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Reaper
Iwatch over my Valkyrie as the sun dips below the horizon and shadows slowly overtake the room. She sleeps peacefully now, her mind unhaunted by the terrors that plagued her throughout the long drive from Seattle. She did not sleep peacefully then, no matter how I whispered reassurances to her.
She was afraid, and I wanted to murder in her name. I still want to murder in her name. Every Forsaken who hurt her will die by my hand if they haven't already fallen to Rissa's Light. If their black souls don't quiver in terror, they should.
After hours crouched in the same position, my muscles ache in protest, but I keep my vigil, guarding Tori in her sleep. The mate in me is torn. One half is rooted to her side, unwilling to leave. The other aches to know what my brothers discuss downstairs. Her safety depends on whatever decisions they make. I should be involved in making them.
Tori stirs in her sleep, and I lean closer to brush my lips against her forehead. She sighs and snuggles deeper into the blankets, still lost in peaceful dreams. I smile at the sight, warmth spreading through my chest.
She's mine to protect now. Entire realms will fall to my lyststål before I allow her to suffer the smallest harm. I've always been fierce in battle—one of the deadliest Fae warriors still living. I've always lived for death and killing. It's what I knew—what I was good at. Once I pledged my allegiance to Valhalla, I knew there was no mate in my future. There wasn't supposed to be. That's the sacrifice we made to defend the Valkyrie. So I dedicated myself to war because it was my mission.
I have a new mission now: I live for my Valkyrie. My soul is no longer my own, but a mere offering to her. The Gods themselves have placed her Light in my keeping. I won't fail. I'm her warrior now, and I'll be every bit as fierce as I was on the battlefield. Moreso. Because what I protect now is even more precious.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I lift my gaze from the woman in the bed to find Rissa slipping into my chamber.
"You're needed downstairs," she whispers, speaking softly so she doesn't wake Tori. "I'll sit with her while you're down there."
I hesitate, reluctant to leave.
"I'll call you as soon as she wakes up," Rissa promises.
I give her a curt nod and rise to my feet, my muscles aching in protest. "I'll be back soon, little Valkyrie," I murmur, brushing my hand through Tori's hair. "Dream of me."
"Reaper," she sighs in her sleep. If my soul didn't already belong to her, her sweet voice would have stolen it in this moment.
I reluctantly leave her side and make my way downstairs. As soon as my boots hit the bottom step, all eyes turn toward me. Stephan Anderson and Garrison Shaw, two of the Blooded—the human offspring of the Valkyrie—have joined my brothers at the kitchen table.
"Welcome, brother," Damrion says.
I nod in acknowledgment and take a seat at the table with the rest of my brothers, wedging my broad frame in between Dax and Adriel. "What did I miss?"
"Arguing," Malachi's voice rumbles like distant thunder. "Hours of arguing."
Adriel fixes his dark eye on Malachi with a grunt. "You complain now, yet half of the arguing came from your side of the table."
"Ja, because this is madness." Malachi's dark brows furrow, his braids clicking as he shakes his head in pointed frustration. "Trying to move four hundred human souls off this mountain with the Forsaken nipping at our heels? Faen i helvete!"
Fucking hell is right. It is madness.
"Ja," Adriel snaps. "And if we don't move four hundred human souls, they die here."
Adriel is right, too. We can't leave them behind. The Forsaken will kill them without remorse. And it won't be an easy death. There will be no afterlife for them, no Helheim and a chance at rebirth. Their souls will be sacrificed, used up for dark, evil purposes. We won't allow that.
"Enough." Damrion pounds his fist against the table, his voice cracking across the room like a whip. "The Blooded are our responsibility, and we won't leave them behind. But we need to decide who comes with us to Seattle to continue the search, who goes north with Baelen, and who goes south with Rhistel."
"We're splitting up," I say, though I'm not entirely surprised. Not even the Fae can hide four hundred people easily without causing a stir.
Damrion had always hoped this day would never come. Malachi would rather stay and fight than give up the home we've built where the portal spit us out when Valhalla fell three hundred years ago, but we aren't stupid, and we are not unprepared. The Fae have safehouses scattered all around Washington, ready to shelter us should we need it. But there is no house big enough to safely house all four hundred of the Blooded who live here.
Baelen and Rhistel, two of the strongest Fae, lead a unit of warriors each. They were in charge of protecting Eitr in Damrion's absence. They're the most logical choices to help get everyone out safely. They know what it takes to lead.
"Tori and I should go with Baelen."
All eyes turn to me.
"I told you he wouldn't like it," Malachi mutters.
My brows furrow, unease drifting through me.
