Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Tell them what…exactly? That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? She was upset and overwhelmed. She could have been acting on pure emotion, as her sisters did when they first came into their power.
That scalding Light didn't feel instinctive.
"When I brought up the Forsaken keeping Marion drugged, you thought of something," I murmur to Dax as we walk.
He glances at me from the corner of his eye. "Ja, I did."
"What?"
"If her mother is as powerful as you suspect, perhaps they were concerned about what she might be capable of doing if kept awake," he says, his tone level. "The Forsaken kept her asleep for as long as they did for a reason."
"Ja," I whisper. "I thought of that." It's bounced around endlessly in the back of my mind since she told me how long she was with them. They tormented Tori and Abigail, torturing them. But they kept Marion unconscious. Why? What were they so afraid she might do?
Abigail is supposed to be the key to this puzzle. She's the one they want. And yet…Marion may be the one who holds the answers we need to using that key. I'm not even sure she knows it. But she wields Light like a Fae. The Forsaken fear her. And her parents knew about all of this—about the Valkyrie—long before anyone should have. The pieces fit. I'm just unsure how.
Who is the mysterious little Valkyrie I carried out of that cabin? Whoever she is…she's one of the brightest Lights I've ever seen. Her soul is pure, singing to mine like an aria.
A familiar scent, like death and decay, floats through the air as I try to slot the pieces into place, trying to make them fit. I stop walking, the hair at the nape of my neck standing on end as soon as I smell it. It's so familiar it's sickening.
All around me, my brothers react the same way, going rigid, stopping midstep.
"Varulv," Dax snarls.
"Helvete," Damrion growls, Magn flowing through his veins as his lyststål blazes to life in his hands.
A second later, Adriel's appears in his hands. One by one, my brothers reach for their lyststål, growls rumbling from our lips.
Stephan pulls his sword, snarling.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," I call into the forest. "We smell you, you filthy mutt."
One varulv doesn't come. Dozens do, pouring out of the forest in a monstrous horde. They don't come alone. All around us, black voids appear in thin air, growing before our eyes.
"Portals," Damrion growls. "Faen. They're opening portals."
We stare in shock as dozens of them open, spilling our enemies into the forest around Eitr in a plague of death. Everywhere we look, more open, more enemies appear.
Gods. They're everywhere.
War has come for us, come for our Valkyrie. It's a wall of Darkness, standing between us and our mates. Cutting us off from them.
Nei. Not Marion. The fucking realms will freeze over before it ends here for her today.
"Beskytt Valkyrie!" Adriel roars, his voice echoing through the frigid air, calling us forward to protect the only thing that matters—our mates.
"Beskytt Valkyrie!" we roar back, charging into war as one.
Chapter Five
Marion
Ipace Malachi's chamber, restless and uneasy. Dreams plagued my sleep like always, haunting my mind. But unlike usual, I don't remember the details. I just remember…darkness. It chased me awake, leaving me gasping for breath.
Malachi was gone when I sat up, choking for air. That was an hour ago. He hasn't returned since. Part of me wonders if he intends to come back at all. Worry churns through me at the thought.
I wasn't fair to him earlier. I lashed out, accusing him of using intimacy to get what he wanted, simply because the weight of guilt was crushing. Every time I think about my parents, I remember leaving them there. I remember running while they died for nothing. Admitting it out loud…talking about that night…I can't breathe through the guilt and shame.
Even now, it pricks at me. The air in the room feels thin, making my head swim. I need to get out of here, find Malachi, and apologize for what I said, for what I did.
He didn't deserve it. I think…I think he was trying to help me.
God. He's done nothing but try to help me.
He probably hates me now.
Can I blame him? I accused him of being the worst sort of man. And then I lashed out at him. And still, he held me while I cried myself to sleep.
He apologized, as if it were his fault.
I practically throw myself across the room, scrabbling for the door handle. I yank it open, stumbling out into the hall, feeling like the walls are closing in on me.
Like Malachi's chamber, the walls here are hand-hewn wood, the massive logs carefully placed. The seams are tightly compacted, making it impossible to tell where one log ends and another begins. It's beautiful.