Page 6 of Vow of the Undead
It couldn't be King Drakkar.
This man looked like a warrior from the old and forbidden sagas that spoke of Odin and Freya and recounted historical battles fought in their names. Plus, the king had never traveled here before.
He strode toward the Vyl’s chair where my father sat to survey the race and autumnal celebrations.
Despite this distraction, my father’s voice finally—finally—rang out in the call that started the race. “For glory!”
We bolted forward.
My feet pounded the slick path coated in wet leaves. I forced one leg in front of the other, ignoring the pain thumping between my ribs just like a warrior would. Cold air filled my lungs as I sprinted out ahead of the other competitors.
My heels struck the path one after the other. Fire enveloped my lungs as my failing heart hammered too fast. I’d started in front of the other racers, only to quickly fall back. Two, then three women passed me, their eyes set on the rotted ash tree.
Ragna easily breezed past me while I heaved painful breaths.
I had to push harder, faster. If I failed to collapse, the Gods would not be able to reach me. While the barrier between Asgard and Midgard was thin and their influence accessed us through the tree of Yggdrasil, a connection was only possible for witches who put in the effort.
I forced my feet forward, but it was too late.
Ragna pumped her fists in victory as she stopped at the ash tree. The short sprint and the thrill of competition had ended before I could hurl my body past its breaking point. I hadn’t pushed hard enough.
Once I finished the race, running my palm over the rough tree bark, I doubled forward, the heel of my hands on my thighs. While I heaved, the other women chatted easily. My breathless lungs wouldn’t even let me congratulate Ragna.
Just then, she laid her hand on my back and I sucked in a choking breath, giving her a smile that she didn't return. Ragna’s resilient beauty remained despite the worry twisting her face.
“Silver.” My heart thumped when her voice came out in a whisper. “Have you found yourself in a bloody fight lately? Orhave they found out about you?” She moved to stand in front of me, her muscular body blocking my sight of the village. If she’d been a witch from ancient times, her gift of strength would have been used to fight off Jotnar, the giants who pillaged human villages—creatures everyone now said never existed—though she could only summon it with the rising of the dawn sun.
My back was to the ash tree as I blinked up at her. “I—no. Why?”
Despite the heat of the exercise, my blood ran cold as her fingers gripped my shoulder.
“They’re staring at you,” Ragna said. “Thekinghasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”
I dared to look past her and immediately my gaze met the man with the warrior’s hair. His pale blue eyes stared at me, unblinking. He towered over my father with the muscle and widespread stance of a fighter. His thick beard accentuated the cut of his jaw.
Everything about him, down to the arrogance slightly curling at the edge of his mouth and the delicious fierceness in his icy eyes, was what I imagined a warrior before battle to look like.
My lips parted and I sucked in a sharp breath.
When he noticed my reaction, his mouth cut into a crooked grin. It did nothing to soften the intensity of his all-consuming eyes.
My heart slowed enough for me to notice the brief skips with every other beat. How is it that a man who refuted the existence of Gods and witches and our history could embody the heroes from the sagas I loved?
And his eyes were onme.
Heat bloomed in my chest, thawing the cold fear that had rendered me frozen only moments ago. His gaze roved over me, dropping to where I heaved in another breath, and then trailed back up to my eyes.
My father was speaking to him, but the king didn’t seem to listen. He merely folded his thick arms over his chest and tipped his head ever so slightly. Though I hadn’t won a message from the Gods, I’d received the king’s message.
He’d come here for me.
This man I’d never met was fixated on me, and because he was nothing like I expected, I couldn’t look away.
“Does he recognize you?” Ragna’s voice broke through my thoughts.
Shit.Did he know what I was? My eyes darted from her to the people behind her. Two members of the Grimward marched toward me. Only their stark brown eyes were visible from beneath carved masks, one a boar with jagged tusks, the other curved with the lithe lines of a lynx.
“Which of you is Silver?” the boar asked as he made his way down the path we’d used for the short sprint. Their stares matched that of a predator stalking its prey.
