Page 21 of Odin

Odin heard Freyja's call as clearly as though she was sitting beside him, close enough to read the pages of the book he'd picked up. But no matter how much he longed to answer it, to join her in bed for all the delights her body could provide, he knew he hadn't earned that privilege yet.

He had a thousand years of history to catch up on. Maybe more, if he judged this history book correctly. He estimated he'd entered his enchanted sleep more than twelve hundred years ago, before the death of Karl the Great, the emperor the book called Charlemagne. More interesting was the lack of reference to Jarl Erik and his conquests, though Erik had been no less ambitious. He couldn't help but wonder what had erased Erik from history's record, while Karl remained.

Finally, he finished reading the books he had, and ventured back to the scriptorium for some more. He did not need sleep, like Freyja, but he took a moment to check on her, all the same.

Only to discover he'd been a fool. Yes, there were many dangers in this strange future he must protect her from, but some things did not change. The cold could kill just as readily now as it did in his time – and he would never have been careless enough to allow Frigg or his sons to sleep in such chilly conditions.

For as Freyja slept, she shivered – something he could not, in conscience, allow to continue.

He slipped beneath the blankets, taking her in his arms, even breaking out his wings to wrap around her, to warm her. She was softness itself, fitting into his embrace so perfectly, it was like he'd been made for her. Or she'd been made for him.

He breathed in her scent. Her hair smelled of some sort of fruit he did not recognise, but as his lips hovered over the nape of her neck, desperate to drop a kiss there, her scent grew saltier, yet also sweeter. Like she'd bathed in honey before going out on the roof with him to clear off the snow.

Maybe that was why she tasted so very sweet...

He dropped a kiss in the air above her neck, resisting every urge to offer her more. It would be so easy to slide down her trousers, to slip inside her wet heat, and warm her from the inside as well, as he gave her a thousand kisses.

But he did not, though he was harder than the living stone he was made of by the time she was warm, and he forced himself to leave her bed, taking another stack of books to occupy his mind so that he might better protect her. Only when he properly understood this world he'd awoken in, would he be able to truly protect her as she deserved.

Until he could protect her from every possible threat while she slept would he permit himself to surrender to her pleasure when she woke.

Protecting her should be motive enough for his studies, but more than once, Odin allowed his body to follow his wandering mind to her bed, where he might bury himself inside her and revel in every clench as her muscles tightened around him, while she screamed for joy. But all he did was make sure she was warm enough before forcing himself back to his books.

He would share this joy with her again, he promised himself, as he turned his eyes to the page, to read what he had not yet learned.

TWENTY-FIVE

The library was surprisingly warm when Freyja woke up. Or maybe that was just her makeshift bed on the floor, with so many blankets piled on top of her, it took considerable effort to climb out from under them.

Yes, definitely the blankets, keeping the warmth in, she decided, pulling on her jacket. Sure, her breath wasn't condensing the moment it left her mouth any more, but this was hardly a typical summer morning temperature. Even a Norwegian one.

She headed back to her room for some clothes, and the way the temperature dropped as she entered the accommodation block, she almost began to believe the place might be haunted. It would be funny if it was the ghost of the guy whose body was supposed to be sitting in the necropsy freezer – they could look for his lost body together.

Though it was unlikely they'd find it before the university PR team and the police arrived.

This might be her last morning as a free woman.

So she took her time in the shower, now the hot water was working again, and debated whether she should use the last of the bread to make toast, or go for something more fancy, as her last meal here and all. Wait, was that pancake mix? She grabbed the packet. Yep, the sort that you only needed to add water, to, so even she couldn't stuff them up.

While the frying pan heated up, she dug out syrup and butter – no way was she eating margarine today if she'd be eating prison rations for the foreseeable future. She methodically poured, flipped, plated, then poured again, methodically making a stack of pancakes that would easily last her 'til lunch, and still there was way too much batter for one person.

If Olaf was around, she'd offer to make some for him, too, seeing as he was probably responsible for getting the backup power up and running again, but she hadn't seen any sign of him.

Maybe he was already outside with the snow blower, clearing the way for the police to come and arrest her.

So she shouldn't waste her last hour of freedom making pancakes for the traitor.

Unless...making it easier for the police to come and get her put them in a better mood, and maybe they'd be nicer, or decide not to bother with handcuffs. Then again, with the university PR team here, including a photographer, her face would probably be splashed across all the newspapers again whether she wore handcuffs or not.

Was it too late to contact Ingrid and tell her not to come? The police would turn up anyway, of course, but if she told Ingrid the body was missing, then maybe she wouldn't have to face the photographer. Small mercies...

She fetched her laptop and opened it on the cafeteria table, making herself a second coffee while she waited for the wifi connection to start working and load the emails that had come in while the power and the wifi were down.

Amid the mess of spam and the usual generic notices from the university was an email from Ingrid, dated yesterday.

Apparently, the roads were closed, due to the unseasonable snow, so neither Ingrid nor the police would be able to get to the lab before next week, at the earliest. Was there any chance she could delay working on the body until then, so the police forensics team could have the first stab at it?

Freyja wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Sure, she could absolutely keep her hands off the body...because she had no idea where the fucking thing was. But the snow had bought her a week's reprieve. What was the legal term for it? A stay of execution? Not that they had the death penalty here in Norway or back home either, but last time it had felt like her life ending, and she knew this time would be no different.

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