PROLOGUE
Asgard,
Afterworld of the Norse Gods
1213 AD
Pain tore
through Loki’s chest, burning through every vein in his body. He roared, his
muscles straining against the chains that bound him to the rock. Despite his
godly strength, he could not break them. Above him, the great snake draped over
a tree limb, dripping venom onto his chest. Its yellow eyes gleamed, watching
him as the fluid seeped from its fangs.
The venom
sizzled when it hit his skin, eating through to the muscle underneath. His
heart must be beating against the air now, no longer protected within its cage
of flesh.
“You went too
far, Loki,” roared Odin, the greatest of the Norse gods.
Loki wanted to
yell back at him, at the crowd of gods who stood around him, but words could
not form on his tongue. I’d do it again, he would shout, if only the pain
hadn’t stolen his words.
“You’ll stay
here until Ragnarok, when the final battle shall take your life. It is a
fitting punishment for your crimes,” Odin said.
The snake’s
venom dripped again, shooting pain through Loki’s body until his vision blurred.
He could barely see the other gods nodding their heads before they turned in
unison and walked out of the clearing in which he was trapped.
Bastards. But he
hadn’t seen Sigyn. His love hadn’t been with them, thank gods.
The venom
dripped again, pouring from the snake’s mouth in quantities only magic could
create. Loki roared, his voice hoarse, and almost passed out from the pain. A
feminine scream pulled him from the daze.
Suddenly,
delicate hands reached out over his chest, attempting to catch the venom before
it fell onto him. Sigyn.
“No!” he roared,
fear for her helping him find the strength to form words. He was close to
blacking out from the pain.
When the venom
dripped onto her palm, she collapsed to her knees. He craned his head to see
her, slumped against the stone upon which he was bound, her golden hair
concealing her face. She’d passed out from the pain.
Terror for her
stole the breath from his lungs. He’d been angry about this punishment, but
never afraid. Not until it risked her. She must leave here. His vengeance
against the gods had been necessary and just. But he didn’t want her to suffer
for it. If the other gods knew how he felt about her, they might punish her
too. She’d done nothing wrong, but it wouldn’t stop them.
He couldn’t bear
to think of her suffering. It was a pain worse than the venom. He strained
against the bonds, attempting to break them so he could drive her away.
She moaned, then
sat up. When her gaze landed upon his face, her eyes widened.
“Go,” he rasped.
“Go from here.”
She pushed
herself up and leaned over him, her tears dripping upon his face.
“Go.” His voice
was so rough it was almost gone. He had to make her leave. His pursuit of
vengeance put her at risk. She would hate him for that. Would likely never
forgive him.
“Never. I’ll get
you out of—”
He roared when
venom dripped into his wound, the pain finally taking him into the blackness.
CHAPTER ONE
Prison for
Magical Deviants, Immortal University
Edinburgh,
Scotland
Logan Laufeyson
gritted his teeth as the guard removed the manacles from his wrists and shoved
him into his damp stone cell. The familiar rage at his powerlessness welled and
he breathed deeply to tamp it down, counting back from ten. He had more
important things to be worried about than an asshole guard.
He’d only been
in this hell three months, after all, and it was temporary. Barely anything
compared to the tortures he’d suffered in the past or the century that his
friend Ian had been locked in here before Logan had taken his place. He’d been
a bastard for leaving Ian rotting in here for so long, but it had been
necessary.
Logan dragged
his shirt over his head and used it to scrub the grit off his face. The worst
thing about the daily prison work detail which he’d just returned from was the
damned sand in the afterworld of Moloch. The best thing about prison work
detail was that the hellish Moloch was exactly what he’d been looking for when
he’d broken into the Prison for Magical Deviants three months ago.
He didn’t mind
spending twelve back-breaking hours a day hauling rocks, not once he’d realized
that the stone was being used to construct the place he’d been hunting for
nearly a century. He could use that time to learn enough about it to destroy
it.
Though washing
the sweat and grime off himself would be the greatest pleasure he had all day,
he ignored the leaky hose in the corner of the cell in favor of using his magic
to change his clothes. He closed his eyes and envisioned a shirt and pants
identical to the ones he wore as his usual prison uniform—black on black. Not
so different from his normal attire.
What was
different, however, was his face. He ran his hand over his unfamiliar nose and
jaw. He was full shapeshifter, able to adopt any identity of man or beast.
Since he was in this prison to take his friend’s place, he’d adopted a copy of
his friend Ian’s face. Alone in his cell, he could change back to the looks he
adopted normally. It, too, was a disguise, but he’d worn it for centuries and
it was comfortable by now.
He had no watch
and no window, so no way to tell time. But he could count on the prison
schedule to be military precise, and every seven days, directly after he was
shoved back in his cell, he had a meeting.
He listened
carefully at the heavy wooden door for footsteps. Silence. It was highly
unlikely anyone would come to his cell before a guard brought a miserly dinner
in an hour. Once he was confident there was nothing but silence in the hall, he
moved to the corner that would be hidden by the door if it opened.
Logan drew in a
deep breath and held out his hands, envisioning flame. A fire, two feet tall
and at least as wide, burst into life in the corner, as if a hearth had been
built. After a moment, a face appeared. The seer was always on time for their
meetings.
“Loki,” she said,
the image of her face flickering in the light of the flame.
“Logan,” he
corrected.
“Fine.
Logan."
He was the Norse
trickster god Loki, but he went by Logan to protect himself from the wrath of
the other Norse gods. He also consistently used his shapeshifting to alter his
face. He had the same dark hair and eyes as he’d had as Loki, but his face was
shaped differently enough that no one would recognize him.
He’d buried his
identity as Loki deep in the past.
“Do you have
anything for me?” he asked. He was so certain she would say no, as she had at
every other meeting, that he nearly lost control of the flame when she
answered.
“Yes. It’s
almost time. The Labyrinthine Prison of Lethe will be complete in no more than
two weeks.”
Adrenaline
spiked through him, driving through his veins and making his mind hum. “Two
weeks? That’s all? Damn it, what kind of seer are you that you couldn’t see it
sooner?”
“The best.” She
smirked. “Of which you are well aware, or you wouldn’t pay me so much money.
Visions come when they come. You need to quit with the recon or protecting your
friend or whatever it is you’re doing in there and go get whatever’s at the end
of the map I gave you.”
She was right.
There was no question he had to leave the Prison for Magical Deviants. He
wasn’t learning anything new here now and Ian MacKenzie, his only friend, was
safely out of Scotland.
“Fine,” he said.
“You’re certain of this? I’ve been on Moloch every day for three months,
helping to build the labyrinth, and it doesn’t look nearly finished.”
In an ironic
twist of fate, the university prison was using prisoners to construct a far
greater monstrosity than the one he’d been caged in—an inescapable labyrinth
prison that would capture and contain the gods. Like himself. Like Sigyn.
He sure as hell
wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Yes. I believe
the prison is designed to make you forget. I saw more in this vision than in
all the others. It’s called the Labyrinthine Prison of Lethe because the
Architect of the prison has diverted the waters of the River Lethe. He’s
created a portal to the Greek afterworld that allows the river to flow through
the labyrinth.”
“What the hell?”
He hadn’t heard the name of the river that ran through Hades in centuries. The
River of Forgetfulness made those who drank from it forget their lives.
“If you’re
imprisoned—which you will be, as all gods will be—you’ll forget yourself
entirely. As will the world. I believe the river Lethe is making even the
builders forget what they’ve built. It’s part of the torture of the
labyrinth—to endlessly toil yet believe you make no progress.”
He scrubbed a
hand over his face. This was a hell of a lot worse than he’d anticipated.
Aleia’s prophesies always came true. Always. The cocky part of him had always
kind of thought he’d be able to break out of the prison if he were thrown in.
But from what
Aleia was saying, it sounded like the river Lethe had already fucked with his
mind. If the prison was completed, he would end up there as prophesied. With
the river working on his mind, there’s no way he’d find his way out before he
forgot.
“It looks like
my time here is up. I’ll contact you if I need you again,” Logan said.
“Aye aye, boss.”
She disappeared into the flames.
Logan thrust
aside the chilling thought of losing his memory in the labyrinth and focused on
what was next.
Escape.
His heart sped
at the idea of finally being able to break out of this hell hole. With the
wheels of the Labyrinthine Prison finally turning, he couldn’t stay, hoping for
more information. Aleia had informed him of the prison’s construction over a
century ago. After a hundred years of searching for it, he was suddenly running
out of time.
Speaking of
time… The guard would arrive with “dinner” any minute. It took only seconds to
tear off strips of the bed sheet. He took up position at the door and quieted
his mind, listening for the coming footsteps of the burly guard.
The guard was
part demon, though from what afterworld, Logan wasn’t sure. Mytheans, as
supernatural individuals of the various species were called, could be
dangerous. The university, which was more of an unofficial government
organization dedicated to hiding the existence of Mytheans than it was a
learning institution, hired all sorts of Mytheans.
Roughly two
minutes later, thudding footsteps sounded at the end of the hall. His cell was
the third and last. It would buy him some extra time, since the other prisoners
wouldn’t be alerted that something was wrong when their dinner didn’t appear.
For old time’s
sake, he’d love nothing more than to bust some of these assholes out just to
fuck with the university. He’d never liked authority figures. But his end goal
was more important than his whims.
He shifted on
his feet, and when the key finally scratched in the lock on his door, he moved
forward. The heavy wooden door swung open and a gruff voice said, “Slop time,
Ian MacKenzie.”
The guard’s eyes
widened when Logan’s fist came at him. They rolled back into his head not a
second later. Logan snatched the tray before it clattered to the ground. The
guard started to slump against the wall, but popped upright half a moment
later.
So that’s why
this bastard was a guard. He was damn hard to knock out.
Logan grabbed
the guard by the collar, dragging him into the room. It looked like this might
be a fight and he wanted privacy. The guard swung at him and Logan ducked, put
the tray on the floor, then slipped behind him and reached up to grasp his
head. It took a second to snap his neck. He turned it halfway around just to be
sure he completed the job.
Logan eased the
massive body to the ground and thanked his buddy Ian for being such a model
prisoner that there’d been only one guard.
Logan quietly
shut the door. In seconds, he had the guard’s hands bound behind his back and a
makeshift gag over his mouth. Though he’d broken the guard’s neck, it certainly
wouldn’t kill a Mythean. And whatever type this one was, his recovery period
was ridiculously quick. He really should have been passed out for hours from
Logan’s first punch.
The last strip
of bed sheet went around the guard’s ankles and Logan figured he had a solid
ten minutes to make it off campus. Maybe even fifteen, if he got lucky.
He’d need only
five. Quickly, he laid a hand on the guard’s burly shoulder and envisioned
himself shedding his own face and form and adopting the guard’s. When the
knuckles of his hand widened and bristly hairs sprouted from the backs, his
face had transformed as well. He magically adopted the guard’s uniform.
Without a
backward glance at the miserable four walls that had been his home for the last
three months, he walked out the door and down the hall. He remembered it from
his time sneaking in to free Ian, so it wasn’t hard to act like he knew where
he was going.
The hall was
empty and silent but for the humming of the fluorescent lights above. They were
out of place amongst the otherwise ancient architectural features, primarily
stone for the walls and wood for the floor. The huge door at the end of the
hall beckoned. Freedom.
When he reached
it, he placed his palm against the metal. Magic zinged up his arm as the lock
registered the guard’s palm. It would have been a hell of a lot harder to break
out had he not been a shapeshifter. Only the handprint of the guard, willingly
given, would open the door.
He grinned as he
pushed the door open and climbed the stairs to the first floor of the
Praesidium, the university department that dealt with security and protecting
those individuals important to humanity. Basically, a bunch of
heads-up-their-asses, full-of-themselves morons who thought they were the
world’s police. Any species of Mythean could work for the university, but he’d
never met one he liked.
When he reached
the door at the top of the stairs, Logan straightened his shoulders and
scowled, trying for an expression as stupid as the guard’s. If he was going to
meet anyone on his way out of the building, it would be here, in the halls of
the Praesidium. And whoever he met wouldn’t be bad in a fight, given that only
warriors worked for the Praesidium.
Still, they’d be
no match for him. He wiped what he knew must be a cocky grin off his face and
relaxed his features into bovine boredom, then pushed out into the rich,
wood-paneled hallway.
A shock of
familiar energy hit him in the chest. He stiffened.
Sigyn. She was
close. His chest ached, his soul seeming to pull away from his body in search
of her. He hadn’t felt her presence in centuries, not since he’d left Norway.
The enchanted shields on the prison must have blocked out the magic that filled
the university buildings above, including hers.
He’d known she
worked for the university and he’d intended to seek her out once he’d destroyed
the labyrinth, but he hadn’t expected to ever be so close to her that he felt
her. She had to be in this very building.
Ironic that the
two things he wanted most in this world—Sigyn and access to the labyrinth so
that he could destroy it—could be found in the same place.
He slammed a
fist against his chest, trying to quiet the pulling of his soul. He was in
control of himself, damn it, and he had a job to do before he could seek out
Sigyn.
But seek her out
he would. Once he’d destroyed the labyrinth and ensured his own safety—and
hers—he would come for her. He’d been waiting.
With a shake of
his head to banish thoughts of the woman he still wanted, he turned right and
strode down the hall to the enormous atrium at the entrance of the building. He
held his breath as he skirted by an open door, but no one called out to him.
The paintings on the wall seemed to frown pityingly at him as he walked by.
With memories of Sigyn driving through his brain, he probably deserved it. He
should be focusing on the labyrinth, not her.
Escape loomed
ahead, the wide open space of the atrium calling him to freedom. The great
double doors lay just beyond. But every step he took carried him farther away
from Sigyn. Her pull was so strong, she had to be in this building.
But he had to
keep going. He focused on what was at stake—eternal imprisonment, not just in
the labyrinth, but within his own lost mind, once the River Lethe stole his
memory. And he had to keep going for her. She was a demigod and would suffer
the same terrible fate if he failed to destroy the prison. The thought spurred
him forward. He pushed out through the great double doors into the cool night
beyond.
He sucked in the
air and grinned. The idiots at the university couldn’t keep a god chained. But
then, that’s why they were building the super prison. Regular Mytheans might
not be able to chain the gods—but the gods could chain themselves. If they lost
their memories, they’d lose the ability to fight their way free.
It was an
excellent plan. Evil, but excellent.
The cobblestone
courtyard and parking lot spread out in front of him, surrounded on all sides
by enormous stone buildings. Old fashioned street lamps shone yellow lights on
their ornately carved facades and ivy crawled up their sides. The courtyard was
empty save for an individual sliding into a car.
Sigyn?
No. He wanted to
see her so he was imagining her. He forced his mind away. He would come back
for her once this was all over, as he’d planned. She was his end goal. He just
had to clear the way to get to her, which meant escaping so he could find a way
to destroy the prison to save both their lives.
To do that, he
needed to find privacy to transform. Ever since his aetherwalking had been
bound by the other Norse gods, he’d relied upon his ability to shapeshift into
the form of a falcon for transportation. He sorely missed the ability to travel
instantly through the aether—that ephemeral substance connecting the earth and
the afterworlds. It was far easier to envision a place and appear than it was
to fly there, but he had no choice.
The courtyard
was too well lit, so he trotted down the stairs and jogged around the side of
the building. By his calculation, he only had a few minutes to spare until the
other prison guards noticed their dimwitted colleague was missing.
He slid into the
shadows at the edge of the stone wall of the building. It was dark enough to
hide the green light of magic that swirled around him when he transformed and
no other buildings looked directly out at him. It was perfect.
He glanced right
to confirm the coast was clear and caught sight of a scene in the window next
to him. A woman danced within a large, well-lit wooden room. A wall of mirrors
reflected her form.
His heart
pounded, beating itself senseless against his ribs.
Sigyn.
She spun about
the room, a blue cloak waving behind her as her lithe form leapt and lunged and
dodged. Golden hair trailed behind her and it was only once she spun toward him
that he noticed the long wooden staff in her hands. Pale wood and elegant, she
spun it about her form almost faster than the eye could see. Her cloak
flickered. It wasn’t real, just an illusion.
She wasn’t
dancing. She was training. Her motions weren’t those of a ballerina, but those
of a warrior. He’d never seen her like this, but he’d heard of her. The woman
he’d cared for eight hundred years ago had been far quieter than the shining
warrior goddess within the room. She’d been strong—capable of protecting
herself—but nothing like the woman on the other side of the glass.
This woman was
all power and grace, strength and motion. She took his breath away. Fire
flashed in her green eyes as if she saw her foe while she practiced her motions.
She moved so fast, a mortal would never be able to see her. It was magic. Quite
literally. Her talents had grown over the years.
His head buzzed
as he watched her and he was helpless to draw away. After so many years, here
he stood, actually near her. He’d only seen her a few times for a few
breathless moments after he’d driven her away all those years ago. He hadn’t
been able to help himself, as he couldn’t now.
He’d made sure
she never saw him, though it had torn at something in his chest to maintain his
distance. It was the only way to stay away from her, though. If he spoke to
her, he’d be unable to leave her. The last time he’d seen her had been over
five hundred years ago.
He’d forgotten
so many things over his life, so many faces and names and places, but he’d
never forgotten her. Not the curve of her slender arms, the length of her legs,
or the shine of her hair. She was beautiful—tall and strong and everything the
Norse gods were supposed to be, though she’d been a demigod when they’d both
left Asgard, home of the Norse pantheon.
He was supposed
to wait until he’d destroyed the labyrinth to come for her because she was a
distraction. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she continued to leap
around the room, the apparition of the blue cloak swirling around her marking
her as a Vala, a student of the magical teachings of the goddess Freya.
A cry sounded in
the night. Shouts followed.
Shit. He’d
fucking forgotten he was on the run. He dragged his eyes from Sigyn, his heart
clutching as she left his vision, and focused all his energy on envisioning the
falcon form he would take. If he could just make it to the air, he could get—
A shot rang out,
a harsh blast echoing through the quiet night. Pain tore through his gut.
What the fuck?
They’d used fucking guns? Fucking mortals used fucking guns.
Agony streaked
from his stomach through his extremities. Another shot rang out, and this time
pain bloomed in his shoulder. Guards charged toward him through the shadows,
only a few dozen feet away.
He cursed
internally at the idea he’d have to transform in front of them, and thereby
possibly give away his true identity, but there was nothing for it. If they
caught him when he was this injured, he wouldn’t even be able to hold the false
form he normally went by. They’d know he was a god and imprison him
accordingly. In the labyrinth. He shuddered.
Logan gritted
his teeth. He tried to ignore the pain bombarding him long enough to force the
magic through his veins, transforming his muscle and bone to feather and
flight.
It was sluggish,
but the transformation worked amidst the swirls of green magic he’d never
learned how to diminish. Soon he felt the wind under his wings and he climbed
into the air, a fraction less graceful and effortless than normal. Pain ripped
through him with every stroke of his wings and he faltered on the breeze.
The ground was
only a hundred feet below him, not nearly far enough to get out of the range of
bullets. He pushed himself higher, nearly blind from the agony. He’d never make
it off the campus like this. There was no way he had more than a couple hundred
yards left in him, and the guards were right behind him.
