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It was true. Eir never took personal interest in any of the warriors the Valkyries chose to live or die. In a sense, they were impartial observers simply playing their part to carry out the hand of Fate.
Things never ended well for gods and demigods who interfered in the lives of men. And it ended even worse for the recipients of such attention.
It would not go unnoticed amongst her closest confidantes, her sisters, for Eir to show specific preference for one man now. Especially when she’d always been the coldest and most rational of them all.
Mist met her gaze and arched a perfect, golden brow, daring Eir to dispute her statement.
Eir slid her eyes away, focusing back on the three travelers in the distance.
“The scarred warrior ismine,” she admitted quietly.
At once reluctant and determined.
“Therefore, I notice.”
There. She’d said it.
She thought that laying the claim out loud would soothe the seething beast within her, the one that wanted to claw and howl like a mad thing for the male it had decided it wanted.
But, no.
Giving voice to her obsession only made her want to claim him in other ways.
In all ways.
Rightfucking now.
As if sensing her volatile mood, Mist asked carefully, “For Valhalla or Fólkvangr?”
“I have not decided yet.”
Perhaps the warrior was destined for neither.
What had Freyja said? His Fate was up to Eir?
How could it be? The Norns decided every living creature’s Fate.
She could feel Mist’s curious gaze upon her profile. And then, she turned away. Her sister was silent for a while, simply looking in the direction that Eir looked.
Of all the Valkyries, they were the closest, though they couldn’t be more different.
Mist was the least likely looking shield maiden. She could easily be mistaken for aLjosalfar, a Light Elf, with her sun-spun silky waves, angelic light blue eyes and rosebud mouth. She was tall, like all of the Valkyries, but gracefully slim instead of muscularly lean. Indeed, it was rumored that her mother was an elf, the most beautiful of all.
Where Eir was hard and logical, Mist was soft and affectionate. Valkyries often “fell in love” with their chosen warriors, even if it was for but a brief time. Neither Eir nor Mist had ever fallen. But for different reasons.
Eir hadn’t yet met a man to make the investment of her limited emotions worth the effort.
Well, before the earth dragon, that was. She didn’t know what to do about him. He was an anomaly that confused her.
Whereas Mist treated her marks like a doting mother or a loving sister. She was a soft touch.
Nevertheless, Eir knew for a fact that Mist had warmed her warriors’ beds before. But she comforted them with her soft, fragrant embrace. While the other Valkyries, including Eir, rode the men like bulls in sweaty, energetic, uninhibited passion.
Woe to the man who underestimated Mist in battle, however. There, she dispatched her opponents with lethal grace. A deadly dance in which only Mist was left standing.
“Why do you suppose none of us was tasked with the golden one?” Mist asked in a considering tone, her eyes fixed on said male in the distance. As the man efficiently set up a makeshift shelter in the middle of waist-high grass.
There were no trees or other landmarks for miles around. Only fields of wild flowers and sedge, or pebbles upon barren ground.
