Thunderstruck by Marie Long

Author:Marie Long
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Chikara Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

No, not again, Tor thought, staring up at the giant faceless beings that surrounded him—trapping him like a wounded animal. Didn’t this just happen five times already? Why does this keep repeating?

The air grew tense. His heart raced. With a mighty roar, he lashed out at his enemies with his fists, fighting tirelessly. But all his strength was no match for them. A crushing blow to the head killed him instantly. Tor opened his eyes and saw himself lying with his skull cracked open, his blood pooling beneath him and staining the snowy ground.

Tor awoke and stared into the cartoon lightning-bolt sheets covering his face. He strained to sit up in bed, but something restrained his limbs. His heart pounded furiously, his chest burning as he gasped for air, as though he’d run a marathon. In a fit of rage, he violently tossed and turned. He momentarily felt weightless, and his heart leaped into his throat.

Bang! Pain shot through the back of his head as it hit something solid. Unlike what he’d experienced before, that felt real. Growling, Tor finally ripped himself free from the tangle of bedding then found himself on the floor, face-to-face with his nightstand. He rubbed the throbbing painful area on the back of his head and frowned.

Sunlight peeked through the slats of his closed window blinds, casting lined patterns of orange-yellow light on his bedroom door. Tor crawled to his feet, sat on the edge of his disheveled bed, and took several slow breaths. Running his hands over his scraggly bed-hair, he felt his fast-beating heart begin to ease. Just a dream, he kept telling himself.

His hands shook as a familiar feeling of emptiness came over him. A part of him was gone. Missing. Myollnir… His disturbed mind began to slowly recount bits and pieces of yesterday’s events. “Tristan…” he growled, balling his shaky hands into tight fists. I’m going to kill that son of a bitch…

Tor got dressed and left his room. Right away, he noticed the deathly quiet lingering in the rest of the apartment. After checking every room, he realized he was alone. Where were Luca and Frida this time of morning? There was only one last place to check.

He left the apartment and headed downstairs to the shop’s back office. Approaching a door marked Storage, he heard the faint sounds of drums pounding beyond. He opened the door and descended another set of stairs leading into the basement. Bright track lighting illuminated the small area, becoming muted in the grey acoustic foam padding affixed to the walls.

Sitting behind his eight-piece drum set, Luca headbanged to the wild beat he played. Frida stood across from him, playing the familiar, deep rhythmic bassline of “War Edda.” Her eyes were closed, and like Luca, she appeared lost in the music.

The song was missing its lifeblood—the thundering riffs of Myollnir. Frustrated over his missing guitar, Tor growled and ripped out the cord from Frida’s small amp. The sounds of her bass went silent.

Frida stopped playing and scowled at Tor.

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