Dani's hands begin to glow with that inner light. "Yeah. Don't die."
Erik
56
The firelight casts long shadows across our makeshift camp, each flicker illuminating Baldr's insufferable smirk as he reclines against the fallen log. His posture speaks of centuries of unearned privilege—the kind that makes my sword hand twitch.
Bryn maintains her warrior's composure beside me, though I note the slight tightening of her fingers around her horn of mead. Even in this tension, she carries herself with the dignity of a true Valkyrie.
"Tell me, Erik." Baldr's voice carries that aristocratic mockery that makes me want to feed him his own teeth. "How long have you been following our little fallen Valkyrie around like a lost pup?"
"Careful,your highness." Bryn's tone could freeze Muspelheim. "Your crown's on so tight it's cutting off blood to what little brain you have."
Baldr laughs. "Oh come now, Brynhildr. We all know your taste runs to... cruder stock."
She grits her teeth, "It'sBryn."
My growl fills the clearing as my fingers flex with the need to break things—preferably his face.
"After all," he continues, lips curling into a cruel smile, "isn't that why you let those warriors use you so carelessly, Brynhildr? Always choosing the ones who treated you like the common whore you'd become?"
When it comes, my voice carries the deadly calm that has heralded the end of countless enemies. "Choose your next words with extreme care,prince. Your title won't protect you from what follows."
"Such loyalty." Baldr's smile turns vicious. "But we both know she prefers her men cruel. Tell me, Erik, can you give her what she needs? Or are you too... civilized?"
"For Hell's sake, fuck off, Baldr. What in Odin's balls has gotten into you, you fífl?" Bryn's voice cuts through the tension, sharp as a Valkyrie's blade.
"Nothing." He snaps a twig, tossing it into the flames with deliberate arrogance. "Just making conversation." My control hangs by a thread as his eyes fix on me with malicious intent. "Does it not bother you that Brynhildr's been the compound's favorite whore? You must have quite the taste for used—"
The crack of my fist against his jaw silences his filthy tongue, the impact echoing through the clearing. Blood—red and bright—stains his perfect mouth, and something in me purrs at the sight. But before I can savor it, the world spins.
Pine trees shatter against my back—one, two, three—before the frozen ground rushes to meet me. Snow explodes around my impact, the bitter cold starkly contrasting the fury burning in my veins. The prince may dress like a pampered peacock, but the force behind his blow reminds me why Odin's blood runs through his veins.
Instinct takes over. One heartbeat I'm in the snow, the next my fingers wrap around his precious throat, squeezing with pent-up violence. His pulse hammers against my palm—fast, frantic, afraid.
"I warned you,prince." My grip tightens as he chokes, face turning an interesting shade of purple. "One more fucking word about her—"
"Erik." Bryn's hand finds my arm, her touch burning through my rage. "Release him. Odin will have my head if his precious heir returns with bruises."
Of course. The entitled bastard can spew whatever vileness he wants, protected by daddy's crown and title. My roar of frustration echoes across the frozen landscape as I release him, boots crunching through deep snow as I put distance between us before I do something that starts another fucking war.
Baldr's laugh—sharp and mocking—chases me through the trees. "Thank you for proving my point, vampire!" His voice drips with cruel satisfaction. "I'm sure my father will be most intrigued by your... attachment to hisfallenValkyrie."
A threat. A promise. I can't tell. Bryn's low and furious voice cuts through the night, her words lost to the wind but their intent clear.
Moments later, her footsteps follow, quick and light across the frozen ground. She doesn't call out, doesn't demand I stop. She just follows, silent and steady, a warrior's presence at my back.
The frozen forestswallows my rage as I finally stop, chest heaving. This fury coursing through my veins feels foreign—wild and uncontrolled. The bond pulses with it, transforming centuries of careful restraint into something dangerous.
Her footsteps crunch softly behind me, stopping a respectful distance away. I sense her hesitation and feel it in how she shifts her weight from foot to foot.
"Hey." Just one word, but it carries a world of understanding.
"I apologize." The words taste bitter. "That display of—"
A flash of movement, and suddenly she's there. My words are cut off as her finger presses against my lips. The heat of her catches me off guard—she burns like a star, close enough that I can taste her breath on my tongue, count each golden fleck in her Noric blue eye.
The space between us crackles with tension, heavy with things unsaid. Her scent—honey and steel and battle-fury—fills my lungs, making my head spin.
