Immortal, Insatiable, Indomitable. Olivia Gates
over a debt or something.
But even if that was true, ten to one? She wouldn’t leave anyone to face those odds alone. Hell, back in junior high, she hadn’t even left a tormenting bitch of a classmate alone with the schoolyard bully.
But someone who’d not only jump-started her dormant hormones, but paid her the kindness of worrying about her safety?
The last time someone had done that, they’d ended up dead.
Leave, huh? Good advice. She should take it.
And she would. If she were someone else.
She pushed her way through the crowd in her mystery man’s wake.
Chapter Two
Vidar walked out into the bitter cold of Chicago’s winter a few steps ahead of his would-be executioners.
That label wasn’t much of a stretch. With the collective Odinforce imbuing them, if he let them, they could kill him.
That was, if Loki saw fit to let the injuries they’d cause overcome his regenerative powers.
While he didn’t particularly relish the idea of having these bozos be the ones to end his life, death was death. No such thing as a worthy one. They were as good a way to go as any.
The question now was whether Loki would consider this qualified as his “heart’s desire.”
Knowing the slippery son of a bitch, no. He’d spent millennia in the god’s service, but not out of some idealized belief that his lord could do no wrong. Loki did plenty of wrong. So did he, for that matter. But all in all, from the proof of eons, Loki stood for better things, did more good, than any of the other gods. It was why Vidar mostly admired him. But he sure resented the hell out of him at times. Loki always pointed out that his exasperation stemmed from the same reason he’d been chosen among the first Originals. He’d been Loki’s mortal reflection. Different, nonconforming and rubbing it in the noses of those who disapproved. And reviled and demonized as Loki had always been for it, too, of course.
But he could try. He’d never accumulated injuries that were beyond his regenerative abilities. Maybe if he did this time, Loki would finally let him go.
Time to find out.
He let the first blow land square on his left cheekbone. He heard the crunch of bones, his and his attacker’s, as pain exploded behind his eye sockets.
That was a good punch. Odinforce-boosted strength was something. His bone, harder than steel, had cracked.
He felt another blow coming a full two seconds before his next attacker connected. He had enough time to rip the man’s heart out and cram it down his throat. But he didn’t even try to block it. Something metal and unyielding crashed against his side. He felt ribs shatter and tear through his muscles and skin. He gritted his teeth on the shredding pain.
“Ooh, he’s glaring at us. We supposed to get scared?”
“Is that all you got, you fuck?”
“And we thought a Lokian deserved ten of us, thought shifting was a big deal. All he did was expand. Like a hot-air balloon.”
“Is that how your dick expands, too?”
“Seems Lokian is code for Pussy.”
At his silence, they attacked again. After more direct hits, the thugs got confident, swarmed around him. He had dozens of openings to rip throats and sever limbs and heads. He took none.
He had to give it to them. They were quick and creative. They pulverized body parts overlooked by most. His feet and hands were favorite targets. They wanted to cripple him before they killed him. He let them do whatever their twisted appetites for inflicting damage could belch up.
In seconds he was bathed in blood, his left arm all but hacked off, his chest and abdomen punctured in vital areas, his skull fractured. His consciousness was wavering from the pain. He didn’t feel the healing kicking in.
Had Loki heeded his request? Would he finally die?
He fell to his knees. He didn’t want to get up.
He was ready.
A booted foot kicked his head with enough force to almost take it off his shoulders. Snickers phased in and out of his awareness.
“Is it me or is he enjoying this? You one of those wimps that get off on being abused?”
“But we ain’t gonna abuse you, pussyboy. We gonna kill ya, and drink your Endowment.”
“What Endowment?”
Rowdy laughter burst out.
They weren’t just vicious, they were assholes. One thing an Asgard-Endowed didn’t do, mortal or immortal, was humiliate a fallen enemy. Odin should be ashamed of granting such scumbags even the power he wiped off his ass.
He could smell what they’d paid for the Odinforce. Their very lives. They were rotting. Not in flesh yet, but their souls had long putrefied. To them, his Endowment must have smelled like raw meat to a pack of starving hyenas. They thought they could gorge on it and revive themselves. A misconception that held no matter how many millennia passed without one successful incident of anyone absorbing a Lokian’s, let alone an Original’s, Endowment. Yet power-addicts kept telling themselves they’d succeed where others had failed.
“Hey, hey…look what the cat dragged out.”
“Say, isn’t that piece of ass from back in the club?”
What were the bastards talking about?
He raised his head, could see nothing. One eye was soaked in blood, the other swollen shut.
But he could smell. Her.
The mortal woman. She was here.
His heart, which that had slowed down to almost a standstill for the duration of the attack, detonated. What was she doing here?
He snapped a crushed hand to his eye, wiped away blood.
She stood two dozen feet away, as tall as most of his attackers, her hair a rioting flame around her shoulders in the eddying wind, her outfit flapping around her lush frame. And she hadn’t simply stumbled out at the wrong time. Not judging by her confrontational pose and the pipe in her hand.
Another boot whacked his head. “Yo, pussyboy, she one of your Lokian sluts? You sure pick ’em stupid. She came after you like a bitch after her master.”
“Can’t be for his hot-air dick. He must have her hooked on some Asgardian dope.”
“Too bad for her. She got a good look at all of us.”
And he roared. “Leave.”
Another kick to his head. “She ain’t going anywhere, wuss.”
Another voice chuckled. “Get her, Jack. We’ll finish him off.”
The thug named Jack charged at her. The moment he was in range, she swung. He heard the crack of metal against bone, saw blood arc in the indirect lights. If the thug weren’t jacked up on Odinforce, he would have gone down. She’d hit sure and hard, to cripple, even kill. She understood the danger well.
But if she did, why was she here? For all she knew this was a ten-to-one fight, one he was losing big-time. She was one woman with a pipe. What did she hope to achieve with those odds?
He had no explanation. But he knew one fact.
She was defending him.
Only his fellow Lokians had ever fought beside him, risked injury and pain for him. But that didn’t compare.
No one had ever put their life on the line for him.
The thug she’d nailed lunged at her. She evaded him with the grace of a seasoned boxer, hit him square in the throat.
“You’re