“That’s not true. We have this.” Rissa stands suddenly, stretching over the table. She sets a small glass vial in the center of it. The glass clinks against the wood, rattling. The wisp of light inside the vial dances.

Her father’s trapped soul.

Everyone falls silent, staring at it. My heart thumbs unevenly against my ribcage. Using a soul for magic is dangerous, even for a Valkyrie.

"What exactly are you proposing, Valkyrie?" I ask cautiously.

She leans forward, her dark hair falling over one shoulder. Her gaze flickers to Tori, who gulps and then nods. “We think they used the souls of Tori’s parents to open their portal. When I was at my father’s, I heard them talking about needing a sacrifice. I think they intended to use his soul that day, but we stopped them before they were able to open the portal. They still had her parents’ souls, however.” Her gaze flickers around the table, landing on each of us. “They used one of them to open their portal.”

I suspect she’s right, though I’d hoped we wouldn’t ever have to tell either of them. A soul used for dark magic can’t be reclaimed. There is no sending it beyond the Veil, no afterlife. The magic uses it up, burning it out like a candle out of wick and wax.

“We have everything they had,” Rissa says. “The blood of four Valkyrie and my father’s soul. But we also have shards of the Bifrost. If they can open a portal with what they had, why can’t we?”

Chaos erupts around the table. Dax slams his hand against the wood. Malachi and Reaper raise for their voices in protest.

"It's too risky!" Dax growls at his mate.

"You don't have that kind of power!" Reaper growls at his.

"The consequences could be catastrophic!" Malachi roars at everyone.

“You’re talking about burning your father’s soul out, Rissa,” Dax says, grasping her by the shoulders.

“Ja,” she snaps, her eyes blazing with Light. “He murdered my mother and tried to murder me. She’s been stuck in limbo for years because of what he did. I live with those memories haunting me every day. Do you think he deserves peace for that, Dax? Because I don’t.” She sniffles, fighting back tears. “I don’t want to sacrifice anything to save this world, but if ever a soul deserved it, it’s his. I’d rather burn his out and save my mother’s—and save Abigail—than keep his safe in a freaking jar while everyone else continues to suffer. Those are our options.”

My gaze drifts to Adriel beside me. His scarred face is impassive, but I sense the turmoil roiling beneath the surface as he listens to our brothers and their mates argue.

“She’s right,” Tori says softly, earning a look of betrayal from Reaper. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. We don’t know where Abigail is or how to find the fifth Valkyrie. What we have is his soul in a vial, our blood, and our Light. If that’s not enough, what is?” She squeezes Reaper’s hand. “We aren’t the Forsaken. We’re Valkyrie. We’re supposed to open the portal.”

“Yes, five of you,” Malachi growls. “Not four. Five. It cannot be done with anything less.”

"Before me, you all said no one could heal the bite of a varulv either,” Tori reminds him. “But I did. You’ve all said that we’re the strongest Valkyrie you’ve ever seen. If all of that is true, why can’t we do this?”

I feel a surge of pride for the young Valkyrie. When we found her, she was terrified and broken. She’s grown so much in the weeks since. She’s as fierce as Rissa, her power overwhelmingly bright.

Reaper's deep voice rumbles across the table. "Valkyrie don't mess with dark magic, solsken."

His tiny mate doesn't back down. "We're not asking to use dark magic, Reaper. We're asking to use our skills, our bond as Valkyrie, and the tools right in front of us to save our sister. It’s the best chance we have."

"Let them try," Adriel growls suddenly.

I study him, the pain and desperation etched in the lines of his face. The starkness in his eye. If we don’t get her back soon, we’re going to lose him too. He’s drowning, his mind taking him to places I can’t follow—to places no one can.

“Adriel,” Malachi protests, but even his protest is weak. He knows the same as I do—if anyone at this table understands what Abigail is suffering right now, Adriel does.

"Let them try," he repeats, enunciating each word.

I don’t hesitate. I failed him once. I can’t—won’t—fail him and Abigail now. If the cost of saving their lives is one human soul, I’ll pay it. If it damns me, so be it. I’m not a steward of humanity. I’m a warrior of Valhalla, a guardian of the Valkyrie. And my Valkyrie is in danger. That’s my concern. Not the soul of a man who destroyed his own mate and tried to destroy his daughter.

"Let them try," I command, meeting the gaze of each of the warrior’s gathered around the table. "She would do it for any of us. She's walked through hell for each of us, more times than I can count."

Every time the visions come, she endures hell for us. And she does it without a single complaint. She is where she is now because she sacrificed herself for us. I don’t understand why or what she hoped to accomplish, but I know her well enough to know she had a reason.

Malachi bows his head, submitting to my command.

Dax and Reaper are more reluctant—it’s their mates at risk. Malachi’s is still sleeping off the effects of the henbane the Forsaken drugged her with. We don’t even know if she can reach her Light or if she knows who and what she is.

“How are we going to do this?” Dax finally asks, giving in with a dark scowl. He clutches Rissa to him before anyone can answer, his gaze hot as it rakes across her. “If we cannot ensure their safety, I won’t allow it.”

“Nor will I,” Reaper agrees.

All eyes turn to me as if I’m the one with the answers here. I consider the problem carefully, unsure how to proceed. In all our thousands of years, we’ve never had to do anything like this.

Our magic is part of us, something that flows through our veins. It’s not something we have to call or conjure or cast. It doesn’t require sacrifices or tools. It simply is. The magic that created the portal—the magic the Gods used to forge the Bifrost—predates us all. Any records of it were destroyed when Asgard burned.

“I think—” I start to say, only to choke when a searing pain rips through my chest, so intense, it blinds me.

The bond between my soul and Abigail’s blazes to life, her souls screaming for mine and Adriel’s. For help. Rissa and Tori cry out as if they feel it, too. Even Malachi’s Valkyrie screams from the bedroom.

“Abigail!” I gasp, swaying as the room falls out of focus around me.

Adriel howls in agony beside me, the sound so primal and full of grief it makes my blood run cold. Torment and rage surge through me, pelting me from every side. His grief. Abigail’s torment. My own rage at what’s happening to her. The tangle of emotions threatens to shatter me, breaking me in ways I’ve never broken.

Gods. It’s as if I’m being ripped apart, entire pieces of my soul shredded. But it doesn’t even compare to what’s happening to Abigail. She’s in so much pain.

What are they doing to her?

I grasp Adriel's shoulder, trying to anchor us as wave after wave of her pain lashes at us. My soul screams in defiance—in fury. They’re hurting our mate. She needs us.

Bloodlust rises hot and fast—burning through me like a comet streaking through the sky. I grip the table, pieces of wood crumbling beneath my fingers.

"Damrion," Adriel chokes, clinging to my arm as he trembles, his normally pale face gray. "I can't—she's—"

She’s in hell. Whatever they’re doing to her, it’s pure hell.

I whip my head around, looking for Rissa and Tori to demand that they do whatever needs to be done to find her right now. To find the Forsaken who are hurting her so I can kill them—rip them apart piece by piece.

The command dies in my throat.

Rissa and Tori are on the floor, blazing with Light as they twitch and convulse, their mates at their sides.

A vision.

Helheim, take me. Abigail’s sent them a vision. Even in the throes of her torment, she’s fighting.

I practically sob with pride for our fierce, brilliant mate.

Chapter Eight