Page 246 of Kingdoms of Night

How did he end up in scenarios like these?

Wait, no. There was no need for Geraint to ponder that question aloud. He knew the answer: damsels.

As a knight of the fabled Round Table, it was his duty to rescue damsels in distress. He’d had no problems when called upon to leap up a high tower and rescue any flaxen-haired princesses within. It had been all fine and good back in medieval times when it was the height of gentlemanliness to pick up the dropped handkerchief of a fair maiden during a joust. It had been well in his wheelhouse in Victorian times to rescue a kidnapped bride absconded by a villainous highwayman.

But here in the twenty-first century, a man like him, a man brought up in and sworn to the chivalric code, was a pariah.

At the turn of the last century, he’d walked on the outside of the curb, placing himself between cars and carriages and the woman he’d been courting, only to be labeled a misogynist. He’d once opened a door for a suffragette, and she’d turned back and glared at him, accusing him of sexism unless he also held the door open for another man as well. He’d offered to carry a heavy parcel for an Afro-wearing feminist in the sixties and had been accused of upholding the patriarchy.

Suffice it to say, he hadn’t been on a date in a decade.

“Loren,” Geraint said, “it’s time to go.”

“Go home? I’m not giving up.”

Any other time, Geraint would have admired his brother Loren and her tenaciousness. Now wasn’t one of those times. Sir Geraint, Sir Gawain, and Dame Galahad were in serious danger with a route to escape open. But Lady Loren, Dame Galahad, wasn’t budging from the fight. The first female knight of the Brotherhood of the Round Table was no shrinking violet that would swoon and let the men handle the unpleasantness. No, her sword was at the ready.

The worst offense a chivalrous male could make in modern times was offering to fight a woman’s battle for her. And so Sir Geraint stepped back as Dame Galahad put aside her enchanted sword and reached for the hammer of the God of Thunder.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the golden god of Asgard. “But I am going to use your tool.”

Thor’s grin spread impossibly wider. “I’m certain I won’t mind if you—"

Thor’s grip went slack around its hilt. He could’ve yanked the magical weapon back from her, but he didn’t. Instead, he lifted a brow and watched Loren with interest.

Geraint drew his sword, standing side by side with his newest brother knight against a god. It wasn’t the first time. They’d faced down Greek gods in Athens. They’d bested the fairy king Gyges at an illegal underground fight club beneath the Roman Coliseum. Now they stood on the wrong side of the Valkyrie, female warriors born of the Goddess, and the All Father Odin.

But that was life with Loren. She inevitably wound up on the wrong side of someone or other. At least she was currently upright and not in bed with the God of Thunder, who eyed her with desire. Or the immortal billionaire Tresor Mohandis, who was failing miserably at holding his disinterested glare at Loren.

Geraint wanted to wish both men good luck—and lots of caution. Most men who encountered the wily female knight became taken with her. Not Geraint.

He preferred his women more traditional. Women who’d let him take care of them. Women whom he could put on a pedestal and not have her fight him every step of the way.

He’d met one such woman with lavender skin. He’d taken Loren’s advice to try to win Lady Enid’s heart… and ruined his chances.

That seemed to be a recurring theme with his friendship with Loren. She leaped without looking, and he was the one that caught all the trouble. Already, he’d stood by impotently as she’d broken more than one sacred rule of their order. Knights and witches were forbidden to cross the Veil between worlds. Yet in a matter of forty-eight hours, they’d entered the Bermuda Triangle, where they’d angered the sea gods Aegir and Ran. They’d ridden the rainbow of the Bifrost into Alfheim while on the run from the mighty god Thor. And now they’d pissed off the Valkyrie by opening the doors of Valhalla.

And by they, Geraint wasn’t referring to himself. He was a consummate rule-follower. For Loren, on the other hand,rulewas a nasty four-letter word.

But she was one of his brothers now. And there had to be trust between them. He was just wary of that trust being a one-way street.

He had to remember that she’d come on this quest to save her best friend. There was honor in that. Loren might not always be honest, but she was loyal to her friends and family. And the key to getting her best friend back was behind that door. So Geraint didn’t stop her as Loren let the hammer of a god fly into the door.

The doors burst open. Inside, the room was filled with men. Men for as far as the eye could see, and the hall was endless.

There were men of all shapes, sizes, colors, dress, and even undress. The vast sea of men rose and fell like waves. Down in the trough, men lounged. They lay on couches and played games. They slumped in chairs as they scratched themselves or slept on the floor in the fetal position.

Up in the crests, heads bobbed and snapped as fists and feet connected. Lips split, and flesh cracked open, but not an ounce of blood was spilled. Not even one drop. They had no blood. These were all dead men.

On and on the wave of males rolled. Up in aggression, down in nonchalance. Bodies crashed and were beached and then pulled back into the fray.

“What the hell?” Loren whispered.

“Exactly,” said the Valkyrie who guarded the halls of Valhalla. “This is hell. These are the souls of the worst that humanity has to offer.”

“How was I supposed to know what was behind the door?” Loren said.

“Oh, you’re right.” The Valkyrie’s voice dripped with false innocence. She balled her hands and held them to her heart in fake sincerity. “If only someone had told you not to open the door where we stored the dead.”

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