CHAPTERELEVEN
Muni laid in her bed that night, the apartment silent except for the soft snoring of Brin in the living room. Even with the door closed between them, her ears could make out the sounds easily. Though the couch wasn’t large enough for them, Brin had reassured her it was fine and had made a nest of blankets on the floor. Eirik took one side of the couch, laid out like he was comfortable. Every night, Vidar slept sitting upright in the chair, as if it were necessary to rise at a moment’s notice. Not a single one of them had complained about the sleeping arrangements but Muni had considered sending for some air mattresses at least to make them more comfortable. She’d have to look into the matter the next day when it wasn’t so late.
No matter how long she laid there, Muni couldn’t get to sleep. This was it. They were announced. She was officially in the Race Games and searching for answers. If only she could jump right in and weasel out secrets from the others, it would be better. But as it was, it was best to wait until the Opening Ceremony. That’s where real secrets would pass between palms.
Lost in thought, Muni almost didn’t hear the soft addition of sound to Brin’s snores. It wasn’t loud, was barely detectable, but it was clearly the soft shush-shush of clothing against itself. None of her men were moving. Hel, Brin slept like a brick, not even turning in his sleep.
Her eyes popped up in confusion, just in time to see a dark shape shift in the corner of her room lift its arm.
Slamming herself off the side of the bed without a second’s hesitation just as a bright burst of light flared and the sound of the gun going off filled the room, Muni hit the hardwood floor hard. Her shoulder would be bruised later and fade just as quickly, but she didn’t care. There was someone trying to kill her in her room, and likely, the bullet that now sat embedded in her wall was blessed in a way to do the job. It hadn’t taken long for someone to put a hit out on her.
Rolling under the bed before the assassin could come around to her side, she leapt up and slapped the light switch, chasing the shadows away and revealing the elf in all black. Whoever put a hit out on her hadn’t spared any expense. The elves didn’t come cheap.
“Who sent you?” Muni growled, just as the door slammed open and Eirik stumbled into the room wearing only pajama pants. His eyes were wide in confusion, and when his eyes fell on the assassin with a gun in his hand, he tensed.
Muni watched in horror as the assassin turned his gun on who he thought was the biggest threat in the room, the larger man. That was his mistake. While Eirik’s life was tied to hers, getting shot could still send him back to Valhalla if fatal enough, or at least that’s what she thought. She wasn’t exactly sure how it worked.
Moving before she knew she was, Muni darted forward, her wings flaring wide from her shoulders. The sound of a gunshot filled the apartment again, making Eirik flinch, but she was there, her wings blocking the shot, sending it bouncing harmlessly away. Not even blessed bullets could shred through the Asgardian steel guards along her wings.
Eirik gasped, his hands going to her waist in fear, worried for her though she had been protecting him. She was far more difficult to kill than he was, and still he worried for her.
Vidar and Brin slam into the doorway behind her, but Muni paid them no mind. This man had tried to harm Eirik, had tried to kill him, and for that slight, he must die. She’d find answers later.
Muni held up her hand and the elf’s eyes followed the movement, his hand beginning to shake as he held the gun in front of him. He watched as those fingers transformed into savage, razor-sharp claws.
“Your mistake,” Muni growled and shot forward. She buried those claws in his chest, shredding it to the point that even the elf wouldn’t heal. Besides, her claws were also blessed, and she was willing to bet Odin trumped whoever had dared to bless his bullets.
The elf screamed but she hardly heard it. The sound cut off seconds later as he fell lifeless to the ground. Curling up her nose, she turned toward the three men staring with wide eyes as she stood there, blood dripping from claws to the hardwood floor. There was probably more blood splattered on her face, making her a ghastly sight, but Muni didn’t care much for cleanliness in vengeance.
Vidar sniffed at the sight, but though he doesn’t come forward to check if she’s okay, there was respect in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Apparently, to earn some sort of reaction from the Viking, she had to slaughter someone in front of him.
Eirik stared between her and the sight of the body lying on the ground behind her, his eyes wide, his skin slightly green. Of the three, he was the most sensitive since he’d never dealt with battle. Tempted to ask if he was okay, Muni instead focused on Brin where he stared at her wings.
“Would it be rude to ask if I can touch your wings?” he asked, his voice breathy with awe. He always looked at her as if she were something amazing.
She smiled. “You can touch them if you’d like. Just don’t press too hard. They’re sensitive.”
Brin stepped forward, toward all the blood and gore, without hesitation. Slowly, he reached out rough fingers to drag them over her feathers. His touch sent shivers through her body and his eyes met hers, something passing between them, something that made Muni want to lean forward and kiss him. Only Eirik’s slowly growing sickly pallor kept her from acting on it.
“They’re so soft,” he whispered, stroking his fingers again despite knowing what it did to her. Perhaps, that’s precisely why he did it.”
“She’s no goddess,” Vidar growled from behind him. It broke the moment, but Brin was unperturbed. “Don’t fawn over her like one.”
Brin grinned down at her. “I could certainly worship you like a goddess if you’d let me, Lady Raven.”
“Oh?” she asked, raising a brow in curiosity.
“Worship is always best done on my knees,” he added with a wink.
Vidar scoffed and turned away, storming back into the apartment, done with the conversation. Eirik was still staring at the body, his pupils wide.
“What do we do with. . .that?” he asked nervously.
Muni smiled at Eirik and reached up to pat his face, forgetting she had blood on her hand. It left a blood mark on his cheek, and she hastily grabbed a washcloth to clean it off before he noticed.
“Leave it, Eirik,” she commanded. “I’ll take care of it later.”
“Allow me,” Brin said, puffing up his chest. “A real man disposes of the corpses his woman leaves behind in battle.”
And then the Viking reached down and hoisted the body up over his shoulder, uncaring of the blood dripping down his clothing. Likely, they’d have to throw away the white t-shirt after all this. Brin blew Muni a kiss before heading out the door, forcing Eirik to move away from the doorway to let him by. Eirik stared at the trail of blood drips that followed along with Brin before looking back at Muni.
“Well,” Eirik commented. “I can’t say it’s not somehow romantic of him, however, I much prefer to woo you with gifts if that’s okay?”
Smiling at him, Muni cleaned the blood from her now normal hand. “Don’t change, Eirik. I like you just how you are.”
“Good to know,” he nodded, relieved. He glanced at the blood stains. “Should I—”
“I’ve got it!” Brin interrupted, coming back inside corpse-less. “You worry about making sure she eats a proper meal. She needs her strength after dealing with that elf-trash.”
Eirik blew out a sigh of relief. “Now that, I can do. An early breakfast it is.”
And then, wearing only his pajama pants, he immediately went to the kitchen and started whipping up a breakfast fit for a crowd.