Chapter 56 Erik #2
Bryn moves quickly beneath the giant, her blade finding every weak point in its ice armor. We dance around it in perfect synchronization—her knowledge of its weaknesses combining with my ability to see its moves before they come.
Behind you. Now.
I spin, catching Bryn around the waist as she leaps toward me. The giant's fist crashes into the ground where she stood. Using her momentum, I swing her in a wide arc, her blade carving a deep groove in the creature's throat as she passes.
The bond between us hums with need. Each move flows into the next, centuries of combat experience merging with Valkyrie training. We're no longer two warriors—we're a single weapon aimed at the giant's heart.
Left shoulder. Impact. Bryn.
The vision hits too late. The giant's backhand catches Bryn mid-leap, sending her crashing through the treeline. The sound of splintering wood and her choked cry tears through my chest like a blade.
"brYN!"
The giant's laugh rumbles like an avalanche. Ice crystals form in the air around its remaining eye, spreading outward in deadly spikes. One grazes my shoulder—pain explodes, flesh instantly blackening with frost.
Above. Behind. Strike.
I blur through the forest, following the trail of broken trees. Bryn lies crumpled against an extensive pine, blood staining the snow beneath her. Her shield arm hangs at an unnatural angle, skin already turning blue where the giant's touch burned her.
The ground trembles. I grab her just as a massive foot crashes down, pulverizing the spot where she lay. Her breath hitches with pain as I cradle her against my chest, dodging another swipe of those lethal hands.
"Put me down," she growls through gritted teeth, though her good hand clutches my jacket. "I can still fight."
Duck. Roll. Three seconds.
I dive behind a boulder as ice spears shred the air where we stood. "Like hell." The words come out as a snarl. "Your arm—"
"Is just an arm." She pushes away from me, swaying but upright. Blood trickles from her hairline, but her eyes burn with Valkyrie fire. "I've killed these bastards with worse."
The giant's roar drowns out my protest. It charges through the trees, each step leaving craters of black ice in the snow. Bryn's blade flashes in her good hand, a familiar gleam of battle-lust in her eyes.
Left knee. Opening. Now.
"Goddamnit, Bryn," I growl, positioning myself at her back. Her response is a war cry that would make the gods themselves tremble.
Above. Shatter. Jump.
Ice rains as the giant brings both fists down, splitting the earth where we stand. Bryn rolls left, I blur right—perfect synchronization even with her injuries. Her blade finds the creature's ankle, black blood spurting as she severs a tendon.
The giant stumbles, its howl of pain echoing off distant peaks. But its hand sweeps low, catching Bryn before she can dodge. Ice spreads up her leg where its fingers graze her.
Three seconds. Choice. Death.
The vision hits like a blade to the gut—Bryn, frozen solid, shattering against the forest floor.
Not happening.
Not while I breathe.
I launch at the giant's face, Grave Warden singing through the air. The blade connects with its remaining eye as its grip tightens on Bryn. The creature rears back, releasing her as it claws at its ruined face.
Bryn hits the ground hard, her cry of pain cutting through me like physical wounds. Ice creeps up her thigh, turning her skin a deadly shade of blue.
Behind. Above. Strike.
The giant's blind fury sends trees crashing around us. I blur to Bryn's side, scooping her up as a gigantic pine splinters where we were seconds ago. Her skin burns with cold against mine, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"The neck," she grits, fingers digging into my shoulder. "While it's blind. I'll be your distraction."
"Fuck no—"
"Trust me." Those magical eyes lock onto mine, fierce despite the pain. "I'm not done fighting yet."
"So goddamn stubborn—"
"Here." Bryn shoves her blade into my free hand, her skin now ghostly pale against the spreading ice. "Throw me."
Understanding clicks. My grip tightens on her good arm as the giant thrashes blindly, searching for us with his hands.
Left. Up. Death.
I spin, using my strength to launch her straight at the giant's chest. Despite her injuries, Bryn's aim is lethal—her shield slams into its throat, the edge biting deep. The creature stumbles back, hands clawing at the metal embedded in its flesh.
Now. Neck. End it.
Time slows. I blur up the giant's arm, both blades crossed before me. It's skin burns through my clothes, but I don't feel it. All I see is Bryn on the ground, ice crawling up her body, her breaths growing shallow.
Grave Warden and Bryn's sword scissor through the giant's neck, spraying black blood across the snow. The head topples first, crystallizing before it hits the ground. The enormous body follows, crashing down with enough force to shake the ground.
I'm at Bryn's side before the echo fades, gathering her against my chest. The ice has reached her hip, her skin blue and brittle.
"Show off," she manages through chattering teeth, trying to smile despite the pain. "Didn't have to... use both swords."
"Hush." I tear at my jacket, wrapping it around her frozen limbs. "Save your strength."
Her laugh comes out as a pained gasp. "Made quite the team... didn't we, Silfrhár?"
The giant's corpse begins to crack, spreading into a network of fissures before shattering completely. The sound mirrors the fractures spreading through my chest as I cradle Bryn closer, willing my body heat to fight back the deadly cold consuming her.
"Tell me how to fix this." My voice shakes as the ice spreads past her waist. "There has to be something—some Valkyrie healing, some ancient magic—"
"Nothing." Her fingers, blue and trembling, brush my cheek. "Frost giant's touch... it's fatal. Always has been." A bitter laugh escapes her. "At least... I died fighting."
The resignation in her voice ignites something in my chest. Centuries of memories flash through my mind—warriors I've watched die, lovers lost to time, an eternity of helplessness.
Not her. Not Bryn. Not my mate.
"Nothing left... to fight for," she whispers, those eyes growing distant. Each word falls like ice between us.
Disbelief wars with the ache in my chest. How can those words fall so easily from her lips? She's found Dani, a sister who needs her, who already loves her with the fierce devotion only family can inspire.
And she's found me. Her soulmate, her other half, no matter how hard she tries to deny the pull between us—the bond hums with the truth of it, an ancient melody that resonates in our very bones.
"Fuck. That." My voice cracks with centuries of buried emotion. "You don't get to decide you're worthless, Bryn. Not after making me feel—" The words strangle in my throat. "Not after making me care."
My fangs tear into my wrist with savage force. Blood wells up, dark and potent with power.
"Erik, don't—"
"Shut up." I press my bleeding wrist to her lips, my other hand cradling her head. "For once in your stubborn life, just shut up and let someone save you."
Her resistance lasts only a moment before instinct takes over. Each pull of her mouth sends electricity through my veins, the bond begging to be sealed, flaring bright and wild.
The change is immediate. Where my blood touches her lips, color floods back into her skin. The ice coating her body begins to crack, melting away like spring thaw. Her heartbeat strengthens, the sound of it filling my ears like the sweetest music.
Bryn gasps as feeling returns to her limbs, her body arching against mine. Her fingers dig into my arm, holding my wrist to her mouth as she drinks deeper. The warrior in her finally choosing to fight, to live, to stay.
The beast in me claws at its chains, demanding I complete the bond—take her blood as she takes mine. But ancient law binds me as surely as my own control. The bond must be mutual, willing, chosen.
Still, satisfaction courses through me as I watch life flood back into her body. The blue tinge of death fades, replaced by the vibrant glow of a Valkyrie reborn. Her eyes spark with renewed fire, the shadow of defeat banished by the light of her spirit.
I pull my wrist back. Bryn's tongue darts out, catching a stray drop of blood at the corner of her mouth. The sight sends heat rushing south.
"Well," she drawls, a familiar smirk tugging at her lips, "I was expecting Jormungandr's rotting scales, but that wasn't half bad."
The laugh that bursts from my chest feels foreign, rusty with disuse. When was the last time I found genuine amusement in anything? But Bryn's morbid humor, even in the face of death, is so quintessentially her that I can't help but be charmed.
"Only you," I manage through the unfamiliar sensation of laughter, "would compare my ancient blood to a giant snake's ass."
She sits up, testing her limbs gingerly. The ice is gone, not even a trace of frostbite marring her skin. Only the rips in her clothing and the drying blood suggest she was even injured.
"Suppose I should thank you," she says, but there's no bite to her words. "Though if you tell anyone a vampire had to save my ass, I'll deny it to Odin himself."
I shake my head, marvel at the complex creature before me—fierce and fragile, stubborn and vulnerable, a walking contradiction that somehow slipped past my defenses.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I assure her, helping her to her feet. "Your secret's safe with me, little bird."