One corner of Maccus’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure that’s what you called it.”
“No, I called it a fucking royal summons, but I was trying to be polite.” He nodded toward Anja. “She’s bleeding.” As a vampire, he was sensitive to the smell of blood.
Bjorn growled in warning.
Asher raised his hands. “Ease up. I won’t hurt her.”
He shook his head, fighting his instincts to grab her and flee. He had to trust them or he’d be totally on his own. That was fine when it was just himself, but not so much when he had to protect his wife from vengeful gods. “This is Anja.”
It was Jo who came forward. “Your dead wife? That Anja? How is that possible?”
“That’s what we need to know.” Maccus glared at him.
Bjorn took a deep breath, but before he could begin, Morrigan held up her hand. “Your woman is bleeding. She needs to be seen to. It should have already been done.” This was said with a pointed glare at her mate.
Maccus swore under his breath. “Fine.” He stalked forward. Bjorn placed himself between his fellow Brothers and Anja. Maccus might have knives, but he had razor sharp claws that could tear a man’s throat out before he realized what was happening.
“Sheath your claws, wolf. I’m not going to kill her. I’d have already done it if that was my intention.”
“Not helping,” Morrigan whispered.
Maccus held up his hands to show they were empty. Except they weren’t. The push knives tattooed on his palms could become real in the blink of an eye. Then his palms began to glow.
“Let me see if I can heal her.”
“That’s new.” Bjorn had never seen or heard of this before. It naturally made him suspicious.
“Relatively.” He jerked his head toward Anja. “She’s bleeding on my sofa.”
His reply was so dry, so Maccus, some of the tension bled out of Bjorn. He was right—as a fallen angel, he had powers beyond them all.
“Do it,” he told him, but he stationed himself beside his wife as a precaution.
Maccus wrapped his hands around Anja’s arm. Light spread around the area he held, brightening for a brief second before diminishing. Then he did the same with her hand. “She’ll be fine. The cut was shallow, the gunshot wound a graze.”
Bjorn tore away the bandage from her upper arm and ran his fingers over it. There was nothing but smooth skin and dried blood. Not even a scar. He removed the wrapping from her hand. The wound was gone. He swallowed heavily. “Thank you.” A heavy weight fell from his shoulders.
Before he got down to business, there was something else he needed to attend to. “There may be some footage of me racing through the streets. I moved fast and should be a blur in the shadows unless someone cares to slow down the recording.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Asher assured him.
Satisfied, Bjorn gave him a curt nod, not happy to be in the vampire’s debt, not to mention what he owed Maccus.
The others settled—Maccus in a large chair with Morrigan perched on his lap while Asher and Jo took the other chair.
He ran the backs of his fingers over Anja’s pale, cool cheek, willing her to open her eyes and smile at him. “I had a visit from Odin today,” he began when she remained unconscious.
“This will not end well,” Asher muttered.
“A woman escaped from Freya’s Hall, from the afterlife. Odin commanded me to track her and kill her. I called Maccus, as I was hoping the two of you might help me find a starting point. As usual, the directive came with no useful information.” Bjorn picked up the warm cloth and began to wipe some of the dirt and dried blood from Anja’s hands.
Morrigan snorted. “I can relate. But at least when I was a bounty hunter for Hell I’d be given some direction, a location.”
“Not the way the gods usually work,” he reminded her. “I was on my way here when I heard a woman cry out.” He related the rest of the tale. When he was done, he tossed aside the soiled cloth and pinned them all with a glare.
“I won’t let anyone harm her—not a god, human, or any other supernatural being. At best, she’ll be confined to Helheim. At worst, her soul might be obliterated or lost. That can’t happen.” He’d gone centuries without her, had only just found her again. His chest constricted, his lungs squeezed tight until breathing was difficult.
If she was taken from him, he’d go on a rampage the likes of which the world had never seen. Nothing would be able to stop him until he’d destroyed this world and the next.
“This is too fucking convenient.” Maccus tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Anyone else find it too fucking convenient that the woman who just happens to have broken out of the afterlife is Bjorn’s dead wife?”
“This is an attack on me. On the Brotherhood.” The embers of fury ignited in Bjorn’s belly. They’d all faced similar attacks over the past year. “But that was Lucifer, wasn’t it? I didn’t think the pantheons mingled.”
“They don’t, as a rule.” Asher steepled his fingers, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair.
There was only one person who could give them the information they needed.
Bjorn hated to wake her but had no choice. “Anja.” He gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Wake up.” A little harder shake, his voice sharper.
She gave a small groan and weakly batted at his chest. “Not again. Go back to sleep.”
Asher snickered. Morrigan and Jo laughed outright.
His face was not turning red. The heat from the room was making him feel flushed. That’s all it was. Still, he couldn’t hold back the slight grin. He’d always been insatiable, unable to quell his need for her.
“Wake up.” Her eyes flew open. She sat up, clutched her throat, and began to gasp.
“Look at me,” he commanded. The sheer terror on her face almost undid him. When he found out who was responsible for that look, he’d fucking kill them. “You’re safe. I have you. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. Long seconds ticked away as she dragged in one shallow breath. Then another. He ran his hand up and down her back, letting her know she wasn’t alone, the touch as much for himself as it was for her. When she opened her eyes, they were filled with determination.
That was his Anja.
Her shoulders stiffened the moment she became aware they weren’t alone.
…
Anja tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to. She hated being the center of attention, especially among strangers. She scrambled up into a seated position, all the while wishing for a weapon of some kind to protect herself.