Better Off Gone

This flash piece is a rough draft of a scene from the prequel novel of The Prophecies of Ragnarok, a Norse mythology-based new adult series I'm currently writing with Marie Sinadjan. It may or may not end up in the final version of the novel.

Here are the shorts we've written so far for the prequel, in chronological order:

• Birthright
• Ice Queen
• Quiet Time
• Tyr Lends A Hand
• Big Sister, Big Brother
• Just Friends
• Prison Break
• Escaping Asgard
• Marriage Plans
• New Normal
• Hunting Trip
• Brother's Keeper
• Final Hour
• Better Off Gone (this story)
• Resistance and Steps
• Forsaken
• Revenge Served With Rage
• Goodbye, Good Friend
• Inheritance
• A Winter's Bargain
• Death Finds All
• Homecoming
• Reconnection
• The Hour of the Wolf

Hotel Fen, the first published book of the series, follows after this point.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Everything hurt. It’s how he knew he wasn’t dead. Yet part of him wishes he was, because it meant he could have been with her. Trapped in darkness even as his consciousness came to him, all he had to fill the void his sight left was the memory of Geiravor as his father and one of his runes mistresses had erased her.

The pain he couldn’t shield her from, and the fate he couldn’t stop.

His heart twisted tightly in his chest, hand fisting the plush comforter resting on him. Plush comforter. He tried to focus on anything but the pain in his chest to take stock of where he was. The mattress under him was soft, felt familiar. With the comforter too, he had to be in his room instead of the dungeon.

Confusion flooded him. It didn’t make sense why his father would put him here. He was still dangerous, his mind stretching out to feel that familiar ice magic that was always there. Nothing would stop him from marching to his father’s office and exploding with his emotions. If he could find his way there without his sight.

If he could get out of the bed.

The door opened and his head turned toward the creak of the hinges. Before he could ask who it was, the soft floral scent of his mother filled his nose. “Mom…?”

Her steps hurried over to him, and he felt the weight of her on the bed a moment later. “My son.” Her tone was soft, worried. A hand stroked through his hair and it took everything in him to not tense at the touch. Not just because it hurt when his muscles tended, but because he hasn’t been expecting a gentle touch.

Then again, he hasn’t been expecting to wake up in his room either. “What’s going on?” Even to his ears, his voice sounded horse and pained.

“Your father and Gullveig were able to break the fae spell you’ve been under.” Her voice sounded near tears as she continued to stroke his hair. “You’ve been missing since you and your brother went to Alfheim,” she prompted at the furrowed brow. “You ended up under a red-haired fae’s spell, raised an army and tried to march on Asgard.” Her voice hiccuped as her hand paused in stroking his hair, fingers brushing down along his cheek. “And when you failed they held you hostage and took your eyes so you would never be able to identify the woman. My boy…”

Red head. Of course that part of the story from Alfheim stayed intact. She’s been a red-head at the party to hide who she actually was, not that it had stopped him from knowing exactly who she was. The memory pulled up easily and vividly in his mind’s eye, her green eyes had looked lovely with the red hair but it had also felt off. Coupled with the silverfrost flower hair pin, it had been a dead giveaway it was her.

All his guard and brother had seen though, was him draining a red headed woman to his room with heated kisses.

“He needs to rest, Frigg. The spell took a lot out of him.” The purred voice from the doorway made Hodr’s skin crawl and frost formed on the comforter under his hand. “Oh calm down little princeling, the magic you call will be weak for a few days too.”

She wasn’t wrong. His anger should have frosted the room, not just his comforter. But his magic felt tired, like he was. Not that he trusted himself to say anything.

His mother stroked his cheek one last time before her weight lifted from the bed. “I know. I just wanted to check on him and he was awake.” He could hear her tone start to turn cold. “He is my son.”

A chuckle left Gullveig. “I’m merely following Allfather’s orders that he gets his rest, my queen.” What he didn’t like was Gullveig sounded closer, like she had come into the room. “He was also asking for you, my queen. In his study, he wanted to discuss the plans for your son’s healing with you.”

“Of course.” Frigg sighed. “I’ll come check on you soon, Hodr. Especially now that you’re awake.”

He listened to her steps leave the room, frowning a little because he didn’t hear the door close or Gullveig leave. “Why are you still here?”

“Already acclimating to your new existence, little princeling?” Her steps crept closer slowly, though it was the power that swirled around her that told him how close she was. “Aren’t we resilient. You’re lucky your father wanted you alive.”

Hodr snarled softly at her, though his body refused to let him sit up. The beating he’d taken when he’d been brought to the dungeon had left him fairly broken. Despite being back in his room, he was sure Odin wasn’t letting the healers use magic to speed his recovery. “You’re lucky I’m too exhausted and in pain to freeze you.”

“Like you did to your wife?” Her laugh clawed at him as she continued to watch him struggle in bed.

Though the sound cut off in a grunt of pain, his hand spread out toward her. Ice had formed and flown across the room at her, and by the pained sound, hit her. “Don’t talk about her.” The words were dark, dangerous.

A low snarl left her, though her steps retreated toward the door. “You’ll wish I would, especially when you realize no one else will remember her. Have fun healing slowly.”

Before he could answer with any retort, the door slammed shut. As much as he wanted to lunge at her, he was grateful she was gone because his body slumped further into the bed. It had taken everything to send the ice at her, and now he felt drained, darkness pulling at his mind and toward sleep.

Maybe if he slept some, he’d wake up from this nightmare.