Chapter 29 - Danica
Danica
"Hold up. Christian blood?" I repeat, my stomach clenching. Well, isn't that just wonderful? It looks like I've brought the supernatural equivalent of a neon "eat me" sign to my sister's doorstep in the name of Jesus.
Way to make a stellar first impression, Dani.
"Yes, that would be you, little sister," Bryn confirms, her dual-colored eyes studying me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. Is that a hint of resentment, I see, or just centuries of warrior-honed suspicion? "It's not your fault, though."
She must see the guilt written all over my face because her expression softens a fraction like she's trying to reassure me.
"Pfft, going soft, Bryn?" The angry Valkyrie spits from beside her, clutching her ribs like she's trying to keep her internal organs from spilling.
"You know damn well this is all her fault!
" She glares at me with enough venom to drop a giant.
"I don't give a flying fuck who this girl claims to be—her blood—her faith is going to get us all killed. "
Before I can even process the verbal bitch slap, Bryn moves faster than I can register.
One second, Angry McStabby is running her mouth; the next, she's eating snow with Bryn's knife kissing her throat.
"That's my sister, you're shit-talkin'," Bryn growls, her voice colder than a White Walker's ballsack.
"I suggest you keep your forked tongue behind your teeth unless you want to donate it to my blade collection. "
A strained, almost guttural sound pulls my attention to Erik. He's hunched over, arms braced on his knees, and his breathing uneven, as if he's forgotten how to inhale properly. When I follow his gaze, I see him staring at my sister with an intensity that could burn worlds.
Well, that's... interesting. I've never seen Mr. Stoic look at anyone like that before—definitely a first.
Rhyland's arms band around my waist like steel cables, a low growl rumbling through his chest that screams "protective Viking mode: engaged." And okay, I'll admit it—having my man get all caveman on my behalf? Kinda hot, even if I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.
I remember the day my adoptive parents took me to church, where I was baptized in the eyes of the Big Guy Upstairs.
I've always believed in a higher power, even if I wasn't sure what flavor of divinity I was dealing with.
But deep down? I've been Team Jesus since before I could walk, courtesy of my parents' devout faith.
The irony isn't lost on me—the girl with the god complex getting dunked in holy water.
If only they knew their precious "miracle baby" would grow into a walking, talking monster magnet.
It's wild—here I am, standing in the realm of Norse gods and monsters, having literally just shared a feast with Odin himself.
And it's not just here—every realm so far seems to have its own divine crew.
The merfolk in Aquaria bow to Poseidon, the fae have their own celestial court, and human history is packed with gods of every flavor.
But Christianity is woven into the fabric of who I am. It's all I've known and believed in until this cosmic bombshell dropped into my lap. Yet, here I stand. Discovering that my devout upbringing is the supernatural equivalent of ringing the dinner bell for every monster in the neighborhood.
"Yield!" Bryn's shout snaps me back to the present, where she's still got the woman pinned like a bug.
The Valkyrie goes limp, her arms splaying out in the universal sign of "uncle." "I yield," she grits out, sounding like she'd rather chew broken glass.
Bryn stands, but not before giving her fallen opponent a parting shove into the snow.
"Let this be a lesson to all of you," she announces, her voice ringing with authority as she surveys the gathered crowd.
"No one disrespects my sister, or you'll get a personal introduction to my sword. Are we clear?"
A chorus of nods and murmured assent ripples through the onlookers, everyone suddenly very interested in their boots. Meanwhile, I'm just standing here like a slack-jawed idiot, trying to process the fact that my sister—my actual, blood-related sister—just went full mama bear on my behalf.
I swear, if my heart swells any more, it will pop like an overripe grape.
Best. Sister. Ever.
The bathing chamber is a marvel of Norse engineering.
It is a mega stone pool carved directly into the mountain, fed by hot springs that heat the water perfectly.
Steam rises in lazy spirals, making the air thick and humid.
Ornate dragon heads are carved into the walls, their eyes set with gems that catch the light of dozens of tallow candles.
The ceiling stretches high above, lost in shadows where elaborate wooden beams cross like ancient branches.
I sink deeper into the hot water, letting it ease my battle-worn muscles while taking another sip of honey-sweet mead from my carved horn. After the fight, Bryn ordered the wards to be kept down just in case we get any more uninvited guests looking for a throwdown.
The guys are in their own bathing chamber across the compound—probably enjoying the same luxurious hot springs while plotting battle strategies or whatever it is warriors do during spa time.
"So, tell me, sister, how fares the mantle of savior?" Bryn asks, lounging against the pool's edge. Her wings tucked against her back, hair loose and long. "Is it all the skalds claim it to be?"
"It's... not exactly what I expected," I admit, tracing patterns in the water's surface.
"Don't get me wrong—the power is incredible, and I've found an amazing family.
But sometimes..." I trail off, thinking of my father's absence, of the constant danger of watching people I love get hurt.
Always saying goodbye to new friends and allies.
"It's complicated," I finish lamely, taking another drink.
"By the Norns, you're quite the warrior, though," Bryn grins, splashing water in my direction.
"I saw you out there, wielding fire like Surtr himself.
And your mate—Rhyland's command of the dark skies rivals the stories of Thor's might.
We haven't seen such power since the Thunderer himself blessed these mountains. "
I smile into my mead horn at the mention of Rhyland.
"He's something else," I say, warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the hot water.
"Though don't let that whole warrior-god thing fool you.
Under all that brooding and those intimidating muscles, he's actually a teddy bear. "
"Yeah," Bryn's eyes sparkle with mischief as she refills our horns from a silver pitcher. "I see the way he watches you, sister. Even a blind draugr could see the bond between you two."
I feel my cheeks flush, and it's not from the steam. "Yeah, well..." I trail off, absently running my fingers through the warm water. "He keeps me grounded, you know? When everything else is pure chaos, Rhyland's my constant."
As we soak in the steaming water, the scent of herbs and minerals rising with the mist, my mind drifts to a nagging worry.
Despite Bryn's reassurances earlier, I can't help but wonder if she harbors any resentment about Rhyland being destined for her before fate decided to play musical chairs with our lives.
I'm about to voice my concern when Bryn beats me to the punch.
"What of the silver-haired one?" she asks, swirling her mead with curiosity. "Erik, was it?"
"Yeah, Erik," I nod, a fond smile tugging at my lips as memories flood my mind. "He's like this perfect blend of badass warrior and secret marshmallow. Tough as nails on the outside, but once you're in his inner circle? Total softie."
I think back to all the times Erik's had my back—grueling training sessions that left me bruised but stronger, late-night talks when the weight of destiny felt too heavy to bear alone, and keeping me sane when Rhyland was taken and held captive.
He's shown unwavering loyalty and support time and again.
"He's been a true brother to me," I continue, my voice soft with affection.
"Always ready to jump into the fray to protect the people he cares about. "
Bryn hums, her eyes alight with interest as she leans forward slightly. "And his tale? Every warrior has one."
I pause, my brow furrowing, as I realize how little I actually know about Erik's past. Sure, I know he's a vampire and that Lilith's fangs left their mark on him like the rest of my guys.
But the details? The path that led him to this life?
It's a mystery wrapped in an enigma, sealed with the wax of Erik's ironclad reserve.
"Honestly? I'm not sure," I admit, my shoulders slumping slightly.
"Erik plays things pretty close to the vest. He doesn't talk much about his life before, you know.
.." I make a vague fang gesture. "But I do know he's fiercely loyal.
Like ride-or-die level. I'd trust him with my life without question. "
"A vampire, though?" Bryn presses, her tone unreadable.
"I hope that's not a problem," I say quickly, my shoulders tensing. The last thing I need is some supernatural prejudice to dampen this whole sisterly bonding thing.
But Bryn just waves a hand dismissively, her bracelets clinking. "No, I hold no ill will towards the fangborn. In Zephyria, a warrior's merit is measured by their deeds, not the ichor in their veins."
Relief washes through me, and I sink deeper into the water. "Good. Because that doesn't define him; he's family, plain and simple."
Bryn nods slowly, her expression thoughtful as she leans back against the pool's edge. Her eyes hold a glimmer of something I can't quite place—curiosity, appraisal, maybe even a hint of admiration.