Freya did go back inside minutes later. She realized that she couldn’t just walk away, not yet. She wouldn’t have gotten more than five minutes away before they realized she was no longer standing outside on the front porch. So, she’d bide her time and wait until Grant was fast asleep. And then she’d walk away and never turn back.
“Freya, it’s been a long day. We can sort this out in the morning,” he said when she’d come back inside and stood there, searching for something to say. His voice was tender, and she realized that there were tears filling her eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.
Genevieve moved to stand in front of her and reached out timidly, patting Freya gently on the shoulder. “There, mo luaidh—my dear. It’s late. Why don’t you get some sleep. There are cabins behind the house where you’ll be safe.”
“Yes, they’re lovely. Thank you,” she replied distractedly, still trying to process what was going on.
“Get some rest.” Genevieve turned to address the young blonde then, “Ragna, would you please accompany your mistress and see that she gets settled.”
“Of course.” Ragna leapt to her feet, seeming glad to finally have a task, and she followed the young woman back out of the house to the first cabin behind it.
“You said that I’ve turned to you for advice often, Ragna?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Then tell me, what should I do?”
“I can only tell you that you felt guilty, never having taken a life before, but it was not your fault. You had no choice. You are responsible for so many good things, but you have banished the memory of those in your attempt to escape remorse that you should not feel.”
“I…I killed someone?”
“No, Mistress. You defended yourself because he left you no other choice.”
“I see.” She’d hoped that the young woman would have been able to give her some sort of advice, but now her mind was reeling with new chaos. She’d taken a life, and then banished every memory she’d ever had. Was that why she’d done it? She couldn’t live with the guilt of what she’d done? Or was it something else? A large part of her didn’t want to know, thinking that she must have felt it was too much to bear to have blocked it all out. Would it destroy her to call up the memory of it now?
She dismissed Ragna—feeling absolutely ridiculous treating another human being like a servant. But then, apparently, neither one of them was human. It was irrelevant now though, since she intended to be gone by morning and Ragna would be free to live her life however she chose.
She headed for the shower in the suite attached to the large bedroom. It wasn’t likely that washing away the grime from a day on the road would do much to ease her troubled mind, but it was a start. And as she stepped beneath the rainfall showerhead, she couldn’t deny that the heat did wonders to soothe the tension in the muscles in her neck.
“It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” Grant said, appearing out of the blue and stepping into the shower still fully dressed. Desire surged through her veins, and she grasped onto it like she had before, this time knowing it would be the last time she would ever feel so entirely consumed by desire for a man. She could live a million years, and already she knew there would never be another like him.
His hands slid over her slippery body and she reached for the hem of his shirt. He grabbed her wrists fast though, and she didn’t fight him this time. This time she’d do it his way; she’d take whatever he had to give and savor the memory for however long she had left of this life.
Lying in bed sometime later, he drew idle circles across her back while she traced the hard planes of his chest with her fingers.
“Freya?” he asked, and she knew he wanted to know what she was thinking.
“I can’t seem to process it. It’s all so unbelievable, isn’t it?” She could remember every word that Genevieve had said, and the dilemma those words had created.
“Not really,” he said, and he seemed so certain. “Have you given any thought to what Genevieve said, to whether you want her to help you remember?” he asked, once again seeming to read her thoughts.
“Can you read minds, Grant? You always seem to know what I’m thinking.”
“No,” he said after a hesitant moment. “It’s more of an intuition, I guess you could say. I suppose when you’ve been around long enough, you get a feel for how people think…how they react.”
“And I react just like an ordinary person?”
“No. From the first moment I saw you, I thought you were anything but ordinary. But it’s different. I feel…” His hand stopped its path across her hip, but started up again a moment later. “It’s not important. What is important is figuring out what to do now. Freya, the man who attacked you; the one who drugged you…he’s like me.”
She waited for the disbelief, but it didn’t come. Looking at him as he spoke, she could see the truth in his eyes.
“We’re safe for now, but we can’t remain with Genevieve forever. And if Genevieve’s right about what they’re after, they’re not going to give up.”
“The man who attacked me…he seemed to know me. The way he talked…the things he said. You said he’s a dragon, and Ragna said that whatever happened before, it was a dragon man involved. Do you think it’s the same man?”
“It’s possible. Without your memory, there’s no way to know for certain right now. And I don’t know…”
He’d let the thought trail off and she figured she knew exactly what it was he was thinking. Genevieve had made it perfectly clear what a threat she could pose to them. And she couldn’t blame either of them for being concerned. If she could really do the things they said, then it was a wonder they hadn’t pitched her out the front door the moment they’d found out. Then again, that approach might leave them worrying just what she might do in retaliation.
And now they were stuck with Freya, at least in their minds, afraid that to turn her out would be to incite her anger. Of course, she would never…but then again, did she know that she would never? She didn’t know what it was that had compelled her to bury her memory. Perhaps the man who was hunting her—a dragon, according to Grant—was justified in his hunt. Had she hurt him somehow? Had he angered her and she’d retaliated in some terrible way? And what of the man Ragna said she’d killed? Without her memory, there was no way for her to know whether it was in self-defense, or whether it was another terrible act of retribution.
She didn’t speak again. She laid there listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the thump of his heartbeat against her cheek. And she didn’t move again until she was certain he was fast asleep.
Quietly, she slid out of bed and slipped into her clothes, ignoring the swell of emotion that constricted her throat as she looked back at him one last time. And then, hating herself for it, she whispered to him, ensuring he couldn’t follow her anytime soon, “Don’t wake up, Grant, not until Genevieve comes for you,” she said, figuring the kind woman would go looking for him in the morning when he didn’t come to the house.
And then she tiptoed out of the cabin and walked. She had no particular destination in mind, though they’d passed a town just a mile or two back on their way to Genevieve’s. From there, she’d find a way to leave the area, though she couldn’t go back to Las Vegas if she intended to keep her distance from Grant.
She’d go somewhere; somewhere she could think. A place she could hide away and figure out what she was supposed to do now. If Genevieve was right, there were no limits to what she could do now. She could will herself into any job she desired, anywhere in the world; she could add as many zeros to her bank balance as she wanted; she could even return to Asgard…if she had the slightest clue how to get there.
But therein laid the problem. In theory, and according to Genevieve, she could do anything she wanted to do, she could bend the whole world to her will, but she had absolutely no idea how to wield that power—and no desire to do so even if she did. But how much destruction could she cause in her ignorance? She had no desire to turn the world into her own personal paradise—she would have stayed with Grant if her own selfish desire was utmost on her priority list—but what if she turned it into someone’s personal hell unwittingly?
Minutes passed, and then an hour, and she continued to walk, heedless of the direction and her surroundings. It wasn’t until she heard footsteps that she was drawn outward from her inner chaos. The strides were long, definitely a man’s, but they weren’t Grant’s footsteps. She looked around, but it was late at night, only the occasional streetlamp interrupted the sheer darkness. A moment passed, and then another. The footsteps continued toward her.
Then she saw him. He was alone this time, but he advanced with a steady step. She contemplated running, but knew intuitively that he would catch up with her. So, she stood her ground, trying desperately to call up the calm that had served her so well before, but just as it began to wind its way through her body, the man changed. He grew taller, and wider, and his flesh gave way to something else. In seconds, he was no longer a man; he was…a dragon, blood red and the size of a bus.
She blinked hard, thinking it had to be her mind playing tricks on her, but when she opened her eyes, the giant beast was still there, not five yards away. He was scales and horns, but across his enormous chest, something caught her attention—a scar. Slashing diagonally across him, it ran the entire width of his chest, and something about it tickled her memory, though no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t call it to mind.
He took a thunderous step forward, and she took a feebly small, human step back. He bared his dagger-like teeth in an evil smile, and she quaked in fear as every remnant of the calm vanished into thin air.