AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Helvete," Malachi breathes.
"Close enough." Reaper's upper lip curls. "Midgard."
"Why did the portal spit us out here?" I look to Damrion for my answer, not entirely convinced he has it, either. But he's the oldest of us, the only one with royal blood running through his veins. If anyone has a guess, he should.
He shakes his head, his lips pursed.
The portal groans behind us, a Gods-awful screeching noise that sets my teeth on edge.
I spin to face it,lyststålat the ready.
Chaos erupts as the portal wobbles, the rainbow surface turning pitch black. Screams sound from within as the entire thing goes up in flames that burn so hot I feel the heat of them scorching fine hairs all over my arms.
The portal groans a final time, and then collapses in upon itself with a roar.
The Fae standing closest are blown off their feet, landing in heaps as the portal fails, taking Valhalla with it…and leaving two-hundred Fae stranded on earth.
Chapter One
Dax
Seattle, Present Day
Death is a familiar friend. I've spent millennia surrounded by it, my sword and soul pledged to the protection of the Valkyrie, the Guardians of the Dead. I still can't stand the sound of silence. It's too peaceful. Too still. And I was built for war.
But the Gods-forsaken racket pumping through the bar is eight full levels above tolerable. Frankly, it's torture.
It isn't music. It wasn't created for dancing or worship. It was made for fucking.
That's basically what's happening on the wooden dance floor as I stomp around the edges in search of my brothers. Human women in revealing clothing grind against men who paw all over them, alcohol and other intoxicants seeping from their pores along with sweat and the cloying scent of cheap cologne.
I've been in this city and others like it often over the centuries, and I still don't understand this ritual of drinking to excess in places like this. Times may change, but this ritual remains the same the world over.
It's madness.
My brothers and I could massacre everyone here in minutes, and they'd be helpless to stop us. They're too intoxicated to even recognize the danger.
Skíta.
Perhaps they do recognize it. The human world is dark and violent. They've become all too familiar with the horrors that surround them and the evil that walks amongst them. Rituals like this allow them to forget for a moment just how fragile and fleeting their lives are. Perhaps drinking themselves senseless even gives them a little glimmer of hope that it'll make sense in the end.
It won't.
Life's a bitch, and then you die. And death? Well, that's a bitch, too.
Maybe once it made sense. Once, there was a purpose to it.
That was a long time ago…before Valhalla fell. Before the dead were left to roam, their souls picked off one by one by the Forsaken.
Now? Well, like I said, death's a bitch, too.
I spot Malachi's broad shoulders rising above the crowd and veer in his direction. Even sitting at the very back of the baras far into the shadows as he can get, he stands out like a sore thumb with his umber skin and bright blue eyes. It's an unusual combination in this world, even in an age where people change their hair and eyes as often as they do their underwear.
Then again, we all stand out, even in this age. It's hard to hide five warriors who stand head and shoulders taller than nearly every other man, woman, and child in the city. Especially five who glow if you look closely enough.
But in places like this, people rarely notice. If they do, they don't think twice about us. To most, we're simply a fragment of a memory, no more important than a piece of the room they're sitting in. The few who remember anything more than that convince themselves that we're a figment of their intoxicated minds, too unbelievable to be real.
Being immortal has its perks.
