They’re alive. They’re going to come for me. I feel them in the depths of my soul.
My vision blurs as the leader of the Forsaken slashes me with another whip of his dark magic. Another wave of agony washes over me.
The Forsaken laughs in the face of my pain. “How much pain do you think you can take before it breaks your mates?”
"Shut up!" I sob, yanking against the chains biting into my wrists. “Just shut up!”
I desperately try to keep the bond masked, to keep Damrion and Adriel out so they don’t feel what’s happening to me, but my control is slipping. I can’t keep the barriers in place.
"They’ll fall, just like Valhalla."
"I’m sorry..." I gasp. "I’m so sorry.”
"They can’t hear you, Seer," the Forsaken sneers. "No one can. We’ll take what we need from you, one way or another."
Another dark whip of power lashes out, searing into my skin. The pain is unbearable. I sob in agony as the barriers keeping Adriel and Damrion out collapse. I scream in defiance, in helplessness, and in agony, Adriel and Damrion’s names breaking from my lips.
Another whip hurtles into me. And then another.
And I do the only thing I know to do, I reach for my mates and my sisters.
Help me. Please.
Chapter Seven
Damrion
Adriel and I walk back toward the home we share with Malachi, Dax, Reaper, and their mates arm in arm. When we reach the door, Adriel tries to pull away.
“Nei,” I say, clasping his fingers.
His gaze flies to mine. “You don’t owe me this, Damrion.”
“No, I owe it to all of us,” I murmur. “We’ve hid behind our walls long enough, Adriel. From ourselves. From each other. From Abigail. From everyone. It’s time to heal now. I’m not waiting until we get her back. We’re starting right now. Tonight.” I touch his cheek, my fingers sliding along the puckered skin of his scar. “All will be well, hermaðr.”
I crack the door open, pulling him through. The warmth from the massive fireplace hits me in the face, a stark contrast from the frigid air outside.
Everyone at the table turns to look at us. Adriel flinches, his hand tensing in mine. He doesn’t pull it away though. Nor do I.
We stride back to the table, reclaiming our seats.
No one says anything to us, but Rissa can’t hide her smile. Neither can Reaper. It’s strange. Once, I was certain everyone would look at me and know I was unworthy. Now, when I’m absolutely unworthy, they look at us and smile—relieved that the war between us is over and we’re finally ready to move into the future. One with Abigail clutched between us. Precisely where she belongs.
“What did we miss?” I ask, glancing around the table.
“Arguing,” Malachi rumbles. “Lots of arguing.”
“Arguing won’t bring her back.”
“Without her visions to guide us, we’re blind,” Reaper says.
“Ja,” Adriel mutters, his one good eye narrowed at the massive warrior. “But we survived millennia without her visions to guide us. Don’t tell me that you’ve become so spoiled by them that you’ve forgotten what it means to be Fae. We don’t stop moving just because we can’t see the path before us.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Reaper growls, his amber eyes flashing fire at Adriel. “Point me at the path, and I’ll crawl if it means killing the Forsaken. You need only point me in the right direction, brother.”
“I still think we should start with the churches,” Dax says, something they clearly discussed already in our absence judging by the disgruntled look Malachi shoots him. “They seem to enjoy defiling holy places they have no business in.”
“Ja,” the normally cheerful warrior groans, rolling his eyes heavenward. “And we’ve crawled through every abandoned church in Seattle already. If there was something to find other than their attempts to misdirect us, we would have found it by now. We have nothing.”
“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.
