The Unyielding

  Erin reached for Stieg’s remote. There was a few seconds of struggle over it before she managed to get it away from him—or he just gave up—and she turned up the sound on his TV show.

  She tossed the remote back into his lap and patted his shoulder before joining Karen in the kitchen.

  Karen smiled at her. “You two would make such a cute couple,” she whispered.

  “Aww, sweetie. You’re so clueless. But that’s what makes you adorable.”

  * * *

  Stieg tried to focus on his TV show, but he found his gaze constantly straying over to Erin and Karen.

  Karen was, as Erin had pointed out, extremely beautiful. She was also the closest thing he’d ever had to a big sister. From the time he was fourteen, Stieg had been on the streets—after years of bouncing in and out of the foster care system due to his mother’s ill health and eventual death and his father’s asshole behavior—and it had been Karen, two years older, who’d watched out for him. Had taught him the rules. Introduced him to the locals. Told him who to watch out for. Who to avoid. She had always been tough, brutal and, when necessary, heartless, but she’d always had his back.

  So, when Odin had tracked him down—after Stieg had told the first Raven elders who’d found him to “fuck off”—Stieg had told the god “no deal . . . unless you take care of Karen, too.”

  In usual Odin style, the god had thought Stieg was asking him to set Karen up as his on-demand whore, but that was the last thing he wanted for her. He simply wasn’t about to leave her alone on the streets of LA while he was living it up in Malibu.

  Of course, “living it up” turned out to be wildly inaccurate. The first four weeks, the Ravens did nothing but beat the shit out of him, but that turned out to be part of the training and not some annoying hazing ritual by a bunch of rich dude-bros. If it hadn’t been for Karen, Stieg would have bailed after the very first attack. He’d never been a glutton for punishment and he’d dealt with more than enough beatings at the fists of his old man. Why take it from strangers? Yet he knew that part of his deal with Odin was that he’d stick out the training for six months and the god would make sure Karen got what she needed.

  And what had she needed? More than Stieg needed. She was amazingly smart and just a good person. She simply needed a chance and an education. Odin gave her both. He’d kept his promise, so Stieg had kept his.

  Stieg didn’t regret that decision, though. He eventually enjoyed being a Raven. He was good at it, and the jobs they gave him were a solid outlet for his rage.

  And Stieg had a lot of rage. He couldn’t help it. His father had treated him like shit.

  There was a burst of laughter and he realized it was Erin Amsel. God, that woman confused him.

  The first time he’d ever seen her, she’d been sitting in the backyard of the Bird House, feet up on the patio table, Vogue magazine open on her lap, and one hand constantly touching the back of her head. He’d found out later that’s where she’d been shot, in the back of the head, so it was probably bothering her at the time.

  Right away, he’d noticed those long legs on her surprisingly small body, her red hair, and dark green eyes, and he wanted to start talking to her right away. He’d assumed a girl like that would be scooped up pretty quick by one of his smoother brothers. Especially since she was “the new girl” as every Raven and all other Clans called recently arrived Crows.

  Raven brothers knew the time to make a move on a new Crow was when she first arrived at the Bird House. That’s when they were the most confused and, to be honest, kind of needy. They’d just been killed and were starting their new life among a bunch of women they knew nothing about. The Ravens wanted to move in before the new Crow realized how little they actually needed a man in their Second Lives.

  So Stieg had automatically assumed the pretty little redhead would be no different from any of the others. She’d be just as confused and shell-shocked as all the Crows who’d come before her.

  But he’d been wrong.

  He’d watched her glance up at him and Vig, walking by on their way to retrieve their leader, Josef, after a previous evening’s party. And, with a completely straight face, “Hey, Hitler Youth. Are Himmler and Goebbels showing up soon, too?” Then after chuckling at her own appalling joke, she’d gone back to her magazine.

  Stieg had stopped walking and glared down at her, no longer blinded by her pretty face and long legs. He didn’t even know this woman and she was already attacking him?

  Well, yes and no.

  Erin attacked nearly everyone who came into her line of sight, but it would be wrong to say she was being cruel or vicious. She was just being kind of... well . . . a . . . smart ass.

  The Crows seemed to like her, though. And some of the Ravens. A few of the Valkyries. One of the Isa, but no one knew why. None of the Giant Killers. Definitely none of the Silent or the Claws of Ran. But more than a few of Holde’s Maids tolerated her, and the Protectors had learned to like her recently but refused to have her anywhere near their precious books as they were the Keepers of the Word. What “word,” though, Stieg didn’t really know. Or care.

  What did interest him was that it seemed Karen liked Erin, too. He just couldn’t figure out why. Karen liked so few people.

  “There,” Karen finally said. “That should do it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Stieg glanced over in time to see Karen pull some of Erin’s red hair down around her face.

  “You need bangs,” she told her.

  “Why is that?”

  “To hide the hole in your head.” Karen lowered her hands. “Speaking of which . . . why do you have a hole in your head?”

  “Birthmark.”

  “That’s still bleeding?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “No, no.” Karen shook her head. “Don’t bother. I can already tell you’re lying.”

  “How? I’m really good at lying.”

  “You don’t survive as long as I have if you don’t know how to spot liars. And you’ve got a tell.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it the pause?”

  “No.”

  “The ‘uhhhh’?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Why would I? So you can learn to control it? You don’t survive as long as I have if you—”

  “I can’t listen to this anymore,” Stieg barked and threw the money Karen had given him earlier back at her. “Take this. Put it in the safe.”

  “Don’t throw things at me! You know I hate that.”

  “I hate that you’re still in my apartment. I hate that you’re talking to her. But no one cares about that.”

  “It must be late,” Karen complained, swiping the money off the floor. “He’s getting bitchy.” She headed to Stieg’s bedroom. “Bitchy!”

  “I adore her,” Erin informed Stieg.

  “Why? Because she sucked up to you?”

  “I’ve liked people for less.”

  Karen returned. “All right. I’m out of here. Nice meeting you, Erin.”

  “You, too. And thanks for the medical aid.”

  “No problem . . . and maybe I can call your shop about an appointment . . . ?” Karen always had a lot of gall, but damn.

  Erin didn’t seem to mind, though. “I won’t be in for a few weeks, but they’ll set up an appointment for you.”

  Karen clapped her hands together. “Thank you!” She stopped by the couch and, as she’d done every night for more than a decade, she kissed the top of Stieg’s head. “Talk to you later,” she murmured before walking out and closing the door quietly behind her.

  Stieg again tried to focus on his TV show, but the air around him shifted and suddenly Erin was sitting next to him on the couch. She’d leaped over the back of it, landing with her legs comfortably tucked up under her.

  “So you can’t date her because she kisses you good night like my grandmother used to kiss me?”

  “We’re not havin
g this discussion anymore.”

  “Because you fear love?”

  Remembering he had a TV in his bedroom, Stieg stood. “You’ll sleep out here,” he ordered. “There’s sheets in that closet over there.”

  “Don’t you want to stay up and talk all night and eat ice cream? I can braid your hair,” she said in an annoying sing-song voice.

  “No.”

  * * *

  Erin watched the Viking lumber to his bedroom.

  “Karen was right . . . he is being cranky.” If she wasn’t so tired from her long night, she’d probably follow him into his bedroom, just to torture him a little more with general chitchat and platonic affection. Things he seemed to hate so much.

  Unless it was coming from Karen.

  Erin didn’t understand that relationship but it wasn’t really her business. She’d only brought it up because it seemed to bother Stieg. And she did love bothering that man.

  The bathroom door—which she’d left partially ajar when she’d run out—opened a little bit more and the goat stuck its head out. It took a quick look around the room, spotted Erin, didn’t seem to care, looked around for a bit longer, then charged out into the living room.

  That was . . . strange. What was it looking for? What was it afraid of? Had it been hiding in the bathroom all this time? Erin had assumed the animal was in the bathtub because Stieg didn’t want it shitting all over his apartment. Logic she could totally get behind.

  The goat made a crazy turn toward Stieg’s bedroom door and rammed it with its head. She backed up and rammed it again. Stieg opened the door and let the goat in, then closed it.

  She opened her mouth to say something but quickly decided not to bother. Because really . . . what was there to say about Stieg and his goat?

  Erin laughed. Who was she kidding? There was just so much to say about Stieg and that goddamn goat!

  * * *

  Kera stood outside the diner, Vig beside her.

  “That went poorly,” she finally remarked when most of the other leaders were gone. The sound of Freida’s Harley-Davidson bike put her teeth on edge.

  “There was no bloodshed,” Vig reminded her. “So we all call that a win.”

  She faced him. “Who knew Erin freaked them out so much?”

  “Erin has a way of getting under people’s skin. If she likes you, it’s funny and cute. But if she doesn’t . . .”

  “I am well acquainted with Erin’s ways. I still have scars from her ways, but it’s not like we have much of a choice.” Kera scratched her forehead with her thumb. “I still don’t know about not telling her any of this.”

  “Don’t,” Inka said as she came out of the diner with Ormi right behind her.

  Kera immediately felt defensive of her sister-Crow, her arms crossing over her chest. “You think Erin Amsel will run?”

  “Not in a million years. If she does run, it’ll be headlong right into the thick of everything. The girl has no sense whatsoever. But from what Ormi and I can already tell, timing will be everything in this battle.”

  “Timing?”

  “Yes. Timing. When we send her. When she has to return. Plus, you can’t just send that girl into the Nine Worlds. We’ll have to prepare her. Give me some time to do the research. We have books about the other worlds; I’ll see what I can find. But unless you want Erin Amsel jumping the gun, as she’s been known to do, you’ll wait. At least a little while.”

  Kera didn’t realize she’d dropped her head, her gaze locked on the ground, until Inka grabbed her chin and forced her to look in her eyes.

  “Don’t let them get in your head. You’re doing what you have to do. And Erin Amsel, of all people, will be totally onboard.”

  “She’s my friend.”

  Inka’s hard face softened just a bit. “Then treat her like the Viking warrior she is. Erin chose this life and, from what I’ve seen, she hadn’t regretted a moment since. Don’t doubt her commitment now.”

  “I don’t, Inka. I doubt mine. Sending my friends into the unknown? I . . .”

  “What did you think this would be? A cakewalk? We’re Vikings. Death is what we do. If she goes and fails, she’ll die with honor. Nothing means more to us. And no matter what any of you think about her, that includes Erin Amsel.” Inka patted Kera’s cheek. “Now, what about our little ace in the hole?”

  Kera frowned, confused. “Ace in the hole?”

  “The false prophet who shall bring the battle with Gullveig’s minions to us.”

  “Oh. Him.” She sniffed. “Handled.”

  “Excellent. He’s more important than you realize. We can’t have him slipping through our fingers.”

  Kera smiled for the first time. She knew it wasn’t one of her friendly ones, either. “Don’t worry,” she said, taking Vig’s hand and walking off. “I doubt that will be happening.”

  * * *

  Davis Henry Braddock knew the other psychiatrists were coming tonight and he was ready for them. He wasn’t about to let those demonic women get the better of him. He would not be used. He was the Great Prophet. He would sit at the right hand of God.

  And if he had to lie to get his way and get out of this hellhole, he would do it.

  He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, working to relax his nerves and his soul.

  Davis wasn’t too worried, though. He’d been working on the other doctors for a while now. They were slowly becoming convinced of his sanity.

  His only problem, really, was her. Not his ex-wife—whom he no longer thought of as his wife because she was pure evil—but that other woman.

  Dr. Annalisa Dinapoli, forensic psychologist and the person blocking him from his freedom.

  But not today.

  Today she would not—

  “Daaaaaaaavisssssss.”

  —she would not stop him—

  “Daaaaaaaavisssssssssssss.”

  —from getting the freedom he deserved. Because it was up to him to defeat the evil—

  “Davis. I know you hear us. Join us, Davis. Join us.”

  Davis shook his head. He wouldn’t listen to these whispers. He wouldn’t listen to them.

  Hands gripped the bars on the windows high above, where he could not reach; faces appeared.

  Davis quickly turned from them. They weren’t real. They couldn’t be real. He was seven floors up! No balconies or stairs on the outside of the facility on this side. There was no way anyone could be up this high unless—

  “Davis! Look at me! Look at usssssss!”

  Davis shook his head. To look would be to say they were real. That the wings were real. The women were real. That they were hanging from the bars on his windows like demons from the very pits of hell. Calling to him. Trying to lure him into their darkness.

  They began chanting in a unified sing-song voice, “Dav-is! Dav-is! Dav-is! Dav-is!”

  He covered his ears. He wouldn’t listen! He didn’t hear them. He couldn’t hear them!

  * * *

  Annalisa let her colleagues stare into the room that Davis Henry Braddock, cult leader and murderer, now called home. The Pacific Mental and Rehabilitation Center.

  There’d been a few doctors—well, one asshole specifically—who felt that Braddock had perhaps been misdiagnosed by her. He said he didn’t see any signs of delusion or violent outbursts. True, Braddock had attacked his wife and buried her . . . but she’d survived. And, for her colleague, that meant he hadn’t been trying that hard to kill her. Instead, Braddock had had a small breakdown that he was long over. And therefore should be handed over to the proper legal authorities.

  Hearing that line of reasoning, Annalisa had to call on all her skills not to openly roll her eyes and let out a loud, “Oh, puh-leeze!”

  The others might not know what her colleague was up to, but she did. He wanted to be the one to “heal” Davis Henry Braddock. To bring the cult leader back from the brink of insanity. And normally, Annalisa wouldn’t care. She’d let the two idiots ride off into the sunset together.
But Braddock was an idiot with a purpose. Her people needed him and she wasn’t about to release him to the “proper legal authorities,” which she had no control over.

  Thankfully, Annalisa had help. She always had help.

  Crows never fought alone.

  “Good Lord!” her colleague gasped. “How long has he been like this?”

  “Just started a few minutes ago,” one of the nurses said. “Don’t know what brought it on.”

  The nurse had to talk loudly to be heard over Braddock’s screams of “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you!” He just kept screaming the same thing again and again. His hands over his ears; his body rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  Annalisa let out a long sigh. “This is so sad. So much progress. . . gone.” She motioned to the nurse and gave an order for medication to calm him down.

  Not just for the benefit of her colleagues but because she didn’t need Braddock suddenly deciding to ram his head into the wall until he was dead.

  They had plans for this boy!

  “Doctors,” Annalisa said, waving her hand to indicate they should leave the room.

  Together they finished their rounds for the night and headed out.

  Braddock had been calmed down and was heavily drugged and secured to his bed.

  After waving at her colleagues, a perfectly acceptable “see you tomorrow!” smile on her lips—she’d had to practice to get that thing to look friendly and not “predatory and absolutely terrifying,” according to their leader, Chloe—Annalisa walked to her Jaguar and remotely unlocked her doors.

  She tossed her briefcase and purse into the backseat and, after taking a breath, she glanced up at the very high protective gates that enclosed the hospital property. Perched on top of the deadly razor wire were the sister-Crows from two Strike Teams that she didn’t belong to. It had been decided early on that their fellow sister—and Annalisa’s team member—Jacinda, aka Jace, shouldn’t be involved in the tormenting of Davis. Not simply because he was her ex-husband and the man who killed the sweet Crow, but Jace wouldn’t enjoy doing such a thing to the man. Any man. Unlike Annalisa and many of their other sisters, who enjoyed this work way more than they should.