Page 71 of Tyr

Please, don’t let him be there. Please. Please.

Shakily, she pushed the branches apart, but it was too dark, so she reached out, and her fingers slid across something that felt like leather.

“Celeste, don’t.” Tyr pulled her into him as Heimdall peered into the bushes.

Celeste hung limp in Tyr’s arms as memories flooded her.

Her dad taking her to the park. Going to a hockey game. Camping in the Redwoods. Lunch at the pier. Him letting her win at Monopoly. Teaching her how to use her gift. The tears as he left her. Then, reaching for him on lonely nights, only to find him nowhere.All of it, gone. Done. Over. There would be no more memories.

The anger and pain multiplied inside her so all-encompassing that she could not hold it back. She wailed up at the sky, allowing all of her pain and anger loose into the air.

The sound that emanated from her was one she’d never heard nor made before. So primal. Visceral. From a place deep inside she’d never accessed.

The cry went on and on until she had no breath left. It cut off, and she fell back against Tyr.

She wept into his chest, clinging to him for support. He pulled her to him and held her close.

A minute passed. Dead. Her father was dead. And her mother had killed him.

A light shot across the sky. Then another, and another, and another. And like strikes of lightning, a dozen or more golden beings stood in the front yard.

Angels.

Heimdall assessed the beings surrounding them and put his hand on his hip but didn’t speak.

The angels inspected the area, and their eyes all lit on her mother.

One of them turned to Celeste. The woman’s hard eyes pierced straight through her, and Celeste recognized the angel immediately.Grandmother.

A tense silence stretched out over the group, and finally, her grandmother spoke.

“Take them.”

Two angels stepped toward her mother, and Heimdall pulled a small knife from his belt that grew to over five feet long and ten inches wide. He stabbed it into the ground and leaned on it, making the angels stop and pull their own weapons.

At the same time, four other angels walked toward where Tyr held Celeste. He sat her on her feet and retrieved his own flaming blade.

“Wait,” said Celeste.

“You should move before I have my soldiers cut you down.” Her grandmother’s gaze remained fixed on Tyr. “These two are our business, not yours.”

“I beg to differ,” Tyr replied. “Celeste is my mate. That makes her my business. Don’t force us to cut you all down in her defense.”

“Do you know who you are speaking to?” one of the angels spat. “This is the Archangel Sariel.”

“Do you know who that is?” Heimdall retorted. “That’s Tyr, Norse God of War. And I’m Heimdall, Guardian of Asgard. Amongst other things.”

The angels stopped and looked to Sariel for orders.

“You can try to take Celeste,” said Tyr, “but you’ll not do so until I am dead. And seeing as I cannot die…”

Celeste swiped her eyes and got to her feet. “I think it’s time for my mother to go home. She’s done enough damage.”

Somehow, when she had cried out it had been a beacon to the angels, and they had come to her aid. And she needed aid because she could no longer deal with her mother without killing her. And as much as she wanted to kill her mother… she just couldn’t.

Her grandmother took her in. “And you?”

Celeste slipped her hand into Tyr’s. “I’ll be with my husband. In the Underworld.”

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