My stomach twists into knots. This isn't right. She isn’t the Valkyrie I saw in my vision. The Valkyrie I saw had dark hair and eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Tori asks.
But I just shake my head, too horrified to speak as realization rips through me. Dear Gods, how could I have missed it? They had Marion, too. All along, they had both of them, and I missed it.
They've manipulated my visions so badly that they managed to hide an entire Valkyrie from me. If they can do that, what else can they do? Can they see what I see if I have a vision in front of them?
The thought chills me to the bone. How close did I really come to destroying everything in that cavern? To breaking without ever saying a word?
I collapse back into my chair, shivering uncontrollably.
"Abigail." Tori grabs my hand, her soft voice cutting through the roar in my mind. “What’s wrong?”
I glance up to find Rissa and Marion hurrying toward us, their eyes locked on my face.
"Marion isn't the Valkyrie I saw in my vision," I whisper, my voice shaking. "They still have our sister."
Tori gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "But that means..."
"They have the blood of all five of us," I finish for her. “They’re coming for the pieces of the Bifrost.”
“I’m guessing this is bad?” Marion asks, glancing between the three of us.
“So bad,” Tori whispers. “Fates of worlds bad. Billions of souls at risk bad.”
Marion pales.
"We have to let Damrion know," Rissa says, grabbing my hand to pull me up from my chair. “If the shards are anywhere near here, he has to get them out of here now.”
I nod, fighting back the swell of panic threatening to consume me as we rush toward the door to warn our mates.
Chapter Fifteen
Adriel
"Looks like it'll hold for now," I say, scanning the wall being rebuilt around Eitr.
When the Forsaken last attacked, they brought down the west wall. Other sections were damaged. The warriors and Blooded have spent every waking hour since we reclaimed our fortress trying to shore them up. The work isn’t perfect, but they’ll hold.
With the landmines Stephan and Garrison have placed around them and the hidden trenches being dug deeper into the forest surrounding the fortress, we’re in better shape than we were just a few days ago, at least. None of it will stop the Forsaken for long, but when they come, our brand of hospitality will cost them lives.
Damrion nods in agreement, his gold eyes scouring the wall, looking for any areas of weakness. When he finds none, he glances at each of the warriors gathered around us. “We need to finish them quickly without exhausting our strength. We need every warrior rested and ready for war. When they decide to strike, they won’t hesitate."
“We’ll be ready, Damrion,” Malachi says. “We know what’s at risk.”
“Ja,” Dax agrees. “Even the Blooded know.”
A shiver of unease ripples through me. Damrion stiffens beside me and I know he feels it too. Something is upsetting Abigail. Her distress pierces our souls like a blade, sharp and insistent.
"I want it finished quickly,” Damrion orders, his jaw clenched. “Now, back to Eitr. We have other business to attend.”
“Ja,” Malachi mutters, his voice weary. “I have a Valkyrie who thinks I’m the devil.”
“If the shoe fits...” Reaper says with a smirk as we all turn away from the wall, heading toward the gates.
“Saurigr skítkarl,” Malachi retorts. The insult only makes Reaper's smirk grow.
A soft laugh rumbles from the giant warrior. I shake my head, tuning them out. After millennia of fighting at their side, I’ve gotten good at doing that. They pick at each other endlessly. They always have.
Not even halfway to the gates, a familiar scent floats through the air—death and decay. My body goes rigid as soon as I smell it. It’s so familiar it’s sickening. All around me, my brothers react the same way.
“Varulv,” Dax snarls.
“Helvete,” Damrion growls, Magn flowing through his veins as his lyststål blazes to life in his hands.
I reach for mine as well, grasping for the weapon forged from the power within me. One by one, lyststål blaze to life in the hands of our brothers, warning growls rumbling from their lips.
Stephan pulls his sword, snarling.
I scan the forest, looking for the hellhound responsible for the smell.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Malachi calls. “We smell you, you filthy mutt.”
One varulv doesn’t come. Dozens do. I rock back in shock as black voids begin to grow before our eyes, appearing from thin air.
“Portals,” Damrion growls. “Faen. They’re opening portals.”
Dozens of them open, spilling varulv and Forsaken into the forest around Eitr like a plague. My blood runs cold, rage boiling within me as I spin in a circle, realizing they’ve surrounded us.
