Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Guilt pricks at me, sharp and insistent. Gods. How did I let things become so twisted between us? How did we drift so far from what we once were?
Fighting with him is slowly killing me. It’s been killing me for millennia. I went from thinking he died on the battlefield to learning that he was one of the warriors the Jötunn took hostage. I desperately wanted to go after him. But before we even had the city empty, Álfheimr and the Fae fell. The warriors oathbound to Valhalla were all who remained.
No one believed the Jötunn had any reason to keep the hostages alive any longer. With our world in ruin and our people all but gone, there was nothing left for them to gain by keeping them alive.
And our numbers were too few—a race of millions, now cut to less than one thousand. I made the call not to send a rescue party. Risking the warriors we had left to recover bodies was a suicide mission I couldn’t ask them to undertake, not when Valhalla and Asgard were still at risk.
I didn’t know he was still alive, but I should have. And it fucking haunts me that I didn’t. Every single day, I live with the knowledge that I left him there to die. He spent seven years in captivity, being tortured over and over again because I made the call not to send anyone.
Every time I look at him, I see the reminder of what I caused—the scars he bears because I left him there. And the physical scars aren’t even the worst of it. He came back broken, a shell of the Fae he was before the war.
How am I supposed to forgive myself when he still wakes screaming at night? When he can’t forgive me?
All I want is to fix it. I desperately want him and Abigail in my arms where they belong, but I don’t deserve either of them. How can I ever? He is the best of the Fae, and she’s the brightest Valkyrie the realms have ever known. And I’m the Gods-damned bastard who left him to suffer.
I don’t trust myself with either of them.
But somehow, some way, we have to heal the rift between us. I can’t keep hurting them—and I am hurting them. I see the sadness in Abigail’s eyes when Adriel and I fight. I see the grief in his when he forces himself to keep his distance from her, afraid of hurting me. He wants to let himself love her fully, but he holds himself back because of me—because even though he hates me—he still tries to protect me.
It’s not fair to either of them. My soul is theirs. For 2500 years, half of it has been Adriel’s. And now, half of it belongs to Abigail, too. I don’t know why the Norns chose me when I deserve neither of them, but my soul is theirs.
I’ll do whatever I must to ensure their happiness. If I have to sacrifice my own so that Adriel finds the peace he deserves, so be it.
A sharp blade of terror lances through my soul half a second before Adriel’s choked cry rips through the van. "No!"
I whip my head in his direction.
And I see what he’s already seen. Flames billow from the safehouse where we left Abigail, black smoke pumping into the air. Every inch of the building is a blazing inferno.
The same surge of terror that ripped through him rips through me.
"Gods," I breathe, my voice shaking with fear. "Oh, Gods."
Warriors race around out front, carrying the injured to safety. But everywhere I look, there are bodies. Too many bodies.
What did you do, Abigail? Gods, what did you do?
Stephan squeals to a stop at the curb.
Adriel flings the door open, jumping out. I leap out behind him, racing toward the inferno. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I don’t know if it’s Adriel’s terror or mine clawing its way up my throat. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is Abigail.
Please, Gods. Please, let her be safe.
Daric, a young Fae warrior covered in soot and ash, stumbles out of the chaos as Adriel and I reach him.
"What happened?" I demand.
"The Forsaken," the younger Fae growls, looking dazed. He’s bleeding from a wound on his forehead. His jeans are covered in blood.
Adriel grabs ahold of him, snarling in his face, terror for Abigail overriding everything else. "Where is she?" he demands, shaking the younger Fae. "Where is Abigail?"
Daric flinches, and I know. Before he ever says a word, I know.
She’s gone.
Adriel knows, too. His grief slams into me through the bond, threatening to drive me to my knees. "Nei," he chokes.
"I'm sorry, brother," Daric whispers. "We tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them. They took her."
My body goes numb as the words rip the breath from my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. The world tilts violently, spinning out of control.