Loki's Game Read online

  Loki’s Game

  Siobhan Kinkade

  Phoenix and Fae Publications

  Copyright © January 2013, Susan H. Roddey

  Cover art by S.H. Roddey © July 2015

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5152851-6-8

  ISBN-10: 1-515-28516-2

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  SECOND EDITION

  Originally published January 2013 by Sugar & Spice Press, Charlotte NC.

  Dedicated with love to my husband,

  who puts up with more insanity on a daily basis

  than most men do in their entire lives.

  Prologue

  Thousands of years ago…

  Fafnir looked down at his only child, and with a wet, rasping breath the dying dragon uttered the words, “Find the ring.”

  Little more than a whelp, sixteen-year-old Kenna wiped the tears from her eyes. As the battered old dragon returned to human form, she pressed a kiss to his forehead while he took his last breath. Her human mother also lay broken, used bait left on the floor of the cave where the trap had been set. Alone, she was now tasked with her family’s burden.

  “Yes, Father,” she said to the dead man, and rose to her feet. Leading away from the cave—the only home she had ever known—was a trail of gold coins and bloody jewels. The dead dragon’s blood smeared a thin, black trail where the horrid, heart-piercing weapon, Gram, slid along behind its owner. The Great Hero was wounded and obviously not aware of her presence or he likely would have taken much more care in covering his tracks.

  Kenna’s shifter senses picked up the scent of Sigurd’s blood and her instincts took over. His soul was already tainted by the power of the ring and the taste of dragon’s blood left on his fingers; she sensed evil flowing in his veins, warring with the inherent goodness of his station. This man, an unintentional pawn in the gods’ selfish game, had come to retrieve a treasure with the purest of intent… Too bad he was too weak to fight the power he now held.

  Should she not stop him, he would be back to take her father’s heart and roast it over a fire. The birds told her many things, and had she been faster to return to her family’s nest with her news, Fafnir’s life might have been spared and in its place given his brother’s. Regin deserved nothing less than death for his actions.

  No doubt Regin’s hand had been forced by that devious monster, Loki. Her father had warned her that he might want the treasure back. If he chose to take it he would stop at nothing to see that ring back in his hands for the power it held. She had never believed in such foolish stories. Kenna did not doubt the existence of the old gods, but she had never seen one, and aside from the powers bestowed upon her by Fafnir and his bloodline, she refused to let the story scare her.

  Until now.

  Removing her clothing, Kenna knelt close to the ground and allowed necessity to lead her change. When it was complete, she viewed the world through the eyes of a wolf, and the essence of her father’s attacker hung in the air like a cloud, dancing over the dropped gems like tiny beacon lights to lead her on her path.

  Throwing her head back, the wolf-girl howled and leapt out into the night to hunt the dragon slayer and take back those things which had been stolen from her.

  Chapter One

  Rowan Keir paced the floor like a caged animal. Lately he spent more time than could possibly be healthy feeling trapped and restless. The last time he was this on edge all hell had broken loose and sent him on the run, hiding like a coward from an old enemy with a never-ending arsenal of tricks. But he had given Loki the slip four decades ago and had remained as low-profile as possible for just that reason.

  Rowan liked Savannah and he liked the people there. Unfortunately, his nature did not easily lend itself to life as a wealthy recluse. He wanted to be out among people, to socialize and to see the sights. To embrace life even though he had a duty to fulfill—one passed down to him through the generations and through his blood. As the only child of now deceased parents, he was the last protector; the sole keeper of ancient secrets and an even older bloodline.

  His life had been a lonely one since the appearance of Loki. Before the revelation that the old gods were real, he’d spent quite a bit of time in the company of others. The flashy lifestyle could certainly have played a role in his being found, but now to completely abandon himself—his dreams, his desires, his very life?

  Absurd.

  It was far past time for him to rectify the situation. Frustrated to the point of fury, Rowan crossed the room and pulled open the door.

  “Dane!” he called down the hallway. A tall, blond man appeared, his hair slicked back against his head and gathered in a ponytail at the base of his neck. An intelligent, amber gaze met Rowan’s, but the younger man said nothing as he quietly awaited his orders. Even at odd hours, Rowan could never remember seeing Dane anything less than perfectly presented. Certainly older than he appeared, Dane wore an agelessness in his sharp, angular features. Who or what he might be, Rowan had never dared to ask. It didn’t matter to him.

  While there was an odd camaraderie between them—Dane had been in his employ for the past twenty or so years—yet Rowan couldn’t necessarily call him a friend. They had an unspoken understanding of one another which came with a level of almost familial affection, even if he was on payroll. “I need you to run an advertisement in the newspaper, as soon as possible.”

  “For what position?” the young man asked, raising a questioning eyebrow at his boss.

  Odd behavior? Definitely. But isn’t odd behavior what wealthy eccentrics are known for?

  “I need…” Rowan faltered. Dane continued to watch him with the even, unmoving expression eternal patience. The man never lost his temper, and for a brief moment, Rowan felt the overwhelming urge to ruffle his feathers. Just for a moment…but then thought better of it. If not for Dane, he would be completely alone. Rowan sighed. “I have no idea what I need.”

  “A new employee?”

  “Are you going somewhere?” The thought of losing Dane frightened him as little else could. The question brought a hint of a smile to his employee’s lips.

  “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Good.”

  “Then perhaps a girlfriend?” Dane offered, and Rowan scoffed. Yet…a girlfriend might be exactly what he needed to work off some of this nervous energy. Hadn’t he just been telling himself that he needed to get out more? Rowan realized even as he followed that thought down the rabbit hole that he was still pacing and forced himself to stand still.

  “A girlfriend would help,” he admitted, albeit grudgingly.

  “Advertising for one might not be the best way to go about gaining female companionship,” Dane said, his tone cautious. “The caliber of woman you might encounter would be less than appropriate for someone of your stature.” Of course she would, Rowan knew, but he could be considered an eligible bachelor, particularly with his money. There was no doubt in his mind the Savannah social scene would advertise him like he was the next big rock star.

  Exactly the trouble with money.

  He couldn’t have that. Couldn’t return to that high-profile lifestyle. Despite his whereabouts once again being unknown to the trickster, and thanks to Dane for making sure his tracks stayed covered, there was still too much of a chance Loki would find him that way. And Loki finding him would mean having to give up on whatever relationship he might be able to cultivate from the mess that was his life. Rowan had a very specific duty to uphold, a solemn vow to his dying father. And he hated it.

  “I understand,” Rowan said, and met Dane’s questioning gaze. “But how else am I s
upposed to find a mate?”

  “You could go out into the world and meet women like the rest of us.”

  No, that wouldn’t do either. Too much chance for error. “I need advertisement, but I refuse to lie.”

  “Always the noble beast.” The thin smirk at the corner of Dane’s lips made Rowan want to smack the hell out of him. Snide little bastard.

  “It is a requirement, you know.”

  “If you do not mind me saying so, your father, grandmother, and great-grandfather were all foolish. They looked for trouble when they went looking for Loki.”

  “No, they were determined to end the war.” Rowan sighed. “I am a coward.” He hated himself for admitting it, yet the truth would haunt him regardless of his acceptance. To outrun a god would be godlike in itself, and he could not be farther from such.

  “You are very mistaken, sir.”

  “I do not believe you.”

  Dane nodded, and wiped the smug look from his face. “Say I were to help you with this fool’s errand, what exactly would you be looking for?”

  “A female—”

  “I quite hope so.”

  “Smart ass.”

  “I try.” Banter… That was new. Rowan mused over it as he continued with his list of requirements.

  “Late twenties or early thirties. Intelligent. And someone who can easily deal with my…affliction.”

  Dane raised one well-trimmed eyebrow at Rowan, and his left cheek sucked in as if he were chewing it. Rowan deserved to be laughed at for this—it was the single-most inane idea he had ever had. Even in the whole of his six-hundred-plus years on earth.

  “Wanted: single female, twenty-five to thirty-two?”

  “Yes,” Rowan replied with a sigh.

  “A bit fatalistic if you ask me.”

  “Precisely why I didn’t ask you,” Rowan snorted. “If I am going to do this at all, I may as well invite every woman that fits the bill to apply.”

  Dane nodded and started down the stairs, only to pause and look back up. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but this is quite possibly the stupidest idea you have ever had.”

  “Yes,” Rowan said and sighed as he pushed the door closed. “I know it is.”

  * * * * *

  Savannah was not a huge city, but the population was large enough for relative obscurity unless one happened to be a debutante. That those existed at all still confused Rowan, but then again many of his sensibilities bordered on the archaic.

  A caveman among aristocrats, Dane had called him on the first morning the advertisement ran. A fitting description, however annoyed Rowan might have been with it.

  What surprised him even more than the number of debutante balls held in a single year in Savannah was the sheer number of women who responded to his advertisement. For days, Dane spent hours poring over the letters of interest, the résumés, and the personal visits of women seeking any sort of employment, even the most vague kind.

  Rowan tried his hardest to feel guilty about the promise of a job that did not exist, but with each passing day his restlessness grew. The walls seemed to close in on him just a little bit more. And though he knew he was living in relative obscurity, he retained that horrible feeling of being watched.

  He had to find an outlet for the excess energy that even two-hour runs through swampland could not release, and history had taught him that nothing left a man pleasantly tired faster than a few rounds with an energetic woman. The more he thought about it, the more he craved physical human contact.

  And with over two hundred résumés and personal applications to choose from, he was certain at least one of them would hit the mark. Rowan also counted himself lucky in that he had Dane to help weed out some of the less desirable applicants. Poor grammar and spelling were no contest—whatever woman Rowan chose to associate with needed a firm grasp on her language.

  After nearly a week of constant reading of personal documents, Dane appeared before Rowan, slamming his palm down against the stack of papers. This was highly unusual—he never spoke out of turn, never acted out in such a way.

  “Get out.”

  “Excuse me?” Rowan asked, startled by the demand.

  “Leave this office,” Dane said, his new tone of authority surprising. “Get out of the house. Go outside and interact with other people.”

  “Where is the fun in that?”

  “Just do it.”

  Rowan sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair, ruffling the papers on his desk. “I don’t see the need.”

  “Because you are going stir crazy and I am tired of listening to you grunt and groan. Leave the building and don’t come back for at least three hours.” A new fire burned in the blond man’s features, but he remained still as stone. “Go shopping. Go have dinner. Go anywhere. Just go. Now.”

  Dane wasn’t going to back down on this one. Rowan reluctantly rose from his chair, tucked his feet into his shoes, and took the keys his assistant offered him. It would do no good to argue with the pigheaded young man, so rather than waste time, Rowan rose from the chair and started into the labyrinth of hallways that was his house toward the garage.

  When he really thought about it, he realized he was a bit hungry.

  As he opened the car door, he still found himself distracted by the task at hand. If only he could make this work, life would be much less unbearable. But then again, if he did manage to make it work, he might have to leave her behind should Loki come looking for him again. No matter his own personal desires, keeping Loki in the dark was his first priority.

  Rowan shifted the expensive sports car into gear and tore out of the garage, leaving long streaks of black rubber on the fresh-paved street.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m here to answer the ad in the paper.”

  Behind the desk, the well-dressed blond gentleman scarcely acknowledged her presence. He took her resume, looking disinterested. “Appointment?” he snapped, his tone more efficient than rude.

  “Lily Redway.”

  “Have a seat.”

  She did, perching on the edge of the single, stiff chair. The room held only the desk, the receptionist, and this one chair. Panic shot through her, and for a moment she was certain she’d made a mistake in coming here. Any number of things could be happening behind that door across the way. This guy could easily be a serial killer; maybe they were chopping up women and selling their organs on the black market. Maybe the ad was vague for a reason.

  Wanted: single female, 25-32.

  The only other information had been a telephone number and this address. A residence, she’d realized with a bolt of fear. On a whim she had called, only to receive information as vague as and more confusing than what she already knew. Today’s date and a time. “It will all be explained at your meeting,” she’d been told when she questioned the job’s duties, and the call disconnected. She assumed it was the same man that now sat across from her, doing his best to ignore her. The voices were very similar.

  All of that and half a tank of gas to get across town in rush-hour traffic led her to this moment and the breath of paralytic fear as the door opened. Lurch at the desk pointed to it. She swallowed and smoothed her hand across the top of her head, checking for lumps in her hair. Her fingers brushed the still-tight chopsticks holding the dark chignon in place and she rose from the chair. If it weren’t for her complete lack of a job, Lily would have gone running out the front door. Rather than give into her fear, she picked up her courage and crawled deeper into the old mansion, her kitten-heeled sandals clicking on the expensive tile under her feet.

  Behind the door she found a long hallway which exited into a cozy sitting room. It had high ceilings with two large, overstuffed chairs that faced each other. Between the chairs sat a coffee table containing a steaming teapot, two cups, and a jar of honey. A fire crackled happily in the stone fireplace along the back wall, adding ambience to the soft glow of two floor lamps. Paintings hung on the walls; works which, if they were as originals they appea
red to be, should have been in a gallery.

  The house smelled of old wood and furniture polish despite the gentle lighting and freshly-renovated look. She’d always wanted to get into one of these houses and look around, but she never expected that pipe dream to manifest. Despite the vagueness of the ad and the inherent fear of a lurking madman, she appreciated the snooping opportunity it afforded her.

  Even if it was the most unprofessional setting she had ever seen. It felt more like British High Tea than a job interview. But at the same time, these rich kooks liked to do strange things such as this in order to test their would-be employees. Looking around at all of the little personality quirks of the room, Lily assumed she was to sit, but in which chair? Perhaps that was the test.

  She opted instead to stand, meandering to the fireplace to look at the painting above it. It was a Monet, and from the look of the brushstrokes, an original. The owner had to be beyond rich to afford something like that.

  What have I gotten myself into? she wondered as yet another door opened. In walked a tall, broad-shouldered man. His blond hair, while brushed and perfectly neat, hung just beyond his shoulders in soft waves. A set of full, rose-colored lips rested amid pale stubble the same color of his hair. Those sinful lips broke into a broad smile that touched his eyes, making them sparkle. They were the color of the sky, flecked with gold and surrounded by a thick fringe of long lashes most women would kill for. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but carried himself as if he were much, much older. Just the sight of him set her blood boiling in her veins.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Redway,” he said. She picked up a slight accent, but from where she couldn’t be sure. “Please,” he gestured to the chairs with a broad sweep of his arm, “have a seat.” Lily hedged, forcing a smile to her lips. He stood by, patiently waiting, and she looked him over as she closed the space.