Epilogue
Asgard
Émilien Elasalorscowled at the God’s Glass, needing it to back up several centuries, but Freyja had left to do something with Idunn, and he was stuck watching the plague years on Midgard. It wasn’t where he needed to be to find his brother. A low growl rumbled in his chest like a barrel of tumbling rocks.
“Frustrated?”
Émilien turned to see Bernard standing behind him, staring at the Glass. He dropped his gaze to Émilien’s, one brow raised in question. “Why are you watching the Black Death? Kind of morbid, don’t you think?”
“I lived it, so why would I want to watch it? The damn thing is stuck there, and Freyja isn’t here to control it.”
Bernard chuckled. “Well, lucky for you, I can control it too. Just don’t tell her that. What year do you want to see?”
“Your childhood—the day your parents disappeared.”
His nephew stilled, all expression disappearing from his handsome face. “Very well.” He focused on the Glass, which sped through time as events hurtled by until finally slowing to show a quaint chateau surrounded by so many trees. The manor house was hidden from all vantage points, except for the crenelated tower, reminiscent of its feudal past.
“Olivier always wasthe better strategist. The house is situated perfectly so as not to attract attention or be seen.” Émilien absently scratched his furry arm with one long claw, his gaze narrowing on the small child who ran out of the front door. On his heels were two dwarves, who could only be Lukan Hillhead and his wife, Kulirra.
The boy threw back his head, tousled hair flying in all directions, and laughed as he charged down the graveled pathway. Turning, he dodged Lukan and headed for the trees. He almost made it when a man stepped in front of him and held out his arms. The boy launched himself, hurtling through the air as the man’s arms protectively folded around him, holding him tight against his chest. The boy wrapped his small arms around the man’s neck.
Behind them, a beautiful woman with short, light-brown hair the same color as Bernard’s stepped into view. Her youthful face showed a classical beauty and reminded him of someone. He continued to stare, squinting as he tried to figure out who she resembled. She laughed and tilted her head back, the dappled sunlight of early evening shimmering over her tousled hair. “Ah, Casablanca, starring Ingrid Bergman.”
“What?” Bernard threw him a quick frown before turning his gaze back to the scene in the Glass.
“Your mother. She reminds me of that actress in the movie, Casablanca. I believe her name was Ingrid Bergman. I hid in the control room closet of a small theater in Germany when it came out. You know her mother was German.”
His nephew shook his head. “No, I didn’t know that. I know her father was Swedish, and she grew up in Sweden.” He tilted his head, then nodded. “Hmm, you’re right. Mama does resemble her. I never noticed before...”
“You probably never would have noticed the similarity since you were so young when she disappeared.”
“I never saw them after that night,” Bernard said, staring at his parents. “We chased one another around the yard that afternoon, and I didn’t want the fun to stop. I snuck one of Kulirra’s tarts, knowing her reaction, so when she and Lukan chased me from the house, I got what I’d wanted all along, plus a treat. It was all in fun. She always made extra, so I could eat one right after she pulled them from the oven.”
The scene fast-forwarded to where Olivier and Jessica stood outside next to a black sedan. His sister-in-law leaned down, holding little Bernard’s cherubic face by his chin, and kissed the top of his head. Her gloved thumb brushed his cheek several times before she let go. A quick glimpse at his brother, though, had Émilien pausing. Something was off.
“Bernard, replay the last few minutes.”
The scene skipped back to where the couple walked toward the car. Older in this scene, they were dressed in typical Elven clothing. Jessica wore a burgundy gown, as fancy as the ones Freyja and Idunn wore daily, and her hair was braided and coiled on the top of her head. She looked every bit as regal as her husband. Olivier sported his Lord regalia, wearing the calf-length, dark-brown leather coat, with old Norse runes sewn over the garment in gold thread. Underneath, he wore his preferred white pirate shirt and fitted dark-brown pants tucked into leather boots.
It was Olivier’s expression that gave Émilien pause. When he met Lukan’s worried gaze, just as Jessica kissed their son goodnight...no, Émilien realized. That wasn’t a simple goodnight kiss. They were telling Bernard goodbye.
His brother nodded and touched his wife’s elbow. Turning her head, she met Olivier’s gaze, then bent over and kissed her son once more. Another serious look passed between the two males before Kulirra scooped Bernard into her arms and marched him into the house. His bubbly laughter filled the yard’s silence.
Émilien growled in frustration. “I wish there was sound. I need to hear what he’s saying to Lukan.”
“Why?” Bernard asked.
Émilien studied the adults’ serious expressions as Olivier discussed something with the dwarf, who shook his head a couple of times. “Whatever my brother is saying, Lukan doesn’t like it. Look at your mother’s face, Bernard.”
Jessica’s chin trembled and tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued to stare at the closed chateau door, a sad, wistful expression in her eyes.
“I’ve never seen any of this before. I haven’t been able to watch that night. I didn’t want to see the accident and know it was real, and they were never coming home again. A child’s fancy and wishful thinking, I suppose.”
“No, Bernard, not wishful thinking at all. You should have had your parents growing up—your mother’s loving touch and a father’s firm guidance. Olivier would have never left you alone, not even with Lukan and Kulirra watching after you. Not unless something terrible happened, or they couldn’t return. I know my brother still lives and can feel it in every cell of my body. I vow I will find him.”
Bernard met his gaze. “Alva and I will be right there with you. I promised to help you find out what really happened to them, and I aim to keep that promise.”
“What about your wedding?”
“We decided to push up the date to next week, so we can leave sooner.”
“No arguments, either,” Alva said as she entered the room. Bernard held out his arm, and she walked to him, her body sliding against him as if she was made for him. After everything they’d been through, Émilien believed that’s exactly what Fate had planned.
A sharp pain pinched his chest, in the region of his heart, and his thoughts turned to his own past. He would give just about anything to be able to return to his own family—not that Hel ever would have him back.
After the last argument they’d had several lifetimes ago, leaving her had been the best thing for their relationship...until he found out about Shalendra. After discovering Hel had kept his daughter a secret from him, he would never forgive her.
It hadn’t mattered to him that he was trapped in the body of a werewolf. He was a father, and the second-to-last of his dreams had been fulfilled without him even knowing. Now all he had to do was find his brother, and he would have everything he’d asked for in life. Well, except Hel.
He would never have her...