"Last night you were on the bottom. Doesn't that make you the princess?"
Logan looked over his shoulder at Kir as he led the way back to their beachfront house. “Hell, no, blondie. You're way too pretty to be anything but the princess. Besides, you're the one the evil queen wants dead, remember?"
Kir snickered at the thought of the dour Oliver Grimm as a “queen". He'd pay big bucks to see Daddy Dearest in drag. “What does that make you? My loyal woods man?"
Logan turned with a groan, walking backwards towards the house. “That one was bad, Kir. Just damn awful.” He turned, reached for the front doorknob, and inserted the key into the lock.
Kir was never quite sure afterwards what alerted him, but he grabbed Logan in his arms and turned him just as the house exploded around them in a huge ball of fire. They were tossed into the air like rag-dolls, burning bits and pieces of their beach hideaway raining down on them as they landed.
"God damn it, Kir! Don't do that!” Logan struggled out of his arms and to his feet. He glared at him, his face smudged with dirt and smoke, bits and pieces of their house sticking to his burnt clothes. A cut on his cheek healed as Kir watched. “You could have been killed! How do you know he didn't have the place littered with mistletoe toothpicks?"
Kir got to his feet with a sigh. “You're welcome."
Logan's eyes narrowed, flames dancing in their depths, letting him know just how much he'd managed to piss him off. “Don't put yourself between me and anything, Kir. We're too close to winning to die now."
"Logan."
"Fire can't hurt me, damn it!"
Kir picked up the six-foot piece of wood that had bounced off his broad back. “But this would have."
Logan's eyes widened. “Fuck. Yeah, okay, that would have pinched a bit."
"We need to get out of here.” Always trust your instincts. Damn it, I knew something was off today!
Kiran looked around, knowing that their car was probably totaled along with all the rest of the possessions they'd had in their home.
"Done.” Logan shifted, changing into a sleek black Corvette, a trick he'd learned from visiting a pooka several years ago.
Kiran smiled as he climbed into the “car". “Damn. I like your style."
Another one of Logan's amused snorts sounded from the speakers. “I know.” He roared off into the night, eager to put distance between them and any of Grimm's nearby assassins.
If Val Grimm wanted them dead, he'd had plenty of opportunities to kill them while they chatted on the beach. What the hell is he up to, and why didn't he just take us out? But he knew the answer to that already. Centuries’ worth of fighting with the Grimms had given it to him.
Old man Grimm wanted them dead. Val wanted to play with them first.
Logan drove like a bat out of hell towards the water, letting Kir know he was still pissed at him. But Logan had given up way too much for him already. There was no way Kir would allow him to give up his life, as well.
If that meant Kir's death, then so be it. After all, as far as most of the world was concerned, he was already dead.
Logan was supremely pissed. A fucking island in the middle of fucking nowhere, and Grimm had still managed to find them and plant that damn bomb. He was so sick and tired of running and hiding that there were times he just wanted to give up, to let Grimm have him and to hell with what would happen next.
But that would mean giving up the one thing that brought his life any joy: Kiran. Old Grimm would kill Kir without a second's hesitation. He'd already proven what he was willing to do to them, child and adopted brother notwithstanding.
He made it to the edge of the water before shifting, at speed, into a small boat, carrying Kir far away from the beings who sought their deaths. He would die a thousand times over to prevent Grimm from laying one finger on Kir's pale blond hair. He would tie himself to the earth once again before he saw Kir's eyes closed in death. He would gladly suffer the acidic poison constantly dripping, driving him insane, before he would allow Kir to suffer a moment's more pain than he already had.
He would have done the same for his children if Grimm hadn't murdered them. As it was he dared not approach his living children for fear of bringing Grimm's wrath down on their heads even more.
Mentally he tried to shake off the rage still consuming him, but it wasn't easy. Kir's hand caressing the steering wheel helped. His lover knew him so well, knowing instinctively what to do to ease him.
All of it, the deaths of Kir's wife, Logan's children, the failure of his marriage and his status as a fugitive could all be laid at one manipulative bastard's door: Oliver Grimm.
And this time, the son of a bitch was going to pay for what he'd done.
Val Grimm walked into his father's high rise office with no expression on his face. He knew better than to show his father any sign of weakness. “They're in the city, sir."
Oliver Grimm looked at his youngest child out of chilly blue eyes. “I want them dead this time. No mistakes, Val."
"Yes, sir.” Val took a breath, not happy to deliver the next bit of news to his father. “I believe they intend to contact—"
"I don't give a fuck who they contact. Get them out of my hair once and for all, understand?"
Val nodded his acquiescence, ignoring the unspoken threat. When his father got that dead tone in his voice, he knew better than to argue. Grimm had no further desire to hear anything from his failure of a youngest son until the deed had been done. He left, brows furrowed, the pounding headache lurking behind his eyes telling him exactly how shitty this day was going to be. But at least all of the players were in place, finally.
Maneuvering things so that all of them were together at the same time in the same city was a bitch and a half. Half the time they weren't paying attention, and the other half? They were off chasing their dicks. But now, all but one player was on the field, and he would be arriving soon, home from, of all things, vacation.
He shut the door to his corner office and sat in his leather chair with a sigh. He stared at the twenty or so emails waiting for his attention and grimaced. He clicked open the first one and dealt with the routine security problem someone else should have handled before it got to him.
He lifted his mug to his lips, frowning as the lukewarm coffee slipped down his throat.
Yup. Shitty day, all right. Sometimes living mortal is a real pain in the ass.
Grimm watched as his youngest child left his office.
What a disappointment he's turned out to be.
He'd given the boy a simple enough task. Kill Baldur and Loki. It shouldn't have taken centuries, but somehow time had slipped away from them, and the two banes of his existence were still running around attempting to wreak havoc.
Baldur required nothing more than to be pierced through the heart with something crafted of mistletoe.
Loki, admittedly, was more difficult, with his ability to heal much faster than expected, his shapeshifting abilities, and most of all, his daughter, Hel.
But you'd think, after a millennium, Vali would have gotten it right. The boy's penchant for toying with his intended victims was becoming more and more of a liability.
Grimm sighed and stroked the stone heads of the paired ravens sitting on his desk. Now that all of the players were in place, it was possible he would be able to take both his prodigal son and bastard blood brother out in one fell swoop, ending forever their threat to his rule of the Aesir.
All it would take would be a judicious use of his special weapon, a little trickery, and a lot of fast-talking.