Morgan's Fate (3 page)

“Dad’s funeral is in a couple of days. We got word to Gra—” Jeff winced. “I mean, to
Frederica
, and she requested that we not be there.” He smiled viciously. Morgan blinked in shock as his brother grew fangs. Fenris gave off a low growl, responding to his mate’s anger. “We told her to go to hell. We even offered to provide the hand basket.”

Of course Frigg wouldn’t want her exiled family to come to her son’s funeral. Morgan cursed under his breath. Their grandmother had become just as much of a problem as Grimm in her own way. But if she thought she could stop them from saying good-bye to their father she was sadly mistaken. Enough of the younger gods followed Kir now that she’d have a battle on her hands if she tried to enforce her rule.

“Tell us exactly what happened.” Magnus settled himself on Jordan’s pristine white sofa and clasped his hands between his knees. The others might not realize it, but Magnus was far more shaken by their father’s death than he was willing to let on.

Fenris escorted Jeff to the sofa and settled him next to Magnus. Jeff allowed it, oddly enough. He, too, must be far more hurt than he was willing to admit if he was allowing Fenris to pamper him. Jeff took hold of his mate’s hand before speaking. “Dad was calling me, wanting to work things out.”

“That’s good.” At least Morgan knew his father had tried to make things right with the twins before he died.

Died. Gods. Not a word he’d ever thought he’d associate with his father. Ragnarrok had been a fairy tale, the death of the gods so far in the future he thought it would never come. Now the first had fallen, and the rest would soon follow.

“It would have been better if he’d lived.” Jeff huffed out a breath when Fenris stroked his hair, but the gesture seemed to calm his brother. “Anyway, he came to visit, and we had…words.”

And that would hurt Jeff more than anything else, that his final words to their father had been said in anger. Morgan needed to make sure his brother understood he had nothing to be ashamed of. “He knew you loved him, Jeff.”

“Yeah.” Jeff’s voice broke. He cleared his throat. “Dad, he was… I…” He turned his face into Fenris’s chest. “I can’t.”

“Hush,
elskede
. I will tell them.”

“I swore I wouldn’t cry until that fucker was dead.” The vicious tone was thick with tears.

“A vow none of us will fault you for breaking,
min kjærlighet.”
Fenris buried his face in Jeff’s thick curls as Jeff sobbed on his chest. “Your father, he came to make peace, but a hole in the defenses allowed Grimm through.”

Part of him wanted to snatch his brother from Fenris, to give him comfort himself, but the very fact that Jeff
was
crying on Fenris told him exactly how his little brother felt about the wolf. Jeff loved Fenris with everything in him, and would probably fight to the death to stay by his side.

“How did the hole get there? Logan’s been pretty good about keeping the shields up.” With Jordan’s pregnancy and Kir’s safety on the line, the Trickster would have done everything in his power to keep his lovers safe.

“They made a mistake. They thought they needed to get to you two quickly, so they traveled through the veil to the Bifrost Bridge quick and dirty instead of carefully. It meant tearing a hole in the defenses around our homes.” Fenris continued stroking Jeff’s hair as Jeff’s sobs quieted. “Because of the urgency of their message, they felt it best. But it didn’t allow time to gently part the protections. They relied on Jordan and Tyr—I mean, Travis—to put them back up.”

“Why? Why were they coming for us? They should have been here.” Magnus snarled what Morgan was thinking. They would have returned eventually. What was so important that it couldn’t wait, that they’d risk Jordan?

Fenris sighed as Jeff shivered. “Skuld is here.”

Morgan let loose a string of curses that would have done his brother proud. Of course. As soon as they realized Morgan and Magnus had been on a fools’ errand they would have done their best to fetch them home, fearing some sort of trap. “How did she wind up here? Was she delivering a message?”

“We don’t know, and neither does she. She has no memory of her life beneath Yggdrasil, or of what she truly is. She calls herself Skylar Kincade, and believes she’s a photographer.” Fenris tilted his head, his expression confused. “Heimdall was supposed to tell you all of this. Did you not meet him on the Bifrost Bridge?”

Magnus and Morgan exchanged a quick, confused glance. “No. Heimdall wasn’t there.”

Fenris sighed wearily as Jeff sniffled. “Damn. This is troubling. We still do not know whose side the Guardian will come down on. If Heimdall chooses to follow the Old Man he will be a powerful enemy.”

“Where is he?”

Jeff, his eyes tear stained, lifted his head from Fenris’s chest. “Who? Grimm, or Dad?”

“Dad.” Morgan would deal with Grimm later. The fucker would pay, and pay dearly, for killing Thor and hurting Jeff.

“John Kline Funeral Home.”

That was only a few blocks away from Kir’s home. “Frederica let Kir make the arrangements?”

“Nope. Mom made them and then told Frederica after the fact.”

Go Jeanne. His stepmother was a feisty woman, and would make a bad enemy. A lot of Jeff and Jamie’s temperament came from their seemingly sweet-natured mother, even if neither of them could see it. They adored their mother and thought her a saint. “Is Jeanne all right? Nothing happened to her, did it?”

Both Jeff and Fenris shook their heads. “She was kept safe.”

“And we’ll continue to do so, no matter how much she argues with us.” Kir, his blond hair gleaming, his blue eyes full of sorrow, came into the room. He was quickly followed by Logan, who was rarely far from his lover’s side. “She’s staying with us while Jordan is pregnant.”

“Hey, the M&M’s are back.” Logan grinned, but there was a shadow over it. Thor’s death had apparently struck the Trickster harder than Morgan would have guessed. Either that or Jordan’s grief was weighing on his mind. “Have a nice stroll, boys?”

Magnus flipped him off. “Why isn’t Grimm dead?”

“You think we didn’t try?” Kir settled on the ottoman that doubled as their coffee table.

Logan sat right behind him, one arm draped across Kir’s shoulders. “Fenris damn near chewed his face off, and then Jeff had a go at it. The fucker healed everything we did to him.”

White clouds began to race across the blue of Kir’s eyes. “My father killed my brother as he once tried to kill me. He nearly killed my nephew and my niece.” Thunder sounded outside the condo. Just remembering what Grimm had done to Jeff and Jamie had the god ready to explode, and that wouldn’t be good. “I’ve been tempted to ask Fenris to change me just so I would have the pleasure of—”

“Hell to the no, Blondie. Not in any lifetime.” Logan’s arm tightened around Kir’s shoulders, pulling the startled god closer. “Jordan, back me up here.”

Morgan looked over his shoulder to find Jordan had entered the room. Jordan shook a finger at her lover. “No wolfing out on us, Kir.”

Kir’s brows rose. “You two are always telling me to sit and stay anyway. So why not make it official?”

“I am not a dog, Kir.” Fenris huffed indignantly. “No matter how many times Jeff says otherwise.”

“What I want to know is, how did Odin kill Thor? I thought Jörmungandr was supposed to do that.”

Magnus had a very good question. According to the prophecy of Ragnarrok, Fenris was supposed to kill Odin and Jörmungandr would kill Thor. But with Thor already dead, the prophecy was all askew. And if Fenris had already tried to kill Grimm and
failed,
what other parts of the prophecy were wrong?

Damn it. He rubbed at his eyes, hoping no one saw his tears.

“Here.” He looked up to find his stepmother, Jeanne, standing in front of him, a tissue in her hand, Jordan close by her side. She looked haggard, the loss of her husband weighing on her.

He took the tissue. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jeanne settled down on the ottoman after nudging Kir and Logan over. It was huge and would easily take all three of them, but they gave her the lion’s share anyway. “I loved him too.”

“Dad told me before…” Jordan gulped. Behind her glasses her eyes filled with tears. “He said that Jörmungandr wasn’t the serpent.”

Morgan nodded. It made sense. There was more than one kind of serpent. “Then the serpent, the betrayer, is Odin.”

Magnus tensed next to him. “And Grimm must die.”

“He’ll have his Ragnarrok.” Morgan’s fist clenched.

“And we’ll deliver it to him.” Magnus held out his hand. “For Dad.”

“For Dad.” Morgan covered his brother’s hand, smiling as the others echoed the sentiment, placing their hands over his and his twin’s. After a brief moment he sat back, ready to avenge the man who’d raised him and, more than once, defended him. “Tell me the plan.”

Before they could respond, Uncle Val strolled through the front door. It wasn’t an unusual an occurrence these days. Val had wormed his way into the good graces of all of them, protecting Jamie and Jordan with his life.

But that wasn’t what captured, and held, Morgan’s attention.

He had a woman tucked under his arm, complaining softly about something Morgan paid no attention to whatsoever.

Dear gods. Could it be? He hadn’t seen her in centuries, but his heart leapt at the sight of her strong jaw, her cool blonde hair. Even her sky-blue eyes were the same.

After all this time, he still wanted to know what those perfect, heart-shaped lips tasted like, wanted to savor and caress every inch of her skin.

Skuld met his gaze and blushed a fierce red. Even the tip of her nose burned bright before she turned away from him and back to Val. Morgan’s cock pulsed at that small sign of interest.

Magnus gasped. “Holy crap. Is that Skuld?” He jammed his elbow into Morgan’s side. “Hey, bro! You’ll finally get your shot at her!”

Morgan stared at the blonde and groaned. Hell. He had a boner for Fate, the same one he’d been warned off of all those years ago. All the reasons to
not
claim her still existed, still tied him away from her as much as the rope
Gleipnir
had once bound Fenris away from the world.

Shit.

“Morgan?”

Skuld was watching them curiously, her pale blue eyes running over him before she blushed again. Of all the Fates, he had to pick this one to want. She literally held their future in her hands.

She glanced at him again out of the corner of her eye and, as impossible as it seemed, that deep red blush darkened. She lowered her lashes, hiding her eyes from him. She gripped the edges of her purse until her knuckles turned white.

Even standing across the room from her he could see the way her breath sped up.

“Morgan. Do it.” He glanced Magnus, who nodded at him. “Make
something
good come out of all this shit. Get the woman you’ve loved forever.” Magnus smiled sadly. “One of us should.”

He found his gaze drawn to Skuld again, almost growling at the way she’d transferred her grip to Uncle Val’s arm. He wanted her to hold
him
in her hands. His cock didn’t care that she was supposed to be off-limits. It stood straight up, saluting the delectable female hanging on his uncle’s arm.

Magnus was right. Their father was gone, dead, lost to the Old Man’s schemes. And Morgan was never going to listen to one of his grandfather’s lies ever again.

First, he would honor his father, bury him in the Viking way. Then…

Then he’d test his fate. The beautiful, confused woman would be his, in every sense of the word.

“Magnus?”

“Hmm?”

“She’s mine.”

Magnus patted his arm. “I know, bro. I know.”

Chapter Two

Why was she here? Skye didn’t belong here, not with these weird people. They’d practically kept her under lock and key since the vision she’d had sent her racing to warn Fenris Saeter that someone was after him.

Someone willing to kill an entire family just to frame him for murder.

But there she sat, at the front of the funeral parlor with a stranger’s huge-ass family, listening to two women screech at each other about who had rights where a dead man was concerned. A dead man who looked disturbingly familiar, with his bright red hair and fierce features.

A man she was certain she’d never met before.

“He was my
son!
How dare you make arrangements without me?” The young-looking blonde woman did not seem old enough to have a son the age of Fred Grimm. His sister, maybe, but not his mother. Who did she think she was kidding?

Still, that shrieking voice was also disturbingly familiar. Skye shook her head, trying to remember where she’d heard that voice before.

The woman who
did
look old enough snorted. “Because he was my husband, you old witch. That gives me every right.”

Skye shook her head. These people were crazy, and she needed to get out of here before she caught whatever it was that had driven them nuts. Staring around the room as people literally took sides, she was afraid it might be catching. Not even Val could make this comfortable for her, and he’d done his best to make her feel like she was at home no matter where the others stashed her. He was turning into the big brother she’d always wanted but never had.

Val had laughed, delighted, when she’d told him she secretly called him the Terminator. How could you not like the guy? He was fiercely devoted to his family to the point of being overprotective, and adored his nieces and nephews with a love usually reserved for one’s own children. He’d told her he’d sacrificed himself to a madman to keep them safe, and she believed him. She’d sensed the truth ringing in his words.

“Enough.” The crowd parted as several people made their way forward. Logan, his bad-boy looks tempered by his dark suit, had his arm around a brunette with a thin, clever face and dark-rimmed glasses. Jordan Tate-Saeter was married to both Kir and Logan, a relationship that made Skye blush every time she thought about it. She was obviously pregnant, about five months along, the bump definitely visible as the twins she carried grew inside her.