Chapter 28 - Erik #2
"Then get your shit together and figure it out fast," Rhyland grumbles, cutting through my inner turmoil.
"We've got enough bullshit to deal with without you eye-fucking her across the hall like some weirdo.
You look about two seconds away from throwing her over your shoulder and claiming her right here.
" Rhyland runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with me.
"I know the call, brother. The need to claim.
You can't put it off. It will consume you. "
I adjust myself for the third damn time beneath the table, fighting to maintain my dignified facade. "Your crude assessment of my current state, while lacking your usual tact, isn't entirely inaccurate," I admit. "However, approaching a Valkyrie of her caliber requires... delicate handling."
"For someone with eons of strategic brilliance, you're acting like a lovesick mortal," Rhyland scoffs, draining his horn. "Get your head straight before—"
Warning horns pierce the air, their deep resonance echoing off the mountains.
The hall erupts into controlled chaos—warriors leaping to action, weapons singing as they're drawn from sheaths.
I pull Grave Warden free while Rhyland positions himself at Dani's side, his protective instincts in full display.
"Drop the wards!" Bryn's command rings with authority, setting my blood on fire.
We surge outside as the horns grow more urgent.
The moment the wards fall, power floods my veins.
But any satisfaction at regaining my abilities vanishes as midnight wings explode from Bryn's back—feathers dark as sin and twice as tempting.
They arch above her like living shadows, each one gleaming with lethal promise.
The way they frame her warrior's form, how they accent the fierce set of her jaw, and the fire in her eyes.
.. My cock hardens more painfully as she stands there, a perfect fusion of grace and deadly perfection.
Her braids whip in the wind as those magnificent wings spread wide, ready for battle.
Around us, other Valkyries unfurl their own wings, but my eyes remain locked on Bryn—unable to look away from this vision of dark perfection that fate has chosen as my mate.
The stench hits first—rotting flesh and ancient evil—as ugly, grotesque creatures emerge from the shadows.
These aren't the sanitized fairytale monsters but primordial, human-sized nightmares.
Their gray-green flesh hangs in loose folds over muscles thick as tree trunks and yellowed tusks jut from lipless mouths.
Each breath releases clouds of putrid air that melt the snow beneath them.
Grave Warden sings as I dance through their ranks.
My gift shows me their deaths before they happen—the exact angle needed to separate head from shoulders, the precise spot where their crude armor gives way to vulnerable flesh.
The head parts from its body with a wet squelch, black ichor painting my face.
The second loses its arms in a fountain of gore, tendons, and muscle tissue hanging like obscene ribbons before I drive my blade through its throat.
A club whistles past my ear with enough force to create its own wind. I duck and roll, coming up behind the beast. Grave Warden finds the sweet spot between its vertebrae, and the crack of its spine echoes across the battlefield. The creature's dying roar sounds like mountains breaking.
Through the chaos, I track Dani's progress.
Her daggers leave trails of light as she weaves between massive legs, hamstringing our enemies.
Each slash of her blades ignites flesh like paper, the stench of burning meat adding to the battlefield's miasma.
Rhyland tears through them like a vengeful god, his power turning them into broken toys.
Bones splinter with sickening cracks, organs rupture in wet explosions.
But it's Bryn who commands my attention. Her wings cast shadows like death's own cloak as she soars above the melee. Her sword catches the light, trailing crimson arcs through the air. Each strike is poetry written in violence—until a club the size of a small tree arcs toward her exposed back.
My body moves before my mind processes the threat.
Grave Warden cleaves through flesh like butter, the resistance of bone and gristle traveling up my arms. The beast's torso splits diagonally, its last meal spilling from its bisected stomach in a steaming pile.
Hot blood sprays across my face, tasting of copper and decay.
Bryn spins toward me, those magnificent wings sending gusts of wind that clear the gore-soaked air. For a heartbeat, shock registers in her eyes. Then fury transforms her features into something terrible and beautiful.
"I didn't need your fucking help," she spits, blood and snow speckling her face like war paint—clearly furious at my intervention.
Her fury only feeds my hunger, that warrior's rage making my blood heat as more pour down the mountainside like a tide of flesh and hatred. Some of these bastards rival small buildings, their footsteps making the ground shake.
Bryn launches skyward, leaving me to my bloody work.
I scale the nearest behemoth like it's a mountain of rotting meat, Grave Warden finding purchase in its thick hide.
The beast's roar of pain vibrates through my bones as I climb higher, black blood raining down.
I reach its head and drive my blade deep into its eye socket—the wet pop of bursting tissue followed by the crunch of my steel hitting its skull.
Its death throes nearly throw me, but I ride it down, yanking Grave Warden free with a spray of brain matter and vitreous fluid.
Between kills, I catch glimpses of Bryn that make my breath catch.
She's magnificent in her savagery—those dark wings carrying her through the carnage like death's own angel.
Her sword opens throats and bellies, painting the snow with steaming entrails.
Each movement is deadly, and my need to claim her grows with every display of lethal skill.
Dark clouds roll in suddenly—thunder splits the sky as Rhyland finally unleashes his power.
Lightning arcs from his hands in blinding ribbons, the scent of ozone mixing with burning flesh.
Our enemies explode from within as electricity cooks their organs, their death screams drowned by rolling thunder.
The air itself tastes of metal and rage as my brother channels his legacy.
Dani's angelic fire turns the battlefield into an inferno. Hot flames consume our enemies, reducing them to ash even as they charge forward. The combination of her holy fire and Rhyland's lightning creates a devastating light show, casting weird shadows across the gore-streaked snow.
I drive Grave Warden through another temple, the blade emerging from its opposite ear in a fountain of gray matter. Its club drops from lifeless fingers as I twist the steel, ensuring maximum damage. The wet sounds of tissue separation accompany its collapse.
My gift shows me her fall before it happens—the sickening crack of a troll's club connecting with her wing, the way her body goes limp mid-flight.
Terror claws through my chest, a feeling I have never known.
Every fiber of my being screams as I watch her plummet, those magnificent wings now useless.
I move faster than I ever have, blurring across the thick snow, my boots sliding through gore and entrails.
The stench of battle—blood, shit, and burning flesh—fades against the overwhelming need to reach her.
I catch her just before she hits the frozen ground, the impact driving me to my knees.
Her blood soaks into my tunic, hot and precious.
My hands shake as I brush matted silvery strands from her face, my own blood turning to ice when I see the ugly gash across her temple.
The chaos rages around us—the wet sounds of steel meeting flesh, Rhyland's thunder shaking the mountains, screams of the dying echoing off stone.
But all I can focus on is the weak flutter of her pulse beneath my fingers, the way those mystical eyes struggle to open.
A whimper of pain escapes her lips, and something fundamental inside me roars to life.
My distraction costs me dearly. The impact comes from nowhere—a club the size of a tree trunk catching me square in the back.
Bones crack as I'm launched through the air, the taste of my own blood filling my mouth.
Bryn goes flying as I slam into a snowbank hard enough to drive the air from my lungs, my vision blurring as rage and pain war for dominance.
White-hot agony slices through my body as shattered bones knit themselves back together, each wet crack and pop a fresh torture.
But none of that matters when I see the creature looming over Bryn's still form, its shadow casting her in darkness.
My heart stops—fear and rage explode through my veins.
I blur across the blood-soaked snow, scooping her into my arms just as another blow catches me from behind.
The impact sends us tumbling, but I curl around her like a shield, refusing to let her fragile body take any damage.
We roll through gore covered snow and viscera, the metallic stench of battle thick in my nostrils, until I end up braced above her.
Time freezes. The sounds of battle all fade away.
There's only her beneath me, those beautiful eyes wide with something between shock and recognition.
I drink in every detail: the flush on her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her body fits perfectly against mine.
Her warmth seeps into me, igniting needs I've always denied.
Her gaze captivates me—one eye a mesmerizing arctic blue, the other a molten gold that sets my blood aflame.
I find myself lost in their depths, unable to decide which hue draws me in more.
My eyes trace the elegant lines of her face, committing every detail to memory.
The way her full lips part slightly with each steady breath, releasing small clouds of frost into the frigid air.
The delicate curve of her cheekbones, still flushed from battle.
The proud set of her jaw, a testament to her warrior's spirit.
Every feature is a masterpiece, a perfect blend of beauty and strength that leaves me breathless.
The spell shatters as she shakes her head, shoving me off with enough force to send me sprawling in the blood-stained snow. My body screams in protest as fresh injuries make themselves known.
Bryn rises like an avenging goddess, those dark wings unfurling with deadly poise. "Like I said, I don't need your help." The words drip with disdain before she launches herself back into the carnage, leaving me aching in ways that have nothing to do with my wounds.
The slaughter continues for what feels like hours—steel meeting flesh, bone splintering beneath supernatural strength, the wet sounds of death filling the mountain air.
By the time the last troll falls, the snow is stained crimson and black, steam rising from cooling corpses.
Warriors move among the fallen, delivering mercy blows where needed, while others begin the grim task of gathering their own dead.
I sink onto a blood-soaked boulder, allowing my body to finally acknowledge its injuries.
Ribs knit themselves back together with wet, grinding sounds as I watch her across the battlefield—fierce and untouchable as she issues commands to her fellow Valkyries, seemingly unaware of how completely she's shattered my world.
"What the fuck were those things?" Dani gasps out between ragged breaths, her daggers still dripping black ichor.
Bryn approaches her sister, those magnificent wings folding against her back as she checks Dani for injuries. "Trolls," she states matter-of-factly, wiping gore from her sister's cheek. "We haven't faced an assault of this magnitude in years. Something drew them here."
"Something?" Another Valkyrie spits the word like poison, her raven wings bristling with hostility. Her glare fixes on Dani with the intensity of a blade. "Don't play coy, Bryn. We all know what lures these beasts."
I remain seated, letting my shattered bones finish mending, but tension coils through my body at the Valkyrie's tone. Even Rhyland straightens, his protective instincts flaring.
"What?" Dani's voice is confused as she looks at her sister and the hostile warrior. "What does that mean?"
Bryn's exhale crystallizes in the frigid air. Her eyes are heavy with ancient knowledge. "They're drawn to Christian blood," she reveals, her words hanging in the air like frost.