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"Faen!" he roars as it sinks its teeth into his arm, its bite savage.
"Reaper!" I cry.
"Reaper!" Malachi shouts, rushing into view from behind the group of varulv. He takes one look at the situation, assessing it quickly. "Fae! Beskytt Valkyrie! Beskytt Reaper!"
They wage forward like a well-oiled machine, roaring defiance. Their lyststål spin in their hands in a blur. The remaining three varulv try to flee, but there's nowhere for them to go. Within seconds, the varulv are dead, their heads separated from their bodies.
I rush forward, falling to my knees at Reaper's side.
"Nei, Tori. Nei," he gasps, his face contorted in pain. "Don't touch me."
My gaze falls on the wound, horror surging through me. It's black around the edges, lines of poison rapidly marching up his arm.
"No, no, no!" I cry, panic rising in my chest. "What can I do? What can I do?"
No one says anything. No one even looks at me.
"Reaper," I plead. "Please."
"There is nothing, little Valkyrie."
"There has to be something," I sob. "There's always something."
Reaper coughs, teeth gritted as if even that pains him.
Malachi speaks for him, his voice grave. "The varulv were twisted by a type of magic we don't understand. A bite from one is fatal, even to our kind."
Horror engulfs me, threatening to crack my heart in half. Tears stream down my face as I shake my head vehemently. "No. Please, no."
Reaper gasps as the poison continues its deadly march toward his heart. "It will be okay, Tori," he manages through gritted teeth, his skin pale. "The Fae will protect you. You will be safe."
"No! You can't just give up!" My sobs echo in the silence that follows, my heart shattering at the thought of losing him. He's become so much more than just my protector—he's imprinted himself into my very being. His strength, his gentleness…him…all of him is etched into my soul.
He opens his mouth to respond, but only groans weakly, his amber eyes full of pain. The black lines have climbed all the way up his bicep, disappearing under the sleeve of his faded blue T-shirt. He struggles to breathe, each breath rattling in his chest painfully.
He's slipping away from me right in front of my eyes.
I ache to reach for him, desperate to brush away the pain that twists so grotesquely on his striking features. Desperate to keep him here.
I need him.
It's not fair. He promised me. He promised! The Forsaken have already taken my parents, and now they're taking him too. Anger creeps into my bleeding, broken heart, filling me with cold fury. A tiny light sparks inside me, flickering like the flame of a candle.
They can't have him. I won't allow it.
I don't know what it is or what I'm doing, but I reach for that flickering light, grasping greedily for the hot rush of power emanating from it. An intense blast of Light fills me, ripping me wide open. I let it, allowing it to flood through me.
Reaper needs me. I have to protect him.
I surge forward, my hand extended toward him, deaf to the warnings shouted from the throng of warriors behind me. My heart throbs in my chest, matching the rhythm of the chant echoing in my mind: Not him. Not him.
They cannot have him.
As I touch Reaper, the Light pulses out of me, plunging into his massive body. The world turns white, blinding and relentlessly bright. It's as if I've harnessed the power of a thousand suns and directed it all at him.
His body bows from the ground, his massive form going rigid under my touch. His amber eyes flash open, glowing as bright as the light piercing his massive form. In this moment, I feel everything he does. His regret at being ripped from my side, his pride at having given his life for mine, the power of his feelings for me, and his surprise at what's happening now.
Behind us, I hear gasps and shouts. They're panicking. They don't understand what's happening—neither do I—but none of that matters now.
