Page 2

“So, it is a maiden. Color me intrigued.” Hel took another drink of his red berry wine. It was bitter and strong. Not much affected him but it dulled the inner desire to ruin lives. Immortality could be a bore, and although Hel was quite young amongst the gods, he was far superior at their games.

The stairs to the back entrance of the palace were made of pearl-colored stone that shined like crushed diamonds at night. Their boots hit the first step, and a snowy white owl hooted from its wooden perch at the palace’s base. Its big yellow eyes followed him with suspicion. Hel smiled and winked at it. The bird ruffled its feathers in return and hissed.

“Fighting with the birds again?” War drawled. “How mature.”

“I have no quarrel with them. They, however, seem to take issue with me.”

To show off his fellowship with the birds, War stroked the top of the owl’s head and it cooed. Hel rolled his eyes and quickened his pace up the sparkling stairs. Once he reached the apex, he downed his wine and tossed it into the night air where it promptly vanished into the aether. Mortal guards dressed in white and gold trimmed uniforms pulled the tall arched doors open to allow them entry. Both dropped their gazes to the ground as he approached and stayed firmly there.

Hel smiled to himself and strutted inside, where his boots clacked quietly on the glossy floor. That music he’d heard before changed to an even slower, more melancholy tune. His gaze shifted to the bright orbs floating above, giving off too much light for the setting. It wasn’t but a moment later they dimmed. Better. As was customary for parties at Alefor, the combined territory of his aunt and uncle, the attendees wore black and white. The gowns on the maidens varied in shades of pearl to snow. Thank the Maker for the perpetually warm weather to make certain the scant fabric to display luscious feminine skin he so enjoyed. The bodies of goddesses were unlike any other. Curvy in all the right places. Hel looked the goddess of fury over from bare feet, up long bronzed legs, and to her half-exposed breasts.

Hel slid behind her and grazed her back with his fingertips. “You can take your fury out on me later, Eliza.”

“Drop dead, Hel.” Her bright orange eyes burned with her namesake. Her husband, the god of serenity of all things, touched her shoulder and the fire in her eyes dimmed.

“Midnight then,” he said with a smirk and moved along the left side of the room toward the study where the only weapon left in all the realms that could truly kill a god waited, guarded by wards, hundreds of guards on the property, and magic that would melt even a god’s hand off if they tried to touch it. The only one who had true access to it was his aunt, the goddess of love, the only one trusted not to use it.

He stopped beside the entry, where two sentries waited off to the sides. They moved away upon seeing him. To his utter disappointment no one had tried to steal it. What fun it would be to see the guard take out a thief. At least then something interesting would happen. Although the room had passing admirers filing in and out and the night was young. But Hel had something else in mind.

War appeared next to him, took an obvious look inside the study, and turned back. “I haven’t seen it since I was a child.”

“Me either,” Hel lied. “Looks rather plain, doesn’t it? You’d think one of the only weapons that can kill a god would be more impressive.”

Hel stopped to scan the crowd. Gods and dragon shifters and even a few elves were in attendance. The elves were a favored race of many gods. They were ageless, attractive; many possessed their own magic, and unless provoked held an innate, boring, peaceful nature. A handful of human mortal servants carried trays of wine through the crowd. Amongst the most beautiful beings in the realms, the unsightly humans may as well have been invisible, an important defense mechanism. The last thing a fragile mortal wanted was the attention of a god. It never ended well, and it always ended.

“She’s never been seen outside before,” whispered Lord Vennal, a bureaucratic dragon shifter that Hel particularly despised, to the male next to him. A big-nosed, slight-chinned servant who was never far from his master. The servant whose name Hel never cared to remember, rubbed his yellowed nails over his weak jaw and pretended to care. Hel wanted to punch him just for the way he looked. A sniveling little rat. But much more interesting than the two of them was the topic of discussion.

On the other side of the room a female stepped in through the tall glass balcony doorway. A stranger in a red dress among a sea of white. Long black tresses cascaded down her back to the apex of her round hips. Her golden skin glowed with a hue only a goddess had. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Hel said. “It worked.”

“What?” War asked following Hel’s gaze across the room.

The goddess of night turned as if she knew they ogled her. Hel had never seen bluer eyes or a face so divine it made something deep inside him ache. She gave a coy smile, one that held secrets and mysteries he wanted to unfold, then she turned back to the golden-haired male beside her.

War’s throat bobbed and that heart of his pounded. The god of war was as enamored as he. “What did you do?”

“Well, the illustrious goddess of night has declined invitations from every single House in Runevale and allows no one in her land. No one knows why so I had to do something. I convinced your mother to display Soulender tonight as a gift to allow everyone to see it, though I’d call it more of a snare.”

“Why would she want Soulender?”

“She’s Drivaar, War. I gambled that the weapon might be the only thing to draw her out and well, I was correct.”

Many millennia ago, the gods split into two, the Drivaar who praise the All Mother as the highest deity and Primevar, who worship the Maker. Hel didn’t worship anyone; the sides were more symbolic but one both would die for.

“There are a hundred other Drivaar here tonight.” A peace agreement between the two sides of gods had lasted a millennium but there was always someone itching to start the conflict up again.

Hel leaned back against the wall wondering what she might smell like. He didn’t care what enemy she’d want to use the dagger on. He’d let her have it and help her use it if that’s what she desired. He wanted to know what her lips tasted like. “She’s the ultimate conquest.”

War smiled and shook his head. “I think she’d be the one to bring you to your knees, not the other way around.”

“I don’t fall in love, War. Love is for fools. I want bragging rights.”

War rolled his eyes. “You’re such an ass sometimes.”

Their Uncle Synick, not related by blood but belonging to the same house as War and Hel’s mentor, slid up behind them and placed a firm hand on each of their shoulders. “Stay away from that one, boys. She’s not stable.”

Hel glanced back. “What do you know about her?” If any of the gods knew, it would be Synick. He was a primordial god, one of the seven original gods of Runevale like her.

“She’s a shut-in. And won’t allow her people out of that prison. She’s paranoid—and powerful. That’s why.”