106

“Faðir? I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Quiet fury rolled off the man I’d only heard about in rumor. Nord. The last of the original berserkers. Odin’s chosen warrior. Alek’s father.

Despite the pulse of his anger, his voice was a controlled storm as he answered, “I never wanted this burden for you.”

“Who are you?” Sunday asked, her words thin and shaky.

Nord’s gaze slid to her, his expression a careful mask of control. The instant his focus landed on Sunday, Alek began to shake, his body seeming to swell and ripple as a deep snarl of warning left his lips and eyes that had started to fade from black bled dark once more.

“No.” Nord uttered the one word with such command the world around us fell silent.

He stared at his son, his gaze narrowing just slightly as thick chains wound around his wrists like coils of a snake before solidifying into two heavy shackles. But still he struggled against the hold on him, as though his monster couldn’t relinquish control.