Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
My hackles rise, suspicion immediately flaring to life inside me. I drop the small pile of clothes on the bed, circling back to the bedroom door. I press my ear against the metal, listening intently.
If he and Damrion are still in the hall, they're speaking too quietly to hear.
I risk cracking the door open an inch to check. The hallway is clear. Where did they go? More importantly, what are they talking about that Dax doesn't want me to know anything about?
I slip into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind me. My feet are soundless on the concrete as I creep down the hall, my back against the wall to avoid detection. I stop at each room along the way, pressing my ear to the door to listen.
"Her father isn't in prison."
I draw up short as Damrion's voice floats up to me from below. My heart lodges itself in my throat, beads of sweat breaking out all over my body.
No. Oh, no.
"What?"
"Malachi ran the name through the system like you asked. He thought it was a pointless request since there's no way for the Forsaken to slip someone out of a prison undetected, but he ran it anyway," Damrion says, his voice soft. "Her father was released two years ago, Dax."
"Faen," Dax growls. "She must not know."
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"She testified at his parole hearing," Damrion says. "She knows."
"She lied to me." I hear the sorrow in Dax's voice. Even with the bond masked, I feel little pinpricks of it floating through. They're echoes of echoes, but even those bring tears to my eyes.
I did lie to him, and I'm a hypocrite for doing it. But if I had to do it again, I'd do the same thing. His soul is worth saving, even if I have to save it from him. I can't allow him to get his hands on my father. Maybe my father does deserve to die for what he did to me and my mom.
But if there's Light left in the realms, it's because we don't decide that. We aren't judge, jury, and executioner, meant to cut down the guilty for their crimes. We hold to the Light, even when it's hard. Even when the dark tempts us. It's the only way we preserve the Light. It's the only way we deserve to preserve it.
"Malachi sent us out looking for the man," Damrion says. "He hasn't been to work in two days."
"Skíta. Forsaken?"
"Ja," Damrion says. "Dozens of them. They're crawling all over his place." He hesitates. "And her father isn't the only one they're holding, either. As of a few hours ago, two of her coworkers have gone missing. Genevieve and Jessa. They never returned from lunch."
No. Oh, God, no.
I clamp my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle a sob. Genevieve and Jessa were the only real friends I ever made. They were the only people who never treated me like I was different or like I was a freak or like there was something wrong with me. They treated me like I was completely normal.
They're completely normal. They won't understand any of this. How could they? Their lives revolve around boys and makeup and our crappy call-center job. Prophecies and the Forsaken and the battle between Light and Dark are so far beyond anything they know.
I knew it was coming, but I still didn't expect it to hurt this bad. I still didn't expect the guilt to be this overwhelming. They've done nothing wrong…nothing except befriend me. And now, their lives and their souls are in danger.
"Damrion!" Reaper roars from somewhere down below. "Eitr is under attack. The Forsaken are at the gates."
Chapter Eleven
Dax
Rissa lied to me. Fury twists through me, rattling my brain in my skull. When I get my hands on my little Valkyrie, I'm going to spank the truth from her deceitful lips. She'll be lucky if she can sit down for a week.
Nei, a month.
Just as soon as we rescue her friends and I kill her father.
At least I'll get to deal with that níðingr.
"Damrion!" Reaper roars from the back of the warehouse where our communication room is set up. "Eitr is under attack. The Forsaken are at the gates."
"Faen!" Damrion and I shout at the same time, racing toward Reaper's location.
I leap over a pallet of wood with Damrion hot on my heels. I dodge another, nearly careening into the doorjamb.
Reaper, Adriel, and Malachi are all crammed into the tiny communication room, a walkie clutched in Adriel's pale hand.
"The call just came through. There are Forsaken at the gates," Malachi says, his tone somber. "The forest is full of varulv."
So Rissa didn't kill them all the other night. Gods. How many of the things have the Forsaken made in the last three hundred years? Too many. Far too many, clearly.