Destined (Desolation #3) (32 page)

I was told she was awake, but she hadn’t come to see me. And so, I went to her. I knew where she was, could feel her presence, her spirit, as clearly as if she were a blinking light on a map in my mind. I stepped through the golden gates of Valhalla, ignoring protocol and taking advantage of the sisters’ depleted numbers. I walked the long corridors toward the room that had once been Mahria’s, but now was Desolation’s. 

Fahria fell in step beside me. “You look well.” 

I glanced at her, but didn’t answer. Ahead, I saw the door to Desi’s room and my footsteps came more slowly. Her presence wrapped around me, I felt her everywhere now, and I knew she’d feel the same. Knew she’d know I was here. I waited for her door to open, for her to come running down the hall, to fly into my arms.

But I’d walked ten feet, twenty feet, her door an arm’s reach away, and yet it remained closed.

Fahria placed a hand on my arm and we stopped. “She fears the evil that is part of her. Fears the curse of Loki’s heritage,” she said. “She holds herself to a higher degree—you know it has ever been thus.”

I Remembered days, long, long past, when I’d watch her train with her sister Valkyries. When she failed to best Mahria, she’d stay on the practice field for hours afterward, working through her missed transition, opportunity or pattern. Even before I’d formally met her, I’d watched this stubborn, hard-headed girl push herself far harder than anyone else, demanding perfection and accepting nothing less.

I’d also seen her lend a hand to a less-talented fighter, give praise and learning, never judging another, never expecting anyone else to live up to her own standards for herself. It was perhaps the most frustrating thing about her.

And yet, I loved her.

Loved her in spite of, or perhaps because of, her keen demands on herself, her love and patience with others, and her utter inability to grant herself such kindness.

I breathed in, squaring my shoulders, preparing myself for the fight of my life. Beside me, Fahria laughed and returned the way we had come. Her fingertips brushed against my arm as she passed. “You two are well-suited.”

I glanced over my shoulder, the question in my raised eyebrow, the slight upward turn of my lips. 

“You are both as stubborn as mules.”

I chuckled then, picturing Fahria and Longinus—and I knew she did the same because her cheeks flushed a burnished red. She ducked her head, angling away from me.

“Still . . .” she said with a shrug as she strode away.

Still.

After all we’d been through, Desi had to know. 

Still.

I was hers, still.

And she was mine.

Being a god, holding the Genesis in my heart, didn’t make me a perfect person. I’d been willing to kill those people—to kill everyone. I knew now that if li’Morl hadn’t stopped me, I might have used the Genesis to spread my pain and sorrow everywhere. Earth would have fallen. And who knows if it would have stopped there?

If I would have stopped.

Shame boiled inside me like an angry sea. I couldn’t face anyone, couldn’t bear to see the truth in their eyes. That I was crazy. A loose cannon. That I’d almost destroyed everything, undid all the sacrifices that had been made to save Midgard. All for myself. For a misplaced sense of retribution.

But life is life and there isn’t any true retribution. There would always be winners and losers, the haves and the have-nots. Always. 

So when I felt Michael coming toward me, I hid in my room, hoping against every unreasonable hope that he wouldn’t find me. But of course he found me. Of course he’d know where I was—he would always know where I was. And not just because a piece of me was in him now. A piece of the Genesis.

We were like two halves of a whole—something I think we’d always been, but the Genesis made official. 

There would never be a me without him.

There’d never be a him without me.

And it was that part that had me hiding in Mahria’s room.

He didn’t knock. Before he’d even closed the door behind him the stupid, traitorous tears had already begun to flow down my cheeks. I sat on the corner of the bed, pressed against the wall, trying to hide from the one person in all the worlds I could never hide from.

He leaned against the door and folded his arms. I forced myself to concentrate on my hands, on the silver swirls on my arms. But of course I noticed how handsome he looked in his gleaming armor, the gauntlets over his arms that emphasized his muscles and the tunic that ended just above his knees. I suddenly wished he wore a T-shirt and jeans. A hoodie and jeans. 

He didn’t speak, and I was glad for it—I didn’t trust my voice to not give my traitorous heart away and right now, I needed him to let me go.

The day grew long, casting deep shadows across the room. And still he didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

Nighttime fell over Asgard. Darkness draped over us like a blanket. And in the darkness, in its protective embrace, I finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

The silence stretched away from my words, building upon itself, emphasizing all the in-between time in which Michael did not respond.

I thought of repeating my apology. I cleared my throat. But no matter how quietly I’d said them, I knew he heard my words, and so I said nothing.

And he said nothing.

I woke when the morning light laid a line of warmth against my cheek. 

With a start I looked at the door, terrified he really had left me—but as I came to my senses and realized I could still feel him near, here, I saw him. He sat on the floor, his back against the door, his head tilted to the side. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. I watched his chest rise and fall with the steady rhythm of sleep. 

I stretched out on the bed, my head at the foot of it, my cheek on the back of my hands, and watched him. And thought of what to say. Of whether there was any way back from where we had gone. Where I had gone.

I must have drifted off again, because when I next woke, I found myself staring directly into Michael’s soft lion eyes.

The light in the room lit them up until they seemed almost translucent. I could see into his soul through them. Could practically feel the golden flecks of his spirit that floated there, painting me with his love, with tenderness. 

I jerked back, not wanting to go there, to let him love me.

“Don’t,” he said, and oh. He sounded so tired. So weary.

“Don’t.” He moved onto his knees and crawled the few feet between us. He put his hands on the edge of the bed, mere inches away from mine. I could feel his heat, smell his warmth, see myself reflected in his eyes.

I was just a girl. Same as always. But he had to know—I wasn’t the same inside anymore. I’d never be the same. Never be able to forgive myself for the things I had done, the things I’d been willing to do.

He slowly reached out with his left hand, as if I were a wild bird that might fly away at a moment’s notice—and in a very real way I was. I wanted to fly away. But his eyes held me to him and so I stayed. Gods help me, I stayed. 

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Just . . . please don’t.”

Don’t leave.

Don’t push me away.

Don’t.

Then his hand was on my cheek, soft at first, a barely-there touch. I closed my eyes, leaned into him. I didn’t want to, but . . . oh, I had to. I had to.

And then his hand was in my hair and his breath was on my cheek and his words were whispered all over my face, words with kisses, words of love, of forgiveness, kisses of hope, words of forever, kisses given and returned.

We stood in the wheelhouse, the Bridge to Midgard partially open before us, watching events unfold below. I held tightly to Desi’s hand—I had barely let her go except when absolutely necessary, ever since this morning when we’d found each other again. I could never take her for granted, never give up my post by her side. Not that I thought she was too fragile and might go flying off into the stratosphere at any moment, but because love is precious. It’s the rarest of commodities, and I had fought too long, too hard, to not cherish it and protect it every moment of the rest of my life.

On the grounds of St. Mary’s beneath us, Fahria shifted her weight. “Well,” she said. 

“Lady.” Longinus stood utterly still, his face unreadable.

She’ll ask him,
Desi said in my mind. She could barely contain her excitement—it was all I could do to convince her to remain quiet so events could unfold without our influence. Though my money was on Longinus. I’d bet he would be the one to ask for Valhalla. We had all learned something about pride. That sometimes, in the name of love, one had to set it aside. 

“I would ask, but I am tired of the answer.” Fahria kept her eyes on Longinus, as stoic and unreadable as he. 

Desi’s shoulders drooped.
Dang it Fahria!

I fought to keep the smile from my lips, focusing on my boots until I regained control. I squeezed Desi’s hand. Fahria and Longinus couldn’t have been better suited for one another, except that nothing would get said between them. Everything of worth hung in the spaces between the words.

Well, no one more suited than you and I.
Even in my mind, Desi’s own words were a whisper, like even now, after everything, she was afraid to suggest that I loved her as much as she loved me. I’d told her a thousand times—and planned to tell her forevermore—that I loved her more. I would always love her more and that was as it should be.

But then, something different happened. Something changed.

Longinus took a step toward Fahria. “Ask,” he said.

Oh Odin,
I thought.
Let this be.

Let there be love. Let there be hope. 

“Valiant warrior,” Fahria said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Yes!
Desi squeezed my hand, sent me images of her doing the crazy happy dance. I coughed and examined my boot laces again.

When I thought I’d managed my emotions well enough, I looked up. There stood Fahria, this fierce Valkyrie, stone-faced and unmatched in her dedication to her calling, now trembling with hope, her eyes wide and shining. “Will you take your rest in the eternal halls of Valhalla?”

Longinus moved closer. Took Fahria’s hands in his own. Hands as calloused as his. As stained with blood as his.

“Noble lady,” he said. “Will I only be resting?”

Desi and I faced each other, our foreheads resting on each other as we shared a chuckle. Everyone here knew how this would go—how it had to go. Desi had already promised she’d forgo free will if she had to and exercise her new power as a god to make them make the right choice. 

For a long moment Fahria didn’t answer. I sensed her Valkyrie sisters and the Gardians who had gathered nearby, drawn by the hope that stretched from all our hearts to Fahria and Longinus—a hope that they could finally be free. Finally embrace love over duty. 

Fahria’s mouth slowly stretched into a smile and her beauty shone. Her Halo rose out behind her, her golden light a radiant, living thing. It embraced Longinus as she stepped to him, so close that their bodies pressed together. She kissed him then, and I looked away and into the smiling eyes of the one whom I would die for—again—and the one I would live for, forever.

Desi’s eyes told me everything I hoped for, everything I hoped for Fahria and Longinus. Yes, even pride could be overcome, even duty would take its place behind love.

After a moment I turned back and watched while Fahria whispered something into Longinus’ ear and he nodded seriously. “Then I will go with you,” he said. 

Heimdall whipped his horn to his mouth, threw his head back and blew. The sound rang like a golden bell, radiating through my mind, my chest, over all of us assembled there. It called to all the worlds, to all the gods. It rang in our hearts with Heimdall’s wish for them—for this valiant couple who had earned their eternal rest, who earned the love and adoration of the eternities. Fahria took Longinus’ hand and led him onto the Bridge. His cheeks flamed red and he kept his eyes down, but I noticed he didn’t once let go of her.

All around us Gardians and Valkyries celebrated. Longinus tolerated the hugs and congratulations that were poured out upon him, his eyes never leaving Fahria. He seemed like a dying man who’d found his oasis—which I knew in a very real way, he had.