Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
Stepping into fae lands always gave Sylvara a slight headache. The intense magic that saturated the fae world took a moment to settle into her bones.
Then she sighed with relief, feeling something more than the dull vacancy of magic from the mundane plane. Though she’d lived most of her life in the celestial realm, being a valkyrie meant spending equal parts among mortals.
Ferrying them to Valhalla or Fólkvangr and stirring fights among kingdoms could be exhilarating work. And tiring work as well when the fights dragged on, so much the same.
One thing she could say about the fae. They never bored her.
“Ah, the fae world,” Rolf deadpanned. “How exciting.”
And the same could be said for the idiot at her side.
Rolf shook all over, like a dog. Like a wolf.
She knew all vampires shapeshifted. But only two of the tribes, the nachzehrers and the draugrs, turned into wolves.
The others turned into ravens and birds of prey.
She’d seen shifted vampires before. Most of their shifted shapes looked normal enough, better for them to blend with their environments to take down prey.
“What’s that look?” Rolf asked.
“How big is your wolf?”
He blinked then gave her a sly grin. “My wolf?” He glanced at his crotch. “Is that what we’re calling him? Hell, I’ll show you.”
She stopped her ax a hair from his neck. “You try my patience, draugr. So much for being cordial.”
He pushed her ax away as if he couldn’t feel it humming with the need for his magical bloode. “No, no. Forgive me. I thought you were making a joke. That or overcome with lust.”
At her look of disgust, he laughed. “Of course not. Valkyries don’t do lust. They do battle.” Said with the same amount of perverse joy as when he said “lust.”
Hell, her lips started to curl into a smile. He was just so obnoxious, like a toxic charm that started to eat away at her good sense.
“You meant my shifted shape as a wolf, obviously. Want to see it?”
“Not yet, but we might need to if the archers in the trees brought friends.” She hadn’t looked up at the massive oaks around them, but she’d felt a fae presence the moment they’d walked through the portal.
She had no idea where Hecate had deposited them, though if she’d listened to the rumors Loki had been sharing, they should be in White Winter lands.
A misnomer considering the bright foliage and deep green of the fae summer months.
But she’d previously visited during the cold season and knew winter could leach the place of color.
“My wolf is quite impressive. Both of them are, actually.” He had the nerve to wriggle his brows. “But I don’t need to shift to kill everyone in this clearing.” He didn’t seem to be bragging.
She shifted her ax over her shoulder, not ready to put it back in the harness across her back.
Wearing her standard travel gear, Sylvara had comfortable, flexible leggings and a sleeveless blue tunic that blended well with the sky.
Her white boots, made of demon hide, could resist most temperatures.
The vampire with her hadn’t brought anything but himself, but at least now he was clean. His magician friend, Mormo, had used a spell to remove the stink. And he’d done it with a slight wave of his hand, brimming in power. His aura and his scent told her to be wary.
Unlike Rolf, who didn’t seem much of anything but annoying. His aura seemed smothered, his scent bland. And she knew him to be super powerful.
She frowned at him, ignoring the elves she spotted out of the corner of her eye, creeping closer under the moonlight. “You’re hiding your power.”
“Duh. Of course I am.” After a pause, he added, “Was that supposed to be a question?”
“No. But if we need to work together, then it seems like we should be able to trust each other.”
“So if I share all my secrets, we’ll be besties?” His hopeful expression once again spurred amusement.
She swallowed it down and forced a frown. “Oh please. But you can trust me not to knife you in the back or cut off your head. Just until we accomplish the mission. Then all bets are off.”
He snorted. “You’ve been trying to chop my head off since we first met.” He winked. “It’s adorable.”
She tightened her grip on her ax and forced the lightning rage inside herself to settle.
“If I really wanted you dead, you’d be nothing but ash.
And if I’d been able to kill you with any of my previous strikes, then I’d know you were no better than an upir.
” The upir tribe was often made fun of by others for being the weakest of the vampire nation, though it was all relative.
They were still difficult to kill one on one.
Rolf lost his smile. “Take that back.”
“You there,” a light elf said as he closed the distance between them. “What are you—”
“Hold on, Legolas. I’m having a conversation,” Rolf barked. “You, valkyrie. Take. That. Back.”
“That you’re as weak as an upir? Or that you’re afraid of Blood Drinker, my ax?” she added that one just for fun.
The deep red in his eyes enchanted her. Rolf was good looking no matter what he wore, blood, entrails, or regular skin. But when angered, he was smoking hot.
Unfortunately, he’d only pretended to be angry, because he smiled at her fast enough and chuckled. “Sticks and stones, sweetness.”
Then, to her shock, he stole her ax and studied it, moving faster than she could blink.
“Give it back, you asshole.”
“Hey, non-fae. What are you doing here?” another of the light fae asked. The pair next to him snarled threats. Typical light elf theatrics. By now, dark elves would have been stabbing.
“This is really fine workmanship,” Rolf mused, ignoring the fae while studying her weapon that whined to be rid of him.
The ax often hummed in her mind, and now it hummed a desperate need to be away from the psycho holding it.
“Give it back,” she snapped and struck at him with her fist.
He dodged, not looking her way, holding the ax closer as he traced the runes along the blade. He gave it a few swings, and the fae advancing on them held their positions.
“Isn’t that Rolf?” one of them asked another.
“Oh, hell.”
Sylvara didn’t want to play anymore. Just as quickly, she forgot about treating Rolf like an ally. The short fuse of her temper once again got the best of her.
She launched herself at him, knocking him onto his back.
“Oomph.”
She must have surprised him, because she didn’t think he’d have let himself go down so easily otherwise. Not letting him recover, she punched him in the gut before striking his face. A spurt of his bloode hit her as she broke his nose. Satisfaction bloomed, and her ax sang a victory song.
Intent on doing him harm, she let the hymn of conquest fill her, her soul lighting up with an energy preceding ultimate victory.
“Get back,” one of the elves yelled to the others.
Before she could call the lightning, Rolf knocked her off him and followed up with a tackle that stole the breath from her lungs. He rolled them over until he was on top.
The incredulity turning to rage on his face would have any rational being sobering up and taking heed.
Instead, she laughed, flush with delight over getting the best of him. “Go ahead and kill me. But you’ll never take away the fact I beat you!” She laughed some more, thrilled with herself.
Until the bastard kissed her.