Prologue
The Slaying Valley, the Nordic Peninsula
Growing cries of “death to the enemy” and “honor for the god-blessed” played havoc with a girl’s wish for a little more romance from her intended.
Around them, the cascade of the dying turned the crisp notes of winter into a choir of slaughter.
The sun rose, highlighting the once dark shadows along the ground with a familiar crimson stain.
Blood fed the earth, replenishing Gaia’s many losses from the senseless violence tearing up grasses, trees, and the innocent animals caught in between.
The battle over Vígdalr—the slaying valley—continued the decade of wars fought back and forth over the abundant area. In this clime, the peculiarity of a long growing season and constant fertile fields, even during the winter, spoke of god-touched land.
Not exactly the way Hafandi had intended to spend her morning with Herúlf, the Blood Varg, the Wolf of War.
Her lover had prowess both on and off the battlefield, taking his enemies and Hafandi by storm.
He’d surprised her with his stamina and creativity, a trait normally lacking in most of the men she’d met.
Yet her brutal lover surprised her again, handing her a bouquet of ice roses dotted in the blood of the slain. Despite the scarlet drops, she treasured the floral spray, which he must have found after searching deeper in the wood line behind them.
In the small copse of trees close to the edge of the battlefield, where they’d made a bed for the night, she sat under the warm furs he’d provided, their bed of soft pine and deer skins a comfort.
The sun chose to pierce the clouds overhead, which soon scattered, blown away by the giant, Hraesvelgr, as he flapped his mighty wings.
Sunlight caressed her lover’s hard features, lighting up the iron-gray of his eyes and making them shine. He smiled, and the hint of mirth gave him an almost boyish mien.
Hafandi shivered, foreboding overwhelming her affection. “Have care, love. Today promises to be a day of surprises, I fear.”
The giant of a man laughed, his teeth surprisingly white and strong, as her many love bites could attest. Had she not known better, Hafandi might have thought him one of Apollo’s cursed, a demon, or even something the god Loki might summon from the depths of Helheim.
But no. Herúlf had been born five and twenty years past to a mighty berserker. He’d inherited his father’s ability with a weapon as well as his mighty size. A spectacularly skilled warrior in a time when many men did not live to see beyond their first foray into manhood.
“Never fear the end, my sweet. For only in Valhalla will there be better riches than the ones I unearthed too long ago between those tender thighs.”
Too long ago? More like just moments ago, before day-measure, when the sun rose. She flushed, aware he looked ready enough to couple once more, his arousal impossible to miss despite his trousers.
Yet in his battle dress, his great ax now gripped in one large hand, Herúlf readied for battle with his enemy, not with Hafandi.
He pledged, “Should I fall this day, I’ll know a grand reward, having spilled into my own golden goddess far more than I deserved.”
He had a point. Their coupling had been furious, lengthy, and unexpected after his battles the day prior. Surprised he’d had the energy for loving after such a hard day, she’d been happy enough to share her affection throughout the night.
But now, something about the morning felt…
off. The sun’s rays no longer looked warming but sinister, as if highlighting the last image she’d have of him.
The sounds of battle grew louder, insistent, like valkyries screaming for more fallen to take back to Valhalla. Screaming for Herúlf in particular.
She scowled up at the clear blue sky. “Well, my reward is more time with my Wolf of War. I’m not done with you,” she insisted, rose from the furs upon which she’d been warmed, and walked to him, clad in nothing but skin.
His eyes crinkled in delight. “You spoil me, sending me off with such a vision. Wait until I return, great beauty. Your reward will be even better than this morn’s.”
She kissed him, putting as much love and passion into the embrace as she could. Wishing and hoping that her desire to keep him safe would in fact serve as additional armor. Protection to cover the man she loved from head to toe.
He stepped back, caressed her cheek, then yelled a great battle cry and joined his companions, racing to reach the first line into battle.
An eagle with glowing eyes swooped down to land next to her. It stared.
Hafandi swore. “No. I’m not going.”
The eagle shifted into her sister, her gaze mournful. “I’m so sorry, Hafandi. But you must.” After a pause, she added, “You know better.”
Hafandi snorted. “Oh please. You saw that man’s thighs. Those arms.” And that beautiful, giving heart that beats just for me. “He could give Thor a battle that wouldn’t soon end.”
Her sister shrugged. “Perhaps. But he is not for you.”
Suddenly, clouds appeared overhead, a great swirl of dark gray and indigo, warning of thunder. A boom. Lightning. The sight of winged women overhead plunging down to collect the souls due them.
Lightning flashed once more, and behind it, the rune of haglaz appeared in a cloud before freezing rain pounded those battling on the field.
Haglaz—hail. Destructive forces.
Disruption.
Acceptance of the inevitable.
“No.”
“Yes,” her sister said. “We told you before. This world is not for you.”
“It’s not fair.” Hafandi couldn’t help her tears, or the rage that returned. Always, she was denied. Always, she was rejected, scorned, dismissed.
Always, she did her best to accept what was, is, and would be.
But as her beloved Herúlf ascended into the sky in the arms of a valkyrie, he looked for her frantically and bellowed her name. Her tears of grief turned into tears of hate.
She dressed once more, and her gaze settled on the ice roses now scattered on the furs, dead and soon forgotten like so many on the battlefield.
A drop of malevolence pushed past the love in her heart, and as she joined her sister and flew up into the sky, heading toward a home that had never been welcoming or accepting, a strange energy warned her that something unexpected had occurred.
Indeed, something about the day was off. For the first time in a long time, she had no idea what to expect of her future.
The presence of new life stirred in her belly. The beginning of what could be.
And the beginning of the end for those who had robbed her of what should be.