Page 83 of The Last Valkyrie

I screamed, useless, collapsing to my knees as unimaginable agony roared through me.

Damon was wordless as he kicked and caught my chest, sending me sprawling onto my back, my wing drawing free from his sword with atearof flesh and scales.

My heart raced, half-brother standing over me, drawing back his sword—no time for a monologue to tell me how much he hated me, how much I deserved this end, how foolish I was for calling forth wings I knew nothing about.

I weakly lifted my spear in a last desperate attempt.

His sword sprang forward to end me, my life flashing before me as I focused on the cruel point of that blade—

Damon jerked—

A blood-red blade burst through his chest, cracking bone and muscle.

I whimpered reflexively at the sight of my brother looking down at his own caved-in chest, dropping his sword from limp hands, his entire body drawn upright by the force of the sword that had crunched through spine and flesh to impale him.

“No . . .” I mewled, tears burning my eyes.

The blackness went out of Damon’s eyes, turning normal and brown before they shifted to gray, sightless, sad. His face twisted in pain, in confusion. He looked down at me helplessly. “V-Vini?”

Damon sounded like a child then, coming to grips with his fate, as much as I wanted to deny it.

A crimson-haired head emerged around my brother’s shoulder, emotionless, slack, speaking into his ear in little more than a whisper. “I warned you, Halldan. Ever try to hurt my woman again, and I’ll end you.”

Magnus pulled his bloodblade from Damon’s back with a sickening sound, and my brother fell forward next to me.

The bloodrender reached down to help me up, but I could only look up at him in grief and agony, seeing him as a stranger in that moment with the moon silhouetting his gaunt, unnervingly calm face.

“I’ll never be sorry for killing a man trying to harm you, silvermoon, even if you can never forgive me,” Magnus whispered. “I am only sorry for causing you grief.”

I choked back a sob, only nodding, and heard my brother gasp and gurgle next to me.

“Damon!” I yelled. My hands and knees dragged me to him. I grunted and flipped my brother onto his back. His face was a ruination of slack pain, a waxy sheen to his features, and blood spitting up past his lips.

When I glanced up for a moment, I noticed the sounds of battle had ceased. Two dark elves lay dead at the feet of Canute, Grim, Sven, Arne, and Corym. The rest of the Dokkalfar had skittered away into the shadows. My team was ready to pursue them in the darkness once they dispatched of the final foe.

Eirik’s eyes moved from man to man, gripping his sword and spinning it in his hands. He hadn’t yet realized Damon had fallen behind him, next to me.

“Eirik, stop this!” I yelled.

My brother’s head whipped around.

His eyes were black, no whites showing. They glitched out and turned brown, the darkness receding, but when they landed on the crumpled form of Damon next to me, the sheer orbs of darkness took hold of his mind again.

“Please, throw down your sword, E! Don’t do this!”

My brother took one glance at me and Damon, another glance at the five hardened soldiers ready to put a stop to him, and then a final glance at his dead father.

Without another word, the Drengr warrior took off running toward the dark elves.

“No!” I cried out, but it was like screaming into the ocean. All that answered was an ominous wave of nothingness.

With trembling, bloody hands, I returned my gaze to my brother. Blood bubbled up around his lips. His eyes blinked incessantly, frightened, and I smacked him in the cheek. “Stay awake, you damned bastard!”

Some part of me—some distant, foolish, naïve, hopeful part of me—thought I could do something about Damon’s fate. Through it all, I thought I could make a difference. Thought I could rescue my brother.

“Damon, I’m on the way!”

I touched his forehead like I had Lady Elayina, closed my eyes, and the world evaporated around me.

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