Chapter 56 Erik
Erik
The firelight casts long shadows across our makeshift camp, each flicker illuminating Baldr's insufferable smirk as he reclines against the fallen log. His posture speaks of centuries of unearned privilege—the kind that makes my sword hand twitch.
Bryn maintains her warrior's composure beside me, though I note the slight tightening of her fingers around her horn of mead. Even in this tension, she carries herself with the dignity of a true Valkyrie.
"Tell me, Erik." Baldr's voice carries that aristocratic mockery that makes me want to feed him his own teeth. "How long have you been following our little fallen Valkyrie around like a lost pup?"
"Careful, your highness." Bryn's tone could freeze Muspelheim. "Your crown's on so tight it's cutting off blood to what little brain you have."
Baldr laughs. "Oh come now, Brynhildr. We all know your taste runs to... cruder stock."
She grits her teeth, "It's Bryn."
My growl fills the clearing as my fingers flex with the need to break things—preferably his face.
"After all," he continues, lips curling into a cruel smile, "isn't that why you let those warriors use you so carelessly, Brynhildr? Always choosing the ones who treated you like the common whore you'd become?"
When it comes, my voice carries the deadly calm that has heralded the end of countless enemies. "Choose your next words with extreme care, prince. Your title won't protect you from what follows."
"Such loyalty." Baldr's smile turns vicious. "But we both know she prefers her men cruel. Tell me, Erik, can you give her what she needs? Or are you too... civilized?"
"For Hell's sake, fuck off, Baldr. What in Odin's balls has gotten into you, you fífl?" Bryn's voice cuts through the tension, sharp as a Valkyrie's blade.
"Nothing." He snaps a twig, tossing it into the flames with deliberate arrogance.
"Just making conversation." My control hangs by a thread as his eyes fix on me with malicious intent.
"Does it not bother you that Brynhildr's been the compound's favorite whore?
You must have quite the taste for used—"
The crack of my fist against his jaw silences his filthy tongue, the impact echoing through the clearing. Blood—red and bright—stains his perfect mouth, and something in me purrs at the sight. But before I can savor it, the world spins.
Pine trees shatter against my back—one, two, three—before the frozen ground rushes to meet me.
Snow explodes around my impact, the bitter cold starkly contrasting the fury burning in my veins.
The prince may dress like a pampered peacock, but the force behind his blow reminds me why Odin's blood runs through his veins.
Instinct takes over. One heartbeat I'm in the snow, the next my fingers wrap around his precious throat, squeezing with pent-up violence. His pulse hammers against my palm—fast, frantic, afraid.
"I warned you, prince." My grip tightens as he chokes, face turning an interesting shade of purple. "One more fucking word about her—"
"Erik." Bryn's hand finds my arm, her touch burning through my rage. "Release him. Odin will have my head if his precious heir returns with bruises."
Of course. The entitled bastard can spew whatever vileness he wants, protected by daddy's crown and title.
My roar of frustration echoes across the frozen landscape as I release him, boots crunching through deep snow as I put distance between us before I do something that starts another fucking war.
Baldr's laugh—sharp and mocking—chases me through the trees. "Thank you for proving my point, vampire!" His voice drips with cruel satisfaction. "I'm sure my father will be most intrigued by your... attachment to his fallen Valkyrie."
A threat. A promise. I can't tell. Bryn's low and furious voice cuts through the night, her words lost to the wind but their intent clear.
Moments later, her footsteps follow, quick and light across the frozen ground. She doesn't call out, doesn't demand I stop. She just follows, silent and steady, a warrior's presence at my back.
The frozen forest swallows my rage as I finally stop, chest heaving. This fury coursing through my veins feels foreign—wild and uncontrolled. The bond pulses with it, transforming centuries of careful restraint into something dangerous.
Her footsteps crunch softly behind me, stopping a respectful distance away. I sense her hesitation and feel it in how she shifts her weight from foot to foot.
"Hey." Just one word, but it carries a world of understanding.
"I apologize." The words taste bitter. "That display of—"
A flash of movement, and suddenly she's there. My words are cut off as her finger presses against my lips. The heat of her catches me off guard—she burns like a star, close enough that I can taste her breath on my tongue, count each golden fleck in her Noric blue eye.
The space between us crackles with tension, heavy with things unsaid. Her scent—honey and steel and battle-fury—fills my lungs, making my head spin.
"I... liked it. No one's ever..." Her voice catches, those eyes blazing with something that stirs my beast. "That's twice now you've defended me—no one's ever done anything like that for me, Erik."
The way she says my name, like it's something sacred, something cherished...
I can't resist pulling her flush against me, needing to feel her. Memories of last night flood my mind—her taste, scent, and how she shattered so beautifully around me. I want that again. Want her, in every way possible.
Her fingers trace the lines of my face, each touch a whisper of silk against my skin. Her eyes search mine with an intensity that steals my breath. It's as if she's seeing me, genuinely seeing me, for the first time.
"What am I going to do with you, silfrhár?" Her voice is a sigh, a surrender, an invitation.
My lips find hers, gentle at first—until she moans into my mouth. The sound ignites a hunger I can't control as I pull her closer, hands spanning her waist through layers of fur and leather.
Her fingers tangle in my hair as she arches into me. I groan when she tugs, the sensation sparking like lightning down my spine.
The world blurs. Her back hits the ancient pine, snow cascading around us like stars.
"Sorry—"
"Stop." She growls against my mouth, teeth catching my bottom lip. "Stop apologizing."
The hunger in her voice makes my chest ache. How many taught her that violence was all she deserved? My touch is gentle, and my kiss is turning from desperate to reverent. I'll show her there's more than rough hands and cruel touches.
She whimpers as I trace her lips with my tongue, the sound soft and surprised. Each brush of my mouth against hers is a promise, each caress a prayer. The kiss deepens, slow and thorough—stoking embers into steady flame.
The ground trembles beneath our feet, vibrating like a colossal heartbeat pulsing through the frozen earth. Our lips tear apart as Bryn's eyes widen with recognition—instincts reading danger in the rhythmic tremors.
"Shit." She stumbles back, her warrior's stance returning as she scans the darkening forest. The tremors continue, rhythmic, like giant footfalls shaking the world.
"Bryn—"
"Frost giant." Her voice carries the sharp edge of experience. "They hunt these woods after sunset." Her fingers lock around mine, pulling us toward camp through the snow. "Move. Now."
The tremors grow stronger, each impact rattling ancient pines and sending cascades of snow from their branches. My mind struggles to process the reality of it—a fucking frost giant? But the terror in Bryn's quickening pulse tells me everything I need to know.
The camp materializes through the trees, conspicuously missing one arrogant prince.
Of course the bastard fled. Bryn's movements are fluid, practiced—her sword singing free of its scabbard as her shield settles against her arm.
Grave Warden's weight feels right in my palm, the blade gleaming with deadly promise in the fading light.
"What’s the strategy?”
"Aim for the joints." Bryn's voice carries the authority of countless battles. "Knees, elbows, neck—anywhere the ice armor is thinnest." Another tremor rocks the ground, closer now. "And whatever you do, don't let them grab you. Their touch turns flesh to ice."
The forest groans around us as ancient trees bend under an unseen weight. Bryn shifts into a battle stance I've seen a thousand times in training, but never with such lethal focus.
"They're strong but slow." Her eyes track something in the darkness that my vampire sight hasn't caught yet. "Use your speed. Strike fast, strike hard, and for fuck's sake, don't try to match their strength."
The world slows and crystallizes, that familiar clarity washing over me as future echoes ripple through my mind. Left. Down. Pivot. The giant's movements paint themselves in my thoughts seconds before they happen.
A mighty hand, blue as glacier ice, swings through the space where my head was a heartbeat ago. Snow explodes as the giant's fist connects with empty air. Bryn's already moving, her blade a silver arc that catches moonlight as she darts between the creature's legs.
Duck. Roll. Strike.
The vision comes just in time. I drop as a chunk of ice the size of a horse whistles overhead. Grave Warden finds the soft spot behind the giant's knee—exactly where Bryn said it would be. Black blood, thick as tar, steams in the frozen air.
"Erik!" Bryn's voice cuts through the night. She's airborne, shield braced, creating the perfect springboard. Without hesitation, I blur forward, plant my foot on her shield, and let her Valkyrie strength launch me toward the giant's face.
Right eye. Three seconds. Block.
The creature's hand comes up to swat me away—exactly as I saw it would. But I'm already twisting, using its own arm as a runway. Grave Warden plunges deep into its right eye socket. The roar that follows shakes snow from distant peaks.