Page 3 of Thor's Unexpected Mate

Baldr’s visions were never wrong.

Chapter Two: Flynn

Six Hours Earlier

The chickens were screaming at me again. Why were the chickens always screaming at me?

“What?” I barked at one of the closest hens. “What the hell do you want? You’ve been fed, you have water, and I already cleaned your damn coop like three times this week.”

The hen looked at me, took a step forward, and pecked at my boot. Then she turned her head up, staring at me with one wide golden eye.

“I don’t speak chicken, you grumpy old bitch.”

“Flynn Charles Daniels!” I heard my Nana say from behind me. “Language!”

Having three first names was bad enough, but hearing them all yelled at me from twenty feet away from an old woman that claimed to not be able to hear well was something else.

“What do these damn chickens want?” I called back. “They’re never happy!”

She just shook her head, grinning like she always did. “They want treats.” Leaning down, she lifted a small, covered pail by the front door and began to drum her hand on it, calling out over the yard. “Chick-chick-chickens!”

Her call sounded vaguely chicken-ish and I couldn’t help but laugh as every hen and rooster, no matter where they were or what they were doing, came running from all corners of the farm right up to the front door.

“See?” she smiled, reaching into the pail and throwing a handful of sunflower seeds over the clucking birds. “They just needed a little midday snack.”

My entire family claimed this old woman was insane, but I just didn’t see it. The longer I spent with her, the more I realized she had a lot more figured out than people gave her credit for. She always knew what the animals wanted, she could predict the weather a full day ahead of time without ever watching the reports, and she ran this entire farm by herself for the past twenty years after my grandfather died. The only thing she struggled with was some of the heavy lifting. But considering she was damn near eighty-five, I thought she was doing pretty fucking well.

Now if she’d just get off my back about the swearing.

“You've spoiled them rotten,” I commented as I came back up to the porch. I pulled off my leather gloves and wiped the sweat dripping down my forehead. “They're harassing me day and night.”

“Flynn honey, they're chickens. All they do is eat and make eggs. They have no other motivation.”

“Clearly.” I glanced down at the pitcher of sweet tea sitting on the patio table. “Is that for me?”

“Mm-hmm. Should help you clean up that mouth of yours.”

“Come on Nana. I've heard you say way worse.”

“I use my words like seasoning,” she huffed. “You use yours like manure.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

I poured myself a glass and lifted the cool liquid to my lips, savoring the sensation as it ran down my parched throat. Nana made the best sweet tea in all of Fenris as far as I was concerned. I didn't need to try anyone else's to know that was true.

“You'd know what I meant if your mother didn't run off to the city and stay there. Now you don't have a lick of sense.”

“I'm doing alright,” I protested. “I only got attacked by the goats once this week!”

She shook her head. “What about the milking incident?”

“First of all, I didn't know that it was a boy goat. They all look the same.”

“How many goats only have one udder?!”

“I thought she was an amputee! I was trying not to be judgmental!”

“Flynn Charles…” she sighed, shaking her head.

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