Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“Who taught you to drive?” Rissa asks Stephan Anderson, one of the Blooded warriors who live and fight alongside us, as we careen around a sharp curve on the way back to Seattle hours later.
“I taught myself, Valkyrie.”
“Well, I hate to tell you,” she says with a sniff, sliding across the bucket seat into Dax, who grins and wraps an arm around her waist, “but you aren’t very good at it.”
Laughter erupts from the warriors in the vehicle as Stephan gasps in mock offense.
“Quiet before you wake my Valkyrie,” Malachi growls, not even glancing up from the petite woman nestled in his arms—the Valkyrie we rescued from Eitr. She hasn’t woken since we carried her out of there. Nor has Malachi let anyone else get close.
Tori and Reaper murmur quietly behind him, lost in their own world. Reaper hasn’t let her out of his sight, either. He might not ever again. I can’t say that I blame him.
I know what it is to feel as if you’ve lost a mate. I’ve been there with Adriel. Those memories still haunt me.
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the window, allowing their voices to wash over me. I’m weary, every inch of my body sore and aching. It’s been a long day.
When you’re immortal, you would think the passage of a single day would feel inconsequential, but most of the time, they drag on. Days like today are brutal.
Eitr was overrun with Forsaken and varulv. Rissa and Tori burned every one of them out of existence. But we have more questions than answers now.
And I’m more convinced than ever that Abigail is keeping secrets—dangerous secrets. When we get back to the safehouse, I intend to pry them out of her. I don’t care about protecting the sanctity of the future anymore. I care about protecting her.
Tori confirmed that they’ve been tampering with her visions for months, intentionally sending her false flags to confuse what she sees. It’s what we’ve feared. But I have a feeling she’s always known.
Is this what she’s been hiding? Is she afraid we’d turn from her if we knew?
I intend to get those answers.
But I can wait to pry my answers from her until after Adriel and I are able to wrap our arms around her again and reassure ourselves that she’s safe. I already ache to feel her in them. I ache to breathe her in, to feel her lips against mine. To listen to her moan as Adriel kisses her.
I want nothing more than the two of them in my arms and in my bed where they belong. I’m not a selfish Fae. I’m just one desperate to hold his mates and remind himself that they’re safe.
A sharp zing of emotion sears down our bond—fear so potent I can almost taste its bitter edge on my tongue. My eyes fly open as my mind grasps for the thread to trace it back, but it’s gone before I can.
Faen. She’s masked the bond again, hiding it from us. Until last night, I didn’t even know that she knew it existed. Hiding it from her was, perhaps, the only thing Adriel and I have agreed on in millennia. But with her visions, we didn’t want her to know that we felt her pain. She’s fierce but soft-hearted, and she already has a crushing weight on her shoulders. She should not have to worry about us, too.
I press my hand to my chest, rubbing as worry slashes at me. I feel Adriel’s gaze on me and glance in his direction.
"You felt it too, didn't you?" he asks, worry carving lines around his mouth.
I don’t need to ask to know what he means. He shares the same bond with Abigail that I do. He felt it just as clearly as I did.
“Ja,” I murmur quietly. “I felt it.”
Fear flickers in his eye, his scar standing out starkly against his pale skin as the lines of worry around his mouth deepen. My heart aches at the sight. Adriel fears nothing, but he fears for Abigail.
And who can blame him? If anyone understands the torment that awaits her if the Forsaken get their hands on her, he does. He spent years in Jotunheim, tortured almost to death, only to be brought back so they could begin again.
And it’s my fault.
Without thinking, I reach out to comfort him, touching his hand. "We'll make her talk," I say. “Together.”
Doubt flickers in his gaze as he stares at me. I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he tries to work out for himself if this is some trick instead of the olive branch I intend it to be. He trusts me so little.
Eventually, he nods before slipping his hand from beneath mine and turning his face away. He retreats back into stony silence—the same silence he wears like a cloak.