Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
Sylvara looked around her, not sure when she’d arrived home. The cool weather outside felt refreshing, a welcome change from the hot summer months in the mortal world. The blue sky glowed behind puffs of white clouds, the breath of eternal spring making everything more vivid.
Swallows and blue jays sang as they filled the branches of several trees around the grassy field filled with wildflowers. The light scent of honeysuckle mingled with a darker sweetness. Blood born from battle, nourishing Freyja’s field.
In the distance, she noted several warriors lying about, a few sparring, others coupling with Freyja’s select acolytes to give ease to those who had earned it.
In Asgard, where the Norse gods dwelled, Sylvara spent much of her time in either Valhalla or Fólkvangr.
Everyone knew of Odin’s palace for slain warriors in Valhalla, where heroes feasted and fought, training to grow Odin’s army. The training prepared them all for the final battle between gods and giants—Ragnarok.
Sylvara didn’t mind fighting. Far from it. But she could only handle so much battle with bossy men before she needed a break. Not to mention Odin had a massive attitude and control issues with his people who didn’t fit preconceived ideals.
Namely, her.
Fólkvangr, on the other hand, belonged to Freyja, the goddess of love and beauty, war and magic, fertility and gold and a host of other aspects when she felt like it.
Her meadow calmed, giving warriors time to recharge before heading back into battle.
And they could feast and bond in Sessrúmnir, Frejya’s grand hall.
During war, Valkyries claimed souls for both Odin and Freyja, splitting the take equally.
But they made no mistake about what those warriors had been chosen for—battle at the end of the world.
For a moment, Sylvara remembered what she’d been chosen for, a battle against a certain god tying up her time and movements. She’d been forced to pay back a debt not her own, because one of her aunts had a tough time saying no to… no to…
Damn it. She scowled, still unable to remember what Aunt Skuld had done, exactly. Sylvara only knew she had to work Skuld’s debt off as a point of honor. Sylvara lacked in a few areas, but loyalty and honor weren’t her problems.
“That is interesting, actually,” a deep voice commented.
She swirled around, her ax ready to sink into someone’s neck, and saw a familiar face.
“Morpheus?” She only slightly relaxed. Trust for the gods wasn’t big on her list.
“That’s right.” He showcased a handsome smile.
Instead of the linen garb he’d been wearing the last time she’d seen him, he wore an embroidered dark blue tunic with leather bracers, brown trousers, and blue leg wraps over leather boots.
The design on his shirt boasted poppies and dark crowns. More Norse, less Greek.
“Where did you get that?” She nodded at his bracers, which had been artfully crafted with filaments of gold etched into the leather in the shape of wings.
“Dwarves owed me a favor.” He smiled. “I look amazing, don’t I?”
She rolled her eyes. “So amazing. Why are you here?” She frowned. “Please tell me you’re not invading my dreams. Shouldn’t Njorun be doing that?”
“She’s busy. I’m here to help. Now, what knowledge do you seek, valkyrie?”
Deciding that the sooner she played along, the sooner he’d leave her be, she opened her mouth to answer.
He beat her to it. “How about to know your enemy, who’s not currently your enemy?” He snapped his fingers.
In seconds, she stared at a new field, this one crusted with snow and darkened in splotches with dark red. Under a bright moon, vampires fought other vampires, a horde of chaos and laughter filling an icy field.
“What is this?”
“Young Rolf in his second or third century, I think.”
“Young?” She eyed Morpheus, now covered in a fur-lined coat while she still wore her same trousers and sleeveless tunic. She didn’t feel the snow, so she didn’t mind. Turning back to the battle, she asked, “Do I get to fight?”
“No. Watch.”
She spotted Rolf easily enough. Two dozen vampires engaged on the field, and only one was blond. He looked exactly the same as he did now, and she realized he might not have been lying about being nearly a thousand years old.
“Why are we here?”
“So you can learn to trust your new partner. We really need that last Bloode Stone, Sylvara.” Morpheus sighed. “Hecate wasn’t lying. If we don’t get the vampires under our control to fight what’s coming, you won’t have anyone left to bring to Valhalla or Fólkvangr.”
That bothered her. Sylvara liked knowing her purpose. For most of her young life, she’d been like a falling leaf in the wind, blowing this way and that with no one wanting her for anything but to stay out from underfoot.
Then Aunt Skuld, in one of her kinder moments, had batted Sylvara out of the way with the blunt of her sword. Sylvara had knocked it away then stolen a nearby ax to playfight. The feeling of the ax in her hands clicked like magic.
Skuld noticed, sent her to Hlokk for training, who then shuttled her off to Freyja to work at recruiting the worthy fallen. They gathered mostly human warriors, though a few valkyries had cheated and dragged in a fae or two to prepare to fight at the end of the world.
Vampires had never been contenders for that battle, though watching them, Sylvara thought her people might be missing out by not including these blood-letters.
“They are something, aren’t they?”
She nodded, bemused at the amount of magic being thrown around. Rolf laughed as two vampires snarled at him and tried to take his head. He ducked, rolled, and came up swinging, taking a fist in the gut for his efforts.
He flew back, where several others piled on. Then, his kin jumped in as well, showing fangs while raking talons through the enemy. Magic flashed, runes danced in the air, and whips of fire and streaks of lightning pummeled the field.
Rolf rolled, barely missing a bolt through his chest.
Sylvara’s heart raced just watching. But the many wounded vampires didn’t look at all threatened or scared of the dangers they faced. Drugged on adrenaline and the need for death, they threw themselves back into the fray. Oddly, she no longer spotted Rolf.
The fight didn’t look like it would end anytime soon, as everyone healed quickly. Even the draugrs missing limbs sealed off their own wounds and continued to battle. She had no idea if their limbs would grow back, but their lack didn’t slow the vampires down.
“Not that this hasn’t been entertaining,” she said to Morpheus as he guided them past the bloody battlefield. “But what are we doing here?”
“I wanted you to see something.” He pushed into a castle and walked right past a massive vampire with his hair in battle braids.
The large one grunted. “Touch nothing and I won’t maim you on the way out.”
Morpheus grinned. “Right-O, Mattis.” In an overly loud whisper, he said to Sylvara, “That one has daddy issues like you can’t believe. You should see what he dreams about.”
“Fuck off.” The vampire shot a crude gesture, not at all intimidated. “Come back through here and I’ll devour you and your horde of tasty nightmares.” The vampire’s sinister laugh put Sylvara’s back up.
In a softer voice, Morpheus added, “He frightens me too. Not quite right upstairs.” He tapped his temple.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they walked up a spiral stone staircase, eventually coming to a large hall on the fourth floor.
“To spy on our tricky vampire.” He led her down the dim corridor lined with tapestries depicting bloody battles between the ruling clan and their many enemies. Tons of decapitations and spine ripping appeared to be popular with Rolf’s family.
“Which clan is this?” she asked in a low voice, just to be sure.
“The Vanargard, which translates to ‘Monster of the River Van.’ They’re partial to wolves, you know.”
She nodded.
He walked through a closed wooden door bordered by two fire sconces. They were in a dream, after all. With a shrug, she followed him and stopped at the sight of Loki, Rolf, and two older vampires brimming with power.
Only Loki glanced at her and Morpheus. He winked then turned back to the discussion at hand. And that wasn’t at all disturbing.
“I’m not taking a mate,” Rolf said bluntly. “And He Who Is a Pain in My Ass can go straight to Hades, as far as I’m concerned.”
Sylvara frowned. This Rolf was different from the one they’d seen on the battlefield. She didn’t know how she knew, but she could feel it. This Rolf was older and much more powerful.
A glance at his hand showed it marked.
She studied the same sigil that glowed on her own hand.
Morpheus covered it, keeping her hand in his. “Shh. Watch and listen.” He waved a spell over them when Rolf suddenly looked their way.
When the draugr finally turned back to his companions, she released her tension.
Not that she was afraid of him, but something about the power in this small room felt wrong. Dangerous. And not the fun kind of lethal she’d come to expect from her blond fanger either.
“Who said anything about mating?” One of the vampires with him shrugged. “Use her for her magic then bring her here. We’ll take care of the rest.”
“I’ll think about it.” Rolf sighed. “Now what do you really want? Why am I here?”
“Because I told you to come,” Loki snapped. “Is it really so hard to do what your father tells you to?”
Rolf straightened, stared at Loki, then launched himself at the god with his claws outstretched.
That didn’t surprise her. But the fact that he bit into Loki’s neck and started drinking did.