Son of Thunder (Heavenly War Series)

S. C. MITCHELL

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

SON OF THUNDER

Copyright©2013

S. C. MITCHELL

Cover Design by Cristy Caughie

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-
185-1

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

This book is dedicated to Laurie—

my wife, my rock, my best friend.

I’d like to thank my incredible group of beta readers, past and present. Margaret, Mark, Kinsy, Kathy, Mickey, Bobbi, Tammi, Gretchen, Dawn, Don, and Laurie. A special thank you to Cheryl Yeko and Carla Luna for their ‘push’ and encouragement.

I’d like to acknowledge the unwavering support of my family and friends without whom I would have given up long ago. 

I’d also like to thank the Wisconsin Romance Writers of America and the Writer’s Voice writers group. Words cannot express how much I appreciate your input, feedback, and support. Last, but certainly not least, I’d like to thank my publisher, Soul Mate Publishing, for believing in me

What the heck was this thing?

The supple leather strap felt buttery smooth as Meghan Larson ran her hand over it. It appeared almost new. There were no cracks, no dry spots. She glanced back to the report she’d received about it that afternoon.
The leather had been carbon-dated at over two thousand years old.
It should have been dry, brittle and crumbling to dust. There had to be a mistake.

The rectangular metal medallion attached to one end presented a whole new set of problems and contradictions. The Nordic runes on it were definitely Elder Futhark, dating them somewhere in the third to eighth century A.D., yet it appeared to be made of titanium, which hadn’t been discovered until the late eighteenth century.

The whole thing looked like a belt of some sort, but the buckle, if that was what the medallion was, had no mechanism to latch on to the leather. There were just so many contradictions. Who imprinted a dead language on a new piece of metal, then attached it to a two thousand year old strap of perfectly preserved leather? It didn’t make any sense.

As curator for the Minneapolis Museum of Natural History, Meghan had so many other things she should be doing, but the artifact fascinated her. The thing was constantly on her mind, driving out those other tasks until they simply had to be done.
Will this day never end?

Meghan yawned. Tempted to put her head down for a moment, but feared she wouldn’t wake up and the staff would find her sound asleep at her desk in the morning . . . again.

The buzzer startled her.

At last
.

Professor Jord Thorson agreed to meet with her this evening and hopefully shed some light on the mystery. Though she’d never met the man, Professor Thorson came highly recommended by her colleagues as the best source of information on ancient Nordic artifacts in the Twin Cities area. Right now, Meghan needed all the expertise she could get.

Meghan checked the exterior monitor at the museum’s service door, from the security station on the side of her desk. The image showed a man in a long, black coat standing at the door. A mane of reddish-blond hair cascaded down around his shoulders. Could that be Professor Thorson? He wasn’t anything like the man she’d envisioned when she’d spoken to the professor on the phone that afternoon.

She spoke into the microphone. “Can I help you?”

At her voice, the man lifted his head so Meghan could clearly see his face. The intense eyes and strong facial features gave Meghan a start. This was a seriously good-looking man.

“I’m Jord Thorson. I have an appointment with Doctor Larson.”

Those eyes stared into the camera as if he could actually see her. Meghan felt a bit flustered when she realized she was holding her breath. She gasped for much needed air before answering.

“Yes, Professor Thorson. I’ll be right there.”

Meghan paused for just a moment to check her clothes and makeup in the mirror on the back of her office door. She was glad she’d worn the print blouse today. It had just the right pop of color. She pushed a stray hair back into place then hurried out of the office.

She made her way down the stairs and across the museum exhibit floor. Anticipation hastened her steps. It had been a while since a man this handsome knocked at her door. Okay, a man this handsome had never knocked at her door.

Meghan wove her way through the displays of local Indian artifacts and past the old stuffed mastodon, toward the side entrance of the museum. The dim glow cast by the security lights was such a contrast to the bright lighting used when the museum was open. As she hurried, her footsteps echoed in the quiet great hall.

Meghan rarely worked when the museum was not open. She found the stillness in the great building a bit unsettling. She preferred the bustle of the crowds that usually packed the place when it was open. Had budget cutbacks not caused her to close down the museum three nights a week, it would now be brightly lit and buzzing with activity. People would be enjoying the exhibits, children would be learning, and Professor Thorson could have walked in the front door instead of ringing the bell at the side service entrance.

She pulled open the service entrance door to find Professor Thorson leaning casually against the doorframe. In her phone conversation with him, earlier that day, Meghan envisioned the professor to be a much older, scholarly man. Professor Thorson appeared to be in his mid-thirties, if she had to guess. He towered over her five-foot-eight-inch frame, placing him well over six feet. His eyes were intense, his stance confident. In contrast, his grin was comfortable and welcoming.

Jord Thorson, Professor of Ancient History Studies at the University of Minnesota, looked like he’d be more comfortable in a biker bar than a college coffee house. His black leather duster hung open. Faded jeans, a gray T-shirt, and biker boots completed his ensemble.

“Good evening,” he said. “You are Doctor Larson?”

Rich, accented tones rolled out from between full, sensuous lips. Could the man get any more attractive? Meghan swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words.

Quit gawking and invite him in, dimwit!

“Yes, Professor Thorson." Meghan steeled herself to keep from stuttering. “Please come in.”

A chilly breeze blew in through the open door, raising gooseflesh on her arms. Storm clouds rolled in the night sky. She hoped the storm would hold off until she got home that evening. Well, this shouldn’t take too long. The professor would either know what the item was, or he wouldn’t. Still, she wouldn’t mind if Professor Thorson took his time. Meghan motioned him into the museum, shutting the door on the cold and damp of late fall in Minnesota.

The clean, musky scent of the man, combined with the smell of leather, caught her unprepared. Nice, earthy, sexy. Meghan fleetingly wondered if his jacket would feel as soft and supple as the strap she’d examined upstairs and had to stop herself from reaching out to touch it.

Then she caught a glint of amusement in Professor Thorson’s smoldering gray eyes as he stared at her.

“Forgive me.” The Professor extended his hand. “You sounded much older on the phone.”

Meghan accepted his hand. “I have to admit you’re not what I expected either.” He had long, callused fingers, and a strong but gentle grip. If she’d had a college professor like this, Meghan was sure she would have flunked the class. She wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. He just sort of oozed an aura of strong, sexy mystery.

“You have the belt here?”

Again, that rich accent–deep and sensual, definitely Nordic.

“Right this way.”

She turned to lead him through the museum and up the stairs.

“Have you lived in Minnesota long, Professor Thorson?” she asked by way of conversation as he followed her to her office on the second floor of the museum.

“Quite a while, yes. My family always loved the area. It’s so much like home.”

Meghan fleetingly wondered where home was for Jord Thorson and if there were any more at home like him.

They entered her office and Meghan went around her desk to stand facing Jord. The artifact lay on the desk between them and he followed her gaze down to it. His eyes widened, as he took in the medallion and strap of leather resting there.

Jord drew in a sharp breath. “It is Megingjörð!” The intensity in his voice surprised her. “How in the world . . .?”

Jord’s massive shoulders cast a wide shadow, as he loomed over the desk. Eyes widening in excitement, he took a deep breath. “When you called and described it, I still didn’t believe you actually had found Megingjörð.”

His recognition of the artifact was reassuring. Maybe, at last, Meghan would get some answers. “Then you know what this is?”

His hand eagerly inched toward the artifact, but stopped short. “May I?”

“Of course,” she answered.

He picked up the strap, his intense eyes taking in every detail of the strange item.

“It’s a bit of a mystery for us,” Meghan said. “It arrived here three weeks ago. A box addressed to me with no return address. Have you ever seen anything like it before?”

His eyes glazed over. “It has been in my family for many years. My father had it with him when he disappeared six months ago.”

Pain crossed Jord Thorson’s face. Meghan sensed there was more to this mystery than just the strange artifact.

“You are sure this is that same item?”

He turned his intense gaze on her. A woman could easily get lost in those eyes.

“There is only one belt like this, I assure you.”

He ran his hands across the leather and fingered the intricate designs on the metal.

“Then it’s a belt of some kind? I wasn’t even sure of that. I had it carbon-dated. The report says the leather strap is over two thousand years old.”

“You cut a piece off of it?” His eyes snapped up to hers. There was just a hint of alarm in his tone. At that same moment a flash of lightening from outside filled the room and the crack of thunder that followed rocked the building. The effect made the man seem menacing as he confronted her, causing a chill to run up her spine.

“It was just a small sliver of the leather behind the buckle. You don’t need much for carbon-dating these days.” It was a standard procedure. Why was he getting so upset?

“Yes, I am well aware of how carbon-dating works.” His voice was level but his agitation seemed to be growing. “But this belt has . . . certain properties. If it has been damaged
—
”

“What are you saying? That it’s magic or something?” Meghan would have chuckled if the man hadn’t appeared so alarmed. Those intense, gray eyes seemed to boar right into her soul.

He shook his head.

“Forgive me. This has been a trying time for my family and this is the first clue I’ve had to my father’s disappearance these past six months. So much has been taken from us, the thought of even a sliver—”

“Look, I’m sorry for you and your family,” Meghan cut in, “but until I can get some proof of ownership, that belt is still museum property.”

She held out her hand for the belt. She was glad he’d composed himself.

“Of course, Doctor Larson.” He handed her the belt. Meghan sensed he was reluctant, but he surrendered the item willingly enough.

“Please, call me Meghan.”

He visibly relaxed, the sexy smile and the twinkle in his eyes returned.

“Meghan—a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Oh, he was a charmer, this one. Thunder again rumbled outside. Well, let it storm. Meghan would be in no hurry to head home tonight. Spending some time with Jord Thorson could turn out to be a real treat.

“I may still have the box it arrived in. Would you like to see it, Professor Thorson?”

She also might not have the box. Why had she even brought it up? Was it just to keep him here longer?

“Yes, I would very much like to see the box, and please call me Jord.”

Meghan motioned Jord to follow her.

“If it’s still here, it’s downstairs in our accessioning room. Follow me.”

She led him once again down the stairs and through the museum toward the accessioning room at the back of the building. Jord seemed more at ease as he strode beside her past the exhibits.

“You have a wonderful museum. I’ve been here often, and I’ve made it a mandatory trip for my first year students. They learn quite a bit and it makes my job all the easier.”

Meghan would have to make a point of getting out of her office more often. If she wasn’t so mired in paperwork, she might have bumped into the hunky professor before this.

“Thank you. I have a hardworking staff and great volunteers. We do our best with the budget we have.”

The accessioning room was where items were examined and displays were put together for the museum. On sunny days the tall windows washed the room in bright sunlight, making it a great place to study new acquisitions, or to work on their current collection. In the darkness of night, with only the dim fluorescent lighting, the room seemed shadowy and foreboding. Old wooden worktables and stools littered much of the expansive room, but a good deal of floor space lay vacant in the event the museum received another massive exhibit, like the wooly mammoth. Steel cabinets lined the walls interspersed with countertop workstations specifically designed for cleaning, maintaining, and repairing antique objects.

Lightning flashed repeatedly making the stark room all the more ominous. The storm’s activity intensified. At one point, a flash illuminated a huge shadow in one of the tall windows. The figure was vaguely humanoid and made Meghan jump in surprise—her hand flying to her chest as she gasped in surprise. She shook her head and laughed at her reaction. It had to be the shadow of one of the statues out in the museum courtyard. Still, Meghan could have sworn, just for a moment, she’d seen red, glowing eyes staring into the room.

She located the closet where she’d stored the box hoping no one had made off with it. Empty boxes had a way of being reallocated as there were never enough of them, but this time she was lucky.

“Here it is.”

She handed the small box to Jord and the man began to inspect every inch for any clue. Finally he shrugged and handed the box back to her.

“You’re right. No return address or clue of any kind as to where it came from. Not even a postmark.” Jord sighed.

Meghan could see his hope had fallen a bit.

As he handed the box back to her, his hand came in contact with hers. The raw heat and closeness of his body was almost more than she could take. She took a deep breath, stepped back and placed the box on a worktable.

“The package just sort of appeared. One of my coworkers delivered it with the mail, but when I questioned her about it she told me it hadn’t come with the mail. She’d found it on a worktable here in the accessioning room and just assumed it had been delivered at some other time. No one remembered receiving it. The delivery, and why my name was on the package, is as big a mystery to me as the artifact itself.”