Page 15 of Storm of Fury
The moment took his breath away.
Bryn flew through the air, high over the sweep of the draugr’s club. For a second, it looked as though she had swan-like wings. She plunged her shining sword right into its eye, and a flare of light exploded from the weapon as the draugr screamed.
The concussive force almost knocked him off his feet. He staggered back, his cloak whipping around him as the draugr’s body slammed into the ground. Bryn wrenched her sword from its eye and hopped off its chest, her face spattered with mottled clots of dark blood. In that moment, he could have sworn he saw his future laid out like an arrow forging toward its fate.
This woman was the one.
He’d jokingly said she would be his wife, but he hadn’t meant it until this moment.
Bryn shot him a savage smile, and wiped the black blood off her sword. “And that’s how you kill the undead, big man.”
Four
The völva had fled,leaving behind the remnants of her draugar.
Bryn made short work of cleaning her sword before sheathing it—and its brightness.
The second she put it away, the Blackfrost advanced upon her, radiating menace. “Where did you find that sword?”
Drekicould smell lies. So Bryn tipped her chin up and looked him in the eye. She’d been prepared to face these questions. “It was gifted to me by the Valkyrie, Kára.”
“You’re lying.”
“Do I look like I’m lying?” She laid a hand on the hilt of the sword. “No hand can steal a Valkyrie’s sword, milorddreki. The powers bound into the steel will refract back upon an unlawful hand and the consequences are dire.”
The Blackfrost’s lip curled back from his teeth. “No Valkyrie gives away blessed steel.”
True. Bryn’s smile slipped. “Sometimes the sword chooses a new mistress.”
A part of her had expected the sword to cleave from her hand the second she was cast from Valhalla, but though it had warmed to the touch, it had stayed true. Both a cruel blow and a relief.
She remained Valkyrie enough to wield it, though she would never be welcomed within the golden halls again.
There’s still a chance. Bryn’s breath escaped her lungs.All you have to do is find this precious princeling and you can return home.You’ll finally be able to clear your name.
Tormund stepped between them and rested a hand on the Blackfrost’s chest. “The lady said she’s not lying. How about you give her some room to breathe and uh, perhaps go take a bath in a fresh icy lake?”
The Blackfrost turned that snarl upon him.
“Don’t snap at me,” Tormund replied mildly. “It’s not my fault your lady wife is never going to want to kiss you again. I didn’t tell you to eat it.”
“I didn’t eat it. I bit its fucking head off.”
“Yes.” Tormund winced. “I think we all practically tasted that. And with you breathing down my neck, I can almost taste it now.” He tossed a flask toward thedreki. “Perhaps rinse your mouth out.” Backing away, he gave a winning smile, his hands held in the air. “And, uh, keep the flask.”
Bryn let go of the sword hilt as the Blackfrost strode away, bristling in fury.
For all his arrogance, Tormund had a way of defusing difficult situations. At first she’d mistaken him for merely being the foot soldier of the group, but over the past day she’d seen him placate the others with a laugh and a jest. Haakon seemed prone to staring broodingly across the mountains, but Tormund would tease him out of such bleak moods within five minutes. And the Blackfrost—despite threatening to eat him on a regular basis—seemed to find him amusing.
It was a little baffling. She’d known many a mighty warrior—she’d often carried them to the golden halls of Odin herself—but she’d never seen one who used his wit and charm to defuse dangerous situations instead of drawing a sword.
“You’re welcome,” Tormund said.
“Pardon?” She tore her stare from the irritateddrekiand met the mortal’s eyes.
Brown and rich and so, so human….
“I said, ‘you’re welcome.’”
