Freida looked over the banister and saw poor Pieter stretched out on the marble floor, blood starting to pool beneath his head. The new girl was on top of him, momentarily knocked out.
“Move!” Frieda ordered. “Now!”
They had to get out and they had to get out now.
She turned, gesturing to her people to go down one of the flights of stairs. As she started to follow, that damn dog came at her again. Frieda swung her hammer and the dog went flying into the wall all the way at the end of the hallway. It made that sound that dogs make when they’re hurt, but before Frieda could reach the top of the closest set of stairs, the damn thing was already getting to its feet.
“Fuck,” Frieda snarled before running down the stairs after her people.
“Out the back,” she ordered. “Move!”
Frieda reached the last set of stairs in time to hear a grunt and she was not surprised to see the new girl was already getting to her feet, the hammer still in her hands.
With her legs braced on either side of Pieter, she swung the hammer at Lorens, who had been trying to get Pieter up.
Frieda hit the last step and let out a battle cry, charging the new Crow, her hammer raised.
The woman ducked as Frieda swung, and she ended up missing the Crow’s head. She swung again and the woman caught Frieda’s hammer with her own, the same way Pieter had caught the stolen hammer minutes before.
Great. A fast learner. Not what they needed right now.
Frieda yanked the woman, pulling her away from Pieter’s body. Three of her people used that moment to pick Pieter up. He was still alive but bleeding badly and who knew what internal damage had been done. They needed a healer and they needed one soon.
Frieda yanked again and dragged the smaller woman over to her. With their weapons locked, Frieda leaned in and snarled. The smaller woman responded by head-butting her in the chin.
Frieda heard a crack and then, a second later, felt the pain as her jaw was dislocated. Not the first time that had happened, which was why she knew it had happened again.
Really pissed off now, Frieda charged forward, slamming the woman into the wall, pinning the Crow bitch there.
Barely able to swallow, Freida felt drool pour from between her clenched teeth, her mouth unable to open until she got it fixed. The sudden torrent of liquid might have disgusted the naked woman but it didn’t stop her. Nothing seemed to stop her.
She shoved Frieda, the muscles in her arms bulging as she did so.
Frieda stumbled back. She rarely met anyone who was as strong as she was and not one of her Clan. Like their god, they were born strong. True warriors of the mighty Thor to the end.
But this Crow . . . she was different. Other Crows were powerful, of course. But not this strong. Never this strong.
The woman continued to push Frieda back and back and back again as that monstrosity of a dog ran to its master’s side.
Then, with a growl—from the woman, not the dog—the little bitch spun and took Frieda with her. Seconds before she let Frieda go . . .
Kera sent the woman flying through the glass French doors and out onto the patio. She followed after her, ignoring the broken glass she was stepping on. She reached down and yanked the second hammer out of the woman’s hands.
She hefted both and raised them. Her thought was to smash the woman’s head between the two weapons; to turn that head into nothing but blood and pulp and pieces of skull. But before she finished the double swing, Kera stopped.
Dear God . . . what the hell was wrong with her?
She wasn’t bloodthirsty. She didn’t try to kill people. She understood damn well the difference between defending herself and just hurting people to hurt them. But she was mad. She was pissed.
Kera lowered the weapons just as lightning flashed. That’s when she saw them. Surrounding her. Some restrained the woman’s branded friends; long, thin blades pressed against important arteries. Throats, inner thighs, near the armpit.
They held the woman’s friends captive while they silently watched Kera.
Knowing she was done, Kera tossed the hammers aside.
The woman immediately rolled to one side, reaching for her hammer, but a small Asian woman stomped on her hand with a black boot.
The woman screamed and grabbed her fingers. The Asian woman walked around her, then kicked her in the stomach, the side, and finally her face.
The Asian woman leaned over, resting her hands on her bent knees. “I don’t know why you’re here, Frieda. But if we find you here again without an invite, I’ll peel your face off your skull.”
She grabbed “Frieda” by her short blond hair and dragged her to her feet.
“Now get out.”
Frieda, gripping her ribs with one arm, leaned down to grab her hammer. Kera didn’t think it was to attack this time, just to take it, but the Asian woman suddenly swung at Frieda’s face with her hand, tearing skin from her cheek and jaw.
Frieda screamed and ignored her weapon to put her free hand against her bleeding face.
“Those belong to her now,” the Asian woman said, pointing at Kera. “Get out.”
Panting and bleeding everywhere, Frieda ran off and her people followed, cutting through the trees behind the house.
Once they were gone, the Asian woman faced Kera. She looked her over and then her lip curled and she pointed. “What is that?”
Kera looked down at herself. “What?”
“That?”
Kera realized she was pointing at her dog. “That’s Brodie Hawaii.”
“Isn’t that a . . . a . . . what do they call those dogs?” she asked . . . someone.
“Pit bull,” someone answered.
“Yes! Is that a pit bull? We can’t have a pit bull here. Our insurance is not going to cover any pit bulls or those dogs from the seventies that used to kill people.”
“Dobermans.”
“Yes. Those. You can have a poodle, though. I’ve heard they’re super smart!”
Kera, exhausted now just from that brief thirty seconds of stupid conversation, shook her head. “I don’t care about your insurance. Brodie stays.”
“I understand. You don’t grasp that here I’m in charge.”
“You don’t grasp that I don’t care. And if you’re in charge, then you need to do a better job of protecting your property.”
The Asian woman took a step toward Kera, but a taller black woman quickly cut in front of her. “No, Chloe.”
“I’m going to twist her like a pretzel.”
The black woman looked back at Kera before replying, “No, you’re not. For many reasons. So let’s all just relax and think this through.”
“There’s nothing to think through,” Kera said. “Brodie stays or we both go. There’s no other option. Now, I’m going to go back to my room . . . with Brodie. So if you’ll excuse me . . . ?”
When no one said anything, Kera headed back into the house, Brodie by her side.
Erin Amsel stared down at the new girl, who’d passed out on the first six steps leading to the bedrooms. She was snoring like a drunk sailor. And so was the dog.
It was not pretty, but the kid had been through a lot. So Erin would cut her some slack.
Besides. She liked this new girl. Not a lot of people back-talked Chloe—while naked—it was entertaining.
“I am not digging the new chick,” Chloe Wong announced and they all stared at her. Nothing was more awkward than when Chloe tried to sound like something other than what she was: a pompous know-it-all who killed for a god.
Erin began to say something, but Tessa Kelly, who had been Erin’s team leader since Erin had first woken up in the Bird House four years ago, cut her off with a, “Don’t even.”
Erin closed her mouth and Tessa said, “Don’t be too hard on her, Clo. She woke up with Giant Killers in the house. No one should have to deal with that on their first day.”
“Why were the Killers in our house?” Alessandra Esporza asked, immediately
looking bored as soon as the words left her mouth. Nothing really entertained Alessandra for long . . . except shopping. The woman originally came from money and she just loved to shop.
“I don’t know. That’s a good quest—where are you going, Alessandra? You asked me a question.”
“Oh, I’m listening. I’m just going to get some champagne.”
Erin shook her head. “She’s not listening.”
Chloe glanced down at the girl. “We’ll deal with all this tomorrow.” She stepped over the snoring new girl. “You guys get her back to bed. I want watchers in the trees until the sun comes up.”
“I doubt the Killers will be back,” Tessa noted.
“Let’s not take a chance. Like their god, they are none too bright.”
“Leigh. Annalisa.” Tessa pointed at the new girl. “Take the kid upstairs.”
“Sure that’s a good idea?” Erin asked.
“You want us to let her sleep on the stairs? These stairs are hard marble.”
“No.” Erin moved in close to her team leader. “You know what will happen if we take responsibility for her. She’ll be part of our team.”
“So?”
Erin pointed at the new girl’s tattoo. Tessa glanced down and repeated, “Donnie.”
“Not that tattoo. The other one. She’s an ex-marine. You know what that means.”
“That she’ll be kind of a pain in the ass?”
Erin smiled. “Exactly.”
CHAPTER TWO
He didn’t even hesitate. He just turned on her, that big kitchen knife in his hand.
But she’d always been kind of fast and managed to stop him before he could plunge the weapon in her heart.
But she couldn’t stop him. He was so strong.
All the skills she’d picked up. All the training provided by the U.S. government didn’t mean shit in this dark alley behind her job at the coffee shop.
She fought, but she just wasn’t strong enough.
She heard a deep voice cry out, “No!” but it was too late.
The blade rammed into her chest, past skin and flesh and bone. And right into her—
The door slammed open and Kera sat up, desperately trying to get the sleep out of her eyes, the panic of knowing she was dying still raging through her veins.
When her sight was no longer blurry, she watched the Asian woman she’d met last night stand on Kera’s bed, open the window over the headboard, lean out, and scream, “You are an asshole!”
Kera put her hands to her head and asked the air, “What’s happening?”
Three other women, casually dressed in shorts and T-shirts or bathing suits, rushed into the room—a different room, she’d just realized, from the one she’d woken up in last night—and desperately tried to pry the Asian woman from the window. But she wasn’t having any of that.
“Asshole! Asshole! Asshole!”
“Chloe!” a female voice yelled from outside. “Go inside! I’ll handle this.”
“Asshole!”
“I am trying to help you!” a male voice yelled back.
“Help us? By accusing us of being thieves? That’s you being helpful?”
“Maybe if you stopped being an emotional twat—”
“Twat?” the little Asian exploded.
Kera scrambled off the bed to avoid the flailing arms and heaving bodies. She took a quick look around and found a big T-shirt to cover her nakedness.
She yanked it on, and that’s when she realized Brodie was gone.
“Brodie?” she called out. “Brodie?”
Kera left the room—and the yelling—and walked into the hallway. She stopped right outside her room and gazed at a hole in the wall that she realized she’d put there. She glanced at the room across the hall. There was no longer a door on that room, and Kera knew that was because of her.
Deciding to focus on her dog and nothing else at the moment, Kera quickly walked down the hallway until she reached the circular area with the two sets of marbled stairs.
“Oh, you’re up,” a yawning voice said from behind her.
Kera looked over her shoulder at the woman standing in an open doorway, scratching her dark red hair. She wore tiny white shorts and an even tinier white tank top that really made all the bruises on her pale body stand out.
She yawned again and said, “I thought you’d be asleep long—”
“Asshole!”
They both glanced down toward Kera’s new room, then back at each other.
“Well . . . since you’re up now and it doesn’t seem like—”
“Asshole! Asshole! Asshole!” the Asian woman chanted as she marched out of Kera’s room with the other three women behind her. But the “asshole” must have said something, because she spun around and charged back into the room, and the screaming started all over again.
“That’s Chloe,” the redhead said. “She’s in charge.”
Kera frowned. “In charge of what?”
“Us.”
“I find that disturbing. And sad.” Kera pushed her hands in her hair. “So, this isn’t—”
“Let me answer all your questions for you right off the bat,” she cut in. “No, this isn’t a dream. Yes, you died. Yes, you were brought back by a Nordic goddess. Yes, you’re one of us. No, you’re not pure evil. Did I cover it all?”
“Actually, I was just going to say this isn’t a very well-organized group . . . but okay.”
The redhead frowned. “Organized? We’re Crows.”
Kera shrugged. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You will.”
“What happened to me? Why am I here?”
“Sweetie . . . you died.”
“Wha . . . I . . . what?”
Kera pressed her hand to her chest. Even with the T-shirt on, she could feel where the knife had gone in.
She’d been taking the coffeehouse garbage to the Dumpster out back when she’d seen them. The girl was barely sixteen, if that. And he was slapping her around the alley. Kera couldn’t ignore that. She should have just called the police but after ten years of handling situations like this herself, it had honestly never occurred to her. Instead, she’d dropped the trash in her hands and walked over there.
In the Marines, she’d always been known for her easy way of handling these kinds of situations. She knew how to talk to people. How to treat them. She didn’t just start yelling and screaming. And she’d approached this situation in the same exact way.
“Hey,” she’d said, once. He’d turned on her and grabbed her by the neck with one hand. Kera had tried to fight him then, pounding at him with her fists, kicking him, anything. But she’d been too weak. Too weak to stop him. And, without a word, he’d buried a long butcher knife in her chest.
Just like that. No warning. No argument. No threats. He’d just turned . . . and killed her.
The girl had run off, screaming and crying. And he’d followed. Kera dropped to the ground, shocked, unable to breathe. Then arms were around Kera and she was looking up into another man’s face. She knew this man. He came into the coffeehouse every day. Kera was the only one who would serve him. The only one who would take the time to talk to him. No one else would.
And this man had stared down at her, eyes wide, and said, “Skuld, please. I’m calling on you.”
Then, the next thing Kera knew . . . she was arguing about her dog with a woman wearing a veil and holding a watering can.
Wait . . . what?
The Asian woman shot past Kera, flying down the stairs, the other women following after her.
“But before we bother discussing all that boring ‘you died and now you’re a Crow’ business,” the redhead said, her grin wide, “let’s have some fun.” She gestured to the stairs. “Shall we?”
Erin led the new girl down the stairs, watched as she took it all in. Joining this life could definitely be overwhelming. Unlike the other Nordic clans representing different gods, the Crows weren’t born into this life. They weren’t raised in t
he Old Way or the New Way. They didn’t worship the well-known gods like Odin or Thor or Freyja. None of them had last names like Magnusson or Bergström. Most Crows came to this life knowing so little about Vikings that they thought what they saw in movies was accurate. That Vikings wore those horned helmets and did nothing more than pillage the British. And yet, here these mostly non-Nordic women were part of one of the most feared Viking Clans.
The Crows.
Feared because they didn’t rescue, they didn’t work to prevent Ragnarok, they didn’t actively care about anything that the other Clans cared about. Instead, the Crows were known for their rage, for their hatred, and for their loyalty to each other. It was far from an easy life and to come to it straight from one’s death was definitely traumatic. For anyone.
She was cute, though, the new girl. Not too tall but not short either. Sturdy shoulders, longish legs, thick muscular thighs. Dark, almost black hair that reached past those sturdy shoulders. Brown skin. She looked Pacific Asian. Either Thai or Filipino. Maybe mixed with something else like African American. A typical “Crow Mutt” as the other Clans liked to call them.
“So who’s Donnie?” Erin asked.
The new girl stopped walking and turned toward Erin, arms crossed over her chest, legs braced apart, brown eyes glaring at her.
They were only an inch or two apart, but it was like the woman had grown ten inches in those few seconds. A skill she must have gotten from her time in the Marines. The skill of intimidation.
“How do you know about Donnie?” she asked . . . or interrogated.
“Because I was one of the people who tucked you back into bed last night when you passed out on the steps . . . and his name is tattooed on your back.”
She ran her tongue across her teeth. “I see.”
“So . . . who is he?”
“Ex-husband. I was a lot younger and stupider then.”
“Who hasn’t been?” Erin walked around her and tugged the neck of her T-shirt down so she could take a closer look at the work. “You could get that covered up easy enough.”
“That’s not on my budget for this year. I don’t want to go to some back alley tattoo parlor. No use compounding my stupidity with Hep-C.”