Perfekt Control (The Ære Saga Book 2) Read online

  Perfekt Control

  The Ære Saga: Book Two

  by

  S.T. Bende

  The Ære Saga

  Perfekt Control

  Copyright © 2015, S.T. Bende

  Edited by: Lauren McKellar

  Cover Art by: Cora Graphics

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First publication: 2016, S.T. Bende

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Praise for Perfekt Control

  “The perfect blend of action, mythology, and romance that will have you reading late into the night. Perfekt Control is simply unputdownable.”

  -Karen Lynch, USA TODAY Bestselling Author of the Relentless trilogy

  “Perfekt Control is humor, fun, edge of your seat action, and romance all rolled up into one. Doesn't get much better than that.”

  -Quinn Loftis, USA TODAY Bestselling Author of The Grey Wolves Series

  Table of Contents

  Back Cover Copy

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Henrik’s Swedish Pancake Recipe

  Mange Takk

  About the Author

  Back Cover Copy

  Rule the realms.

  Brynn Aksel is a valkyrie—a battle goddess tasked with protecting both the God of War and the future of Asgard. She fends off giants and dark elves with an iron fist, a glossy smile, and no less than perfekt control. She’s focused one hundred percent on rising through the valkyrie ranks, and not at all on her lifelong crush on Henrik Andersson—the one guy in all the realms who could be her undoing.

  Henrik serves as War’s other bodyguard, and he’s too focused on protecting their shared charge to realize that Brynn’s a girl. When an unprecedented surge of darkness abducts the Goddess of Love, Brynn’s already-steely focus is singularly directed on her new assignment—accompany Henrik to recover the realms’ source of light before the cosmos descends into chaos.

  While battling demons, dragons, and the not-quite dead, it becomes clear that immortality does not equal invincibility. And when Hel herself puts a hit on Brynn, the valkyrie has to decide if staying in control is worth losing everything for… or if it’s time to rule the realms.

  Dedication

  To my perfekt gentlemen. I thank God for you.

  Acknowledgements

  An eternity of gratitude to my handsome husband, for being my absolutely perfekt teammate. Jeg elsker deg.

  Tusen takk to our biggest little blessings, whose brilliant hearts illuminate what truly matters each and every day. We thank God for you.

  Takk to my editor Lauren McKellar, for keeping the Ære crew on the straight and narrow, and for keeping me laughing, and to my proofreader Sara Meadows.

  Mange takk to my authorial Asgardians, Stacey Nash and Kristie Cook, for your friendship, and for always making my stories so very much richer. To my real-life Unifiers—Heather Brandt and Lorna Richmond, takk for captaining our teams and for taking on all the things so I can spend more time with our Norse crew. I’m so grateful you share your gifts with me.

  Thank you to my RagnaRockstars and our Valkyrie Team for your tireless enthusiasm and support. Gunnar may be funner, but y’all give him a run for his money. Tusen takk to every single reader who’s taken a chance on these stories. YOU are the reason I get to keep on dreaming across the realms, and I am so very grateful for the privilege. Thank you for choosing to share your reading time with me.

  And to MorMorMa, for sharing your pancake recipe and your world with me. Tusen takk, from the bottom of my heart.

  “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none; be able for thine enemy rather in power than use, and keep thy friend under thy own life’s key.”

  -Countess of Rousillon, All’s Well That Ends Well

  CHAPTER ONE

  “STUFF IT, BRYNN,” TYR muttered as he pulled a smoking pan from the oven. The God of War stood in our open kitchen. His girlfriend’s frilly pink apron popped against his standard uniform of jeans and a Henley. He glared at me as he dumped the blackened contents of the pan into the sink, where it blended with a sea of similarly situated peers. Our kitchen had morphed into a veritable cake graveyard.

  “I didn’t say anything.” I held up my hands.

  “Didn’t have to.” Tyr threw the empty cake pans at the stovetop, where they clattered loudly in protest. “Your obnoxious little laugh speaks volumes.”

  I forced my face into a neutral position and tilted my head at the lacy fabric tied around Tyr’s waist. “Your cooking attire took me by surprise. That’s all.”

  Tyr pulled the oven mitts from his hands and threw them at me. Hard. My fingertips stung as I plucked them from the air.

  “Was that really necessary?” I asked.

  “Was cackling like a caffeinated hyena necessary?” Tyr countered with an eyebrow raise.

  Harrumph.

  “The apron’s Mia’s. I thought if I wore it while I cooked, maybe this time I wouldn’t burn her förbaskat birthday cake.”

  I waited in silence while Tyr scrubbed the big silver bowl clean, pulled a box of cake mix out of the cupboard, and turned to me. With his narrowed eyes and tight-lipped frown, he was the picture of resignation. “Apparently, this apron’s not the reason my girlfriend’s such a great cook.”

  “No, it’s not.” I bounded across the kitchen to rescue the cake box from Tyr’s hand. He was squeezing it so hard, I thought it might need saving. “Fred’s going to make the packet explode,” I pointed out.

  Tyr clung tighter to the box with his prosthetic right arm. Mia, Henrik and I had developed it under the guise of an Engineering project, and it had saved his life when the homicidal wolf Fenrir bit his original arm clean off. Now, Fred served proudly as Tyr’s right forearm, attached by biomechanical medicine, Asgardian magic, and just a touch of fairy dust.

  When poor Mia discovered her freshman lab project was actually the saving grace for an Asgardian deity, she thought we’d led her straight to the psych ward. But crazy was the name of the game when you were tasked with protecting the God of War.

  Apparently, diplomacy was the name of the game when you were trying to help him bake.

  “Okay, fine. Kill the poor mix.” My tone softened when Tyr’s shoulders drooped. “Look, Mia’s a great cook because she loves it. She likes taking care of us. She especially likes taking ca
re of you. And the last thing she’d want on her birthday is for you to beat yourself up over something as silly as a birthday cake. You can always order one from the bakery. Want me to call them?”

  “No, Brynn. I’m making my girlfriend a förbaskat cake. If you’re not going to help, then get out of my kitchen.”

  “I share kitchen custody, you know.” I elbowed past him and opened the refrigerator. I pulled out the carton of eggs and set them on the counter, then closed the door behind me. “When Mia started spending weekends here, her bodyguard did, too. Remember?”

  When Asgard’s resident war god fell for Redwood State University Engineering undergrad Mia Ahlström, I’d been reassigned from my valkyrie post to protect the sweetest mortal this side of Midgard. And when the wolf Fenrir made a hit on Tyr’s life, Mia and her newly christened bodyguard started spending a lot more time at War’s impeccably decorated cabin in Arcata, California. Instead of collecting fallen soldiers for Odin and Freya as I’d done as a battle valkyrie, these days I attended Engineering classes, workouts, and study sessions with my charge. I also got to weekend with the uber-uptight war god, and the hottest bodyguard in the history of the realms, Henrik Andersson.

  Immortal life was looking good.

  “Ja, you stay here sometimes.” Tyr ran his hands through his dark blond hair. The normally tousled strands now looked downright disheveled. “But you’re useless in the kitchen. I need someone who can fix this. Where’s my bodyguard?”

  As if he’d heard Tyr’s summons, the front door slammed, and Henrik’s footsteps sounded in the hall. A moment later, the tall frame of the guy I’d had the hots for since kindergarten filled the kitchen doorway. I bounced on my toes—the movement usually distracted me from the unavoidable stomach flutters I got whenever I looked at Henrik’s wavy hair, easy smile, and thick, muscled arms. But there was no avoiding the twinkle in his grey-blue eyes as he looked around the kitchen.

  He grinned at the brooding war god stewing over the stove. “Having trouble, mate?”

  Tyr let out a growl that echoed across the cavernous kitchen.

  “He’s trying to make a birthday cake for Mia.” I pointed to the sink, now overflowing with blackened culinary rejects. “But it’s not going so well.”

  “Well, did you offer to help him?” Henrik asked.

  “We all know Brynn can’t cook,” Tyr retorted.

  “I can too cook!” I threw a nearby dishtowel at Tyr. He plucked it out of the air before it could smack him in his surly face.

  “She can cook,” Henrik agreed. He walked around the big island in the center of the room and slung an easy arm around my shoulders. An army of angsty butterflies took flight somewhere beneath abs two and three. If I hadn’t had my whole entire life to get used to hiding my emotions, I probably would have giggled.

  “Thank you, Henrik.” I stuck my tongue out at Tyr. “Henrik says I can cook.”

  “Your cooking’s fine. It’s the baking you’re lousy at.” Henrik pulled his arm away and moved to inspect the oven. When his back was to us, Tyr turned to me with a smirk.

  “Shut up, Tyr.” I scowled as I shoved him. Hard.

  “Well, there’s your problem.” Henrik adjusted the dial on the stove. “Your temperature’s off.”

  Tyr’s brow furrowed as he scrutinized the box on the counter. “No, it’s not. The thingy’s at three hundred and fifty. The directions say three hundred and fifty.”

  “Ja.” Henrik walked to the sink and washed his hands. “But you’ve got the broiler turned on. It’s overriding the temperature control and frying your cake.” He turned off the water and dried his hands. “You want to keep at it alone, or do you want some help? I don’t mind pitching in, but if I’m doing this we’re chucking that lousy cake mix and doing it from scratch.”

  A small wrinkle appeared between Tyr’s eyebrows as he weighed his options. Mia would be home from class soon. He’d obviously started early enough, judging by the sea of slaughtered cakes, but now he was down to the wire. He let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll take the help,” Tyr acquiesced. “But I am decorating it myself.”

  “Whatever you say, kille.” Henrik pulled milk, flour, cocoa powder and sugar onto the counter. Without even glancing at a recipe, he added ingredients to the standing mixer. “Brynn, grab me the red food coloring, would you?”

  “Um, sure.” I glanced around the kitchen, my eyes darting from cabinet to cabinet until they fell on Tyr. He gave me a wicked grin.

  “You wanted to help, remember?” Tyr said.

  “Oh, like you know where it is, Captain Cake Killer.” I glared.

  “To the left of the stove, just above the spice rack,” Henrik offered without turning around. His back flexed as he reached for the oil, the corded muscles straining against his thin grey T-shirt. I sighed. Loudly.

  “Uh, okay. Thanks.” I crossed to the cabinet, wishing I could wipe the smirk off Tyr’s face. My indiscreet ogling hadn’t escaped his notice.

  It never did.

  I handed the food coloring to Henrik then situated myself next to Tyr. Backs against the stove, arms across our chests, we kept ourselves safely out of Henrik’s path. It was better for everyone this way.

  It was particularly better for Mia’s birthday cake.

  “Anything we can do?” Tyr asked.

  “Somebody want to flour the pans?” Henrik glanced over his shoulder. Tyr and I stared blankly. “Wipe the cake pans with butter,” Henrik explained slowly, as if he were talking to a pair of preschoolers, “then dust them lightly with flour. You two master chefs think you can pull that off?”

  It took an enormous deal of self-control to not roll my eyes as I picked up the butter. “Sometimes you can be a real know-it-all, Henrik Andersson.”

  “Ah, you love me, Brynnie.” Henrik shot me a wink and turned off the mixer. My overworked heart clattered violently against my ribcage. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Henrik pulled the bowl from the stand and raised an eyebrow. “Where’s my pan?”

  Oh. Right. Tyr grabbed the butter out of my hands and rubbed a generous amount into each of the cake pans. I snatched a handful of flour and sprinkled it over the tops. “How’d we do?”

  “Perfekt.” Henrik gave his easy smile as he divided the batter between the pans. He placed them in the oven and checked the temperature controls. “Now we wait. If we put them into the fridge when they’re done, they should be cool enough to decorate about an hour after Mia gets home.”

  “Not soon enough.” Tyr frowned. “I wanted to give it to her when she walked in the door.”

  “We’ll do our best.” Henrik patted Tyr’s arm. “But a cake needs to cool completely before you layer it, or decorate it. So it’ll probably be good to go by—”

  “It’s her birthday.” Tyr glared.

  “Then you should have asked for my help sooner.” Henrik shrugged. “Now if you two can stay out of trouble for the next hour or so, I’ve got a stabilizer I need to reattach to some grounding cords.

  “What are you working on now?” I followed Henrik out of the kitchen.

  “There’s been some weird activity in the portal behind Elsa’s cottage.”

  “Oh my gods, why didn’t you say anything?” I skidded to a stop. “The one Fenrir got in through?”

  “One and the same.” Henrik kept walking, so I forced my feet to move.

  “Why aren’t we out there right now making sure nothing gets through?”

  “Because I only just noticed it this afternoon. Don’t worry, I’m already on it. I’ve got a halter lock in place, but I’m working on a little something extra to make sure the portal’s dog proof. Not that Fenrir could come back or anything; a certain shiny pink ribbon and a little thing called the prison chamber have him on lockdown. This will just be a little bonus security—an early Christmas present for our prince of preparedness.” Henrik cocked his finger toward the kitchen.

  “Much as I love to make fun of Tyr, this isn’t a good time, Henrik.” I grabbed him by the arm and spun
him around. His biceps were hard against my palm. “Wh-wha…” I stamped my foot and forced myself to focus. “What are we going to do if Hymir or one of his minions get through? We all know he’s madder than a wet fire giant that we captured Fenrir. And with that vindictive streak, Odin only knows what he’s plotting as his revenge.” I tightened my grip around Henrik’s muscles. “And what about Loki? He’s been awfully quiet lately. Hasn’t delivered any of us to the jotuns or stolen a treasure in a really long time. Isn’t it about time he had an episode?”

  “That’s the thing.” Henrik scratched his chin, where a smattering of stubble testified to his long hours in the upstairs lab.

  “What’s the thing?” I tore my eyes away from Henrik’s insanely sexy, stubble-strewn chin. The days he sported facial hair seriously tested my perfekt control.

  “Loki hasn’t created a disturbance in… it’s been a few decades now. It’s possible everything’s hunky-dory with him.”

  “Mia’s little sayings rubbing off on you, too?” I snickered.

  “They are catchy.” Henrik paused at the bottom of the stairs with a chuckle. The noise resonated along the hallway, and the space filled with his easy laughter. My lips curved up at the contagious sound. “Point is, whatever he’s up to, if it’s anything at all, he’s not showing his hand. And Hymir’s been quiet since Fenrir’s capture. If he’s got anything to do with the disturbance around the Arcata portal, he’s doing it behind the scenes. We just have to make sure whoever’s working for him doesn’t develop better tech than we do.”