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My brows furrow.
I fuckingknowwhat I saw. The old Norse rune is unmistakable to me, and just the sight of it sent a chill down my spine when I swear I saw it a second ago.
Fascist Nazi cowards like Kasper love to steal symbols, phrases, and myths they have no connection to and no right to use. I mean the swastika was a Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain symbol for peace for over a millennium until Hitler and his fucking goons stole and forever warped it. The Celtic cross has been twisted by the same Nazi fucks for years, too.
But their favorite to steal from has always been the Norse.
Thesonnenrad, or black sun rune. Depictions ofMjölnir, the hammer of the god of thunder, or thevalknut. Even the fucking SS “double lightning bolt” hate symbol was stolen—derived from thesowilo, or sun rune. All of this shit was to reinforce their fucked, twisted views on “Aryan ancestry”.
Nazis bringnothingto the table but hate and fear. Every single part of their imagery and ideology was stolen and poisoned to suit their obscene fantasies.
And the one I swear to fuck was just on this tree is one I know above them all.
Odal.
It’s one of the darkest; a symbol of heritage, bloodlines, and supremacy that Kasper had tattooed on his own chest. One he used to draw in the dirt, and on fences when he went for walks.
One he used tocarve onto trees.
“A warning” he called it. “To the un-pure and the filth.”
A cold shiver rips up my spine.
I fuckingknowwhat I saw a minute ago when Freya and I walked by. But now, it’s gone.
Just like that.
I curse under my breath, standing up quickly and wiping my hand on my jeans as if to erase the memory of it.
Am I losing my fucking mind?
I glance around, but the night is still.
Fuck.
I turn back toward the guesthouse, my jaw clenched. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Or sleep deprivation, after becoming so nocturnal with Freya. I’ve seen things before, after long stretches without sleep. Nightmares. Hallucinations. But this...
This felt different.
It feels like the past. Like Kasper’s shadow reaching through time to ensnare me again.
I shake the thought off and make my way back inside the guesthouse. Freya is standing right where I left her, giving me that slightly defiant, perennially inquisitive look that always grabs a hold of me.
My mind is still racing. But I’ll deal with what I think I saw later.
For now?
I’m focused on her.
I pull her close, my hands gripping her waist tightly as I press her against the wall. My body cages hers, possessiveness burning in my eyes.
She’s mine. And no one—not Damian, not Kasper’s fucking ghost, not anyone—is going to take her away from me.
33
FREYA
Cool night airfilters in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the moon casting a soft silver glow across the room. I lean back against Mal’s chest, resting my head on his shoulder as we sit on the couch in the guesthouse.
