“The bag is spelled?” she asked, moving her hand to rest over Émilien’s heart. Brig nodded and Tork gave her a sideways glare before continuing to pull small vials from the bag, which he laid on the table in front of his brother. They spoke in low tones, the language guttural yet flowing at the same time.
Tork lit a small fire in the copper plate and set the mortar in the middle, but her thoughts were still on their language. She was surprised to discover she didn’t understand a single word of it, which was annoying. She usually picked up languages after hearing the words spoken only once. This, though, was impossible.
Brig’s tone deepened, his words turning choppy. The steady thudding under her palm changed. No longer rhythmic, it stuttered then began to race. “Brig, are you about through with the concoction you’re brewing? Because I think we just ran out of time.”
In a blink, Brig’s scowl changed his almost passable face to gruesome as he turned to face her. “What do you mean?
“His heart rate was steady until a minute ago when it stuttered and then began racing. At the speed it’s beating, the organ will not be able to last long. It’s under too much duress.”
Brig muttered something under his breath then glanced at his brother. “You are certain of the last ingredient?”
Tork nodded. “I am.”
Brig scrubbed his face then dropped his hands to his sides. A quick frown formed as he met Hel’s gaze. “Who in the guardian’s life loves him beyond words and would give their lifefor his?”
Hel scowled. “Excuse me? Why?”
“The last ingredient is a shared soul, given in true love.”
Hel sat back on her heels and gave the demon a blank stare. “I don’t understand.” Her gaze dropped to Émilien’s. His black hair was wet and matted, giving him a drowned look. “His daughter loves him more than anything else in all the Nine Worlds, but I have no way to reach her. I tried calling out to Freyja when he was first poisoned. She is with Shalendra, Émilien’s daughter. Given the time difference, she either can’t hear me or is unable to respond.”
“This is unusual for her?” Hel nodded. Brig’s gaze narrowed. “What about you? Are you not the guardian’s wife?” Tork turned his head, his gaze flat, but she had the feeling he was waiting for her answer, sealing her fate with whatever response she gave.
“I was his wife, yes, but we separated long ago. Our daughter could not survive in my realm, and as I am the queen of Niflheimr, I cannot leave. The dead depend on me for their continued lives.”
Brig squatted in front of her. He glanced at Émilien, placed his gnarled hand on his forehead, then shook his own head. “He has so little time left, Hel. Are you willing to let him die because of fear? I may be a demon, but I also have the ability to sense emotions—an empath, if you will. I know your feelings run deep for him.”
He leaned in closer, his red gaze mesmerizing and calming her own racing heartbeat. “Do you wish him to die?”
She shook her head, biting back a sob. She refused to let anyone see her pain, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from returning to his sweat-soaked, furry face. “At one time, he was my life,” she whispered. A tear slipped down one cheek and fall on the back of the clenched hand in her lap. “When he and my daughter left, that life ended.”
“I understand the pain of losing the one you love. I also understand the loss of a child, but you have the chance and the ability to save him.” Brig moved back, laying his hands over his knobby knees. “Will you make the ultimate sacrifice for him? Do you love himthatmuch?”
Hel stared at his face. In her mind’s eye, his wolfish features disappeared. In her lap lay the beautiful Elven lord she fell in love with. His golden hair rested over his chest in long waves. Two thin braids on either side of his temples and two more just above his ears were tied with golden wire at the crown of his head. She had never tired of running her fingers through the soft locks. She missed the unique green speckles in his light brown eyes, which had turned solid brown after the curse. Truthfully, though, it was his body, curled around hers, that she missed the most. They were a perfect fit...at least she had thought so then.
Truth be told, she still loved him, more than she wanted to admit. She couldn’t take her daughter’s father from her because of fear, so she would make the sacrifice. Her only hope was that Shalendra and Émilien understood she had done this for them and not herself. She loved them both too much.
Meeting Brig’s gaze, she nodded. “I will do whatever you ask. No matter how difficult life has been or the pain we put each other through, I have and always will love Émilien. I would never forgive myself if I let fear take away my daughter’s only real parent.” She straightened her back and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “If I can save him, I will.”
Brig grinned, and she caught Tork’s brief nod out of the corner of her eyes. He slapped his thick thighs and stood, motioning her with a flick of a finger to come closer. For a second, she stared at her hand, still resting over Émilien’s heart, before leaning close and gently pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you, my husband, and always will.”
With one last caress to his fur-covered cheek, she stood and walked to the table, standing between the brothers. “I’m ready. Do what you must.”
Tork turned to her with one reddish-black brow raised, yet one side of his mouth rose in a smirk. “You sound as if you’re about to walk the plank or something. Just what do you think is going to happen?”
Hel gave him her best dead-pan expression. “I don’t know what’s about to happen. Isn’t ityourjob to tell me?”
Brig opened the glass pitcher they had added the many ingredients to and held it out to his brother. “She’s right, you know. It’s not nice to tease her. Just tell her, so she can prepare. It ishersoul. She has the right to know.”
Tork snorted in disgust. “Hello, I am a demon, not a priest. I don’t have to be nice to anyone—not even you.”
Hel glared at him, wishing she had the power to incinerate things with just a look. She didn’t, so all she could do was imagine his rather large frame bursting into flames. The demon was totally annoying. “I don’t care who explains it, someone better start talking, though. I’m not known for my patience.”
“She’s right,” a feminine voice said behind them.
Hel whirled around to find Freyja standing beside Émilien’s prone form. With her hands on each slender hip, she frowned.
Hel stared at her strange clothing. She looked like she was a fighter pilot with the heavy bomber jacket and her brown pants. “Since when did you take up flying planes?”