From afar, she could hear voices approaching and she desperately hoped for broth or a blanket, perhaps. It sounded like three or four people, and among them a female voice comforted her at first, but then she realized who it could be. This gave her a new coldness to suffer from and she buried her face between her knees. The voices grew louder, the female being the most prominent voice and not a moment later, after the echo of a steel lock being clacked open, three people entered the cell. One was the man in the suit Nina recognized as one of the two men in the cemetery who abducted her. With him was the horrid looking imp who had kidnapped Gunnar, the leader of the Sleipnir Motorcycle Club, Jasper Slokin. The awful little bastard was fidgeting madly at the sight of her, so eager to please the towering mistress next to him. Like an Omega, he cowered in her shadow, constantly looking up at her as he spoke, seeking approval and praise, none of which she ever freely gave to anyone.
Nina laid eyes on the woman Val had told her about, the untouchable genius with the delusion that she could extinguish all resistance that still existed in this world. The historian combed Lita’s stature, instantly fathoming the intimidation she wielded in others. Tall and powerful the scarlet haired Amazon stood between the two men, her eyes dropped to the ground for a moment as she waited for Slokin’s groveling to subside.
“Where is the old man now?” she asked. Nina started at her voice. It was remarkably beautiful for its damaged quality and she listened attentively to the eccentric woman’s pronunciation. It was odd. There was a German hardness to her consonants, broken only by the rolling of some of her vowels that gave it a Scandinavian flair. She was most certainly not Scottish, but she resided in Edinburgh most of the time, for Scotland’s central location served her best in her endeavors to chase after Viking relics.
“He is en route, madam,” the man from the cemetery replied quickly and clearly. It struck Nina as if the man was terrified and responded with utmost efficiency and speed as not to aggravate his employer. Then she remembered what Val had told her about Lita. She was so intelligent that she had gone insane, but her knowledge of psychology foiled any attempts at having her committed. Cleverly, she would play her way around their diagnoses, changing her behaviorisms daily to elude their damning findings and nullify their arguments. It only reinforced their opinion of her mentally unstable capacity for manipulation.
“When he gets here, bring him to me immediately,” she ordered.
“Yes, madam,” the man said, and with a nod he left the room.
Nina looked up through the dark strands of her hair. She felt strangely numb, but she could feel an impending fear sleep just beneath it and it made her unsure of her position.
“Dr. Nina Gould,” Lita rasped as she lit a cigarillo. Her long red hair was rolled up in a bun that sat right at the top of her head and it looked like an absurd pagoda. It made her neck look exceedingly long under her obviously Teutonic features. A striking ruby pendant adorned the center of her chest, just below the jugular notch where Nina’s keen eye detected a small vertical scar. She reckoned that it had something to do with the woman’s voice — an operation, perhaps?
“What do you want?” Nina snapped, but she kept her hostility to a level of disregard instead of disrespect.
The barefoot lady strode gracefully toward her cell, kissing the tip of her cigarillo to suck in the smoke it yielded. Her long red dress reminded Nina of the old paintings in books on Arthurian Legend. Folding only under Lita’s breasts where her abdomen was flattest, it flowed down closely against her hips and thighs until the hem came to rest on the wet floor.
“What do I want?” Lita asked with a wry smile, birthing thick white smoke as her lips parted into words. “From you? Absolutely nothing. You are bait, doctor. That is the only use I have for you.”
“Bait for whom?”
“Bait… for what, you mean,” she winked. “I want that trinket your bitch friend claimed and hid among her harlots. I know all about that,” Lita said and cast a glance to the repulsive little man behind her, “I believe your dear friend is…” she looked back at Nina, “…dead as a door nail.”
Slokin rubbed his claws together, sniggering under his breath. Nina felt the hate seething through her, her trademark fiery temper rising. She clenched her fists, but she remembered Val’s advice on taking on Lita without proper preparation. Nina could not allow the mean psychopath to get to her, especially when she had to protect The Brotherhood and Sleipnir from failing to keep Valhalla hidden.
“What are you laughing at, fucktard?” Nina barked at Slokin, wiping his grin off his face within a second. His beady eyes pierced her with disdain and he opened his mouth, but Lita raised her arm, the cigarillo between her two fingers and pointed at him, shaking her head. He ceased immediately, but his eyes kept burning through his small adversary in the cell.
“Slokin, go wait for Lockhart,” the tall woman ordered in a mellow tone, expecting absolute compliance.
Without any protest, Slokin left the room, but Nina could see that his obedience to Lita was the only restraint she enjoyed from him. He would be a most unfortunate opponent should the bars of her cell come down. Still, he killed Val and she would give anything to watch Gunnar take him apart for it.
“Val Joutsen and her troop had something I want, something I need. And I want it now. You are going to tell me whom to call and I will tell them to bring me that most special item in return for you,” she informed Nina, the sharp light above her throwing shadows upon her slender face that formed the precise shape of her skull. It looked quite macabre. “You know, just like they do in the movies.”
“That’s it?” Nina played along, even though she was fully aware of the red dragon’s reputation for merciless disposal of used goods. Why would she keep Nina alive after she had obtained the vial?
“That is it, my darling,” Lita said and she sank down on the floor in one move, her controlled agility impressive. For a brief moment, Nina cold have sworn that she saw something twitch next to Lita’s knee as the dress pulled up slightly, but as soon as she blinked she saw only Lita’s ankles and dirty feet peek from the hem of the red dress. The powerful observation skills of the historian took in small details about her enemy, most notably the small fresh cuts under her feet.
“What are you looking for?” Nina asked, her voice quivering from the cold that bit her skin.
“‘The Vision of Kvasir’, as you well know. I am sure The Brotherhood filled you in on it all while you were licking their feet,” she sneered through the last smoke of the cigarillo. She flicked it on the ground and doused it with her bare foot. Nina winced at it, but she noted that her captor’s face showed no iota of discomfort as her ice blue eyes stared Nina down. The pretty historian was no fool. She knew a warning when she saw one.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Nina told Lita, hiding the shudder in her tone as best she could.