He shoved down the urge, resigned he wouldn’t fulfill it. Now or ever. He’d never see her again.
He’d tell her something, though.
The only thing he’d ever tell her.
He bumped into her. Kara would have fallen if she hadn’t had bodies at her back. She felt as if she’d run into a wall of hot steel. And what she smelled of him during that momentary contact was mouthwatering. Then he was bypassing her.
Before she could swallow the letdown, cry out something, ask if he needed help, he looked over his shoulder and his lips moved.
She shouldn’t have heard him over the cacophony. But she did. His hiss seemed to negate every other sound.
“Leave.”
She blinked as he receded toward the back exit of the nightclub with the grim tranquility of someone heading to a gunfight. And he’d told her to get while the getting was good.
The men were following him. Ten of them. The rabid gleam in their eyes was explicit with their intentions. They were going to tear him apart the moment they got him alone.
Her gaze shot around. Some dancers had noticed the ominous procession and were nudging one another and commenting. No one was bothering to investigate or intervene.
There might be nothing worth investigating. They might just rough him up a bit 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?”