Valkyrie's Conquest (3 page)

Uncertainty swirled as if it were about to drag her down. The Norns had power even Odin feared. Could they somehow read the uncharacteristic emotions that had taken root in Tyra's heart? Her whole body went cold, but she felt a touch of anger, too. She wasn't ready to give up this new side of herself.

Still, she knew the right words. “I serve and obey.”

“Is that all?” The voice was bland. Somehow that was worse than if it had been dripping with scorn.

Tyra swallowed down foreboding. “What more would you have of me?”

“What you give the future is always your choice, Tyra of the Valkyries. There is no more truth than that. Now go and do your duty. Decide what that means.”

Chapter Three

Bron shouldered his way through the Friday night crowd. Bright light splashed from store windows, painting the passersby in garish brilliance. Giggling girls roved in packs, looking up from their smart phones to ogle him as he stalked by. Cars with thumping stereos slowed, the drivers plainly curious. Bron was taller than most humans, clearly something more than human, but few had any idea what he was.

Rebellion had freed the dragons from their controlling queen's wrath. Still, his kind was rare and few left the isolation of their mountain home. Always more adventurous, Bron had seized the opportunity to explore the outside world. The mountains weren't enough for him—he needed a whole world to test his wits and endurance. He loved what he found, loved learning the human way of speaking, their dress and customs and, most of all, their fierce independence. After a lifetime of rules, Bron was finally free and meant to stay that way.

Nevertheless, a demon invasion roused his interest. Just what was going on? Hellspawn were serious business, and Bron's newfound freedom allowed him to indulge his curiosity. He'd played it cool when the Valkyrie had told him to mind his own business, but he was done taking orders—even from gorgeous women with swords and wings.

Although he might entertain requests. Memories of those long, long legs—enticingly bare beneath her leather tunic—made his fingers itch with an urge to explore. There was nothing fragile about Tyra, but there was plenty that was fine. Skin pale and smooth as white satin. Hair like ripe wheat. Pride that matched even a dragon's. He had to love a woman who dared to hold him at swordpoint. Now that he'd found her, he would seek her out again and see what other surprises she had in store. But first, he would investigate her story of demons.

Determination made him pick up his pace. He turned off the teeming road and began winding his way through smaller streets, finding dead ends and alleyways that grew less welcoming with every block. He was moving on pure instinct, selecting his path simply by what streets felt the most
wrong
.

He reached a long, narrow passage between two old tenement buildings streaked with soot. It was deserted, his echoing footfalls making it seem emptier still. Iron balconies framed the windows above, their scrollwork long dissolved to rusty stumps. Something drew Bron's eye up to the gaping socket of a broken window—perhaps movement or a flicker of light—and a prickle ran down his arms, signaling the presence of magic. He pulled a blade from his boot and backed away to get a better view.

A crack zigzagged from the bottom of the window, following a path between the bricks all the way to the ground. Bron backed even farther away, wanting to give whatever was happening plenty of room. Reddish light trickled through the crack like molten rubies, shedding a scarlet glow on the pavement. Even though the color was hot, the air turned so cold Bron could see the mist of his breath—and then he knew. Demon stink putrefied the frigid air. Dread snaked through his bones, winding with horrible familiarity.

These were the forces of the darkest realms.

The red crack widened, drawing open like the curtains of a stage until it yawned over half the building's side. Beyond was a storm of swirling red and darkness. Cold air billowed out in a reeking mist, frosting the bricks wherever it touched. Bron fingered his knife and wished for a broadsword.

And then the demons came pouring through the gap in the wall. The first were long-limbed, stick-like things, dark and hard-shelled with slashing claws and long jaws filled with jagged teeth. They moved with the quick, darting moves of insects. Others were gelatinous, flowing like green-tinged snakes. These were lesser demons, but in this number they could destroy half the city.

By the Flame!
Bron froze with alarm, willing himself invisible in the shadows. He was no coward but against an army of fiends, even a dragon needed a plan.

High above, the clouds parted before the moon. The shifting brilliance penetrated even through the tunnel-like streets of the city. Bron glanced up and his breath stopped. A phantom host streamed from the sky like a beam of roiling moonlight. The riders were insubstantial as ghosts, and yet solid and deadly as steel.

Leading the charge was Odin Allfather, brandishing a spear from the back of his eight-legged horse. Behind him came armor-clad warriors, some with rich cloaks and the fair hair of Odin's people, and many more who were clearly the souls of fallen mortals. Like the great city itself, this second group varied—men and women, light and dark, some in ancient garb and others in modern fatigues. But they all wore the same grim expression as they spied the demon swarm.

The two forces fell upon each other. A blaze of light shot into the sky, bright silver and ghastly red colliding. A ragged shriek rang from the bricks as the Allfather struck one of the insect-like demons through its belly. Then the scene exploded into chaos, demons and warriors tearing into each other with primal force. With a start of surprise, Bron recognized Macdonald lashing out with a wicked-looking blade. The man's vague, disoriented expression had been replaced with one of intense purpose.

A sword flew from the hand of a warrior, spinning until it came to rest at Bron's feet. He picked it up, feeling as if the night itself had sent him a gift. The grip was still warm from the pressure of someone else's hand. He fit his own palm over it, liking the weight of the long, double-edged weapon. Bron's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with dread and excitement. Every instinct screamed to fight. The hair along his arms rose even as he searched for the right point to leap into the battle, to find the opening where he could do the most good. He had seen war often in the troll-haunted mountains, but nothing like this battle between demon and god.

* * *

As reapers of the fallen, Valkyries were always the last to join any battle. So it was that Tyra had a moment to spot her dragon where he stood poised to leap into the fray. “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a cool voice.

Bron wheeled with a snarl, but she stood firm. It took a moment for his eyes to show recognition. He was clearly far gone in battle fever, ferocity radiating from his body like heat from a forge. Her skin prickled, instinctive fear of fire making her draw back. She licked her lips, feeling suddenly parched. Like a troubling dream, she remembered the ache of wanting this fierce creature. Now desire rushed back with doubled ferocity, proving it was all too real.

At what point had these impossible hungers become simple fact?
The moment I saw him. The moment I knew what yearning for him was like
. Once that fire had caught, it had refused to go out.
But I am terrified of fire
.

Too late. Now Tyra lived with that heat in her core, and Bron was watching her as if he could see that fluttering glow and relished that he was the cause of it. Pride alone kept her composure intact.

“You watch, but you do not fight,” she said.

“Not yet,” he answered in that low, rough voice. It wound around her like a caress.

Their exchange took only seconds, but it was enough for the battle to turn. The demons wheeled, streaking down the narrow alleyway in a desperate bid to escape the wrath of the Allfather's forces. They passed in a crush of stink and trailing claws, Odin's army chasing after the horde in a roar of battle cries and flashing swords. The hard shells of the insect demons opened to reveal black-veined wings, and the oozing snakes transformed to hideous birds of prey. The demons rose into the skies like a dark and winding tentacle, but the god and his ghostly heroes followed, harrying them into the gray haze of the city lights.

Tyra and Bron stood for a long moment, craning their necks to follow the spectacle. She'd seen it all a thousand times, but Bron's fists were knotted, the sword raised as if he meant to thrust it into the sky.

“You quiver like a dog straining at its leash,” she said. “Why hold back?”

He let out a long breath, lowering the blade slowly. “I came here with a question. It's been answered. The war is real.”

“And?”

“The Allfather seems to have it in hand for tonight.” He narrowed his eyes, his attention now fully on her. His amber eyes held as much heat as the sun. “Right now I'm more curious about you. You're not fighting, either.”

Tyra folded her arms, needing something between her and that gaze. It was as if he'd eavesdropped on her conversations that day. “Valkyries are guardians of the dead, not the living.”

His eyes traveled slowly down her body, finally coming to rest on her sword. “Would you rather be riding with your father?”

Tyra hesitated. His eyes wandered to her sword and then back to her face. It was obvious he could read everything her silence hid.

“I'm a fighter, too. You can tell me the truth. I'm good with secrets.” With a slow blink of his amber eyes, Bron touched her arm. It was the merest brush of fingertips, but it sparked her nerves as if trails of flame scorched down her skin.

She set her jaw, refusing to pull away. She was good with secrets, too, and would keep hers close. “My father's laws are very clear about what I can do, and I obey his word.”

“Always?”

“Always. Disobedience is a painful mistake.”

The dragon gave a wry smile. “Then why are you here?”

“Because someone will die tonight in this alley.” Tyra pulled away, rubbing her arm. “I've received my instructions.”

The rattle of a lock cut off her words. A door across the alleyway opened and a tall figure in a denim jacket emerged, pausing just long enough to light a cigarette. A human working late, she supposed, blind and deaf to the supernatural battle that had just passed by.

Or the fact that a handful of demons still hid in the corners, and hadn't followed the battle at all. Tall, stick-like figures seeped from the shadows, their jaws clacking in anticipation of a kill. Tyra cursed herself for allowing Bron to distract her. She should have been on guard.

The human wandered down the alley, his hands in his pockets and the cigarette dangling from his mouth. Bron glanced quickly from the demons to the man. “Is that the soul you're supposed to collect?”

“Only if he is lucky. Otherwise, he is prey. Demons devour mortal souls if they can get them. That is why they want access to the human world.” She shifted to keep the man and the hellspawn in sight. They were taking their time, stalking in slow, sinuous movements. She bristled, reaching for the hilt of her sword. “My job is to collect his soul before it becomes their dinner.”

Bron gave her a long look, a glint in his eyes. Tyra could almost feel the shimmer of his inner fire, at once attractive and terrifying. “Warrior to warrior, what about keeping him alive?”

She frowned. “That's not my purpose.”

And yet she couldn't stop a stab of pity for the figure blindly strolling through the dark. She wasn't supposed to be compassionate, but the feeling rose like a panicked bird fluttering against her ribs.
What's happening to me? I don't have a soul. I shouldn't be feeling these things
. She took a step forward, but Bron grabbed her wrist.

“I didn't ask what you're supposed to do. I asked what you wanted.” The dragon gave a conspiratorial—and somewhat evil—grin. “No one else needs to know. I'm good with secrets, remember? And I've longed for freedom, too. That's why I left the mountains.”

Understanding sparked between them. Bron's presence made Tyra realize how empty she'd felt all her long existence. Without a doubt, there would be a price to pay for tampering with fate, but the Norns had told her she had a choice. For once, she was choosing what she wanted.

Tyra shivered as if her insides had suddenly been packed with snow. “This might be the soul I am meant to collect,” she said, her voice astonishingly calm, “but I think he looks more like an innocent bystander.”

“Shall we save him?”

This time his smile brought an unfamiliar rush to her blood, one she'd only ever felt through the human souls she'd touched. But this surge of triumph was purely hers. “Yes.”

“Good,” Bron said, and launched himself at the demons in an avalanche of primal savagery.

Tyra drew her sword in a long hiss of steel, utterly certain she had lost her mind.

Chapter Four

Three days later, Tyra crouched in the same alleyway, her back braced against the bricks. It was late afternoon, the shadows long and the light the color of pale wine. It was cooling off now, but the day had been sticky hot. The stench of garbage was almost solid.

She had dressed like one of the humans, in high-heeled sandals and cropped pants, with a short cotton jacket over a sky blue tank top. She did not walk among the mortals often, but today she had given in to her curiosity about them. Or perhaps she was looking for one tall dragon in the endless crowd.

Of course she was. That was how she had ended up back here, staring at the place where the demons had poured through the fissure in the bricks. “Are you going to open again?” Tyra murmured softly. She wanted to face them again, sword in hand.

Nothing, of course, would happen during daylight. Demons hid their twisted forms from the sun. She would have to come back later, dressed for fighting, but an insane, reckless part of her couldn't wait. She and Bron had made a lethal team, each anticipating the moves of the other. It had been like dancing with an exceptional partner, a wordless intimacy of mind and body. By the time they'd wiped the black demon ichor from their blades, not one of the hellspawn had escaped, but the human had.