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)
The very idea of the Forsaken getting their hands on her fills me with a blinding rage. I'll destroy the nine realms myself before I let that happen. To Helheim with fate and prophecy and her destiny. She's mine, and nothing will take her from me now.
"Ja." Malachi picks up his pace, jogging toward the safety of the Hall of Warriors.
We're nearly to the steps when a blinding blast of pure Light erupts from within, blowing the doors of the building open and rolling over us in a scorching wave. It rips through me, viciously plunging deep into my soul. With ruthless, brutal efficiency, it measures the worth of my soul, leaving no corner untouched.
Tori cries out beside me as the Light does the same to her, brutally invading every cell and leaving her shaking uncontrollably. But the cry barely leaves her lips before the Light moves on, satisfied that we're not the dark threat it seeks.
My mate stumbles into me, shuddering. "What was that?" she cries.
"That was Rissa," I breathe, lifting her gently from her feet as I race into the Hall with Malachi at my side.
The Hall is in chaos, warriors and the Blooded alike tending to the injured. A ring of warriors surrounds Rissa and Abigail, standing two deep. But even the bright Lights of their lyststål pales in comparison to the blazing Light pouring from the Valkyrie. She's lit up like the Sun, ropes of Light flowing out of her.
She isn't alone. Beside her, Abigail blazes too, her hand clasped with Rissa's. They're linked, their power feeding off one another and amplifying the Light pouring from Rissa.
I've only ever seen them like this one other time—when Abigail was in the throes of a painful vision. We didn't see her Light then, only the pain of the vision. But it's impossible to miss it now. She glows like a sun, as bright as Rissa.
Ah, Gods. It's been right in front of us, staring us in the face this whole time. The mischievous little Seer is no mere Blooded, but a Valkyrie in her own right. How did we miss it? Why didn't we see it?
We didn't want to see it. She's already given so much. We didn't want to believe she'd be asked to give more.
"What's happening?" Tori asks, her voice shaking with fear. My poor, brave little Valkyrie. This whole world must be so overwhelming to her. She was plucked from her bed and thrust into the middle of war with no time to prepare, yet she's faced it bravely. Far more bravely than most.
I'm in awe of her and her quiet strength. Nei. I'm obsessed with her and her quiet strength. I've never felt anything like the fierce desire coursing through me for this petite little Valkyrie. Every moment in her presence, it beats at me, demanding release. When we finally give in, Gods have mercy, I might not survive it.
I can't fucking wait.
"They're killing the Forsaken," Malachi answers. "Rissa is seeking them out one by one and destroying them with her Light."
"It isn't enough."
Malachi flicks his gaze in my direction, his eyes troubled. He shares my fear. Even if Rissa destroys every Forsaken in Eitr, it won't matter. The walls are crumbling. This place will be overrun in a matter of hours, if it takes that long for the soul-damned bastards to rally. Gods only know how many more of them are spread across the mountain, waiting to attack.
They want Abigail fiercely.
"We need to warn Damrion."
We stride forward in unison, the floorboards of the Hall rattling beneath our boots as we search for him. Neither of us has to ask where he is; we both know. He's at Abigail's side, just like Adriel is.
The Fae surrounding them shift slightly to let us through before closing ranks again, prepared to die where they stand to protect the Valkyrie if necessary. They don't fear death. They don't chafe at protecting these women. War is in our blood; we were born for it. We pledged our souls to the protection of Valhalla and the Valkyrie. Valhalla may no longer stand, but so long as a single Valkyrie draws breath, we keep our oath. It keeps us united, giving us strength in this foreign land.
For three hundred years, cut off from everything familiar, we've remained dedicated. Most would have lost hope. They would have abandoned their oaths and turned their back on the prophecy. Not the Fae. Never the Fae. We do not surrender.
"Damrion," I call when we reach him.
Our leader's attention is fully focused on the tiny red-headed Seer standing beside him as if he intends to hold her together simply with the force of his devotion to her. It's stamped across his face, written for the world to see. Adriel's expression is an exact match, reverence etched across every harsh line of his face.