Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
I stride forward, pulling her into my arms as she cries quietly. There are varulv in Valhalla. Gods. How did we miss it? Is that what the Forsaken have been trying to do? Not access the Bifröst themselves but get their hellhounds across the border?
I don't know, but I don't like it.
"How many were there, princess? Can you ask him?"
Kara sniffles and nods before pulling back to communicate with Ing. A second later her brow furrows. "That can't be right," she mumbles.
"What?"
"Wolves don't count, so I could be wrong, but I think he's saying there were two times as many as were in his pack."
I glance down at the wolf, my gaze sharp. "How many were in his pack, Valkyrie?"
"Seven."
Jesus. If she's right, there are at least fourteen varulv in Valhalla. Fourteen chances for the Forsaken to strike. And they could be anywhere. Valhalla is miles and miles of forests and valleys and rivers. Even if every warrior inside its borders searches, it'll take days. Weeks, even.
We don't have that kind of time. We never had that kind of time. But we don't have choice, either. Leaving even a single Forsaken spy alive in Valhalla is deadly dangerous. Leaving fourteen of them is suicide.
"We need to warn Damrion," I say grimly. "The warriors need to begin searching."
"What about Ing?" Kara protests. "We can't just leave him alone, Stephan. What if they come back?" Her bottom lip quivers, distress flowing through her eyes. "I don't want him to die."
I can't even communicate with the wolf, and I don't want him to die. He's important to her. That means he's important.
I sigh softly, pulling her back into my arms to brush my lips across her temple. "Ing stays here for now, princess. We can't have him strolling into the middle of the barracks with five hundred warriors who know nothing about him."
She opens her mouth to protest, but Ing whirls toward his fallen packmate suddenly, his fur standing on end. I turn in that direction, a curse whistling from between my lips.
The wolf isn't on the floor anymore, rapidly dying. I'm pretty sure he's past that point. And he's on his feet, snarling at us. Fucking hell. Did the varulv turn him?
That isn't possible. Except…the evidence is pacing toward us, nothing but malevolence in his yellow eyes.
"Kara, you and Ing need to get out of here," I growl, stepping forward to cut the wolf, Rider, off from the two of them. "Now, princess."
"I'm not leaving you!" she cries. And Christ, if this weren't an emergency, I'd kiss that vow from her lips. But right now, I need her safely outside, away from a newly formed varulv with a fresh load of poison pumping through his veins.
"Go, Valkyrie. Now."
She huffs, and I think she's going to obey. But when has a Valkyrie ever done what she's told? In all the combined history of Valhalla, I'm guessing never.
"I'm so sorry, Ing!" she cries, flinging a blast of Light toward Rider.
The confused varulv ignites with a whoosh, a pained howl ripping through the ruins as the area immediately around us lights up like midday.
The sound dies quickly. So does her Light. And when it goes, Rider goes with it. Not even the blood he spilled marks the place where he fell.
Kara drops her hands, her head hanging heavy between her shoulders.
Ing throws his head back, a bloodcurdling howl of grief ripping from his muzzle as he says goodbye to the family that was stolen from him.
I always wondered if animals mourned as deeply as we do.
I guess now I know.
Chapter Six
Kara
Kara
Ipace the living area, waiting for Stephan to finish filling in my sisters and their mates on…everything. I'm glad he's doing the talking instead of me because I don't even know where to start. My mind isn't even on the conversation. It's with Ing.
He's curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, his ears twitching as he eyes my sisters and their mates warily. Grief flows from him in a steady flood, prickling at my heart.
After Rider…changed? Turned? I don't even know what to call it, but after Rider tried to attack us, Stephan quickly decided the best place for Ing was at my side, after all. I think he's afraid of the varulv tracking him down and turning him, too.
"Faen," Malachi snarls, spinning to face Damrion, his face a thundercloud. "They're turning the vargúlfr's offspring."
"Ja." Damrion looks faintly ill at the thought. "Possibly."
"What do you mean possibly? They saw it with their own eyes." Malachi flings a hand to indicate me and Stephan, making me flinch. "The vargúlfr's offspring are turning."
"What are the… vargúlfr?" Abigail asks, tucking a foot up underneath her in her chair. "I've never heard that word."
"Me either," Rissa says through a yawn.
"It means werewolves," Dax murmurs to his mate and Abigail, whose eyes widen in shock. "Shapeshifters."