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)
He's lethal, the same way lions at rest are lethal. They may let you look. They may even let you get close enough to think you can touch. But as soon as you think you're safe, they strike you down. This man is dangerous. And I don't fear him nearly enough.
God help me. I'm not sure I fear him at all.
Chapter Three
Dax
Rissa is nothing like I expected. Asleep, she looked like one of the beings human's call angels, so peaceful and still. Awake, she's a fierce little warrior, full of suspicion and hellfire. She doesn't give an inch and keeps her guard firmly in place.
She's fascinating in a way no human ever has been to me. Does she know it's her Valkyrie blood that gives her such fierce courage? Most in her shoes would be in tears by now. Not Rissa. Sooner or later, she'll crack. They always do. But for now, she's still standing, demanding answers I'm not entirely convinced she's ready to hear.
I understand her need to have those answers, however. I've always preferred to know my odds too. I'm not an idealist. I don't believe in false hope. The cold, hard truth is better than a sweet lie any day of the week. At least then, I die on my feet, having made my own choices.
I think those are just as important to Rissa. Choices. Making them for herself. I don't understand why yet, but I will.
"I wasn't talking about your personal history, Rissa," I say, leaning against the wall as she clutches my pillow as if it's a shield. "I meant your family history."
She flinches at the mention of her family, just like she did when she mentioned her mom. I file that away for later.
"I have no family."
"Your mom is dead?"
She jerks her head in a nod.
"Your father?"
"I have no father."
Skíta. There's a thread of venom in her voice more poisonous than the blood flowing through the veins of the Forsaken. Her father hurt her deeply. If he still walks this earth, he'll pay in blood for whatever he did to her. I'll ensure it. Not because she called my soul, but because some horrors are unforgivable. I think whatever happened to her may be one of those unforgivable horrors.
But we're not talking about her father right now. I don't think she'd tell me if I asked. She doesn't trust me yet. Because of him? Perhaps.
"Do you know who the Valkyrie are?"
"Mythical beings who carry the souls of fallen warriors to Valhalla."
"Close," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. Of course she only knows the miniscule little scrap that humanity didn't lose to time. That's not her fault, but it is inconvenient. This would be far easier if she knew even a tenth of the story. "The Valkyrie were a group of powerful beings who carried the souls of the dead across the Veil and maintained the cosmic balance. Fallen warriors, those who died in battle, were given a place of honor in Valhalla." I pause. "If they were soul-bound to a Valkyrie."
"Soul-bound? What does that mean?"
"It means not every warrior who died in battle made it to Valhalla. Unless a Valkyrie called their souls, they never passed through the portal."
"And they had to be bound to a Valkyrie to be called?" she confirms.
"Ja. It's the only way they heard the call."
"Why?"
"It was Odin's way of ensuring those who passed through the portal could never bring harm to the Valkyrie." Their numbers were always too few to risk them needlessly. And with every battle, their numbers grew fewer still. They were the greatest Light the realms had against the dark. And we never had nearly enough of it. Every flame that flickered out allowed darkness to encroach, leaving thousands of souls at risk.
The Forsaken knew this. They counted on it. The Valkyrie were always their targets. Those souls were always their goal. And the Æsir were too busy fighting amongst themselves to protect the Valkyrie the way they needed to be protected.
Odin did what he could. So did the Fae. Álfheimr fell so Valhalla would stand. Because we knew it was far more important than the land that birthed us. But in the end, not even that was enough to keep the flame burning.
"So what happened if their souls weren't called?" Rissa asks.
"The Valkyrie ferried them to Helheim."
She scowls at me. "Well, that's rude."
I blink at her, not understanding.
"They die in battle, don't get to go to Valhalla, and have to go to hell? Rude."
A smile twists at my lips. "Helheim isn't hell, Rissa."
"Uh, it says hell right there in the name, Dax."
"Ja, but Helheim existed long before any concept of hell that you know, elskan-ljós. Helheim is simply the afterlife. For most, it's neither a place of torment nor a haven. It's merely a place where life continues on in some form. Only those mired in darkness find Helheim unwelcoming."