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)
And now, there's a Forsaken who doesn't burn. One who says he can sever the bond between mates—the same bond that protects her soul. She's never been in more danger than she is now. And Gods help me, but I don't know how to protect her.
She rests her head against Adriel’s. He brushes the tears from her cheek with a shaking hand. I hold them both, praying to any God still listening for the strength to protect her—not because our lives depend on it, but because hers does. She’s too pure, too perfect to ever fall to the Dark. We can’t allow it. For her sake, we cannot.
Somehow, we have to find a way to ensure she does not fall.
Abigail pulls back after a moment, slowly putting herself back together. She takes a breath before turning to face everyone else at the table. Dax has Rissa clutched in his arms. Reaper looks as if he’s considering fleeing with Tori. Malachi and Stephan both look sick.
"There's something else," she says, exhaustion whispering in through her though she tries to hide it. Adriel hears it, too, and glances at me. I give him a nod. As soon as we’re finished here, she’s going to rest.
“What is it, Valkyrie?” Malachi asks.
"We need to prepare for war because the Forsaken have an army,” she says. “What we've faced is nothing compared to what's coming." Her gaze lands on everyone before coming back to me. “I don’t know when they’re coming, but they are coming.”
The room falls silent, the gravity of her statement settling over us. Anticipation thrums through every warrior at the table, coiling like a spring. We haven’t felt anything like it in three hundred years, but it’s so familiar I nearly smile.
War.
This is something we know. Something we were born for. Our blood, sweat, and tears soak more battlefields than the Forsaken can even comprehend. If they think we’ll die easy, they’re wrong.
“Ýmirs frosteistna, let them come,” Malachi growls, gently pounding a fist on the table. “They’ll die where they stand.”
Chapter Twelve
Adriel
“Take the day,” Damrion suggests as everyone lingers in the kitchen, trying to process everything Abigail has told us. “We’ll regroup tomorrow to start planning our defenses.”
Malachi shoots out of the room like a meteor, off to check on his Valkyrie. Stephan filters out next, his brows furrowed as he glances back at Abigail. I think he may have more to process than anyone. A human bound to a Valkyrie. It’s been a long time.
Dax and Rissa go next, followed by Tori and Reaper. The silence they leave behind is deafening. I feel Abigail’s worry pressing down on us, threatening to crush us. She’s so afraid that she’ll fall.
I’m afraid for her and for everything she may still yet face. But I am not afraid of her falling to the Dark. I know deep down, Damrion isn’t either. He’s terrified for what she may face. He’s terrified of losing her. But Abigail is strong. They can’t snuff out her Light. They can’t drown it in darkness. No matter how hard they try, they’ll never succeed.
That version of the future will never come to pass. So long as Damrion and I draw breath, we won’t allow it. The Norns sent us to guard her soul. We won’t fail.
I press my lips to her temple and rise from the table to find her something to eat. Gods knows the last the time she had anything. We need to take better care of her, especially now.
Damrion holds her close, wrapping her in his strength. His hands run through her vibrant red hair. He murmurs to her—Fae words of love and strength, of courage and devotion. My heart swells with pride as I watch him care for her.
The Fae who hid behind his walls, afraid to let us in is long gone. This Fae—our Fae—is steadfast in his devotion, unwavering in his love. He may not have forgiven himself entirely yet, but he knows his soul is worthy. He knows he is worthy.
“Here, bittesmå ljós. Eat,” I murmur, placing the plate in front of her. It’s heaped high with eggs, sausage, and toast—enough for all three of us.
She doesn’t speak as we eat, Damrion and I taking turns feeding her from our hands. She’s lost in her own thoughts. So are we. But the act of feeding her—of sharing this moment with Damrion as we care for her—is tinged with sweetness.
When the plate is nearly empty, she notices us watching her intently. Neither of us look away or try to hide it.
The hint of a smile tugs the corners of her lips up. "Are you two overseeing my food intake now, too?" she asks.
"Ja," I growl. "We’re monitoring every bite, little seer. You don't eat enough."
Her smile grows, the shadows fading from her eyes as she continues eating. Each bite feels like a victory, a small triumph against the Dark.