CHAPTER NINE
Ski woke up extremely early when Salka pawed the back of his head. That meant someone was in the house. Usually it was the cleaning people, but this wasn’t their day.
So Ski got up, Salka draped around his neck since she was in no mood to move. He walked downstairs and found a few of his brothers just coming through the front door, grunting a greeting at him before heading to the kitchen to get their first cups of coffee.
But Salka wouldn’t wake him up because of his brothers. She knew them almost as well as she knew Ski.
Yet Salka also wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t alerting Ski to any major danger, just letting him know a non-Protector was in the house.
Over time, the cat Ski had found sick and nearly hairless in the rosebushes out back had turned into the true protector of this sacred place. Even Tyr liked her. Then again, he liked any animal that didn’t try to remove the only hand he had left.
Ski stopped, tilting his head. He heard a page turn. Smiling, he headed to the library. He found Jace sitting at the table, her feet up on the chair, a book resting on her knees. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, she was deeply involved in whatever she read.
It was definitely one of the books they’d retrieved the other night but it didn’t look important. Or interesting. The binding was rather old, but not ancient. He wondered what she’d found in there that had her so transfixed.
But before he could ask, Ski heard a bark.
While still reading, Jace reached one hand back and patted the top of the beige carrier resting behind her. “It’s okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”
“What is that doing here?” Ski demanded, pointing at the carrier set up near the table.
Still reading, she replied, “No one could take him this morning. So I brought him with me. Kera will pick him up later.”
“He can’t be in here.”
“He’s fine.”
“There are no dogs allowed in our library.”
“Is that because Lev is a canine and Tyr lost his hand to the wolf Fenrir? Is this some kind of canine bigotry?”
“More like canine disgust—and what are you reading?”
“Victorian porn in Russian.”
Ski wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “Pardon?”
“Victorian porn. I’m guessing they dressed it up in this boring cover so that Lenin and his uptight cronies wouldn’t know it was filled with imperialist dogma in the guise of wild-wielding sex.”
She finally lowered her book and looked up at Ski. Jace frowned and stared a little bit before noting, “You have a cat on your head.”
“Yes.”
“You can have a cat, but I can’t have my dog?”
“She lives here. And cats aren’t nearly as filthy as dogs.”
“Do you mean morally or because dogs like to roll around in their own feces?”
“Both. And Bear is going to lose his OCD-riddled mind when he finds out you brought your dog to his precious library.”
“He’s in a carrier. And he’s a baby. I can’t leave a baby alone.”
“Dogs of a young age are not babies. They’re puppies. Puppies that don’t wear diapers.”
“He has a diaper on.”
Ski folded his arms over his chest. “You put a diaper on your dog? And you don’t see anything wrong with that? Psychologically, I mean.”
“I put it on him so there wouldn’t be any leakage.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“He’ll be fine,” she insisted, going back to her book.
“Have you finished logging in all the other stuff in those boxes?”
“Not . . . no.”
“Then could you put your porn reading off to a later date?”
“It’s just so fascinating.”
“I’m sure it is, but I’m almost positive we won’t need you to translate that for us. Nor will we pay you to translate that for us.”
“Fine,” she sighed out, placing the book off to the side.
Ski asked, “Did you have breakfast?”
“I don’t eat breakfast.”
“I’ll make you something to eat.”
“I don’t want anything to eat.”
“You’ll eat.”
“What are you? My grandmother?”
“Obviously someone has to watch out for you,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. “Starving yourself over porn.”
“I was not!”
Jace heard Eriksen call out that breakfast was ready, but she chose to ignore him and kept working.
She was reaching for one of the books she’d piled on the table when she felt her entire chair being lifted off the floor.
“Hey!”
“I called,” Eriksen replied. “You ignored.”
With amazing ease, he carried her and the heavy wooden chair through the halls of the house until he reached the kitchen. The table was already filled with Protectors but they didn’t even look up from their books, papers, laptops, or phones to watch as Eriksen set her down.
He placed a plate piled with sausage, bacon, eggs, and toast in front of her. Next to that, he placed another plate filled with a stack of pancakes.
“Isn’t that . . . a lot?” she asked.
“For who?”
Deciding she didn’t want a debate, Jace just shook her head and looked back at the plate. Pulling her legs up so that the heels of her feet rested on the seat, she reached over and took a slice of bacon.
She was quietly munching on it and staring out the window when she sensed someone standing very close to her. Too close. She turned her head, bacon hanging from her mouth, to see one of the Protectors eyeing her hair.
“Can I help you, Haldor?”
“Your hair . . .”
“Yes?”
“It’s like my daughter’s.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He leaned in closer. “Can I braid it?”
“Why?”
“Yeah,” one of the other Protectors asked, looking away from his paperwork. “Why?”
“She wants me to take her to a Viking fair. It’s like a renaissance faire, and she wants to go in costume and she wants her hair braided. Except I don’t know how to braid hair. So I bought a book.” He held the book up. “And thought maybe I could practice a bit before I tried it on her.”
Jace remembered that Haldor’s wife had died a few years ago, leaving just him and his little girl. He’d raised her himself with the help of babysitters and nannies, of course, but from what she’d heard, he’d taken it fully upon himself to give his daughter as normal a life as possible.
As normal as possible when one’s father had wings and one’s Valkyrie mother had died during a battle with demons.
“Sure,” Jace said with a shrug.
“Thank you. That’s great.” He handed the book to Jace. “Which do you like?”
She looked over the styles, which were probably very popular in 1596, and randomly picked one. It didn’t look too complicated and she guessed it wouldn’t take too long.
“This one.”
Haldor nodded. “Nice choice.” He looked over the page, closed his eyes a moment, then put the book on the table. Closed. That’s when she knew he had an eidetic memory. Something Jace had always wished she had. Then again, if she could remember everything perfectly, it would be no fun rereading her favorite books like Crime and Punishment or War and Peace.
While Haldor used his extremely large hands to carefully separate her hair into sections before beginning the braiding, Jace nibbled on dry toast and stared out the window or up through the skylight.
Jace was having a nice day.
Bear walked into the Protectors’ house and immediately went to the library to see how far along the Crow had gotten with the books. He stopped at the entrance and stared at the empty desk. Where was she? And where was the chair?
Several teen Protectors walked past him and into the library to work. The teen Protectors were only sent to this location for their final battle training. Usually transferring to the local private high school in their junior year. Younger boys went to what was called a “private boys’ school” but was really a training ground for future Protectors. There they were taught general education and simple battle techniques, how to fly, and how to read and translate runes as well as use them for power and magic. You know . . . the basics.
Deciding to see if he could find the Crow—she was probably in the kitchen—he turned to go but stopped when he heard a sound.
What was that? What kind of noise was that?
He heard it again. A “yip.”
Head turning and tilting to the side, he heard panting and whining coming from a carrier of some kind by the desk.
Bear went to it and lifted it from the ground until he was eye to eye with whatever was inside.
It yipped again and Bear’s eyes narrowed, and a little growl eased out of his throat.
Ski had never seen one woman take so long to eat three pieces of toast. But all she did was nibble. Slowly. Sometimes she’d stop to take a drink of water. Or nibble on a bit of bacon. But mostly she just nibbled on that toast while Haldor worked on her hair with his big, somewhat clumsy hands.
Then it got weirder.
Suddenly Jace was surrounded by several Protectors who’d decided to help their brother out. They didn’t touch her hair, but they pointed out what Haldor should do to get the style right.
And Ski just watched. Fascinated by the whole thing. Haldor’s need to do something for his beautiful daughter; his brothers’ need to help a fellow Protector with something they knew absolutely nothing about; plus, Jace’s amazing amount of patience.
The whole time she didn’t complain. She didn’t look uncomfortable. Nor did she engage in the conversation going on around her.
She just nibbled and stared.
That’s when he finally understood.
Jace Berisha wasn’t painfully shy due to the tragic past that had led to her eventual death and rebirth as a Crow.
She was an antisocial introvert who didn’t hate people . . . just small talk.
No wonder she’d bolted from his car like he’d come at her with a knife. He was trying to have polite conversation with her and she’d rather do anything but that.
Realizing he’d figured out the puzzle that was Jace made Ski feel like he’d accomplished something amazing. He just didn’t know why.
One of the teen Protectors walked into the kitchen, paused briefly to stare at what his older brothers were doing, then shook his head and came over to Ski.
“Uh . . . Mr. Eriksen?”
“You really don’t have to call me that, Karl.”
“At this time in my existence, I’m more comfortable with calling you mister.”
Not willing to argue that point, Ski said, “Okay.”
“Uh . . . anyway . . . that . . . uh . . . animal. In the case. In the library.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah. Mr. Ingolfsson took it. Outside. While muttering. Personally, I’ve always found his muttering . . . unsettling.”
Ski straightened just as Jace spun around in her chair and the Protectors stopped fussing with her hair. They all stared at each other a long moment before they bolted out of the kitchen and back to the library. One of the sliding doors was open and they all slammed into it together, getting jammed there except Jace, who crouched and dived out before she could get caught.
“One at a time, gentlemen!” Ski ordered before pulling himself out of the pack and taking off after Jace.
He easily caught up to her, and as they rounded a large hedge, they found Bear holding the puppy around the middle with the animal facing away from him. He held him high in the air with both hands and Ski thought for one tragic, horrible second that his brother was going to throw the thing down to the ground in a rage.
He didn’t.
Instead, he loudly commanded the puppy to, “Urinate! Urinate, puppy!”
Jace looked at Ski, but he could only throw up his hands. He had no idea what the hell was going on.
Taking a breath, Jace slowly walked over to Bear and stood beside him.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly. Gently. So as not to startle.
“Allowing this animal to urinate. Here. In nature.”
“Uh-huh. He might be more comfortable doing that if you put him down on the ground.”
Bear glanced at Jace. “Are you sure? He might run away.”
“He might . . . but chances are you’ll catch him. He still trips over his own feet. He’s only about two and a half months old.”
“Oh. I see.”
Bear placed the puppy on the ground. Then he ordered, loudly, “Urinate!”
“Uh . . .” Jace put her hand on his forearm. “You don’t need to . . . order him to urinate. He’ll do it. If he needs to. The . . . loudness of your voice might scare him.”
“Oh. I see.”
He faced Jace. “The cat defecates in a box.”
“Yes. I’ve never had a cat, but I do know that.”
“Dogs don’t, though. And he’s young. So you shouldn’t leave him alone. He was whining. He sounded sad.”
“He was probably lonely. Wondering where I was.”
“You shouldn’t leave him alone. Not in a new place.”
The smile broke across her face like a bright sun. “You’re absolutely right, Bear. I shouldn’t have left him alone.”
He suddenly looked her over. “I like your hair.”
“Thank you. Haldor did it.”
Bear nodded. “For the Viking festival.” He turned to Haldor, who had come up behind them. “I think this will work.”
“I think so, too.”
“He’s done,” Jace said.
Bear reached down and picked the puppy up. He gazed at him with that expressionless face before noting, “I like him. He doesn’t try to rip my face off.”
When Bear looked at Ski, Ski rolled his eyes and reminded him, “Then you shouldn’t wake Salka up. You know she’s not a morning cat.”
Kera stopped in front of the Protectors’ house and turned off the engine.
“Your dog’s breath stinks,” Erin complained.
Both Kera and Brodie gawked at her, mouths open.
“Rude,” Kera told her and Brodie barked in agreement. “And we didn’t need you to come. We’re just here to get Lev. Don’t you have a job tattooing people?”
“Not until I’m done with your party.”
“The party that’s going to suck?”
“That’s the one!” Erin cheered before stepping out of the car.
“Why do I bother?” Kera sighed, but that’s when Brodie rubbed her big pit bull head against Kera’s jaw and neck.
Smiling, Kera kissed the top of her snout. “I love you, too, baby.”
Kera rolled the windows down all the way. “I’ll be right back.”
When Kera stepped out of the car, Erin shook her head. “Leaving your poor dog in a hot car? She could die.”
“I can’t bring her inside.”
“You’d let your dog die before you’d upset the Protectors?”
“Don’t the Crows have enough enemies?”
“Don’t you love your dog? Your poor, giant-headed dog?” Not liking that description of her head, Brodie leaned out and snapped at Erin.
“I meant it in the nicest way possible!”
Kera walked around the car and stuck her head in the back window. Brodie licked her nose.
“Do you want to come in, Brodie? Or are you okay here?”
Brodie leaned back, sitting regally with her snout up.
Kera walked past Erin. “See?”
“You do know that Skuld did more to that dog than just give it wings and that psycho metal muzzle, right?”
“Brodie is not an ‘it.’ Brodie is a ‘she.’ And I don’t care what Skuld did. Brodie’s here with me now and she’s one of us. Besides. . . why don’t you just admit you like her?”
“Because I don’t. I’m more a cat person.”
“Liar. Cats hate you. They actively attack you.”
Kera reached the front door, Erin right behind her.
“I know. I can’t even say it’s because I’m a Crow. When I was eight, my aunt’s old cat almost tore my lip off. I don’t know why, though,” she added, smiling. “I am such a lovely person.”
“You know, you’re actually not.”
Erin laughed and Kera raised her fist to knock on the door. That was when she realized the front door was open.
Grabbing Kera’s arm and pulling it away from the door, Erin pushed the door all the way open.
“Why are we doing this?”
“Because we’re nosy.”
“What is this ‘we’ shit, white girl?”
Erin chuckled and walked into the house. Together they made their way down the big halls toward the library.
To Kera’s surprise, no Protectors came out to greet them. Or, more accurately, stop them. From what she’d heard, the quickest way to get a Protector to rip your head off—literally—was to “invade” one of their precious libraries without permission. And that was the word they used. “Invade.”
But she and Erin walked on, seeing no one . . . until they reached the library. That was where they froze. Right outside the large double doors that stood wide open.
They froze and gawked. Looked at each other. Then gawked some more.
Because Kera really didn’t know what was going on.
Wasn’t life weird enough these days? Why did it keep getting weirder?
One big Protector was braiding Jace’s hair. Intricate, pretty braids that looked straight out of some historical TV show where people get beheaded or poisoned and a king rules with an iron fist while his queen plots.
Standing around him were three more Protectors, giving him tips and pointing to a couple of books they held.
But that wasn’t the weirdest part.
Another Protector, the one Kera knew they called Bear, had Jace’s puppy around the waist, holding the dog up over his head and turning in a circle. As if he was showing Lev something. “This is not a room to poop in, puppy,” he announced . . . to the dog.
The dog.
“You shall not poop in this room. Nor shall you chew on anything. Or urinate. You shall not urinate in this room!”
He brought the puppy down and turned him around so he and Bear were eye to eye. “Do you understand me?” he asked . . . the dog.
The dog.
Still not the weirdest part.
Another Protector, wearing latex gloves, carefully pulled old-looking books out of a big wood box and placed them on the table. When one of his brothers tried to touch a book, he slapped hands or punched stomachs and told them, “Until the Crow says you can touch, you don’t touch.”
“I just want to look.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I will kill you!” the Protector bellowed.
Still not the weirdest.
The weirdest part? That was Jace.
Because Jace wasn’t trying to find a table to crawl under or a car trunk to hide in. She wasn’t actively trying to avoid all the weirdness.
And yet, Kera had seen Jace practically run from a room screaming when the Crows began to argue about some reality show they’d all been watching.
She wasn’t doing that now. Instead, while some strange dude with absolutely gigantic hands braided her hair, she was playing. . . Scrabble.
She was also winning, the Protector she’d just beaten throwing his hands up in the air while several of his brothers politely applauded and laughed.
Bear put the puppy on the floor. “Now that you know the rules, I expect you to abide by them. Understand?”
The puppy barked and Bear seemed to take that as an acknowledgment and agreement to his terms. Did the man not realize Lev was just a dog and was probably barking because . . . well . . . because he was a dog?
“Good. Now go forth and try not to annoy.”
At that point, Kera looked at Erin and she shrugged her shoulders in reply.
They turned to leave and found Danski Eriksen standing behind them. Not only had he not made a sound as he’d moved up behind them—creepy enough, thanks—but he also had a large white cat on his head.
A cat.
On his head.
He smiled at them—at least that wasn’t creepy—and said softly, “Lev will be fine.”
That was good enough for Kera. She nodded and walked around him, glancing back to see Erin move out of range of that cat’s paw as it slashed at her, claws extended as much as possible.
Snarling, Erin turned toward the cat but before she could do or say anything, Kera grabbed her elbow and yanked her away and back down the hall.
When they reached the car, they both got in. Brodie was still in the backseat, her gaze bouncing back and forth between them.
After a moment of silence, Kera asked Erin, “Starbucks?”
She nodded. “Starbucks.”
And they headed out for a coffee and a few hours of analyzing what the holy fuck they’d just seen.
Yardley King, movie star, paparazzi favorite since her accidental sex tape, and Los Angeles Crow, sat in her trailer and waited until she heard the knock.
“Come in.”
Her agent’s assistant opened the door and leaned in, smiling.
Yardley had to fight her desire to narrow her eyes in a show of obvious distrust, but she wanted to be better than that. It wasn’t as if Brianna had done anything wrong. Not really.
She’d done what anyone in Hollywood would have done after their boss had apparently thrown herself out her office window. She’d taken over.
And yet . . . Brianna’s boss wasn’t just anybody. She was Betty Lieberman. An elder Crow. A mighty seer. And a kick-ass agent.
Betty had taken Yardley under her wing as soon as Yardley had woken up in the Bird House. Betty had not only handled Yardley’s battle training, she’d managed her career. Taking her from a former teen star who, at that time, couldn’t get a job to save her life to a fifteen-million-per-film movie star in little more than three years with a whole redemption story attached.
She’d shown Yardley the ropes among the Hollywood vipers and the local Vikings. She’d taught her how to read a room at a media event and how to rip off a face with her talons while leaving her victim still breathing.
Betty had been like a mother to her. Actually, she’d been better than Yardley’s own mother, who’d been the one to pin Yardley down on her bed and shove a copious amount of drugs down her throat until she’d overdosed. But that was a long story she really didn’t want to get into.
Instead, she just wanted Betty back, but Yardley was contractually trapped here while one of her closest friends was in some kind of a weird coma.
And Yardley didn’t believe for a second that Betty had tried to kill herself. Because that woman wouldn’t give anyone in the industry the satisfaction. Not Betty.
So then, what did happen? Yardley didn’t know.
All she knew was that she was on this location shoot with this idiot director. An emotional mess of a man who had convinced the world he was an auteur.
Betty had warned her. Not by using her seer powers, either. Instead, she’d just said, “You really want to do this movie, sweetie . . . ? Because he’s an idiot.”
Dammit, Betty had been right! As always, Yardley should have listened.
“How ya doin’, hon?” Brianna asked, stepping into the trailer and closing the door behind her.
Yardley didn’t like how familiar and comfortable Brianna had become lately, either. She didn’t need the woman kissing her ass, necessarily. But Yardley would definitely prefer that Brianna not act like they’d been best friends since the beginning of time.
“The man’s a mess,” Yardley immediately stated. “I mean . . . he’s a mess, Brianna.”
“Yeah . . . I was just talking to the producer and all the double-talking . . . definitely an issue there.” She took a few steps closer and Yardley couldn’t help but notice the copious amount of jewelry on the woman. She was sure that Brianna had given herself a much bigger salary than Betty had approved, but wow . . . that was a lot of gold. And diamonds. So many diamonds. “Is he really in a tent somewhere . . . crying?”
“Yes. He cries every day. Over nothing. The slightest hiccup and the man bursts into tears. This entire movie is a fucking disaster.”
“I heard the studio is going to bring another director in. They just have to work out a deal to get rid of this one.”
“I don’t want to work with another director on this thing. I just want out.”
“But hon—”
“Get me out of this.”
“Well . . . you did sign a contract.”
Yardley stared at Brianna. The way Betty had taught her.
“Don’t speak, sweetie,” Betty had always counseled. “Just stare . . . and wait. You have to be willing to wait. It freaks people out every time.”
So Yardley waited and, after several long minutes, Brianna finally threw up her hands and said, “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you just go back to the hotel?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll call you later.”
Brianna left and Yardley’s security team—several of her fellow Crows who were paid well to protect the one movie star who probably didn’t need it—came in to help Yardley pack up. As far as she was concerned, she was out of here. If the media wanted to turn her into a diva over it . . . so what?
Thankfully, her sister-Crows knew how to get Yardley to lighten up. After only a few minutes, they had her laughing and talking about past boyfriends until sometime later, they heard a horrible scream.
Always Crows, they ran out of the trailer without thought to their own safety. Much of the film crew was running past her. Running away. Some people were screaming. Others crying. One big guy, some union driver, stopped, leaned over, and threw up.
Shocked, Yardley and the others pushed forward until the producer crashed into her, trying to push Yardley back.
“No, babe. You can’t see this.”
Babe? Did he just call her babe?
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Just go back to your trailer. I’ll be in—”
Yardley pushed the producer off her as one of her sisters walked out of the director’s tent and motioned to her. She quickly walked in, ignoring the producer’s demands for her to stop.
As soon as she stepped inside, though, she did pause.
Yeah. She paused.
Gazing down at the man she now felt a little bad for, Yardley asked her fellow Crows, “Where’s his skin?”
Jace relaxed back against her chair and pressed the tips of her fingers against her closed eyelids, taking a moment to rub them. They were dry and she wished she’d remembered to bring some eyedrops just to lubricate them.
“Tired?”
Pulling her hand away, she looked up at Ormi Bentsen, leader of the Southern California Protectors.
“Just my eyes. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s late, Jacinda. You should go home.”
“But I just found this book on runes and—”
“It’ll be here tomorrow.”
Jace took a moment to study Ormi. His wings were out. She looked over her shoulder at the floor-to-ceiling windows and realized it was dark.
“Gosh, I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize to me about working too hard. I love hard workers.”
“It’s just been pretty fascinating. I mean, some of these books are completely useless to you guys. But others, I think, will be quite an addition to your collections.”
“That’s what I needed to know. Now . . . I’m assuming you’ll be staying with us through the full translation process.”
“Uh . . .” Jace rubbed her nose. “I think I was just supposed to translate titles and authors and get the general gist of each book. Although I’ve been told there’s some kind of list for other translation services.”
“Those will wait until you’re done with this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. You fit in perfectly here.”
Jace had never heard that before. “I do?”
“You’re quiet. You do your work. But when you do have something to say, it’s concise, useful, and doesn’t bore anyone with unnecessary, vapid content. For a Protector that’s pretty much the ‘whole package,’ as they say.”
“I really like coming here,” she admitted. “But some of this translation may take time. Some of it is in seriously ancient Russian. Plus, there’s some Mongolian in there and some of the books are just written in runes. Which . . . for me . . . would actually be an amazing challenge. But I don’t want to waste your time. I’m sure a Holde’s Maid could translate the runes much quicker than I can—”
“Perhaps,” Ormi cut in. “But they will annoy me.”
Jace frowned. “Isn’t your wife a Holde’s Maid?”
“And she annoys me. Love her to death,” he quickly added, “but to work with her? Rather get my toes eaten off by rats. That’s how annoying she is. Demanding. Demeaning. Rude. Pushy. It’s true, I find her very attractive and our sexual life is quite fulfilling—”
“Oh.”
“—but when it comes to my work here and my brother Protectors. . . I must think of their welfare. And mine. My wife has no patience with them.”
“What makes you think I have patience?”
“You beat Kilmar at Scrabble, but not once did you try to remove the eyes from his head. My wife can’t say that.”
“I don’t know why he got so bitchy, though. He said Latin words were included.”
“He didn’t know anyone knew Latin as well as him.”
“Well, he was wrong.”
Ormi laughed and gently closed the cover on the laptop they’d loaned her. “Go home, Crow. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jace stood, taking a moment to stretch her muscles.
“Are you leaving?”
Jace smiled as Bear walked toward her, Lev asleep in his arms.
“Thank you so much,” she said with real sincerity.
Bear grunted and handed Lev over.
“I don’t know what happened to Kera. She said she’d be here to pick him up.”
“She was,” Eriksen said, walking into the library with a set of keys in his hand. “Her and Erin Amsel.”
“Really? Why didn’t anyone say anything?”
“Bear had Lev handled. Didn’t you, Bear?”
Another grunt.
Bear started to walk away, but stopped and leaned in to Jace. His face looked really angry, but she didn’t shrink from it. She had a feeling that would just . . . hurt his feelings.
Which was kind of a strange reaction to a man who seemed moments from threatening her life.
“Tomorrow,” he practically snarled. “You can bring him back. He was very good. He only pooped and peed outside.”
“Uh . . . okay.”
“He poops a lot, you know,” he added.
“Did you feed him a lot?”
“He appeared hungry to me.”
“He’s a dog. Dogs will always appear hungry, even if they’ve just had an entire slab of cow. That’s just their way. They don’t have an ‘off’ button when it comes to eating. So it’s up to us to monitor what they eat and adjust accordingly.”
Bear straightened up, gazed down at Jace before replying, “Excellent point. Tonight I’ll read books on dogs. By tomorrow. . . I’ll know more.”
“I don’t have to bring—”
“You can bring him. Good night.”
“’Night, Bear.”
The large man lumbered out and Ormi grinned at her. “See? My wife would have hexed him by now and all his skin would have fallen off long before that conversation ended.” He patted Jace’s shoulder. “You’re perfect.”
Ormi walked away without another word, and she turned to Eriksen. He shrugged at her. “Told you. This job is for you.”
“He wants me to do all the translations. Is that because of you?”
“I didn’t say a word. But the list on the refrigerator is filling up. You are going to be booked for quite a while. Besides, even if I had said something, Ormi still does what Ormi wants to do. So you must have impressed him. All on your own.” He held up the keys. “Lift?”
“Oh, I can fly—”
“With the dog? He’ll be shitting in panic all the way home.” Dammit, the man was right. But another long, painful, chitchat-filled drive back to the Bird House? Oy.
Jace forced a smile. “Okay.”
Eriksen stared at her a moment before laughing and walking off. She had no idea what that meant, but she girded her loins for the nightmare to come.
Ski pulled up to the front of the Bird House and shut off the engine, the doors automatically unlocking.
“See ya tomorrow.”
Jace glanced at him. “Are you mad at me?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Did I do something wrong? With the work, I mean.”
“Are you kidding? You even got Ormi’s seal of approval. His own wife can’t get that. Why?”
“Well . . . you didn’t say anything.”
“Did you want me to say anything?” When she struggled to answer, he said, “Let me put it this way. Did you want me to talk to you about general, nonsensical things? Or keep quiet until I have something interesting to enthrall you with?”
“You make me sound horrible.”
“No, no. That’s not what I meant. You just don’t like bullshit. But as second in command of the Protectors, I spend a lot of time bullshitting. I work with the other Clans. Occasionally I have to work with the gods because Tyr really has no patience for them anymore. And I am good at bullshitting. But I only do it when I need to. I am more than happy to sit and be quiet until I have something of actual interest to say. And I just assumed that’s what you’d prefer.”
She smiled in relief. “Actually, I would.”
“Then there you go. So, see you tomorrow?”
Her grin widened. “Yes!”
“Great.”
Ski watched her grab hold of her backpack after situating her dog in her other arm. She hadn’t even realized she’d left the dog’s carrier back at the house.
Ski reached across to open the door for her.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome. Hey,” he said before she could get out. “Would you like to go out some time? You know . . . like, on a date?”
Still smiling, she shook her head. “No.”
Ski blinked, then asked. “So you don’t like me.”
“No, I like you.”
“Okay. You don’t find me attractive.”
“No, you’re really attractive,” she said with a laugh.
“But you won’t go out with me?”
“No.” She was still smiling.
“Could you tell me why?”
“No.”
“O–okay. Well . . . see you tomorrow.”
“Okay! See you tomorrow!” She got out of the car, using her cute ass to close the door. Then she ran up the stairs and disappeared into the Bird House.
Confused, he went to start the car, which was when he realized someone was standing beside it.
He looked up and saw Vig Rundstöm glowering down at him.
Jace walked into the Bird House. She was still smiling as she closed the door.
“Hey, chica,” Kera said, coming around the corner. “You look happy.”
“I just got asked out on a date.”
Kera in her cut-off shorts and United States Marines T-shirt, plus bare feet—the woman was not big on shoes—clapped her hands together. “Eriksen, right?”
“Yeah.”
Appearing more excited than Jace, she asked, “So you guys are going out?”
Still smiling, Jace shook her head. “No.”
The grin on Kera’s face, however, faded away. “No?”
“No.”
“So you don’t like him?”
“No, no. I like him. I think he’s really hot.”
“But you’re not going to go out with him.”
“No.”
“You gonna tell me why?”
Jace started toward her room. “No.” She waved at her friend. “See ya!”
They stayed like that for several long minutes. Ski staring at the Raven and the Raven staring back.
They all called Vig Rundstöm the Pit Bull. Not normally to his face, but they weren’t above doing that. Unlike the other Ravens who just seemed stupid, Rundstöm seemed . . . off. The fact that Kera Watson, a former Marine and even-tempered female who was sorely needed by the constantly emotional Crows, had taken up with him had become a source of discussion. Two people couldn’t be further apart in personality.
But Kera was new to the Crows and perhaps she had no real understanding of the man she was lying down with most nights.
Vig Rundstöm, of the Rundstöm bloodline, known for their berserker-like tendencies in battle since the early days of the gods.
Which was why Ski seriously thought he’d be forced to kill the man right there, in the Crows’ driveway, until Kera Watson walked out of the house and yelled, “Ludvig Rundstöm! Stop that right now!”
“He started it,” Rundstöm argued, forcing Ski to cringe at what the Ravens called “logic.”
“You mean he started it by breathing?” the pretty Crow asked.
The disturbingly big Raven shrugged enormous shoulders and replied simply, “Yes.”
Shaking his head, Ski started the car, and pulled out of the driveway.
Maybe it was best that Jace had turned him down. She was close friends with Kera Watson, which might mean eventual double dates—and Ski didn’t think he could spend time outside of Clan work with that idiot.