Bjorn Cursed Read online

  Before he could make his move, a female scream filled with anger and a promise of retribution erupted from behind them. Bjorn froze. Goose bumps raced down his arms. His heart pounded. He hadn’t heard a battle cry like that in centuries.

  Broken board in hand, she rushed toward them. Wielding it like a club, she cracked it against the back of one of her attacker’s head. He jerked forward and then crumbled to the ground.

  The man with the gun spun around. A shot rang out.

  Bjorn sprang forward, ripped the gun from the man’s hand, and smashed it against the side of the building with all his strength. The shattered metal pieces scattered to the ground.

  His fists flew, followed by the satisfying crack of bones being broken. Two men were flat on their backs in the blink of an eye. Neither of them moved. The man who’d been hit in the head was still down.

  The woman stood in the meager light that filtered into the alley. Not that he needed it to see. His vision was perfect, day or night.

  She was magnificent with her long, dark blond hair falling to her waist. She had several smaller braids in front, but the bulk of it was free of confinement. Her eyes were the dark blue of the water on a stormy day. Her lips were full, nose narrow, and cheekbones high. Her chin was tilted up.

  His heart stuttered, and he blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing—it was the face that filled his dreams.

  His feet were stuck to the ground. He swallowed heavily and managed one step forward before grinding to a halt. Was she real or a figment of his imagination, conjured out of a deep-seated need that haunted him daily?

  She didn’t back down but held the board higher. “Who are you?”

  The harshness of her words didn’t stop the sweetness of her voice from sinking into the marrow of his bones.

  He was blocking the light. All she could likely see was the outline of a big man. He licked his lips. “Anja, it’s me.”

  Chapter Two

  Those three words hit her like a lightning bolt, jolting all her senses. Memories swept over her like a sudden storm in the spring, leaving her lightheaded and chilled to the bone.

  “Bjorn?”

  He came toward her, his shifted position allowing the light to fall on his large form.

  She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. How was this possible? Leaning on the wall for support, she drank in the sight of him, starved after so many years without him. His bare arms were covered in tattoos. His light hair fell past his shoulders; some of it in braids, the rest free. His features were blunt, his forehead high, and his jaw square. The fierce scowl on his face would undoubtedly scare most, but not her. She knew that face better than she knew her own.

  Her heart raced.

  Not sure she could trust him or her senses, she raised the piece of wood she’d found lying in the alley, gripping it hard enough to drive a splinter into her skin. It had already proved effective, but she’d had the element of surprise, something she wouldn’t have with this man.

  “Tell me something only my husband would know.”

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You have a tiny birthmark under your left breast. It’s a particularly sensitive spot.”

  All the air left her lungs in a rush. Her arms began to tremble. The makeshift club slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers and dropped to the ground with a thud.

  “Bjorn?” It was too much to take in. Her knees buckled, unable to support her weight.

  He surged forward and caught her before she hit the ground. Thickly muscled arms wrapped around her, arms she hadn’t felt in so very long. His strength surrounded her, protected her as he lowered them both to the ground with her perched on his bent knees.

  She raised her shaky hand and touched her fingers to his face. Disbelief mingled with wonder. His skin was warm. His beard was trimmed short, the bristles tickling her fingers. “Is it really you?” Her voice trembled. It was almost too good to believe, the culmination of all her prayers. “I’ve dreamed this so many times.” A single tear trailed down her cheek.

  Too many nights she’d awakened alone, her body hot and aching, her arms empty with none to comfort her.

  “If it is a dream, we’re sharing the same one, Anja.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “My beautiful Anja.”

  Suddenly, none of it mattered—what had brought her here, the dark void, the men who’d threatened her. Her husband was here, and he was alive.

  She slammed her fist into his shoulder. Pain radiated through her hand and down her arm. The man was built like a stone mountain.

  “What the hell was that for?” Eyes wide, he shook his head and rolled his shoulders.

  “Where have you been? I waited and waited.” All those lost years, while she served in Freya’s Hall.

  He groaned and lowered his head, his lips grazing hers. It had been an eternity since their last kiss. “I’m so sorry.” His voice was low, thick with emotion. He pressed his mouth against hers. Heat sizzled through her, snaking down to between her thighs. He took her mouth again and again until all she could think about was kissing him back.

  It was like waking to spring after a never-ending and difficult winter. The wind had settled, the snowmelted, and the sun had come out to wake the land. She was the land, and Bjorn was the sun. They fit together. There was no awkwardness. No hesitation. Just passion and need and love.

  “Bjorn.” She said his name again because she could, because he was here with her. His strong arms trembled as they held her.

  He dragged his tongue over her lips. First the lower, then the upper. Desperate for more, she parted them in silent invitation. When he thrust deep, she met him stroke for stroke. It was all so familiar, yet somehow new. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she held him close, afraid if she let go, he’d disappear and she’d discover this was nothing more than a fevered dream.

  He pulled back, chest heaving, eyes closed. “We need to leave.”

  She glanced toward the mouth of the alley. The men were still lying there. One of them groaned. “Do you have somewhere we can go?” She still had no idea where she was, but that worry paled in the face of the miracle of finding her husband.

  “Yes.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck and squeezed her tight.

  Pain rocketed down the arm she’d tucked against him. She flinched but tried to hide it.

  “What the fuck?” He sniffed the air and zeroed in on the source of her pain. “You’ve been shot?”

  “I’ve been what?” Blood seeped from a wound on her upper arm. One of her attackers had pointed some kind of weapon at Bjorn. It was powerful if it could harm an opponent from a distance. She’d heard of guns but had never seen one until tonight.

  “It’s nothing.” She’d been through worse. “Wrap it. We can’t stay here.” The need to be somewhere safe and alone with him was more urgent than any injury.

  Then she asked the question she’d wanted the answer to since she’d been cast out of the void. “Where are we?”

  Bjorn lifted her off his lap. She immediately missed his heat, his solid presence against her. Oblivious to her unease, he was busy removing his short-sleeved shirt and ripping a piece from it. He folded the rest into a pad and pressed it against the wound. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying aloud, not knowing if the men who’d confronted her had friends nearby. Then her husband wrapped the smaller strip around the pad, making sure it was secured.

  Her husband.

  It didn’t seem possible.

  “Is this Odin’s Hall in Valhalla?” She’d never been there. Wherever she was, there were no traditional buildings or clothing in sight.

  The pants Bjorn wore looked comfortable. They were very formfitting, emphasizing his heavily muscled thighs and narrow waist, and lovingly cupping his manhood. She liked them quite a bit.

  “No, this is New York City.”

&n
bsp; “New York City,” she repeated. “In the New World?” She’d heard mention of this place from some of the more recent arrivals to the afterlife but hadn’t paid too much attention, never expecting to end up here. This was not their home or their people. Maybe that explained her attackers. They’d find no friends here.

  His eyes widened and then narrowed. “Yes. How do you know that?”

  Anja swallowed hard and ignored his question in favor of her own. “How is that possible? Why are you here?”

  And how had she gotten here?

  “It’s a long story.” He stood and offered her his hand. She took it and was pulled to her feet. “And that’s only the tip of the iceberg.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. “Tell me, Bjorn. I need to know.”

  A shudder wracked his big body when she said his name. Her husband was a huge man, a skilled warrior, one feared by all but his family. With her, he’d always been different, showing her a softer side he hid from all others.

  “You’ve been gone for centuries.”

  She knew he was right. Time flowed differently in the afterlife, but she’d been gone a long time.

  He tugged her forward, and they moved past the unconscious men. The sight that met her eyes was more than she could fully comprehend. There were tall buildings for as far as the eye could see. And lights, so many lights. The road was a solid slab of rock; so was the piece they were standing on.

  Her head spun and the world began to grow dark. Had the void come to retrieve her? To suck her back into the nothingness?

  She clutched her husband’s arm, her entire body shaking. “Don’t let it take me.”

  “Let what take you?” His big body was tense, alert for any danger. She could finally rest. Bjorn would watch over her until she was back on her feet.

  The wondrous place she found herself in, this New York City, faded from view. The blackness swallowed her whole.

  …

  Bjorn caught Anja up in his arms and cradled her against his chest. His mind was whirling. He was afraid to blink for fear she’d disappear. This was a miracle. The terror in her voice had him on alert, his senses jacked up.

  A low growl broke from his chest and shook the ground under his feet. His wolf wanted to maim the men who’d dared accost her. He shrugged off the urge and walked away, holding his precious burden close.

  He had no idea how much blood she’d lost, if the gunshot was her only serious injury. Her left hand was wrapped as well. He’d been so caught up in the moment, so shocked from finding his wife, all else had faded from his consciousness.

  Nothing was more important than getting her to safety. And right now, the most secure place in the city was Maccus Hunt’s apartment.

  “Fuck the cameras.” Putting on a burst of speed, he raced through the streets, keeping to the shadows. If there were any images, he’d have Asher hack whatever system they were in and get rid of them.

  Air flowed around them filled with the stench of the city—exhaust fumes, trash, human sweat and perfume, food of every variety. But overlaying all of it was the scent of his woman.

  So many nights he’d lain awake, cursing himself that he could no longer remember her unique fragrance. It was a mixture of warm woman combined with mint, thyme, and other spices she used for cooking. It was the smell of home.

  He slowed when he arrived at his destination. Avoiding the main entrance and security cameras, he went around to Maccus’s private door and slapped his hand on the security panel. “Let me in or I’ll break it down.”

  The light changed from red to green. Bjorn shoved the door open. It slammed shut behind him as he made his way across the garage. The elevator was already waiting, the door ajar. It slid shut when he stepped inside.

  Now that they were relatively safe, he allowed himself to really look at her. The bright lights of the elevator illuminated every inch of the woman in his arms.

  Nothing had changed. At least not outwardly.

  Her dark blond hair cascaded over his arm. Her skin was fine and soft, and far too pale for his liking. She was big for a woman at five-ten, but he was still a foot taller. Her lips were slack, but they always tilted upward in a smile whenever she saw him. Didn’t matter if he’d been gone for weeks or months on a trading trip or if he’d been out to tend the animals in the morning.

  Only she had looked at him as though he was special, as though he’d been built for more than just war. She’d made him want to be a better man.

  And he’d let her down.

  Not this time. The vow solidified inside him until it became the very blood that pumped through his veins and powered his heart. It sank into the marrow of his bones. Whatever it took to protect her, he would do it.

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. An immovable object, Maccus waited, bare arms crossed over his massive chest, exposing myriad tattoos of knives and ancient blades. His black gaze fell from Bjorn’s face to the woman cradled in his arms. His brows snapped down and a scowl covered his face.

  “Who is she?”

  Bjorn growled and bared his teeth, his wolf perilously close to the surface. A dagger appeared in Maccus’s hand, manifested from his body, one of his tattoos made real.

  He should never have brought Anja here. What had he been thinking? That suddenly the Brotherhood would be warm and welcoming after centuries of them mostly going their different ways?

  They’d be more likely to turn against him once they knew who she was. They had women of their own to protect.

  He took a step back, keeping Maccus in sight. Yeah, this had been a stupid move. He should’ve run for the hills where he could shift and be at his strongest.

  That was a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to having. What would he tell her? Hey, I was so angry and out of control after you died that I managed to get Odin’s attention. And guess what? He turned me into a berserker wolf that killed not only everyone who harmed you but their families, too. And I bit anyone who got in my way and turned them into werewolves.

  That would not go over well.

  But that was a problem for another time. Right now, Maccus was the bigger threat.

  “I’ll take her and leave.” All his years of service to the Brotherhood should grant him that much leeway.

  “What’s going on?” The female voice broke their standoff. The knife disappeared in a flash, returning to Maccus’s body to become a tattoo once again. He swept one big arm in front of her, stopping his woman from getting between them. What did Maccus think he was going to do? Drop Anja and attack Morrigan?

  “You should leave us,” Bjorn said. “Things could get ugly.”

  Morrigan ignored him and turned her attention to Maccus. She was likely the only one in creation who didn’t walk in fear of the man. “Who is the woman?” she asked. “She’s hurt and needs attention.”

  “It’s complicated,” Maccus began.

  Morrigan dragged her fingers through her short cap of red hair, her green eyes flashing. “When isn’t it?” She rubbed her hand on Maccus’s arm. “Whatever is going on, this woman needs help.”

  Maccus’s scowl deepened. “I’m going to regret this. Come in. While you’re here, she’s safe. My life would be a living hell if I did anything else.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Morrigan nudged her man. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, a smile twitched at the corners of Bjorn’s mouth. Morrigan led the way into the living room and motioned to the sofa. “Put her down there. We don’t have much in the way of medical supplies, but I can get towels and warm water.”

  Maccus raised his hand, staying her before she could leave. “Who is she?”

  He went to his knees and laid his precious load gently on the cushions. He brushed her hair back from her face. Raising his head, he met Maccus head-on. “This is Anja— my wife.”

  Chapter Threer />
  “I knew you were going to say that. I fucking knew it.” Maccus yanked out his phone, his movements abrupt as he made the call. “Get over here. Now.” He hung up and slipped his phone back in his pocket.

  Morrigan had her hand on her mouth as she looked from Anja to Bjorn and back again. “How is that possible?”

  He grazed the tips of his fingers over her forehead and along her cheek, still not able to believe she was real. As long as he’d lived, he’d never met another woman who’d tugged on his heart, mind, and body in equal measure.

  “Might as well wait until Asher gets here so I only have to tell the story once.” Because that’s who Maccus had contacted. There was no one else he’d bring into this situation.

  That Anja still hadn’t stirred since she’d passed out worried him. Her heartbeat was strong and steady, which was the only reason he wasn’t totally losing it. She’d been afraid when she’d lost consciousness. The terror in her voice had all his protective instincts heightened.

  “She took a gunshot to the upper arm. I’m not sure what happened to her hand.” He wanted to remove the makeshift bandages and inspect the damage but not until he had the proper supplies to deal with her wounds.

  Morrigan disappeared down the hall and returned with a warm, wet cloth and a towel. “It’s not much, but at least you can clean away the dirt and excess blood. After you check her injuries, make a list and I’ll get whatever you need.”

  Bjorn nodded, unable to look away from his wife’s face. There were no wrinkles on her skin, no gray in her hair. Looking at her, it was hard to believe she’d borne him three children. His gut clenched as their smiling faces rose from the depths of his memories. He prayed they were safe in the afterlife, even if their young lives had ended too soon.

  He had so many questions, not the least of which was how she’d gotten here.

  “Anja.” He ran his hands over her forearms and the rough material of her tunic. Her clothing was traditional. He hadn’t seen their like outside of a museum or Hollywood in a long time. It suited her wild and untamed spirit, though he had no doubt she’d look right at home in modern clothing. “Wake up.”