CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kera suddenly sat down beside Jace. Directly on her chair, pushing her over until they were both barely on it.
“Hi, Kera.”
“Hi, Jace.” She smiled.
And then she kept smiling.
“Enjoying your party, sweetie?” Jace asked.
“I am. I am so enjoying my party.”
“Kera . . . are you a little drunk?”
“No. I’m a-lotta drunk. But it’s that bitch’s fault,” she said, pointing . . . around. Since Erin was off somewhere. “She just keeps giving me drinks.”
“You don’t have to take them.”
“But they’re just so tasty.” Then she began quietly chanting. “Tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty.”
Jace thought Kera was going to keep going, but she suddenly pointed at Ski. “You, with the penis.”
Ski’s eyes widened behind his adorably dorky glasses, his lips pressed together to stop the laughter.
“You treat this girl like she’s a goddess. Understand me?” Tears suddenly formed in Kera’s eyes. “Do you know why?” she asked, choking a bit. “Because she’s the only one who hasn’t abused my clipboards.”
Ski scratched his head and quickly looked off. All the other Clans had heard about the recent Clipboard Incident. There’d been a bonfire. And dancing. And a “We Are the Champions” sing-along.
It had not been pretty.
But the Crows saw Kera’s clipboards as an attempt at controlling them, and it was the one thing the ladies would not stand for from anyone but their goddess and their leader. Kera, as the “new girl,” did nothing but bring out the panic.
Yet Kera was a true Crow—she’d not soon forgive or forget what had happened that night.
Sadly, that was confirmed when Kera suddenly pointed around the party and yelled, “Unlike these treacherous bitches here!”
As was the Crow way, Kera’s drunken outburst was greeted with joyful cheers. Because they were Crows and all of Jace’s sisters were ridiculous.
“You see?” Kera asked Ski. “They’re all bitches. But not my Jace.” She put her arm around Jace’s shoulders and hugged her. “Never my Jace. So if you hurt her . . . I will have Erin burn that pretty face of yours right off!”
“Okay,” Jace said, pushing Kera’s arm off—it was now squeezing her so hard, it was starting to really hurt . . . and possibly break something—“perhaps we should get you to bed.”
“Why?” Kera looked around. “The night’s young!”
Ski could tell that Jace was embarrassed about her friend, but he didn’t know why. These were the descendants of Vikings. Drinking and then embarrassing themselves at parties was what they did.
Even the Protectors, after a few drinks, had finally come down from the trees and were standing around, watching everyone else on the dance floor.
But was Ski embarrassed by them? No. And Jace shouldn’t be, either. The best thing about drunk friends? They were pretty honest. Sometimes that meant very hurtful things were said, but in Kera’s case it just showed how much she cared about Jace. She didn’t seem to have enough nice things to say about her.
“Sorry, Jace,” a low voice rumbled and Ski looked up to see Vig Rundstöm. “She got away from me.”
“It’s okay,” Jace said with a little laugh.
“Isn’t he amazing?” Kera asked them. “I love him.”
One side of Rundstöm’s face lifted. One might call it a smile. Maybe. Or a small stroke.
“Look what he gave me!” Kera held her arm out, nearly punching Jace in the process. A slim silver chain bracelet dangled from her wrist. “Isn’t it pretty? Look.” When Jace and Ski both smiled and nodded, the woman’s eyes narrowed. “I said look.”
Now afraid not to, both Jace and Ski leaned in.
“It’s a boat.”
“It’s a snekkja,” Rundstöm grumbled. “A long boat.”
Ski grasped the charm between two fingers and removed his glasses so he could take a closer look. So much detail in such a small item. He could make out the sails, the round shields, the oars, even the small heads of the men. It amazed Ski to think that a butcher like Vig Rundstöm could craft such beautiful work.
“You did this yourself, Raven?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know you had the skill. Not with those hands.”
A deep snarl rumbled up from the dark face hidden behind black hair and a big beard.
The Rundstöm bloodline had not changed since the 600s. Vig Rundstöm was so very Viking. More than most. He was just missing the round shield and fur cloak to complete the picture. There was absolutely nothing modern about the man, so it didn’t surprise Ski that he’d chosen a warrior Crow to be his mate. It just surprised him that Kera, a very evolved female, would tolerate the Neanderthal.
But, as Ski’s grandfather always said, “To each their own.”
“You made that Mjölnir necklace, too?” Ski asked, now examining the representation of Thor’s hammer around Kera’s neck, and an obvious slap at the Giant Killers who had giant hammers—not their god’s rune like the rest of them—branded on their bodies. Seeing that necklace around the throat of a Crow must greatly annoy them.
The Raven grunted in response.
“Nice work.”
Another grunt, but this time Kera patted her Viking’s chest. “Be nice. He looks rich.”
Ski grinned. “I am.”
Jace coughed, but quickly dropped her head.
“See?” Kera said. “He’s rich. Be nice, he’ll buy your stuff. Right? You’ll buy his stuff?”
“Well—”
“I said,” she growled, voice low, “you’ll buy his stuff . . . right?”
Ski didn’t dare look at Jace. “Right.”
“Good.” Kera stood, stumbled, although she wasn’t actually moving, straightened. “Maybe some coffee?”
Rundstöm grunted, nodded, wrapped his arm around her waist, and carried her off.
Ski shook his head. “By Tyr’s justice, he’s such a Viking.”
“So . . . that’s where we’re at,” Chloe finished to her fellow Crow leaders.
They were silent until Neecy asked, “Still didn’t really explain why you swung at a nun.”
“Because she was irritating me,” Chloe snapped back. “Isn’t that good enough?”
“No.”
“But you’re sure,” Serena asked, “that this Brianna girl is Gullveig?”
“What else could she be?” another Crow leader asked.
“An LA agent?” When all Chloe got were blank stares, “You people have no idea what it’s like in Hollywood. Betty was nicer to that minotaur she took on once than she was to that studio head she thought was trying to screw over her client back in the nineties. When she was done with him, the guy ended up joining a kibbutz in Israel. He’s not even Jewish.”
Serena leaned forward. “Well, darlin’, you better confirm she’s the one and Gullveig isn’t roaming around inside some dog somewhere.”
“And you need to find out before that All-Clan meeting,” Neecy added. “The Silent are looking for any excuse to push the Crows out of the Nine. Don’t give ’em a chance.”
Chloe thought a moment. “The director—”
“The one who lost his skin?”
Chloe nodded at Neecy’s question. “His funeral’s tomorrow.” She glanced at her watch. “Make that today. Yardley has to go, and I’m sure Brianna will be there.”
“Why?”
“The director won an Academy Award for some artsy film he did. A lot of names will be there to make an appearance, get their picture taken, schmooze.”
“At a funeral?” Serena’s lip curled in disgust. “Well, isn’t this a godless little state.”
“It used to be just Southern California, but since the tech boom, Northern California’s been catching up.” Chloe blew out a breath. “Okay. We’ll send Yardley to the funeral with her team. And I’ll send a team to Brianna’s office and her home. See if we can find anything else. Although I don’t know what we should be looking for.” She shrugged. “An altar of skin?”
“I saw one of those once,” Serena admitted. “It was nasty. And surprisingly stinky.”
“Look for something,” Neecy pushed. “You can’t go into that All-Clan meeting with no information. The Silent will crucify you.”
Serena looked out the window as a group of women and one man walked by, her eyes narrowing. “What is your ex-husband doin’ here with all them Valkyries?”
“Trying to goad me into a fight, but I promised Erin that if there was any fighting at this party, it wouldn’t be because of me.”
“Especially after you punched that nun,” Neecy muttered.
“You really need to let that go.”
Serena stood. “With you havin’ so much on your mind, why don’t we entertain your ex-husband?”
Chloe smirked. “Ladies—”
“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun. You focus on your little Gullveig problem—”
“I’m not sure a god forcing her way into this world is a little problem.”
“Shut up, Neecy. And we’ll keep your ex out of the way.”
Chloe stared at Serena. “And how are you going to do that?”
“Don’t you even worry. Trust us to handle it.”
“See, that’s where we have a problem.” Chloe laughed. “I don’t trust any of you bitches.”
“You want something to drink?” Ski asked.
“That would be great.”
“What would you like?”
Jace panicked. She’d never done the drinking thing, so she really didn’t know what to order. So she blurted out one of the drinks she’d heard ordered throughout the night by her sister-Crows. “Dirty martini!”
Ski gazed at her with those sometimes-unblinking eyes.
She tried again. “Uh . . . Kamikaze?”
His head tipped to the side.
“Southern Comfort on the rocks?”
Still staring.
“Singapore Sling!”
“What’s in a Singapore Sling, Jace?”
She rubbed her chin. “Liquor?”
“Jace, what do you really want?”
“Sprite.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“Well, everybody else is drinking.”
“Yes. Everyone else is drinking.” He looked over the dance floor. It was not pretty.
Wings were out. Dance moves were attempted . . . and failed. Some, like Kera, were just standing there, holding a beer and moving their heads, sometimes jerking their hips, eyes closed. Kera wasn’t actually moving to the music playing, but to something she was hearing in her head.
Then there were Alessandra and several Valkyries, with their arms in the air, writhing.
So much writhing.
Then there were the Ravens. Eesh.
Big men shouldn’t really try to dance. Unless they were Siggy.
Siggy could move his ass with the best of them, even keeping up with the Tri-State Crows, who were known for their skills on the dance floor.
“That’s what drinking gets you, Jace. As you know,” Ski went on, a little smug, “the Protectors don’t get that kind of sloppy drunk.”
Jace didn’t respond. She just pointed. Gundo had his head buried in some Giant Killer’s voluptuous boobs and Borgsten was resting against Gundo’s back while they all slow-danced to a fast song. The others were in a line, arms around each other’s shoulders, singing along to a song that had no words. In Norwegian.
Ski cringed. “Well . . . that’s disappointing. I’ll get your Sprite.”
“A freezing cold bottle please.”
Ski walked off and Erin quickly replaced him. “What are you doing?” the redhead demanded.
“You think I should have gone with the Singapore Sling?”
“Not the drink, dweeb. You’ve got flippin’ Ski Eriksen making moves on you and what are you doing? Talking?”
“He’s not making moves.”
“What are you standing against?”
She glanced back. “A wall.”
“Right. A wall. And do you know why a guy like Ski Eriksen maneuvers a hotsie-totsie like you against a wall? So he can make out with you. But you keep fuckin’ talking. Usually we can’t get you to say a word, but now you won’t shut up.”
“We’ve been having a great conversation.”
“Yeah. About Stalin.”
“You know I find dictators fascinating. Caligula. Hitler. The Dalai Lama.”
“The Dalai Lama?”
“Don’t trust those warm, caring eyes. They hide a dark soul.”
“Okay, I see you need my help, Jace.”
“I really don’t.”
“But that’s what friends are for.”
“Most friends would just leave me alone.”
“Not good friends.”
Ski returned with her Sprite and a Norwegian beer for himself. He handed the unopened bottle to Jace.
Grinning, he said, “Bear is chatting up that shifter bartender. I think she likes him. Why, I don’t know, but whatever.”
“Don’t be mean. Bear is very likable.”
“Is he?”
Erin put the tips of her fingers to her temple. “Even Bear is getting some?”
“He’s just talking to her,” Jace corrected.
Ski shrugged. “Which for Bear is him getting some.”
“See?” Erin asked Jace. “You need me.”
“I really don’t.”
“What are you guys talking about?”
“Erin’s trying to get me some.”
“Oh. Thanks, Erin.”
“Don’t thank her. She’ll just continue the bad behavior. Like Lev licking his butt. You have to tell her, ‘No. Bad.’ And shake your finger at her until she learns not to keep up the bad behavior.”
Ski laughed, but Erin just rolled her eyes.
“I need to get you guys out of here,” Erin said.
“Or you could let us handle this on our own.”
“But you’ve already done so poorly.”
Jace raised her fist, but Ski quickly grabbed it and pulled her next to him.
“We could just leave,” he said, giving Jace a little wink.
“And have everybody talking about it?” Erin leaned in and whispered, “You know how these bitches are.”
“Insane like you?” Jace asked.
“I bet I can distract everybody.”
“Oh, please don’t distract everybody,” Jace sighed.
Erin watched a Giant Killer stumble by, her eyes locked on him in a way that Jace had only seen in nature films about predators and prey.
“Hey, Geirr Eklund,” Erin called out. “You do know the Ravens have been stealing your liquor all night, right?”
No, they hadn’t, but Erin never let a little thing like honesty get between her and a goal.
Eklund stopped and tried really hard to focus on Erin’s face. “What?”
“You heard me!” She dramatically pointed at a still-pretty-sober Stieg. “It was him. Get him! Get the thief!”
Poor Stieg only had a moment to look shocked before Eklund dove at him, the two big men hitting the ground hard. From there, it took seconds for other Ravens and Killers to jump in. The Valkyries cheered them on and the Crows kept dancing.
“What is your problem with Stieg?” Jace demanded, but when Erin turned to reply, a Killer came at them. He was seriously drunk and Jace wasn’t sure he was even aware of what he was doing. Pushing Erin out of the way, he lunged awkwardly at Jace.
She had her fists up, ready to back him off, when Ski reached out and caught the bigger man with one hand. Fingers tight around the Killer’s neck, Ski twisted and had him down on his knees.
The Killer reached up and caught Ski’s arm, but as soon as he took hold, Ski shoved him to the ground, then jammed his foot against his back, pinning him in place.
It amazed her that Ski, who was probably a good fifty to seventy pounds less than the Viking under his foot, managed to keep the Killer down on the ground, but she’d heard that it was a gift all the Protectors had, no matter their size. From what she’d read, that was how owls caught and held their prey.
Which to Jace meant Protectors had incredibly strong legs . . . and the thighs that went with them. Like professional soccer players.
She watched Ski as he calmly gazed at the man he had pinned to the ground. No matter how much the Killer struggled, he couldn’t get away. What Jace enjoyed, though, was Ski’s calmness. To others it might come off as coldness. Detachment.
It wasn’t. Nor was he pissed or out of control with Viking rage. Nor was he joining in for the hell of it.
In the middle of a pit fight, Danski Eriksen was the epitome of sound, clear reason.
And, just as she was having that thought, he looked up with those large green eyes . . . and smiled. At her.
Jace’s breath left her lungs, her knees felt a little weak, and her hands shook.
She was either having an aneurism or she was incredibly turned on.
Since she’d never experienced either—but had read about both—she wasn’t really sure.
Ski began to panic. He didn’t understand the expression on Jace’s face.
He’d forgotten his father’s wise words, “Never get between a Crow and her prey,” which was exactly what he’d done by stopping the Killer from stupidly going after Jace. Of course, he hadn’t actually been protecting Jace from the attack as much as he’d been protecting her from decimating the Killer and then waking up tomorrow to a lot of guilt over it.
He simply didn’t want to spend several hours nursing Jace through one of her rage-induced crying jags, so he’d reacted rather than thought the move through.
She was probably pissed now and their great date would end anyway.
Determined to at least get another date out of this, Ski opened his mouth to apologize but Jace’s hand suddenly slipped into his.
Startled, he stared at her smaller hand wrapped around his big one. When he finally brought his gaze up to hers, she smiled and asked, “Um . . . wanna see my—”
They both quickly leaned back as a bottle of very good Swedish beer flew past them and crashed into the wall behind their heads.
“—room?” Jace finished after brushing glass and a little beer off her shoulder.
Did he want to see her room? No. Did he want to dive headfirst into her bed?
By Tyr, yes.
“Uh-huh,” he managed, desire goddamn choking him.
He swung his leg, sending the man under his foot flying—and slamming into Stieg Engstrom, who’d just barely managed to pull himself out of that pile-on.
Sadly, Ski didn’t feel the tiniest bit sad for him. Even when the Raven got thrown back into the fight he’d been trying to get away from.
Erin had done what she’d promised. The distraction was perfect. Everyone was so focused on the fight, drinking, fighting and drinking, or the fresh mac and cheese that just came out of the kitchen from the caterer, that no one noticed when he and Jace slipped out of the party and up the three flights of stairs to Jace’s room.
Jace pushed the door open and led Ski inside. He had his arms around her waist and Jace pushed against the wall before he could even think about anything. Because he couldn’t think about anything but her.
Jace didn’t seem to mind, though. Her hands dug into his hair.
Ski pulled her in closer, flush against him, and lowered his mouth to hers. She already had her chin lifted, her lips parted. She wanted him to kiss her, and he didn’t want to overwhelm her.
She wasn’t like her sister-Crows, who’d mostly had normal First Lives. Jace had only been with one man before Ski, and that man had been a colossal asshole.
So Ski was worried.
At least he was until he kissed her. Until his mouth touched hers and he felt her entire body sort of unwind even as her fingers tightened around the strands of his hair.
She was still a little nervous, though. He could feel it as he took her mouth. But once his tongue slid across hers, the nervousness seemed to vanish and she became bolder, pressing her body against his as she raised herself up on her toes.
Ski slid his hands down and gripped her ass, pulling her hips in tight to his groin, loving the breath that caught in her throat.
He was so hard now, he could barely think. Could barely breathe. Could barely—
Growling, they pulled back a bit and gazed at each other, both wondering if they’d heard what they thought they’d just heard . . .
The knock on the door came again.
“If that’s Rachel,” Jace whispered, “I will kill her.”
“I’ll help you bury the body.”
“Jace? It’s Kera. Open the door.”
Neither moved, really hoping sweet but drunk Kera would go the fuck away.
“Open the door or I’ll have Vig take it down.”
Jace’s jaw tightened. “Kera, you could take it down.”
“Oh my God.” Kera drunkenly giggled. “I totally could. I’m so fucking strong now.”
Jace closed her eyes, released a breath. “It’s open.”
The door opened a bit and Kera leaned in. Yeah. She was definitely drunk.
“Hi, Ski.”
“Kera.”
“Yeah. I just wanted to give you this, sweetie.” Kera reached in with one arm and placed something in Jace’s outstretched hand.
“I’m gonna go throw up now,” she shared. “And Vig’s gonna hold my hair.”
The door closed and Jace adjusted her hand so that she could release the very long strip of condoms that Kera had handed to her.
Wide blue eyes gazed first at the extremely long strip of condoms, then at Ski.
“This . . .” She cleared her throat, tried again. “This seems like a lot.”
“Actually, for a Viking . . . it’s just kind of a good start.”
“Oh.” She glanced off, gnawed at her upper lip for a bit, then looked back at him with a shrug. “Yeah. Okay.”