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)
Whatever the Bifröst intended to show her, it wasn't that. But there's no convincing her of that. She refuses to discuss it. As soon as I attempt to broach the subject, she finds a way to distract me with her hands on my body or her Light spilling through me. My Valkyrie doesn't play fair.
But we do need to discuss it, because pieces are beginning to align in my mind. There are entire sections missing, things beyond my understanding. But…I understand enough. I've been a soldier my entire life. Duty and sacrifice are what I know. They're all I've ever known. And in this fight, in this war, my duty is to my Valkyrie.
If my sacrifice is what saves her, there is no question. It must be done.
"Can I ask you a ques–" I inhale a sharp gasp as a dagger of fear lances through me, cutting deep. It's so powerful, it's as if Kara is standing right beside me, screaming in terror.
For a brief moment, I see what she does. Dozens of varulv, slipping out of the shadows of the forest toward the Bifröst. Toward the Valkyrie and Fae. And hundreds more pouring through the Portal behind them, boxing them in.
Gods. No.
"Faen!" Dax growls beside me, jerking as if struck with a blade. And I know that he knows too. He's seen enough though Rissa's eyes to know our mates are under attack—and we're still two miles away.
Damrion growls low in his throat, a menacing sound of rage and retribution.
Overhead, the ravens scream a warning, but it comes too late.
"Marion!" Malachi bellows, launching himself over a log. He hits the ground running on the other side.
"The village is under attack!" Damrion roars, racing after him. "Beskytt Valkyrie! Beskytt Valkyrie!"
Gods, protect her. Protect my Valkyrie.
A savage growl rips through me, terror firing through every nerve ending. I launch myself after Damrion, my heart pounding with fear for Kara.
Ing runs with me, the rest of the wolves spread out behind him.
"Kara needs us," I growl to him. "The varulv are attacking."
He throws his head back, a howl ripping from his muzzle as he calls the few remaining vargúlfr to war. They howl in response, racing at his heels to meet the varulv and protect our Valkyrie.
Gods, I hope it's just the varulv. If it's the Forsaken too…
No. I can't think it. I won't.
The Fae, the wolves, and I race the last miles through the forest, leaping over fallen logs and dodging around trees. My side twinges, my lungs burning with exertion, but I don't stop or slow. I can't. Kara needs me.
We're still half a mile out when the sounds of battle reach us, a dull roar of noise and inhuman screams that set my teeth on edge. Good Gods. The varulv never die quietly. They fall screaming their rage into the wind.
Not even a full minute later, we find the first of them lurking beneath the trees as if lying in wait for us.
"Varulv," Malachi snarls, launching himself at a massive gray wolf.
It turns in his direction, snarling.
He plows into it like a meteor striking dirt, flinging the animal off its feet.
Four more slip out of the shadows.
Ing snarls a warning, his fur standing on end.
"Don't engage!" I shout to him, praying he relays the message to the rest of the wolves. They've been good about not attacking directly while we've been hunting, allowing us to do the killing to spare their own lives. But they've never been tested like this, in the fog of war. "Their blood will turn you."
Ing snarls as if telling me that he hears me. I pray he does, that they all do. We cannot afford to lose them, when doing so means thirteen more varulv nipping at our heels.
I leap over one of the vargúlfr, my ímun-laukr spinning in my hands as I advance on one of the varulv. One of the Fae steps up beside me, his lyststål blazing in his hands.
"Want to play, you mangy mutt?" I growl. "Come play."
The varulv slams into me like a brick wall, the impact jarring. I grit my teeth, slamming the hilt of my ímun-laukr down against the side of his head as he tries to pin me beneath him.
"Get off of him," the Fae, Krandriel, snarls, dragging him off me by the scruff of his neck.
The varulv immediately turns on him, giving me time to bound back to my feet. All around us, the Fae are locked in battle, fending off the varulv. Malachi has his pinned to the ground, his lyststål shoved through the thing's throat. Damrion and Dax are wrestling another a few feet away. The fourth has Rhistel backed up against a tree, snarling and snapping at him. Garrison and two Fae are fending off the last.
Ing and the wolves hang back, snarling in impotent fury that they're left out of the fight yet again. They hunt beside us, help us track them down, but the killing is too risky. That may not be the case much longer. If the Forsaken are coming through the Portal, we may need them their claws and fangs as much as we need their ability to scent out the varulv.