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)
I don't think he'll ever be truly wild again. He's one of ours now, a warrior of Valhalla. Perhaps that's the way it was always meant to play out. I don't know. I wish it'd gone differently for him and the cost hadn't been so high. But at least with us, he's safe from the varulv.
Stephan and I exit the Mess Hall hand in hand, not speaking. A soft wind blows through the village, the heady scent of poppies strong. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me up against his side.
"I missed you today, Valkyrie." His nose skims my crown as if he's breathing me in.
I smile, my heart skipping a beat. Does he know how much I love him? I haven't told him yet. I'm not sure I know the words to explain. "I missed you too, warrior."
"Many more days of hunting instead of stalking you around Valhalla, and I'm going to be a very cranky mate, princess."
"Did you guys find anything today?"
"Ja." He falls silent for a moment and then curses. "We killed four varulv. Rhistel was nearly bitten."
"Oh no," I whisper, my stomach sinking.
"He's fine, but it was close." He shoots me an appreciative glance. "Asking the animals to help us hunt was smart, Kara. It'll save us a lot of time."
"I hope so."
"If there are any wolves left in Valhalla, we haven't found them."
My heart sinks. "Ing says there were dozens when we arrived, Stephan. Maybe even hundreds."
"Ja, I know. And in a matter of days, they've all fallen to the Dark." He sighs quietly. "Damrion pulled the warriors out of Asgard, Kara. It's overrun."
"Varulv?" I glance up at him, fear shooting through me.
"And Forsaken." They're amassing an army."
A shiver rips through me, chilling me to the bone.
"We're running out of time."
"Ja," he whispers. "I think we are."
The Bifröst is flickering again. There's no denying it as my sisters and I stand before it, sending flows of Light beaming across its reflective surface. As usual, we get nothing in response. Well, nothing save more flickers.
"I don't understand," Tori huffs, releasing her Light as her hands drop to her sides in defeat. "We're doing everything right."
Except…clearly, we aren't.
Ever since Damrion pulled the warriors from Asgard, we've redoubled our efforts to learn how to operate the Portal. It's been two days, and we've learned nothing. But the flickers are growing more insistent by the day, as if the Bifröst is in distress.
Or, perhaps, it merely senses that we are. And there's no denying that we are. Every day, Stephan, Ing, and the warriors fan out across Valhalla, searching for the varulv. They've killed no less than a dozen, but the shadow only seems to grow over Valhalla a little more every day.
The one bright spot has been the twelve unharmed vargúlfr Stephan, Ing, and the Fae have found. They're all that remain of Odin's wolves now. The rest belong to the Dark, turned while we were oblivious.
But for the first time in millennia, raven, wolf, and Fae hunt together, all that stands between Valhalla and the Dark. For the second time in memory, Asgard has fallen. We're cut off, completely on our own. The Portal is our only hope. And we're no closer to figuring out how to use it than we were weeks ago.
If that weren't bad enough…the Forsaken have taken to tormenting Abigail at every turn. She wakes screaming in the middle of the night from horrible nightmares, unsure if what she's seen is truth or simply another false trail laid by our enemies. It's wearing on her. And because it's wearing on her, it's wearing on the rest of us too.
Our backs are against a wall. And our only way out is forward.
But the damn Bifröst refuses to give up its secrets.
We're failing.
I'm sure the Forsaken are cackling in their cowls and hoods, reveling in their impending victory.
I glance at my sisters, see the defeat and anxiety stamped across their faces…and frustration boils through me.
The Forsaken can't win. I won't let them. They've taken enough from us. They've taken enough from the Fae and from the vargúlfr.
Valhalla is ours.
The souls on the other side of the Veils belong to the Light.
I stride closer to the Portal, purpose in my steps.
"Where are you going, Kara?" Rissa asks.
I ignore her, striding right up to the only remaining piece of the Bifröst still left.
"Careful, Valkyrie," Reaper cautions, shifting nervously, as if he'd prefer that I fall back in line with my sisters behind the line of warriors sent to keep us safe should the varulv and Forsaken on the other side of the Portal decide today is the day they attack.
I reach deep into the well of Light in my soul, letting it pour through me, but I don't send it out toward the Bifröst. Instead, I simply let it flow through me as I reach out with my hand, placing it right up against the shining surface. Energy crackles and hums against my palm, the magic of the Bifröst tingling.