’

  Hunter wouldn’t have disagreed.

  “Whoa, there. It’s okay.” The girl held out both hands to stop her and offered a soft, soothing smile. “Sorry. I knocked a couple of times. But I thought I’d better poke my head in and see if you needed anything.” She stuck out a fine-boned hand. “I’m Celine.”

  Hunter took it. Cautiously. Friendship was something she judiciously avoided. For a multitude of reasons. “Hunter Wallace.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Freyr’s been blabbing it all around. Can’t keep his big mouth shut. I just… Look, are you hungry? Thought I’d see if you wanted to come and eat with us. In about an hour or so? We try to sit down together every couple of days. It helps.”

  “Helps what?”

  “Keep us feeling…normal, I guess. When the whole world goes to shit, sometimes it’s the little things that keep us connected, you know?”

  “I do,” Hunter whispered softly. As her humanity had faded away over the centuries, she’d done her best to hold on to what little she could. “Sure. I’ll come and eat with you. Where?”

  “War Room. It’s down a floor, third door on the right. Follow the voices.” Celine shrugged. “Not the ideal place, but it’s the only table big enough to hold everyone. And the scouting party should be back by then.” Now those gray eyes flashed with emotion. “Including my mate. See you!”

  Celine slipped out of the room, stopping long enough to lay her hand on a folded pile of clothes beside the door. “Oh, I brought you these. Just in case you want to change. I didn’t know…” Her depthless eyes swept Hunter from head to toe. “Yeah, you look…tired. So. Maybe a shower? And these might be more comfortable for dinner.”

  Hunter had forgotten what she looked like. Probably smelled like. She’d been fighting for days, then traveling nonstop for a week after that. With no sleep and certainly no showers. Her stomach growled. Even less food. “Yes, I believe I will clean up beforehand. My thanks to you.” She managed an awkward bow.

  Celine shook her head. “God, you’ll fit right in with the rest of them. Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

  As soon as the door closed, Hunter moved to the mirror. It had been so long since she’d even bothered, she was surprised at what was reflected back. Matted hair. Dark, black circles under her sloped, golden eyes, usually citrine in hue, were dulled by fatigue. In short, she looked like shit. “Great.” She muttered. “Just great.”

  Still muttering, she ran the bath, hot as she could stand, and peeled off filthy clothes that had glued themselves to her like a second skin. Fading bruises, healing gashes, and teeth marks pebbled her body. Souvenirs of the battle to escape the city and the long, bloody slog to get here. She frowned. She should be healing faster, but then again, she was starving.

  The light, airy clothing barely brushed against her skin after the heavy leathers, and her hair curled wildly around her face after the bath. Stomach grumbling, she headed down one floor, hesitated, then followed the noise.

  4

  It had been so long.

  That was Hunter’s first thought. Centuries, but perhaps that was an exaggeration. A century perhaps, she corrected herself, since she’d shared a decent, common meal with strangers. Laughter. Conversation. Companionship. Why had it been so long? She reached for the doorknob even as her feet began to edge away from the din, her heart pounding a mile a minute.

  Celine’s small hand curled around her wrist and tugged. “There you are. Get in here.” And then Hunter didn’t have any choice, as she was pulled in by this creature who was stronger than she looked. Studiously avoiding Tyr’s weighty gaze, she was yanked into a maelstrom of chattering laughter.

  Celine giggled as she led her around the room and introduced her to everyone, the faces quickly becoming a blur. “So this is Fen, my mate.” Hunter found herself staring at a broad, immense chest. Her gaze lifted to find a handsome face dominated by a pair of intense blue eyes and surrounded by a mane of black hair.

  “A pleasure, Hunter.” Fen pulled another couple into the group. “This is my pops, Loki, and his mate…er…wife, Morgane.” Hunter shook hands all around, Morgane’s strong grip nearly as calloused as her own, her bright green eyes weary yet watchful. And the way she moved, sleekly, as if her body was a weapon.

  Here, Hunter thought, was a woman who’d seen battle.

  “Glad you found your way home to us, Hunter. I heard you were a hell of a tracker for Rhiannon in New York.” His voice dropped. “When you can, you’ll have to give us the rundown on what happened to your team. We only got as far as Buffalo before Tyr recalled us.” In Loki’s brilliant blue eyes, she glimpsed the flash of pity before he was able to hide it. Her heart stuttered, thinking of all she’d lost. People she’d known for centuries. Most of them gone. A precious few survivors scattered.

  Home to us.

  Was this to be her new home, then? As something writhed in her gut at the very idea, she snapped, “At least you still have a home. Mine is gone. Because you let that thing escape.” She shot a hard look at Tyr as she settled herself into the chair directly across from him.

  Morgane’s voice turned wary. “Loki only meant to welcome you, Hunter.”

  “I know what he meant. You have to understand that this is not, and never will be my home. It is your home. Mine was burned to the ground by this thing you’re calling the Orobus. The only reason I’ve come is to help stop him. There’s nothing else I want any part of.”

  Great. You could, literally, hear a pin drop. And…this was why she didn’t share meals. Chagrin flooded through her at the look of shock on Celine’s pale face. “Once he’s defeated, I’ll be on my way,” she added lamely.

  “You’re assuming he can be defeated.” Mir, his face hard and unforgiving, stepped up behind Tyr.

  “Everything can be defeated.” Hunter’s voice was flat. “The only question is how.” Her eyes flickered over the elegant, willowy woman standing at Mir’s shoulder. “And whether you’re willing to pay the price.” For a moment, she swore she felt something…powerful leaching from the mortal. With a tilt of her head, Hunter caught the redhead’s eye, held her curious gaze, felt a ripple of that power span across the room. There was a jolt of surprise when Mir stepped between them, blocking her view.

  Interesting.

  “Stop talking in riddles, Hunter. If the thing’s a day or two out, then you’d better start explaining yourself. We could use new intel to prepare ourselves against him. Telling everyone what happened in NYC might be a good start.” Mir ground the words out, his blue eyes flashing fire. Ah, he still despised her, then. Fine. Feeling was mutual.

  Hunter frowned, her attention focused on the strange magic she’d felt emanating from the redhead. “All right, then. You want answers, I’ll give them to you.”

  “My team… We thought we were prepared, but he decimated the city with a thought. Nothing could have braced us for his onslaught. Everyone stationed in Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn”—her voice faltered for a second before she got herself together—“was killed instantly by the initial wave of power he sent across the Hudson. Most of the mortals had
nowhere to go; it was gridlock and they were hemmed in.

  “We took up secondary positions in Midtown, Forest Park, and Queens. We only managed to hold those for about five hours. By the following day, we evacuated any mortal survivors north.” She scanned the grave, pale faces. “There weren’t many. Then a few of us went back in.

  “By nightfall, the Dark Elves had overrun downtown, along with Hel and her Grim.” Hunter had to force herself to get through this next part, as the rest of them sat in stunned silence. “We managed to maintain higher positions and used up what ammo we had to pick off hundreds of elves and Grim caught in the corridors between the gridlocked cars and the collapsed buildings. They took heavy casualties. We thought we’d made a dent in the enemy forces.” She paused, as much to catch her breath as to get herself together. “But all we’d done was show the Orobus exactly where we were.

  “I don’t know how, but the monster sent another blast of power through our block. It was suffocating, a choking blackness that enveloped everything. We were blind. When I came to, I was the only one alive.”

  “How long were you out?”

  “A few hours, at least. Hard to tell with the blanket of…shadow the creature laid over us. Once I came to, I made it back to base, organized the retreat, then hightailed here.”

  “Aaaand any fucking time now, you’ll get to the point and explain your cryptic warning.” Mir’s face was flushed. “So out with it, what do you mean by there being a price?”

  Call it a thousand years of experience, call it a sixth sense, but Hunter couldn’t take her eyes off of the redhead. The woman’s eyes were shifting all over the place, and it was obvious she knew something. Hunter smiled, betting she was right about both human nature and having a guilty conscious. “It seems to me you should ask your lover, Mir. Mayhap she knows more than she’s telling you.”