My feet drag as we enter the Nexus, every step calculated and slow. Each second counts—each moment bringing Gullfax closer with reinforcements. The cold stone beneath my feet seems to pulse with ancient power, but right now, I couldn't give less of a shit about magical architecture.
The hollow space in my chest where Rhyland should be throbs like an open wound. It's wrong, so fucking wrong, like someone carved out a vital organ and left me bleeding. Is he suffering somewhere in the dark? Fighting? Calling for me?
Bile burns the back of my throat as memories of this morning flash unbidden—his touch, his kiss, all while wearing Rhyland's face like a mask. My skin crawls, and phantom sensations make me want to scrub myself raw. Each step feels contaminated, violated, knowing this monster wore my mate's identity like a costume while he...
I swallow hard against another wave of nausea. Focus. Channel the disgust into rage. Store it away with all the other reasons I'm going to make this bastard suffer.
But god, the violation of it all—having something so intimate, so sacred between Rhyland and me, twisted into this perverse mockery—it makes me want to scream until my throat bleeds.
My nails dig crescents into my palms, the pain keeping me focused, keeping me from completely losing my shit, because that's precisely what this frost-fingered bastard wants.
"Having trouble walking?" Loki's voice drips with false concern. "Perhaps thoughts of your precious mate are... distracting you?"
"No, actually I'm having trouble looking at your ugly fucking face."
Loki's laugh rings hollow against the stone walls. "Cute. Though—" his glacial eyes darkening, "—you weren't complaining about my face this morning when it wore a more appealing form."
Before I can unleash the scream building in my throat, an otherworldly howl cuts through the air—the wind shifts, carrying ancient whispers that seem to seep from the very stones around us. Above, through the spiraling staircase that stretches endlessly upward, voices chant in a language that makes my bones ache.
Steps materialize before us, beginning to shift and writhe like living things. The stone ripples, transforming into a treacherous path where each step appears and vanishes in rhythm with the chanting—a deadly dance of solid ground and empty air.
"Ah," Loki's breath mists in the cold. "The Trial of Faith. To reach the Nexus's peak, trust the winds to guide your steps." He shoves me forward, his touch burning cold through my jacket. "Move. Your mate's time grows shorter with eachbreathyou waste."
I stare at the shifting steps, watching as they materialize and disappear in a hypnotic pattern. The winds whip around us, their whispers growing stronger, almost like they're trying to tell me something. Like they're calling to the savior's blood in my veins.
Time to find out if these winds really do know their chosen one.
Erik
64
The wrongness of Baldr's touch on Dani's skin sears into my mind, the image branding itself behind my eyelids. His fingers linger, proprietary and possessive. Every instinct screams danger, the warning ringing as I search for Rhyland through the palace—no sign of my brother.
I reach out through our mental link, searching for my brother's familiar presence. Silence greets me, the connection dead and empty. Fear coils in my stomach as I race through the palace corridors, bursting into Rhyland's chambers. The bed is a tangle of sheets, the room bearing the signs of a hasty exit.
The flash of raw terror in Dani's eyes haunts me now—that split-second when our gazes locked in the garden. I'd seen it then, that silent plea beneath her forced smile. My instincts had screamed warning, but something in her look told me to hold off.
I forced my shoulders to relax, a casual nod masking the alarms blaring in my skull—it all paints a picture that's about as far from a pleasant morning stroll as you can fucking get.
My steps quicken as I head for our chambers. The door slams open under my hands, the force rattling the hinges. Bryn's head snaps up from where she sits on the bed, lacing her boots with quick, precise movements.
"Did it work?" Bryn's eyes search mine, her question hanging in the air between us.
The warmth still tingles across my skin—proof that Bryn's blood carries the same angelic power as Dani's. Three days without Dani's blood had given us the perfect window to test my theory, and sure enough, Bryn's heritage grants the same gift. But the triumph of that discovery evaporates as Dani's haunted eyes flash through my mind.
"Yes, but something's wrong." My fists clench at my sides. "Baldr was all over Dani, and Rhyland's missing. I can't reach him mentally." The words taste bitter on my tongue.
Bryn's eyes narrow, her fingers stilling. "Missing?"
I nod, my jaw tightening. "I checked his chambers. The bed's a mess, but he's gone."
A figure materializes in the doorway, the air shimmering around him. Heimdall's usually vibrant eyes are dull, his face drawn with exhaustion. "Loki." The name falls like a curse from his lips. "He's here."
Bryn's breath catches sharply as she lunges for the door, her sword already singing free from its sheath. "What?! How—"
"I saw him." Heimdall's voice is flat, the words heavy with dread. "He's shown his true form."
Bryn's eyes flash with fierce determination, her knuckles whitening around her sword hilt. "Standing here won't kill a trickster god." She's already moving, a blur of purpose and steel. "Move. Now."
