Page 123 of Veil of Blood and Bone

She tries to smile, lips pursed as she reaches for an embrace she isn’t sure will come. I press my mouth to the space beneath her chin where her pulse catches, skimming up and stealing comfort from her scent.

I angle to deepen it⁠—

“God, Helene. Having a first kiss with three men in two days is a little much. Don’t you think so?”

Audra’s voice hooks me like a harpoon.

Helene jerks from my hold. “Audra.”

Surprise and embarrassment sours her tone, and I reluctantly pull my hands free. Before she rises and goes to the sister who lingers in the doorway, I grab her wrist.

“It’s not the first time you’ve kissed all of us on the same day,” I whisper. “And while all three would prefer to be your only...we’ve grown tolerant of each other over the years.”

“Tolerant?” she whispers back.

“Excuse me? I’m feeling let out of the conversation here.” Audra limps into the room, holding tight to the wall, her gait uneven.

“We know how to share,” I clarify. “We've found ways to use it to our advantage.”

I raise up and lean in close to her ear, loving her shiver. “There are certain things that can only be accomplished with three talented and dedicated lovers.”

Chapter 25

Forest

Will the books help her remember? Will they help me?

The raven’s claws clutch the handle of a duffel bag, a handful of volumes nestled within.

I hope they will. I hope, if I go back to Helene with her sister’s journals, something will spark inside of her the way it did in me.

Optimism is fickle. As nebulous as the wind battering me closer to the ground.

Decay and sourness battle with the freshness of snow, the air unseasonably cold. Kari’s doing, no doubt.

The weather has been strange and unusual lately. The sun hasn’t shown its face in more than a week, small glimpses of gold like stolen treasure.

This place, the thinning veil, the leaking mist from Ginnungagap, it all means something.

Why can’t I figure out the way it fits together? It’s right there within reach, but somehow It’s not fitting.

Memories of the past and present blend into an interwoven disarray.

Pellets of hail drive against my eyes, and a chill ruffles my feathers, sending me off course.

I fly sideways, ducking underneath the protective dome of an elm tree missing most of its leaves. Ahead, the river Heath churns, unsettled. Its current sends small rifts of ice clacking downstream.

I loop the strap over a broken nub of branch and settle on the thicker limb. The storm has only begun. It will worsen in the witching hours until snow devolves into a wintry mix no one is foolish enough to fight.

Except me.

I’m nothing but a fool.

A bolt of lightning crashes across the black horizon beyond. Sleet and spark.

Realization settles in following the crash, and I see the storm for what it is. It’s magical, yes, but it’s not Kari’s this time.

This is elemental. This is powerful and potent and not even Norse.