Chapter 18 - A Wicked Game to Play

As soon as I feel myself falling back through the floor, I plummet in a blur of rainbow flares, an invisible force pushing me along that path I had mapped out in my mind. I'm grateful for Heimdall's boost, because the speed of my descent prevents me from having another encounter with that awful dragon.

Moments later, I slam back into my body in an explosion of light, and soon after I feel the presence of an imposter. That rage flares again within me, and I mentally, or is it spiritually? give her a kick in the spiritual ass to oust her from where she doesn't belong. But the result of that kick isn't what I'm expecting... rather than feeling the lighthearted sensation of expelling an unwanted squatter, I feel a kick in my own mental ribs.

Ow!

What could that mean?

Before I can examine that further, I black out.

When I finally come to, I feel myself being carried in someone's strong, muscular arms, and the sound of the bubbling river drawing near. My head is fucking pounding, and I feel like I did that one time I tried an edible in Thailand during a trip with friends. That was a bad trip. I tentatively open an eye, but when I see everything around me spinning like a case of vertigo from hell, I shut it abruptly, letting out a groan. Fucking henbane.

"Hang on fiery one, I'm taking you to the river."

Froðe? He's the one carrying me...The revelation chips away at the wall of ice in my heart I've built since the raid.

"The cold water should help clear your head," he adds, then sighs. "I am very sorry, Beatrix. I never intended for this to happen."

"Ermmph." I massage the back of my hand into my temple, trying to ease the pain. If my head would stop pounding, and the world would just stop spinning for a moment, that would be fucking great.

Froðe notices my discomfort and pauses, setting me down gently.

"Here, have some water." He hands me a water skin, still supporting me with one arm around my waist, and I uncork it with shaky fingers. Taking greedy gulps, I note the the water is deliciously cold, slightly easing the ache between my temples so that it becomes more of a dull throb.

"Better?" Froðe's voice is softer than usual, and I detect an undertone of worry.

I nod, but still sway from dizziness whenever I open my eyes. With one full sweep, Froðe scoops me back up in his arms and we continue.

Not going to lie, I'm still livid at Skuld for what she did. What the hell was she thinking?! I explicitly told her I was not taking henbane, yet that somehow meant nothing to her for the sake of getting another chance to speak to the gods. Apparently she's some kind of fangirl of Freyja, too. Skuld was the only one here I was really starting to trust...yet apparently that was very unwise of me to do. It would have been nice to have a friend in all this mess, but I guess that was wishful thinking.

Despite his questionable morals or lack there of, Froðe is the only one who has actually looked out for me since day one. He's the only one that stepped in during the ceremony and tried to do something when he realized what happened. The only one that is helping me now. My mind grapples with my treacherous heart, more ice chipping away with all that he has done in the past few days so at odds with what I witnessed the day of the raid.

Ugh, why is the world still spinning even with my eyes closed?

Might as well open them. So I do, blinking up at Froðe to thank him for his help, and I freeze. Despite feeling like I'm on a merry go round and everything is coated in a bright haze, I notice that there's something funky going on with Froðe's right eye. He looks out to the river, his brow furrowed in anger, but there's a trail of blue wispy flames flickering out of it, dancing towards the night sky.

Without thinking, I reach for him, cupping his cheek and turning his head down towards mine. He stops immediately, looking down at me with widened eyes, or rather, eye. Yep, there's definitely flames coming out of one. Now that I can get a better look, I note that they have a shadowy quality to them, like they represent the ghost of something lost. My drugged out mind stumbles across the implications of what I'm seeing.

"Beatrix?" One ice blue eye focuses on me in worry, but also something else. Longing? The other is shrouded in shadowy flame.

"What's wrong with your eye?" I say, narrowing mine at him. I think back to that totem on the altar at the ceremony, with one eye...It was the right eye missing, wasn't it?

Froðe blinks. "What?"

"There's something wrong with your eye," I insist. "It's....on fire?" I tilt my head, considering. "With shadows."

Froðe just stares at me, eyebrows hitting the sky, looking at me like I'm insane.

Is he gaslighting me? Or could I be mistaken?

There's also Arne, his brother, and I have no idea how he fits into all this if Froðe is a God. Heimdall did say that Odin's escapades could last decades though...

"Are you testing me?" I ask, searching his eye for confirmation.

Froðe sighs exasperatedly, and picks up his pace again towards the river.

"She will not drug you again. I will make sure of it."

I drop my hand. So, he's not going to admit it outright. Fine. I'll find another way to get it out of him.

"By the way...I was told to remind you that you have a kingdom you should be running," I say, watching him closely as best I can with the haze. I feel like I'm blinking too much. I probably do look insane right now.

"I think it is you that is testing me, fiery one," he says, but I can see an uptick of his mouth before another wave of dizziness hits me, making me close my eyes again.

The sound of splashing alerts me that we finally made it into the river, and Froðe's strides slow as he carefully steps us further into the water. He pauses once the water reaches just below his waist.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Forgive me, as this will be very cold and unpleasant," he says looking down at me.

"It's okay, I'm ready."

"Hang on to me, I don't want to lose you in the current."

I wind my arms up around his neck, sucking in a breath to hold. Froðe takes that as the signal to dunk us, and then a million knives of ice stab me as we submerge. I almost let out my breath in the shock of the cold. It's a hundred times worse at night, holy fuck, but I hang on to Froðe tightly so we don't lose each other. After a few painful moments, he brings us back out, stepping into the shallows before he sets my feet down.

Shivering and dripping, I cling to him as the world slowly starts to right itself. Froðe says nothing, one arm loosely draped around my waist to keep me steady while the current flows through our feet and I gather myself. As my vision returns to normal and the chill sinks deep into my bones, I am once again reminded of how alone I am in this world with Skuld's betrayal, and that the only person I can really trust is my kidnapper. How fucked up is that?

A kidnapper who I am grasping onto like I'm afraid to let him go.

"I am sorry, Beatrix." His voice is a whisper against my hair, because my treacherous head is resting against his chest, which is still shirtless.

There he goes again, apologizing for her behavior, confusing the shit out of me with his conflicting moral compass.

"You don't have to apologize for her behavior," I say. "It was clear to me you had nothing to do with it. But thank you...for helping me."

I look up at Froðe, and see that his eye is now back to normal, but our faces are only inches apart. His eyes instantly go to my lips, and I'm fully aware of how I'm basically plastered against his rock hard body, and that I'm naked under this white cloak which is now completely sheer thanks to the river.

Oh, fuck. He can probably see everything.

To confirm my suspicions, Froðe's eyes darken and his breath hitches as he takes me in. The look ignites me, making me forget the cold completely. He lowers his head so that his lips are just a breath away from mine, water dripping to my cheeks from his golden tresses. The energy between us crackles.

If I want him to kiss me, does that make me a monster too?

"Beatrix..."

"Hmmm?" I give him a look of innocence, and his eyes glimmer in response.

"Why are you naked beneath that cloak?" His voice is rough, like he's fighting an invisible battle I cannot see. But he doesn't pull me closer, his arm still loose around my waist.

A slow smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth at his internal struggle, and the tension between us becomes palpable. A wicked part of me thrills as Froðe tracks the movement with a hungry gaze, his body visibly straining at this point.

Why does it feel so deliciously good to have this kind of power over him?

"Another one of Skuld's antics, I'm afraid," I say with a shrug.

"Hmmm...this one...I do not mind."

Yeah, I figured as much, judging by the not so subtle bulge I can feel.

I snort.

"Tell me...Beatrix," Froðe says, and begins tracing his mouth along the side of my jaw, the heat of his breath tickling my skin and setting my core on fire. Holy fuck! This time my breath hitches, and I tilt my head, giving him easier access before I realize what I'm doing. He immediately takes that opening to grasp my cheek and neck, dragging my lips back to his. Both of our breathing has become heavy. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.

"Do you still think me a monster?" he says against my lips, and we lock eyes.

...Yes?

But here I am, entwined in his arms and just about a kiss away from climbing this man, or god, like a fucking tree.

"Hmmm...can't decide, can we?" His lips are so aggravatingly close yet far away, taunting me.

And just like that I realize the power has shifted, making me the one intoxicated by his every move.

What a wicked game we play. Which of us will win, I wonder?

Froðe's thumb traces the edge of my lower lip, and for a moment time stills as his forehead lowers to touch mine. We share a heated breath, lost in each other, before he gives me the most seductive smile I've ever seen on a man and pulls away.

I blink, startled at the sudden, rude cold that barges in at his absence.

The fuck!

But Froðe's back to his cool, collected self, with the exception of that telltale glimmer in his eyes.

"Let's get you to the bath house, you must be freezing," he says, then turns to lead the way.

Seriously?! After all that buildup?

My lust instantly deflates like a balloon, replaced by the sting of rejection, and I stand there, dumbfounded. My face heats in embarrassment, and I inwardly curse myself for falling for the bait.

Well, guess he won this round. Fucker.

I swallow my pride, because I sure as hell walked into that, and plaster a look of indifference on my face before Froðe turns back to see if I'm following. I pick up the pace so that we walk side by side, keeping my gaze straight ahead. In the corner of my eye, I swear I can see him grinning.

"So, where's this bathhouse?" I ask, in an attempt to move past the awkwardness of what just transpired, and to get him to stop grinning like that because it's fucking annoying. My arms are crossed over my chest to cover myself better, but also to try to stave off the chill.

"It's been built further up river. I think you will like it," Froðe says, pausing to pick up his fur mantle which he apparently discarded on the bank while I was unconscious. He drapes it across my shoulders, and I grasp the pelt closed around me, grateful for the warmth.

We walk for a few more minutes up river before coming across an entirely wooden structure with a chimney, smoke billowing from it. The logs at the head of the slanted roof appear to form a rune. It's the shape of a diamond with the top lines crossing one another.

Froðe pushes open the wooden door, and we are greeted with a cloud full of steam. I can't see a thing, but Froðe makes a sound somewhere in between a grumble and a sigh.

Curious to see who might illicit this response, I peek over his shoulder after the steam clears, and find no other than Arne draped lazily on an elevated wooden bench within the sauna. Below is a pool of water in a square wooden tub. A fire pit blazes on one side, with a bucket and pail sitting nearby. Arne is basically nude, with a linen towel draped over his waist.

"Ah! Brother!" Arne opens his wide arms in greeting. "And is that Beatrix I spot behind you? Good good, come in and close the door, you are letting the heat out!" He says as he waves us in.

Another throaty grumble that I'm pretty sure only I can hear, and Froðe steps into the sauna, holding the door for me to enter.

"You were not at the ceremony." The words come out brusquely. Yep, Froðe's definitely not happy.

I look from Froðe to Arne as I step inside, trying to puzzle out their sibling dynamic going on. But Arne is all lazy grins.

"Ah Froðe, you did not need me there. I'm sure you got the answers you were looking for, yes?"

My eyes snap to Froðe, and he gives me a look I cannot read, then the most subtle nod.

What did Freyja tell him? We never got around to...discussing that, did we? Again I curse myself for getting so distracted in the heat of the moment earlier.

"Come and sit Beatrix, I can see you shivering from here!" Arne says, interrupting my thoughts. He pats the section of bench next to him. "Did you two take a evening dip in the river? Without me?" he adds, with a sly grin.

I roll my eyes, but plop down next to him on the bench. I still have the mantle wrapped around me, but this far into the sauna the temperature is starting to climb at an alarming rate. I'm going to have to ditch it soon, and that might make things really awkward...or interesting. Honestly, I'm still vexed about Froðe's win earlier.

"Have you not been in here long enough, Arne?" Froðe asks, clearly wanting Arne to leave before I pull off that mantle. But he sits across from us, on the other side of the pool.

"I enjoy the heat," Arne says, stretching. "Why are you so eager to get me to leave, brother?"

Froðe narrows his eyes.

Arne swings his head over at me, and picks at the mantle draped around my shoulders with a finger.

"Would you like me to leave, Beatrix?" He whispers, and Froðe visibly stiffens in my peripheral vision.

What a wicked game, indeed.

Instead of answering, I slowly look up to lock eyes with Froðe. His eyes are flustered, narrowed in on me, even though he is draped across the bench now, calm and collected on the surface. His tousled sandy tresses are loose from the river, framing his face like a character on the cover of a romance novel, flickering light of the flames reflecting off his chiseled chest.

I'm starting to sweat heavily as the heat swelters around me, and I decide that I'm not done with this game.

"I think you should stay if you want to," I finally say to Arne.

Then, since I can't take it anymore, I slowly shrug off the mantle, my eyes never leaving Froðe's.