Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 41683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
"Reaper." Damrion speaks calmly, though I see a glint of surprise flash through his eyes. He raises empty hands in surrender. "I intend no harm, but we need to leave before the police find us here. Let me help you with her."
Ordinarily, I'm happy to taunt the human authorities. It keeps life interesting, and I've gotten good at finding ways to do that over the centuries. But allowing them to find us here will complicate an already delicate situation. We're able to redirect their thoughts and even compel humans to forget they saw us, but there are limits to what we can do. The strongest aren't as easily swayed. They come away with far more memories intact than we'd prefer, but we can't—and won't—bend them to our wills.
Yet there's an instinctual part of me, primal and protective, that responds with a silent snarl anyway, amber eyes flashing dangerously. I don't care if he is our leader. He isn't putting his hands on my mate, not if he wants to keep them.
Tension radiates from our brothers as they watch us with unreadable expressions.
"Perhaps we should let Reaper care for her while we ensure the path is clear," Dax suggests quietly. "There are still varulv lurking around out there." If anyone understands the primal, possessive need coursing through me, it's him. He's the only other Fae in history to be soul-bound to a Valkyrie. Until him and Rissa, we didn't even know it was possible for a Fae to bond with a Valkyrie.
For millennia, our oath of allegiance to Valhalla ensured no single Valkyrie would ever be able to call our souls. But with the portal to Valhalla closed, I suppose our oath no longer holds. Rissa called Dax's soul, and now this little Valkyrie has called mine. Either the Gods believe they need a Fae to guard their souls against the Dark, or the Gods believe we need a Valkyrie to protect ours.
Damrion turns his gold eyes on Dax, regarding him silently. After a moment, he nods before looking at me again. "I meant no offense, brother," he says, his voice soft. "Take care of your Valkyrie." He steps out of the bathroom, leaving an unobstructed path for me and the Valkyrie in my arms.
In his retreat, I catch sight of Adriel lurking further down the hallway, his back against a faded wall and one black eye fixed on Damrion. The harsh light casts heavy shadows over his scarred face but fails to dim the fiery longing burning in his gaze.
"I'll cover your back," he mutters, his expression going blank when he sees me looking at him.
I turn my attention back to the Valkyrie stirring weakly in my arms, setting to work on the ropes lashing her ankles together as my brothers murmur back and forth about the best way to get everyone out of here safely,
My heart clenches at the sight of her pallor beneath the harsh incandescent light. How long was she in that water? We need to get her to Letty, the healer at Eitr, our stronghold in the mountains, to ensure she's healthy. If Eitr still stands by the time we arrive.
The town is currently under attack by the Forsaken and the varulv, their hellhounds. They desperately want to get their hands on Abigail, the powerful young Seer who sees far more than the Dark would like. But if wishes were wings they could fly straight to Helheim with them. They aren't getting her.
The ropes around the Valkyrie's ankles finally come free. I toss them on the floor, scowling at the sight of the marks they left on her porcelain skin, and then lift her, rising to my feet.
"Malachi and I will go out first," Damrion says, his gold eyes meeting mine. "You, Rissa, and Dax will follow. Adriel will watch our backs."
I nod, dropping my gaze back to the girl in my arms.
"You're safe now, little Valkyrie," I tell her softly. "I swear, we'll get you out of here safely."
She stirs slightly in my arms. Her eyes remain closed, but her lips part as she takes a shuddering breath. It's a small semblance of life, a tiny sign that maybe she hears me and understands on an instinctive level that I mean her no harm. Gods, I hope she knows it.
The thought of her being afraid of me burns like acid.
"Be ready," Damrion commands, his voice a clarion call. It's clear why he leads us. There's an unmistakable air of authority to him, a refinement the rest of us lack. He wears the weight of responsibility well, making it seem easy, though it's taken everything from him.
He and Malachi move down the stairs with the rest of us following, silence settling over us. The anticipation is almost worse than whatever might still be lurking outside, the seconds stretching into what feels like eons.