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)
Chapter Fifteen
Adriel
"Looks like it'll hold for now," I say, scanning the wall being rebuilt around Eitr.
When the Forsaken last attacked, they brought down the west wall. Other sections were damaged. The warriors and Blooded have spent every waking hour since we reclaimed our fortress trying to shore them up. The work isn’t perfect, but they’ll hold.
With the landmines Stephan and Garrison have placed around them and the hidden trenches being dug deeper into the forest surrounding the fortress, we’re in better shape than we were just a few days ago, at least. None of it will stop the Forsaken for long, but when they come, our brand of hospitality will cost them lives.
Damrion nods in agreement, his gold eyes scouring the wall, looking for any areas of weakness. When he finds none, he glances at each of the warriors gathered around us. “We need to finish them quickly without exhausting our strength. We need every warrior rested and ready for war. When they decide to strike, they won’t hesitate."
“We’ll be ready, Damrion,” Malachi says. “We know what’s at risk.”
“Ja,” Dax agrees. “Even the Blooded know.”
A shiver of unease ripples through me. Damrion stiffens beside me and I know he feels it too. Something is upsetting Abigail. Her distress pierces our souls like a blade, sharp and insistent.
"I want it finished quickly,” Damrion orders, his jaw clenched. “Now, back to Eitr. We have other business to attend.”
“Ja,” Malachi mutters, his voice weary. “I have a Valkyrie who thinks I’m the devil.”
“If the shoe fits...” Reaper says with a smirk as we all turn away from the wall, heading toward the gates.
“Saurigr skítkarl,” Malachi retorts. The insult only makes Reaper's smirk grow.
A soft laugh rumbles from the giant warrior. I shake my head, tuning them out. After millennia of fighting at their side, I’ve gotten good at doing that. They pick at each other endlessly. They always have.
Not even halfway to the gates, a familiar scent floats through the air—death and decay. My body goes rigid as soon as I smell it. It’s so familiar it’s sickening. All around me, my brothers react the same way.
“Varulv,” Dax snarls.
“Helvete,” Damrion growls, Magn flowing through his veins as his lyststål blazes to life in his hands.
I reach for mine as well, grasping for the weapon forged from the power within me. One by one, lyststål blaze to life in the hands of our brothers, warning growls rumbling from their lips.
Stephan pulls his sword, snarling.
I scan the forest, looking for the hellhound responsible for the smell.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Malachi calls. “We smell you, you filthy mutt.”
One varulv doesn’t come. Dozens do. I rock back in shock as black voids begin to grow before our eyes, appearing from thin air.
“Portals,” Damrion growls. “Faen. They’re opening portals.”
Dozens of them open, spilling varulv and Forsaken into the forest around Eitr like a plague. My blood runs cold, rage boiling within me as I spin in a circle, realizing they’ve surrounded us.
War has come for us. And they’ve cut us off from the village. From Abigail and the Valkyrie. They’re a black plague, standing between us and our mates.
Nei. Not today. Not our mate. Not ever.
“Beskytt Valkyrie!” I roar, my voice echoing through the frigid air.
“Beskytt Valkyrie!” my brothers roar back.
We charge forward as one, lyststål singing as they slice through the air. The Forsaken and varulv rush forward to meet our charge, dark magic flying from the hands of the Forsaken. We dodge it when we can, and bat it aside when we cannot.
“Hel taki þik!” I snarl, my lyststål biting into the neck of a Forsaken. His yellow eyes widen in shock as the wound immediately burns and smokes. I kick him from my blade, spinning to plunge it into the throat of a varulv attempting to bite Damrion.
His blade is a whirlwind of death as we push our way forward, killing everything in our path. Reaper is unstoppable on my other side, Forsaken after Forsaken falling to his lyststål.
My heart pounds, each beat screaming Abigail’s name. I don’t stop moving. Don’t stop killing. With every enemy that falls, I think of her. I think of the bond tying me to her and Damrion. I’ll protect it at all costs.
We fight and run, bodies piling around us, the stench of blood and death and charred flesh filling the air. My lyststål slices through another Forsaken and then another. But they still keep coming. We’re drowning in a sea of dark magic and varulv venom—the army Abigail warned us was coming.
I glance at Damrion and see the same stark realization on his face. War is here, and we’re vastly outnumbered. Worse, exhaustion is setting in.
“We’ll make it,” I snarl at him. Faen. We have to make it. We vowed to protect her. If we die now, she’s defenseless.