Chapter Two

Unfamiliar voices whisper all around me, pulling me toward consciousness. I fight it for as long as possible, unwilling to relinquish the peace I"ve found in sleep. For the first time in what feels like years, I"m warm and comfortable. I don"t relish giving that up for reality when reality promises nothing but more pain.

There"s been a whole lot of that since I was kidnapped from my bed by a group of monsters a few days ago. My captors wore the faces of men, but those faces were lies. Beneath them, they"re pale and twisted, like unfinished drawings of men.

There isn"t a drop of humanity to split between them.

But staying asleep isn"t up to me. My body aches with stored energy, demanding I wake. I reluctantly give in, allowing myself to be pulled to the surface. Scattered fragments of memories immediately rush in, clamoring for attention. I battle them back, refusing to examine any of them too closely.

Instead, I blink my eyes open, squinting against the harsh brightness of the sun. The room comes into focus slowly.

Something is different. No, not something. Everything.

This isn"t the cold, filthy bathroom I"ve grown used to, but a bedroom. I"m nestled in a cocoon of warm furs and soft linens, the bed around me intricately carved wood. Ancient weapons hang on the hand-hewn walls, their sharp edges glinting viciously in the light. The scent of smoke lies heavy in the air, as if an entire forest recently burned.

Where am I?

A group of strangers gather on the far side of the room, speaking in hushed tones. I catch every few words, but without context, they might as well be speaking Greek.

Aside from one lone girl, they"re all giant men, fearsome and imposing. The girl is close to my age, with dark hair and blue eyes. She looks exhausted, her shoulders drooping. Despite her fatigue, she listens intently as the men murmur back and forth.

Unlike her companions, innocence still lurks in her gaze. She"s younger, less hardened. Life hasn"t been kind to her, but it hasn"t honed her into a deadly weapon like it has her friends, not yet.

I can"t put my finger on it, but there"s something different about her friends. Just like those who took me from my bed, these men are far too other to be wholly mortal. They may wear jeans and T-shirts, but they don"t belong in this world. It"s like a sixth sense whispering the truth in my ear.

The man standing closest to the girl, one arm wrapped around her in a show of protection, seems the most human. With his olive skin, dark hair, and green eyes, he could easily pass for one…except for his unnaturally tall and muscular frame, anyway.

The man next to him, with pretty golden eyes, seems ancient. There"s an air of authority about him that"s unmistakable. He wears it well.

The giant leaning against the door exudes a sense of peace despite his intimidating size. Laugh lines have carved tiny grooves around his mouth. Little beads in his braided hair clink against the wood where his head rests against it. His pointed ears are a pretty obvious indication that he isn"t human. His ochre skin and blue eyes are an unusual, beautiful combination.

The last man…he"s different from the others. Darkness clings from him as he glowers at the man with gold eyes. A vicious scar cuts through the pale skin across his cheek, leaving him with one eye. It"s as black as night and full of turbulent emotion. He isn"t at peace. I"m not sure he knows the meaning of the word. It"s as if he"s been to hell and the taint of what he"s seen lingers even now.

If ever there were battle-hardened warriors from another time roaming earth, it would be these men. I think they were born to maim and kill. Every single one of them could crush me with one hand if they wanted to do it. But I"m not afraid of them.

For as long as I can remember, I"ve been able to read people. With a look, I could tell almost on sight if I could trust someone or not. I"ve known when someone had a good heart and when they didn"t.

These men may be dangerous, but they"re good men. Even the one with the scar across the right side of his face—the one who has darkness clinging to him—is a good man. Nothing like the monsters who kidnapped me.

Fear whispers through me at the reminder of those men, slithering through my veins like poison. I shiver slightly. And that"s when I notice him—the man crouched beside me, staring at me with a singular intensity that immediately commands my attention.

His amber eyes burn into mine—unyielding and fierce. He"s breathtakingly beautiful, his skin a gorgeous, earthy brown. Every inch of him is hewn from rippling muscle; his body a masterpiece. Men spend thousands trying to look like him and only come away a sad replica. He"s no replica. He wasn"t crafted under a knife or in a gym. I think this man was forged in the cradle of war.

He knows suffering, yet he looks at me with a gentleness that stirs something deep within me. I recognize those eyes—they"ve haunted my dreams for longer than I can remember. At night, in my dreams, they were there, watching me. They promised safety in the darkness of my terror.

As they watch me now, I feel an inexplicable sense of calm wash over me. When I dreamed him, I thought he was just that: a dream. Yet he"s here anyway, the embodiment of deadly grace and quiet power. He radiates a sense of security that eases the knot in my stomach. And, for the first time in days, reality feels far more welcoming than the oblivion of sleep.

I don"t know who he is, but some part of me wants to crawl across the bed and curl up in his strong arms. Not merely because he makes me feel safe. And not simply because I feel a pull to him that I"ve never felt for anyone. But because I look at him and my heart races. No one has ever made me feel that way before. The sensation is new and exciting, offering a tantalizing slice of normalcy in a situation that"s anything but normal.

"When are you going to admit that she isn"t just a Seer?" the man with the scar growls at another of the men cloistered by the door, his raised voice startling me. "She"s far too powerful!"

"What scares you more, brother?" The man with gold eyes scowls, his face falling into a mask of frustration. "The vastness of that power, or the possibility that she might not choose you if you are correct?"

"I fear nothing, brother," the scarred man snarls, a menacing, deadly sound.

The other man takes a step toward him, a growl rumbling from his chest.

"Enough," the beautiful man beside the bed says, barely even raising his voice. It cracks across the room anyway, deep and rumbling. He never even takes his eyes off me. "My Valkyrie is awake."

The argument between the men beside the door immediately dies. All four of them turn to look at me, seemingly startled to find me awake.

I shrink backward on the bed, cowering under the blankets. I"m not afraid. But they"re massive, deadly. And I"m five-foot four, snuggled in a bed that doesn"t belong to me, not entirely sure what"s going on.

"Hi," I squeak, my heart pounding.

"Don"t be afraid, little Valkyrie," the beautiful giant crouched beside the bed croons, his deep voice like water tumbling over rocks. "You"re safe here. If you suffer, I suffer with you. I would rather let the entire world crumble into darkness than see you hurt. I will do whatever it takes to protect you from harm. No matter what, you will always be safe with me. That is my vow to you."

"I…" My eyes shift across his face, the solemnity of his vow reverberating deep within my soul. I don"t have to ask to know he means it. I feel it as if I spoke those words myself.

This strange, beautiful man would let the world burn to protect me. No, that"s not true. He"d burn it himself to protect me. The sudden urge to cry is overwhelming. I curl my hands into fists beneath the blankets, letting the bite of pain as my jagged nails sink into my palms ground me.

"I know you. Who are you?" I ask when I"m sure I can speak without sobbing. My voice shakes, but I don"t crack.

"Ja, you do. You called my soul, binding it to yours. My name is Kyron. I"m known to most as Reaper."

"Reaper," I whisper.

"What"s your name, little Valkyrie?"

"T-Tori. Tori Golding."

He whispers my name like a kiss, his amber eyes flickering across my face. I fight the urge to shiver, acutely aware of the five other people in the room, watching us intently. But I can"t seem to focus on them. I can"t pull my eyes from Reaper long enough to look at them. He"s claimed my undivided attention in a way that isn"t quite natural. It"s as if my entire being is hyperfocused on him, vibrating on his frequency.

I"ve never felt anything like it before, but after days of nothing but pain and fear and grief, it"s a delicious reprieve.

"W-what are you?"

Reaper hesitates for a long moment.

"You aren"t human. I know you aren"t."

"Nei, we are not." Reaper sighs. "We"re Fae, little Valkyrie."

Fae. I suppose that should mean something to me, but it doesn"t. Not really. I mean, I"ve heard the term. I read a lot of books. I even heard the men who kidnapped me speak it. But he might as well have told me he was from Pluto for all the good that does me.

The girl by the door must sense my confusion. "Do you know anything about Norse mythology, Tori?"

I shift my gaze in her direction.

"The Fae aren"t from here," she says, her voice soft. "They"re from álfheimr, one of the nine realms the Scandinavian people celebrated. Their world was destroyed a long time ago. Those who remained guarded Valhalla." A shadow passes over her eyes. "But Valhalla is gone now too. The Fae have been stranded on earth for the last three hundred years."

My eyes flit back to Reaper. "You"re three hundred years old?"

"Nei. I"m quite a bit older than that, little Valkyrie."

"I…" I trail off, not sure what to say to that. Not sure what to say to any of it, honestly. Part of me—the logical part—wants to reject what I"m being told out of hand. Other worlds don"t exist. People from other worlds don"t get stranded on earth. And no one lives for quite a bit longer than three hundred years.

Except they aren"t lying to me, and this isn"t the first time I"ve heard these words in the last few days. When they thought I wasn"t listening, I heard the men—monsters—who kidnapped me whispering about Valhalla and Valkyrie and portals and the Fae. I thought it was gibberish. I thought I imagined it.

I don"t think I imagined anything. Somehow, my dull, ordinary life has become inexplicably tangled with things far beyond my comprehension. What I know about Norse mythology wouldn"t even fill a thimble.

I guess you get to learn now, don"t you?

"Are you okay, solsken?" Reaper asks.

I bite my lip and nod, not trusting my voice. And then I realize I have to speak anyway, as two dozen questions battle for dominion, crashing together in my mind like the sad wreckage of…well, whatever my life has become.

"I don"t…" I lick my lips, trying to work moisture back into my mouth.

"Here." He grabs a bottle of water from the cedar nightstand and holds it out to me. I take it gratefully, shivering when our fingers connect. A jolt shoots up my arm, piercing through every nerve in my body as it sinks deep.

In that moment as we connect skin-to-skin, we"re no longer Tori Golding and Reaper, but one entity consumed by an all-encompassing desire. I feel everything he does—the burning ache in his chest, the overwhelming urge to protect, and the suffocating heat of longing. His emotions roll over me in a hot wave. It"s as if our bodies have merged into one, granting me intimate access to every thought and every desire…and giving him the same cart blanche.

His desire feeds mine, or perhaps mine feeds his. I don"t know. But in that moment, I want him. God, I want him like I"ve never wanted anything. The piercing ache hits me like a hammer blow, leaving me trembling.

I gasp and pull away, my hand shaking uncontrollably from the raw intensity of the emotion coursing through me.

The others in the room stir restlessly.

"Helvete," Reaper breathes, his amber eyes practically glowing as he stares at me.

"What was that?"

"The bond between our souls," he says, his voice guttural. "It"s fierce." He exhales a shaking breath, his lips kicking up into a grin that"s a little bit wicked and far too beautiful. "And desperate."

That"s one way to put it. Sweet merciful…

I quickly fumble the cap off the water, spilling some in my haste to do something—anything—other than look him in the eyes. I take a big drink, gulping greedily from the bottle.

When I"ve finished half of it, I reluctantly twist the cap back on and take a breath, feeling no calmer. I opt to focus on more immediate concerns and leave the supernatural alone for the moment.

"Where am I?" I ask, staring at the soft fur pelt stretched across my lap.

"Eitr, a small town in the mountains a few hours from Seattle."

I stare blankly at the giant with gold eyes.

"This is Damrion, little Valkyrie," Reaper says, his voice gentle, but full of respect. "He"s our leader, the last of the Fae of royal blood."

"Oh." I hesitate. "Should I curtsey?"

A ghost of a smile twists at Damrion"s lips. "Nei, Valkyrie."

My brows furrow. "Why do you guys keep calling me that?"

The girl rolls her eyes. "It"s a respect thing, like calling someone princess or your Highness. As far as they"re concerned Valkyrie are the best thing since sliced bread. They were besties in Valhalla for a billion years before Valhalla fell. Since we"re the only two Valkyrie they"ve been able to find since our ancestors were all killed, they kind of go overboard with it. You get used to it eventually."

"This is Rissa," Reaper says, patient affection in his voice.

"We did not serve for a billion years, elskan-ljós," the Fae beside her says, smiling.

"Close enough."

"Her mate, Dax," Reaper murmurs, supplying his name. "The other two are Adriel and Malachi."

"Not even remotely close," Dax says. "But ja, we do have great respect for the Valkyrie. You are the brightest Lights in the nine realms, chosen by the Gods themselves to defeat the Forsaken and save us all. Protecting you is a great honor."

"I"m not a Valkyrie."

Everyone turns to look at me. I fight the instinctive urge to cower against the headboard.

"I"m sorry if that"s what you think," I say instead, "but you must have me confused with someone else. I"m just Tori."

"Nei, little Valkyrie," Reaper disagrees, his voice firm. "You are not just Tori. You"re a Valkyrie. The blood runs strong in your veins."

I stare at him, dismayed, as my head begins to pound. My heart does too, anxiety slithering through my veins.

"I don"t want to be one," I whisper. Maybe that makes me a coward. I don"t care. The only thing I know about Norse mythology is about the Valkyrie. They carry the souls of warriors to Valhalla. And now, apparently, they"re meant to save all of existence, too. I don"t want to do that. If that"s why I was kidnapped, count me out.

Reaper shifts positioning, bearing closer to me as if to offer comfort. His massive shoulder brushes mine. His amber gaze is full of unwavering resolve, and in this moment, I understand how he earned the name Reaper. It"s a name made for a man who wouldn"t hesitate to cut down anyone who dared to harm what he considers his own. He"s fierce in his devotion, his loyalty as solid as his unbending will.

"Listen to me, Tori." His voice is soft, as if he understands the storm raging within me. "Fate doesn"t ask us what we want. It gives us tasks we may not have chosen for ourselves."

I swallow hard, my gaze tangled with his as my heart races. He lifts a hand, brushing away a loose curl from my face with such care that my breath hitches. His touch is impossibly gentle, filled with an understanding that calms the turmoil inside me. But his skin against mine sears me, heat sinking all the way to my womb.

My nipples harden, a bolt of lust shooting through me despite the seriousness of the moment. It"s as if my body doesn"t care that my world has been knocked out of orbit. It wants this man ferociously and that"s all that matters to it.

I see the same desire reflected in Reaper"s gaze, but he controls it far better than I do, ruthlessly quelling it in his attempt to soothe my anxiety. He takes his vow to protect me seriously, it seems.

"You are powerful, far stronger than you think. You are just beginning to understand who you are—who you were born to be," he continues, his voice filled with conviction. "You are brave enough for the task fate set before you."

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. I bite down on my lips to stop them from trembling. "M-maybe I don"t want to be," I confess in a shaky whisper. "The men who t-took me killed my parents. If that"s the kind of sacrifice fate has in store for me, I don"t want it. I didn"t ask for it."

I try hard not to let those memories intrude, desperately trying to avoid letting in that pain. I know when I do, it"s going to break me. Right now, I don"t think I have time to be broken. But pain ekes out around the edges of the barriers I"ve erected anyway, lashing at my heart.

"I know, solsken." His voice grows husky, as if he feels the pain ripping through me. "But we"re warriors, Tori. The Fae and Valkyrie are bound by duty and destiny."

His words echo in the room. Duty. Destiny. Both seem so heavy now that they"ve been laid on my shoulders. I barely understand what either means—not in the same way the men in this room understand them—but I know enough to know they mean sacrifice and pain and grief.

Am I really strong enough to withstand more of that? I don"t know. But if I am what they say I am, if I am a Valkyrie—do I have a choice?

I don"t think I do because I didn"t go looking for trouble. I didn"t go looking for fate or destiny. It came looking for me. It plucked me out of my bed in the middle of the night without my consent, and my world has been pain and fear every day since. Until now. Until Reaper.

If he believes I"m strong enough for whatever is coming for me, perhaps I need to believe it too.