Chapter Seven
Stephan
T he sun has barely chased the moon from the sky before we head out in search of Ing's packmates. Kara, Rissa, and Marion go with us, but we leave Tori and Abigail with Reaper, Adriel, and a half dozen guards. With Tori pregnant and the Forsaken desperate to get their hands on Abigail, they're safer surrounded by the warriors than they will be out here in the open.
No one says much as we head off, Ing walking ahead. The Fae and I make a tight ring around the Valkyrie, keeping them at the center. If we run across the varulv, they'll have to go through us to get to the Valkyrie.
I rather doubt that'll be a problem, though. As powerful as the Valkyrie are, the varulv are no real match for them. So why send them? Why waste the time?
As we troop into the heart of the forest, I step up beside Damrion.
He glances over at me, his golden eyes glowing. "Your mate seems happy this morning," he says, nodding at Kara, who is whispering back and forth with her sisters. They shoot us furtive glances every once in a while, making it clear what they discuss. Us, or me, rather. I don't mind. I like knowing her mind is on me. Mine is certainly on her.
I still feel her nestled in a little corner of my mind. The sensation is muted now that I'm not inside her and her Light isn't pouring over me, but she's there. What we did last night forged ropes of steel between us, tying our souls together permanently. Nothing will cut them now.
"Ja," I murmur to Damrion, not entirely sure how he feels about the fact that she bonded a human. But at this juncture, what can he really do? As far as the Fae are concerned, the Valkyrie make the rules. Even if he doesn't like it, he won't try to stop it now that she's chosen.
"It's good," he says, his eyes on my mate. "When no Fae felt her call, I worried that perhaps we found her too late to save her mate. It is good to know I was wrong." His gaze flickers in my direction. "It's good to know it was you all along, brother."
I jerk my head in a grateful nod. "I may not be Fae, but I felt her call. The moment I saw her, I felt it."
"You said nothing."
I scratch the side of my head, clearing my throat. "I assumed she had a Fae mate out there, and what I felt was more…human in nature."
"Ah." Damrion nods in understanding. "And now you know."
"Ja, now I know."
"Would you have let a Fae claim her bond?" he asks after a moment. "If one had felt her call?"
Would I? It's a damn good question.
"Nei," I growl. "I was made for her, made to protect her. There is no other for her, and I won't share her."
Damrion nods, smiling. "I thought not."
"Does that bother you?"
"Nei. The bond between my mates and I are the only one like it to ever exist. Adriel and I were called a millennia ago because the Norns knew Abigail would come eventually, and she'd need both of us. They gave us centuries to figure out how to work together to be what she needs." A shadow passes through his eyes. "Fae couldn't have a mate and defend Valhalla. We aren't built that way. And yet, that's the destiny Adriel and I were given. We almost destroyed it before we ever understood why we were different, before we ever knew about the Prophecy or Abigail. It took us finding her to finally put the pieces together and realize why we are who we are to one another." His gaze drifts back to me. "Our soul split three ways because it's what she needed. Yours—and your mates—only split one. That's how it is for most Fae."
"I'm not Fae."
"Perhaps not, but you're as close as we've ever found to a brother on earth. That's Fae enough, Stephan."
Jesus. I clear my throat, glancing away for a moment as a swell of emotion rolls through me. I never knew the Fae viewed me that way—like one of them. It's humbling.
I watch Ing loping ahead for a long moment. The sharp sting of grief faded to cold rage for him somewhere during the night. It's obvious as he paces ahead, his muscles loose, his eyes perpetually scanning. He wants to run into the varulv, wants a rematch.
But that won't end any better for him than it did his pack, not with Tori back at the village, anyway. She's the only one who can Heal a varulv bite. And whether he bites them or they bite him, the results are the same.
It'll devastate Kara to lose him. I can't let that happen.
"Is it possible for the Forsaken to open portals into Valhalla?" I ask Damrion after a moment.
The ruler of the Fae glances over at me, surprise in his eyes. "You think that's their plan?"
"Nei," I admit. "I considered it before we learned about the varulv. Now, however…"
"Ja," he says quietly, his expression trouble. "Now, they've surprised us again."
"I'm fucking tired of their surprises," I mutter.
He laughs quietly. "You and me both, brother. You and me both."
"Is it possible?" I ask.
Damrion considers the question for a moment and then sighs. "Once, I would have said no. The only portal to Valhalla is the Bifrost…but that was three centuries ago. Things are not so black and white now. They've learned how to open their own portals. Will they deliver them inside the borders of Valhalla? I certainly hope not. But could they? Ja," he says softly. "Perhaps. Perhaps it's how they've gotten the varulv through."
"I think they're opening them into Asgard," I murmur. "They're sending them into Asgard for a reason."
"Perhaps. We've yet to find them in the act, but…" he trails off, letting the comment hang there.
There's no need to finish it, anyway. We don't need to catch them in the act to know if that's what they've done. If we find Ing's packmates, we'll have our answer. And if we don't…well, we'll have our answer then, too.
If the varulv can turn the vargúlfr , the Forsaken won't need a portal into Valhalla to deliver an army to our doorstep. One single varulv could turn every wolf inside Valhalla, creating their army right here, one twice as strong as any varulv army that came before.
It's a grim prospect. Real goddamn grim.
"Ing, no!" Kara cries suddenly.
I drop my hand to my ímun-laukr , whipping my head toward Ing, only to see him dart off after a rabbit. The rabbit hauls ass across the forest floor, fleeing for his life with the wolf snapping at his heels.
"Ing, stop!" Kara growls, command ringing in her voice.
The wolf reluctantly slows, allowing the rabbit to dart away. Kara rushes forward to meet him. I stride after her, reaching her in time to see her kneeling in a pile of leaves at Ing's side.
"You can't eat my friends, Ing," she says. "They have as much right to exist as you do."
Ing chuffs at her, rolling his eyes.
"Try fish," she says. "Or maybe one of the warriors can bring you something when we get back."
Ing rolls his eyes again, clearly not on board with this plan.
I chuckle, pulling a piece of jerky out of my pocket. "Here," I murmur, holding it out the wolf.
He leans forward to sniff it, and then gives me a disgruntled look.
"Don't look at me that way," I say, chuckling as I read the discontent in his eyes. "The Valkyrie make the rules, and our Valkyrie says we're not allowed to hunt and eat her friends. So we eat this instead."
Ing chuffs again before turning away, his tail swishing through the air. He grumbles once and then wanders off.
Kara looks up at me with wide eyes, fighting laughter.
"I don't even want to know what he said, princess," I mutter, shaking my head as I shove the jerky back into my pocket and hold a hand out toward her. "I can guess."
Her soft laughter echoes around us as I pull her to her feet.
It takes another hour before we near the spot where Ing says his pack ran into the varulv. By the time we arrive, no one is laughing. Our entire group is completely silent.
Ing grumbles and growls, pacing restlessly.
Kara is just as restless, anxiety written all over her face as she watches her four-legged friend.
"What's he saying?" I murmur to her.
"He's just remembering," she says softly. "There was a strange scent in the air, an enemy scent, but I don't think they understood exactly what it meant. I think they thought it had something to do with us, was something we brought into Valhalla. So they ignored it and kept going."
They weren't entirely wrong. The varulv are here because of us. They are something we brought into Valhalla. We just weren't aware they'd come.
"There's a clearing up ahead," she continues. "When they broke through the trees, they realized the enemy scent was all around them. They turned to go back, but it was already too late." She sighs sadly, her eyes locked on Ing. "Poor Ing."
I reach for her hand, twining our fingers together. She clings gratefully, leaning into me.
"How far is the clearing?" Marion asks her.
"I don't think it's far." She consults with Ing for a moment. "He says he could run there from here and not even feel as if he ran." Her brows wrinkle. "At least, I think that's what he meant."
"Right," Marion mutters. "So closeish."
Kara nods doubtfully.
Everyone subsides into silence as we follow behind the wolf. But within a few minutes, the trees begin to thin out. In fifteen, we see the clearing ahead.
No one says a word as we pick up the pace, hurrying toward it.
"Faen," Malachi snarls when we stop at the edge of the clearing. There was obviously a battle here. The grass is trampled. Small trees have been uprooted. Pools and splatters of blood stretch from one end of the clearing to the next.
But there are no bodies.
Kara sinks her hands into Ing's fur, offering comfort as he chuffs mournfully. Damrion, Dax, and I stride forward, leaving Malachi with Ing and the Valkyrie. We check every inch of the clearing. Dax even checks the woods on the other side.
Ing's packmates are gone.
And judging by the trial of bloody pawprints leading away into the trees, they weren't dragged or carried. They walked away.
"The varulv have turned the vargúlfr ," Damrion says, his voice soft, almost mournful, as if a great tragedy has struck Valhalla. And I suppose it has. For millennia, the wolves have lived in peace, left alone save when called by Odin. And now, one of the last few touches the God of Gods left on the realms is slowly being eradicated, turned to the Dark without their consent.
That isn't tragic. It's apocalyptic.
"We need to warn every pack left inside Valhalla," Dax says. "They need to know what they're up against."
"Ja," Damrion agrees.
Neither looks particularly hopeful. How can they? Wolves fight with fangs and claws. They are the only weapons the vargúlfr have to defend themselves. And they're worse than useless against this enemy.
Like so much else, the vargúlfr are dying, hunted by the Forsaken. And there's not a damn thing they can do to help themselves.
"The vargúlfr can't fight them off alone," Dax says.
"Nei, they cannot," Damrion says. "As soon as we get back, I'll call the warriors together. We'll have hunting parties set out as soon as possible. We need to find every pack in Asgard, too. If they're turning them here, I imagine they're doing the same on the other side of the Bifrost."
It's a grim thought. War is coming from both sides…and we're sandwiched between with no way out. Until the Valkyrie figure out how to work the Bifrost to move between realms, it leads to exactly one place. Asgard.
And that's the last place we need to be with packs of infected vargúlfr running loose.
The Forsaken don't need their portals to open into Valhalla to destroy us. We're rats in a cage regardless, completely cut off from everything.
"Gods, help the Valkyrie figure out the Bifrost. Help us save their lives," I plead quietly, the first prayer I've sent up in a long time. And, perhaps, the most desperate I've ever voiced.