To save the Valkyrie who broke his heart, the Fae Sea God makes a deal with the Demon Prince of the Aerial Kingdoms, but Pazuzu has a history of stealing the women Manannan loves.
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When Mist visits her parents' home in California, she assumes th...
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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.
