Chapter 26 - Danica #2
The woman who turns at the sound of her name is a goddamn work of art—my sister.
Two thick silvery braids frame her face like some hard-core Viking Pippi Longstocking, with smaller braids woven throughout her crown like a halo of badassery.
Her lips are full and pouty, and her skin is golden perfection, just like mine.
But it's her eyes that knock the wind out of me.
One is Nordic blue, like a frozen fjord, and the other is a familiar honey-gold that exactly matches mine.
It's like looking at an alternate version of myself if I'd spent my life training to be a celestial warrior instead of pipetting DNA samples in a lab.
"Hey, Baldr." Bryn waves back then she spots me, and something flickers across her face—recognition, maybe? Or just curiosity?
Either way, she's heading our way with the confident stride of someone who could probably kill you fifteen different ways without breaking a sweat. Her sword is strapped to her back and every movement screams 'trained killer.'
Well, shit. No one told me my sister would be the Viking version of a supermodel crossed with a Navy SEAL.
As she prowls closer, Erik suddenly erupts into the most dignified coughing fit I've ever witnessed—like he's trying to maintain his sophisticated image while hacking up a lung.
I whirl around to find Mr. Stoic looking decidedly un-stoic, his silver eyes wide with what can only be described as carefully contained shock.
"Erik?" I ask because watching our resident master of composure lose his cool is about as rare as seeing Lucian pass up an opportunity for a smart-ass comment.
"I assure you, it's merely the... unexpected effects of the ward's limitations," he manages between coughs, straightening his spine. But something in those silver eyes screams 'internal crisis in progress.'
When I turn back around, my sister is standing right in front of me, one eyebrow arched in a way that perfectly conveys 'what in the seven realms is this shit?'
Guess the ability to pack volumes of sass into a single look runs in the family.
Great. Not only do I have to navigate this awkward family reunion, but Erik is acting weirder than usual.
Clearly, this situation needs more complications.
"H-Hi," I manage to squeak out, my voice doing that funny thing where it cracks like I'm going through puberty again. Smooth, Dani. Real smooth. I'm sure she's super impressed by your eloquence.
Bryn stares at me, her mismatched eyes assessing my little crew like she's trying to decide if we're friends or foes. Her gaze flicks to Rhyland briefly, probably noting the whole 'built like a brick shithouse' vibe he's got going on before settling on the hot mess that is Erik.
Erik has decided that now is the perfect time to audition for the role of 'least composed vampire in history.
' He's currently wearing a path in the snow with his pacing, making these weird little wheezing noises that sound like he's trying to breathe through a straw.
So much for that legendary self-control.
"The wards affect magic differently for everyone," Bryn says, her voice cool as a glacier. She nods toward the disaster zone formerly known as Erik. "What's the deal with your friend there? Should I be concerned?"
Isn't this just a stellar first impression? My long-lost sister probably thinks I've brought a bunch of magical misfits to her doorstep—time to do some damage control before she decides to kick us out on our ass.
"Yeah, the whole power-vanishing act caught us off guard," I try to explain, watching Erik have his refined meltdown.
"Guess he's just... extra sensitive?" Honestly, I've got no clue what's making Mr. Serious act like he's mainlined a gallon of espresso.
Meanwhile, Rhyland's standing there like a mountain in fur and leather, completely unbothered.
"Seriously, what's his deal?" I prod Rhyland.
Rhyland, in all his Viking glory, stands there with his arms crossed over his chest like he's posing for a Norse god calendar shoot.
He gives Erik a quick once-over before responding, "He'll live, Angel.
The wards are hitting him hard, just like they're hitting me.
It's not every day we're stripped of our powers. "
Well, that's reassuring.
Not.
But I guess if Rhyland's not worried, I shouldn't be either. Right?
"Like I said," Bryn continues, "the wards affect everyone differently." She gives me a half-smile that's about as warm as a polar bear's ass. "I never thought I'd actually meet you. But... I'm glad you're here."
Talk about a ringing endorsement.
"Bryn! Your turn!" A voice rings out across the training ground.
"On my way!" Bryn calls back before turning to me with an apologetic shrug. "Let me finish this round, then we can talk somewhere that won't freeze your ass off."
I manage a weak "Yeah, sounds good" while my brain misfires from social awkwardness.
Here I am, DNA scientist extraordinaire, reduced to monosyllables like a nervous teenager.
But can you blame me? Twenty-eight years of wondering about my biological family, of checking "unknown" on medical history forms, of loving my adoptive parents but constantly feeling that genetic void—and now I'm face-to-face with actual blood family.
My sister. A living, breathing piece of my biological puzzle.
After one final glance at Erik (who's still doing his best impression of a malfunctioning robot), I turn my attention to the ring. Bryn strides in like she owns the place, all warrior confidence.
Time to watch my sister—words I never thought I'd get to say—then hopefully some quality bonding time. Preferably somewhere with central heating.