The Omega Prophecy

3. Annabel

THREE

ANNABEL

Grim only blinked mildly at me. “Yes. I hear most people are.”

I gaped. He looked so much like the man I’d been seeing in my dreams, the ones my mom referred to as my “daymares.” I’d chalked it all up to stress over school, whether I’d get my doctorate, whether the university would offer me a position. But now, staring at Grim, I couldn’t help but think….

What? That you’re psychic? Please.

Grim looked over my head and beyond Bjarni. “They didn’t say anything about her being dim.”

“Says the man who spends all his free time with horses,” Saga snorted, moving to push past Bjarni. “Is there one she can ride? We want her to have a pleasant stay, remember?” The way he emphasized the last word, I got the distinct impression there’d been some conversation about my arrival—and that perhaps Grim hadn’t been fully pleased.

Bjarni interrupted the tense moment by turning abruptly, swinging Slagathor down off his shoulders and onto Saga’s. “Here, hold this.”

Slagathor bleated sharply, thrashing to escape. Saga had no choice but to grab onto her, or risk getting his skull kicked in.

“Ah, yes,” Grim murmured as his gaze drifted over me. Compared to his brothers’, there was a distinct lack of interest in his mismatched eyes. “We wouldn’t want Miss Turner to be unhappy.”

I c****d a brow. His rudeness had managed to cool my shock at seeing one of my daymares made flesh, reminding me that déjà vu happened to everybody. It didn’t mean anything. “Unhappy?”

This time when Bjarni took me by the waist, it was with both hands. “What my brother is trying to say is that we’ve been looking forward to your visit and want to make sure you have a good time.”

A good time my a*s. Bjarni might be somewhat better at manners than both his brothers, but it was blatantly obvious what kind of “good time” he was thinking about as he pulled my back tight against his front. He was even discreetly scenting me, his breath hot on my scalp despite the chill in the air. Something stiff grew rapidly against the swell of my a*s, poking me in the lower back.

I squirmed away, fighting back the prickle of sensation spreading all across my skin.

“Is Draugr your horse?” I asked. Grim might be rude and kind of scary, but at least he didn’t seem to want any part in whatever f****d-up game his brothers had going. I was getting the unpleasant thought that they had some sort of wager going for who could bed the American girl—and I wasn’t interested.

Even if they looked like Norse gods.

Not one bit.

“He is.” Grim shot Bjarni a look over my shoulder, then returned his unsmiling focus to me. “You can’t ride him.”

“Oh, okay.” I managed a light tone, despite his unfriendly demeanor. Did he have to be such a prick about it?

Saga muttered something in Icelandic, and from the tone it sounded like he was scolding Grim.

“We have so many horses, surely you can find one for the girl to ride,” Bjarni said, his hand clasping lightly around my shoulder. I considered squirming away again, but that would bring me into Grim’s personal space—a place I had no desire to invade.

“Ideally one that won’t break her neck,” Saga added.

Grim turned away from us to face the horse again. “Draugr is getting shoed. I have to finish before you can harass him.”

“I would never…,” I began, but Saga cut in.

“Let her pat the horse, Grim.” He sighed, shifting the peeved-looking sheep still wrapped over his broad shoulders. “You should be happy she doesn’t mind ugly beasts.”

“He’s not ugly!” I snapped, glaring at Saga for insulting the gorgeous horse.

“Maybe not ugly, per se,” Saga said, that damned smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth. “But that sour disposition doesn’t usually help him with the ladies.”

Too late, I realized who he was talking about and it wasn’t the horse.

“I meant Draugr,” I muttered, turning my glare at the chuckling Bjarni.

“Fine. Hold his head still while I shoe his hind hooves then,” Grim said. Despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm at my presence as he disappeared into the stall, I was thankful he didn’t join in with his brothers’ teasing. “You two, get that bleating ball of wool out of my stables. Draugr hates it.”

I turned my back on Saga and Bjarni just as Saga lifted Slagathor off his shoulders and slung her across Bjarni’s. “Go shear her before she manages to kick anyone’s ribs loose. I’ll make sure Grim doesn’t scare our pretty guest off in the meantime.”

Bjarni muttered something that sounded an awful lot like a curse, but his heavy footfall disappeared out the stables, followed by Slagathor’s furious bleating.

I ignored them both, and the goosebumps spreading down my back when Saga’s stare returned to my a*s, and instead focused my attention on Draugr.

“Hello, pretty boy,” I cooed, grabbing his harness with one hand so I still had one free to pet his muzzle. I hadn’t been around horses much since I started my postgrad, my academic schedule not leaving much time to a life outside the university. Once upon a time I’d been an eager rider, and the beautiful Icelandic horses were not a small part of why I’d been looking forward to visiting.

I inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh smell of horse and hay—but wrinkled my nose when the scent of alpha hit. No matter how hard I tried to ignore them, it was impossible to escape the Lokisson sons’ presence permeating every inch of the compound.

“There,” Grim said, lowering Draugr’s hind hoof. “He is ready to return to his friends now.”

“I can lead him,” I said when he reached for the reins. Too late, I realized that Grim was reaching for them too, and our fingertips brushed against each other.

His skin was so cold it chilled my skin, a sharp contrast to his brothers’ alpha heat. Icy tendrils traveled up my arm, making my heart stutter in my chest.

He stared at me, capturing me with those mismatched eyes as effectively as a snake charmer.

Once when I was much younger, I’d fallen through some thin ice. The water took my breath away, slicing through me, into my bones like a thousand knives. For a moment, my heart had stopped beating altogether. My dad was quick to pull me out, but I was sure I’d never be warm again.

Touching Grim, and the way he looked at me when I did, made me feel exactly the same—as if I were being suffocated by my body’s inability to draw in breath from the shock of cold seizing it.

A distant image echoed through my mind, a glimmer from the dream I’d had of him. He’d stood over me, face twisted in rage. Hatred burning in his gaze.

I gasped and stumbled back a step, but Grim didn’t stare at me with violent rage in the real world, just silent disapproval as if my mere presence were an affront to him in some way.

Grim narrowed his eyes slightly at me. “Draugr is not for you to handle. He will only follow me.”

He took the reins without another word, shoulder-checking Saga on his way out the gate.

“Don’t take it personally,” Saga said lightly, as if he hadn’t noticed the tension in the stables. “He’s always a bit of a prick, especially when it comes to his precious horses. Come, let’s see if he’ll be able to get his head out of his a*s long enough to find you a gentle one to ride.”

We followed Grim out to the pen where the other horses were. It was an open, massive space, save for the fencing around the perimeter, and teeming with fine examples of the Icelandic horse breeds. They’d shed their winter coats and were all the sleeker for it, meandering about in a kaleidoscope of gray, blond, white, and russet shades.

I came right up to the fence, standing on its lowest cross section as Grim slipped Draugr free of his harness and lead. Then he opened the gate and ushered him in, locking it up once he was finished.

Draugr trotted out to meet his friends, shaking his mane and pawing at the dirt to test his new shoes. A pale mare and her dapple-gray foal glanced up at him, ears twitching. It struck me that every horse in here was much bigger than typical for the breed.

Just like Saga’s truck. And their house.

“What do you use them for?” I said as Grim returned from the gate. There were so many, clearly they weren’t just work horses for the farm.

“We sell them to others, mostly.” He was winding the leather lead around his palm and between his fingers. “For competition riding or leisure. Sheep herding, of course. We would have used one to fetch Slagathor, if Bjarni hadn’t insisted it impugned his honor.”

Saga arched a sardonic brow. “Aren’t you going to tell her the other reason, brother?”

Grim shrugged. “You told me not to upset her.”

I climbed down off the fence, a sinking feeling settling in my gut. “It’s not for glue, is it?”

“No,” Saga said. “It’s for eating. Horse meat is considered a delicacy. Though the leftovers do end up at the glue factory.”

I winced. It wasn’t like I was so soft I couldn’t handle knowing, but the thought still hurt my heart, especially as I watched the little foal trot over to the water trough with its mother. Neither of them were likely to be on the chopping block; the mare was still in her prime, and since they’d bred her, the foal had to belong to a buyer. And surely that buyer would purchase an adult horse to butcher, not a baby.

Right?

“Um… could we take some out? To ride?” I asked, wanting desperately to take my mind off the grim reality of farm life.

Grim sighed and headed back to the pen. When he returned, he was leading a docile-looking chestnut mare. She had gentle eyes underneath a thick forelock and nickered softly as he tied her to the fence.

“I can groom her,” I offered, some of my gloom already disappearing at the prospect of running my fingers through her heavy mane.

“No.” Grim didn’t so much as look at me as he turned around and disappeared back into the stables.

“Is he always like this?” I muttered.

Saga chuckled. “More or less. Don’t worry, sweetling. I am very happy you’re here. And I’ll keep my brother in check.”

I drew in a deep breath when he slipped an arm around me. He was pleasantly warm against my stiff body, a sharp contrast to both Grim and the Arctic air, but the intimacy of the gesture unsettled me nearly as much as his brother’s mismatched eyes. The lungful of alpha scent I got when I breathed in didn’t help ease the churn in my abdomen, either.

I squirmed out of his grip, and he let me, though when I shot him a glare for—yet again—grabbing me like we were in any way intimate, the amused challenge in his eyes had trepidation rising in my throat. Clearly, he wasn’t planning on relenting with this little game anytime soon.

A touch of relief flickering through my chest when Grim returned, grooming tools, bridle, and saddle in arms. As much as the dark-haired brother unsettled me, I vastly preferred his presence rather than being alone with Saga for any stretch of time.

I looked away from the two brothers, studying the landscape as Grim began grooming the chestnut mare. It was so beautiful here, even if the rugged nature of the terrain had a haunting quality. The dark clouds gathering behind the hills surrounding the farm were eerie in their majesty.

Movement on a nearby ridge caught my eye, and I frowned when I saw a hunched-down figure. At first, I thought it might be Bjarni, but then the wind picked up, tossing the man’s fire-red hair into the open.

I looked over my shoulder at the two Lokisson brothers. “Do you have any farmhands around?” It would make sense, considering the size of the farm, but I hadn’t seen anyone but the three brothers so far.

“No, why?” Saga raised his eyebrows in question at me, and I turned back to the ridge to point out the man watching us. But he was gone.

In his place, a dark shadow stretched along the grass, creeping down the hill toward the Lokisson farm. It was so dark and menacing every hair on my body rose at the sight, and it took me a moment to realize it was just the cloud casting its shadow on the ground as it rolled over landscape.

“That doesn’t look good,” Saga said, and despite his light tone I noticed the serious note in his voice. “I think we best get inside.”

A few of the horses whinnied, gathering in clumps near the gate. A cool wind cut through the air, hitting my cheeks like a slap, and over its howl Grim said, “It’s starting. You go—I’ll settle the horses.”

“What’s starting?” I asked, frowning at the clouds as the wind picked up, penetrating my clothes like knives made of ice. Without meaning to, I stepped back toward Saga, seeking out his warmth to combat the chill already sinking into my bones.

“The storm,” Saga said, easing his arm around my midriff again. This time I let it stay there. It felt good—like a warm anchor ensuring I wouldn’t be torn to shreds by the freezing winds now tumbling off the hills. “Come—it’s going to snow any second. Trust me, you don’t want to be outside when it starts.”

I followed when he tugged on me to get me to follow him, away from the horse pen and Grim toward the safety of the house. “You guys get bad blizzards this late in the spring?”

“Not usually,” he admitted at a rumble, “though stranger things have happened.”

It was such a clear day. “Where did these clouds come from?” I said, grimacing as an unexpected cramp pulled at my abdomen. Not this again. I did not want to get sick in the middle of a blizzard, this far from civilization and the nearest doctor.

But it eased when Saga pressed a hand firmly against my lower stomach, engulfing it in warmth. “Precipitation. What do they teach you in American schools?”

My gratitude died somewhat at his mocking, and I shot him a glare for good measure. He didn’t look down at me so he didn’t notice, but that insufferable smirk was back on his lips.

Even if my random cramps turned out to be nothing more than the early onset of my period, I still didn’t look forward to the risk of getting snowed in on the farm with three alphas.

Hopefully their parents would make it back before the conditions became too dangerous for travel.

The wind nipped at my nape, and I glanced over my shoulder at the ridge one last time. The redheaded figure was back. He was watching us as we neared the pond by the main house.

I blinked, trying to clear my eyes to get a better view of him, but when I opened them again he was gone, leaving only the stinging kiss of the wind on my cheek.