Sobs wrack her body, her shoulders heaving with the force of her pain. This is more than physical agony—it's the shattering of her very identity, the core of who she is.
I drop to my knees beside her, heedless of the blood soaking into my pants. My hands tremble as I cup her face, forcing her to meet my gaze. Tears cut tracks through the blood staining her cheeks.
"Bryn, stop. You're not nothing. You could never be nothing." I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. "You're my sister, my family. And you're so much more than your wings." She shakes her head, a keening wail rising from her throat. The sound is pure agony, and it cuts me to the quick. "You are worth everything—to me—to—" The word 'Erik' dies on my tongue. Not yet. First, I need to heal this nightmare. "Turn around. Let me help you."
She sniffs but complies, revealing the full horror of what she's done. The wound is catastrophic—muscle and sinew hang in ragged strips where she sawed through her flesh. Once a masterpiece of divine engineering, the wing joint is ruined by shattered bones and torn ligaments. Blood still pumps from severed arteries, each beat of her heart sending fresh rivulets down her back.
She must've just done this—moments before I arrived.
I close my eyes, reaching deep within to tap into the wellspring of power. The Atherite stone thrums in response, its energy surging through my veins like a divine current. A soft, ethereal glow emanates from my hands—a pure white light that seems to push back against the darkness engulfing Bryn.
Gently, I pressmy palms to the ravaged remains of her wing. The moment my skin meets hers, Bryn inhales sharply, her body going rigid. But as the celestial light suffuses her flesh, she gradually relaxes, melting into my touch.
Under the radiance of my power, the brutal wound begins to transform. The ragged edges of the amputation start to draw inward, the skin and muscle knitting together in a way that defies nature. However, healing takes a different path than rebuilding the lost wing.
The shattered remnants of bone and cartilage begin to dissolve, absorbed back into her body like sand pulled by the tide. The gnarled stump smooths out, the angry red flesh fading to match her golden skin. It's as if her body accepts the loss, adapting to this new reality.
Slowly, impossibly, the wound seals itself completely. Where once there was a gaping, blood-soaked void, there is now only smooth, unblemished skin. The place where her majestic wing once sprouted is now a seamless expanse of her back, marred only by the slick blood that still paints her back.
I sit back on my heels, my breath escaping in a shuddering sigh. Bryn's body shakes with silent sobs, the blood loss and emotional toll taking their due.
Without a word, I gather her into my arms, pulling her tight against my chest. She collapses into the embrace, her tears hot against my neck as she finally gives voice to her anguish—the sound raw and broken.
I hold her, rocking gently as she rides out the storm of her grief. I stroke her hair, murmuring soft words of comfort even as my tears fall unchecked.
She's my sister and family, and I refuse to let this break her. We've only found each other and begun building the bond we should have always had. And I'll be her rock, her safe harbor, for as long as she needs.
The loss of her wings may have changed her, but it will never define her. Not if I have anything to say about it.
Rhyland bursts through the doorway, freezing at the horrific scene. His eyes lock on the severed wing lying in a pool of dark blood, his fierce expression crumbling to one of deep sorrow—shock and sadness as he takes in Bryn's broken form in my arms."Is she..." His voice cracks, heavy with emotion.
"She needs time," I whisper, holding her tighter as she trembles. "And her sister."
He nods slowly,grief etched in the lines of his face. "Take all the time you need. I'll be close if you need me." His eyes linger on Bryn with profound pity before he quietly withdraws, leaving us to our healing.
Ihelp Bryn into fresh clothes after scrubbing away the last traces of blood from her skin. The water in the basin has turned a murky pink—evidence of her desperate act slowly dissolving away. Now we're sprawled across her bed, a horn of mead between us, because if there was ever a time for alcohol and sisterly bonding, it's now.
"How do you feel?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
Way to go, Captain Obvious.
"By the Nine, sister, how does it look like I feel?" Bryn's laugh is sharp as a blade. "I'm the talk of every mead hall in Valor's Watch—the wingless Valkyrie, as useful as a shield made of ice." She takes a deep pull from the horn. "That witless oaf Gunnar had the gall to call me a flightless crow. As if that dung-eating son of a frost giant has any right to speak."
I scoot closer, nudging her shoulder with mine. "Screw what those asshats think, Bryn. I know this is your life, your identity... but maybe this is a chance for a new beginning, a new purpose." I waggle my eyebrows, trying for levity. "Something tall, brooding, and silver-haired, perhaps?"
"By Odin's missing eye," she mutters, fixing me with a look that could freeze Hell itself. "Not you, too."
"Oh honey, yes, me too." I snatch the mead horn from her hands. "And you can't keep ignoring this. He's your mate, Bryn. Deny that bond; you might as well stick a stake in his heart yourself."
"What in the name of—" She stops, her eyes narrowing like a hawk spotting prey. "What tales have that silver-tongued vampire been spinning?"
"He didn't have to tell me anything." I tap my chest. "I felt his heart beating when he almost turned Gunnar into Viking confetti. That's Vampire Mate Bond basics, sister dear. And don't think I haven't noticed the way you two circle each other like horny teenagers at a high school dance."
"Mate? Are you insane?" she growls, snatching and draining the horn. "That's a fairy tale, Dani. It's a bedtime story. And even if it were true, my destiny was derailed long ago. Or have you forgotten? I was meant to be Rhyland's before the Gods decided to make sport of my fate."
The question burns on my tongue, a desperate need to understand. "What happened back then? With you and Rhyland?"
"I was told since I could walk that I was destined for greatness, that Rhyland was my fated mate." Her laugh is bitter, sharp. "I was twenty-three when I went to him, to his village. Found him with his wife, his children."
