You would think I would know better, after all this time. They never change. Actually, I take that back. I think they've actually gotten worse. With a silent groan, I sat for dinner at the elaborately decorated table, complete with white linens, china, and crystal, while Mother prattled on about her latest fashion designs and the brilliance of her photographer in capturing their essence.
Essence. Right.
I restrained my eye roll. The only essence being captured was the photographer's. I recognized that sly gleam in Mother's blue eyes. She was screwing him and delighted in alluding to it in front of Father. Yet the smirk on Father's lips as he continued to eat was all the answer I needed. He was fucking someone else, too—probably his secretary—and he knew Mother had discovered his infidelity, again.
It was a game to them.
One I'd never understood. Neither was capable of a faithful relationship, yet they'd stayed together in this quasi-open battle of oneupmanship for the better part of seven hundred years, or at least, as long as I could remember.
With my glass lifted, I stared into the dark burgundy Californian wine—the product of one of my father's numerous business deals. Why did I come here? I should have refused when Heimdall passed on the message. I hated bearing witness to their constant needling of each other, the false-faced sycophants they surrounded themselves with, and the constant parties and discussions of appearance, clothes, accessories, cars, houses, and jewels. They epitomized the worst shallow, materialistic Californian stereotype, yet thrived on that shit as it fed their godly energies.
I fucking hated it.
Father held up his perfectly tanned hand, platinum Rolex gleaming. "Enough, Arachne. We haven't seen Mist in ten years. Let her speak. What's the latest news from Asgard, my dear?" He lifted a spoonful of cioppino to narrow lips.
I bit back my snort.
Like they really cared.
My parents hadn't been to Asgard since they'd left to avoid the last Sidhe-Asgardian war four hundred years ago. We'd fought over my becoming a Valkyrie. They didn't want me "wasting my beauty" to fight Odin's war. What did they care that thousands of mortals were being kidnapped, tortured, and sacrificed yearly to the Winter Realm's greed for power?
No, instead, my forever shallow parents had moved from party to party through the last two thousand Midgardian years, first with the Romans in their decadent lifestyles, then Constantinople, and on to various European royal courts, before ending up here only a few decades ago.
My fingers tightened on my spoon.
I hadn't come to argue or bring up the past. They'd never change. It was pointless to frustrate myself with trying. Better to discuss things they would be interested in.
"It's Prince Aidan's first birthday in a month, and it promises to be a wonderful celebration." At least, I hoped it would be. Please Norns, let Loki, Shannon, and Elatha's quest be successful.
Silence greeted me, and I looked up from my soup. Both my parents held blank expressions.
A slight frown creased Mother's model-smooth forehead, full red lips pursed as she met Father's gaze. "Do we know a Prince Aidan, Triton?"
He cocked a blond eyebrow, then tapped a thick finger on the table. "Prince Thor has a mortal wife and their offspring wouldn't be recognized as Asgardian royals. I presume Prince Loki has had a son?" He paused, frowning. "Wait, didn't we see a media flap over some woman of his going into labour on the red carpet five years ago? With the time difference, that'd be about right for it to be the kid's first birthday on Asgard."
She's one of my fucking best friends, asshole. I gritted my teeth to bite back the words, drawing in a slow breath. I took my time letting it out, delaying my answer. Father or not, I was not going to listen to him denigrate her. "Yes, Loki has a son with his soulmate and consort, Princess Shannon."
In the midst of admiring her own reflection in her wineglass, Mother's mouth dropped open, her eyes meeting mine. "The Norns gave Loki a soulmate? After killing Baldur?"
My pulse began pounding in my temple. Her tone was like the screeching of the damn banshees I'd fought off yesterday on Alfheim. Don't engage. Do not go down that black hole, Mist. Keep it light and get the fuck out of here. Small doses, remember? "Princess Shannon joined the royal family almost two years ago. Aidan is a handful. He's inherited the ability to portal."
Father barked a laugh. "Seems appropriate for a kid of Loki's to keep him on his toes. So our Black Prince playboy has gotten himself shackled again. Well, I'm sure he knows how to get around that when he tires of diapers and the same old piece of ass. Or he could just let her get killed, like his last wife."
Red washed over my vision, the dull thumping in my temple turning to dwarven hammers. The mocking tone and the toothy smile aimed at Mother had me carefully placing my spoon on the table to stifle the impulse to stab my father with it. Sigyn's death at the hands of the Unseelie in the last war still haunted the Valkyrie, still haunted Loki. To joke about it, to blame him—cold, misty air lifted strands of hair from my neck and swirled around my body as I fought for control of my abilities.
Slowly, I pushed my chair back from the table.
Mother tore her glare from him to tilt her head and frown. "Where are you going, dear?"
I met Father's smirk with a deliberately calm facade. "I'm going to go walk off this rich food. Thank you for dinner." Before I smash your fucking face in, you traitorous cheating bastard. Jaw clenched while I tried to not grind my teeth, I inclined my head and left the dining room with its rich furnishings and stone-cold inhabitants. They immediately started sniping at each other, their waspish tones chasing me down the hall.
By the time I'd walked through the house, out the back deck, and climbed down the rocky stairs winding down the cliff face to the beach at the base of their Malibu home, the headache was easing. Already dark, the Pacific Ocean crashed on the rock and sand-carved shore in a moonlit sparkle. Unlike the weighty tension of my parents' dining room, the spray from breaking waves caressed my body with a familiar, comforting tingle. I sat on the damp sand, closed my eyes, inhaled the fresh salt-laden air, and listened to the rhythmic sound, letting it soothe my soul.
Yggdrasil's roots, I hated visiting my parents. Already worried about Shannon, Loki, and Elatha's quest to Helheim, the last thing I'd needed was my father's callous comments. At least I knew they'd made it to Midgard. Heimdall verified the rouse we'd played yesterday to distract the Wild Hunt worked to pave the way for the others to leave Alfheim undetected, but damn it, I wished I knew how they were doing.
"Please Norns, please watch over them," I whispered.
Like an itch I couldn't get rid of, Father's words echoed in my mind—"tires of diapers and the same old piece of ass"—and an image of Manannan Mac Lir overlaid my father's true visage with his own. Both with vibrant blue hair and piercing blue eyes in their native forms, the elven sea god was broader of shoulder and more powerfully built than my father. Before dear ole dad abandoned his seafaring ways in my early years, Triton had often interacted with Manannan. Awed by the sea god when I was a child, then undeniably attracted as an adult, I'd thought the male might be different, only to discover his infidelity when we'd barely begun to explore one another.
No fucking integrity. Just like my father.
My fingers dug into the sand.
Why had I let Manannan spin my head with his clever tongue, thick muscular body, and sexy smile? He'd made me feel special. That we'd shared water as our element, although my powers were paltry compared to his, had been another aspect I'd cherished in our few short days together.
"Did you enjoy fucking the station commander?"
"Don't be so crude, Elada. If you'd pull your head out of your ass, you'd attract more females, too."
Norns, Manannan's words had speared me, and even now, I rubbed at the ache in my chest. Not meant for me, it didn't make them any less true when I'd overheard them on their return from the Atlantean outpost. Standing there, just out of sight, with my heart bleeding.
It wasn't right that it still hurt a week later. We'd only had a couple of days together, after all.
I pounded my fist on the sand. That fucking sea god had gone from my bed immediately to another's, not even able to go half a day without dipping his cock while Shannon and I trained with Scota. If that's what he'd wanted, he could have just been upfront about it, instead of misleading me by asking for exclusivity, only to turn around and fuck someone else. Obviously, I'd only been a conquest—a toy to play with.
A piece of ass.
Fury tore a raw scream from my throat. "You are all fucking the same! Worthless cheating bastards!"
My attempt at calm lost, I stood and kicked off my sandals. In a quick jerk, I lifted my elegant woven peasant blouse over my head and tossed it on the nearby rocks. Why the fuck had I bothered to try to impress my mother? Next, came my bra. With impatient fingers, I unbuttoned my shorts and dragged both my panties and shorts off to join the rest of my clothes. Naked, I strode towards the breaking waves.
If I couldn't relax listening to the water, perhaps a hard swim would rid me of this fucking turmoil.
The water was cold hitting my feet, and I shivered as I waded out. Not a surprise given it was December on Midgard. A gasp escaped when it reached my hips, gooseflesh rising on my skin, my nipples pebbling. Still, I continued deeper, then dove as the next wave crested.
Like the caress of a lover, the water's touch slid over me and I pushed myself further into its embrace. With smooth strokes, I swam in the dark until the need for air grew urgent in my lungs. Reluctantly, I rose to the surface.
The shore was a kilometre distant. Up on the cliffside, lights in my father's office and my mother's studio told me they'd finished dinner and separated to their own areas of the house. Not soulmates, I didn't understand why they stayed together, despite all the arguments and cheating. It continued in an endless, toxic cycle.
Mother had shrugged when I'd asked a few hundred years ago. "We still love each other, Mist."
Yet I couldn't do it. I couldn't live like them, with the constant lies and pain from someone supposed to love me. Once a lover cheated on me, I was done with them. I either kept things uncommitted, my heart out of the equation with all parties knowing the score and free to be with whomever, or I insisted on fidelity. No in-between. No second chances.
Not even for blue-haired sea gods that fucked like a fertility god, curled my toes, and had me screaming in ecstasy.
With a curse at my inability to keep my mind from straying to Manannan, I swam back towards shore. As much as I wanted to return to Asgard and not deal with my parents' shit, I'd agreed to stay a couple of days. Surely, I could survive that long around them without losing my mind.
Maybe?
Fuck. Perhaps I'll ask Kara to come join me. She knew my parents, knew their temperaments and challenges.
Wrapped up in my thoughts, the pinprick of pain had me frowning at my shoulder as I strode out of the surf. A tiny silver dart was embedded in the muscle.
With a swift move, I plucked it from my skin and crouched in the shallow water, eyes on my surroundings. But despite my excellent night vision, grey crept in from the edges as everything blurred, then faded completely.