Her reaction hits me like a splash of cold water.
Oh.Oh.
I lean back, studying my sister with new eyes. The way she's suddenly so prickly at the mere mention of Erik, the blush staining her cheeks... could it be? Is my tough-as-nails Valkyrie sister actuallyattractedto the brooding vampire?
And then there was Erik's reaction earlier. I noticed something in his eyes when he looked at my sister, especially when she held that knife to that Valkyrie's throat. His stare was intense, almost possessive.
The thought alone is enough to make me choke on my mead. I quickly cover it with a cough, trying to hide my sudden revelation. This is... unexpected. And potentially hilarious.
I make a mental note to keep a closer eye on these two. If there's even a hint of sparks flying, you can bet your ass I'm going to be there with a bucket of metaphorical gasoline, ready to fan the flames.
After all, what are sisters for if not meddling in each other's love lives?
"Can we talk about the cosmic-sized plot twist that is my love life?" I say, making Bryn raise an eyebrow. "Nobody saw this coming—not even my guardian angel Seraphina. Dear old Dad was convinced I was corrupted because I bonded with a vampire. Talk about parental disapproval."
"Corrupted?" Bryn snorts, her warrior pride flaring. "By the Gods, our father can be as blind as Odin, and he still has both eyes! The signs were clear in the ancient texts—two saviors, bound by fate and power."
"But if everyone thought Rhyland was dead, what was Plan B?" I ask, swirling my mead. "The prophecy's pretty specific about needing a mate. Who was supposed to be my magical battery charger?"
"It had to be someone of divine blood," Bryn explains, her eyes glinting in the candlelight. "The gods planned to create another godborn or choose from their existing offspring. But fate," she smirks, "had its own designs. You were always meant to be Rhyland's match. The gods just took their sweet time catching up."
I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Even the so-called all-knowing gods didn't see this coming. They can take their "chosen plan" and shove it right up their divine asses.
She straightens, all business now. "You leave for the Valhallas Veil at first light. There's quests to be done, before you can reach the Nexus."
"Right," I nod. "So what fun surprises are waiting to kill me when I try to grab this magical rock?"
Bryn's expression turns serious. "The Nexus rises above even the Cloud Palaces, its peak touching the stars. The stone rests at the top—a sacred site where the purest essence of air converges. Only those deemed worthy by the winds themselves can approach. But reaching it..." She trails off, her eyes distant. "Getting there means visiting Valhalla's Veil—a wasteland crawling with draugr and frost giants—amongst other trials. And that's assuming the great eagles of Hræsvelgr don't decide to make a snack of you first."
Great. Another magical obstacle course designed to test my worth. Apparently, just asking nicely for these stones would be too easy. At least this time, I've got a warrior sister to help guide me through whatever celestial American Ninja Warrior course awaits at the spire.
"Oh yeah, sounds like a total cakewalk," I say, aiming for confidence but probably landing somewhere between 'mildly hysterical' and 'barely concealed panic.'
"By the Norns, you'll do fine," Bryn grins, splashing water in my direction. "You're the savior after all—what's a little death-defying climb compared to everything else you've faced?"
Her tone carries that perfect blend of sisterly encouragement and warrior's challenge.
The thought of facing ethereal beings who can manipulate air currents while navigating what's essentially a tornado turned sideways? Yeah, that's going to be fun. But hey, what's one more near-death experience in the name of saving the realms?
Islip into our room after my bath, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind me. The space is small but cozy, tucked away from the main hall like a secret sanctuary. A hearth blazes in the corner, its flames painting the stone walls in dancing shadows and warm light. Thick fur rugs cover the floor, their softness tickling my bare feet, while a jumbo bed dominates the center of the room, piled high with more furs that look sinfully inviting.
Myman is lounging by the fire, the flames highlighting every ridge and valley of his bare chest. His wet hair is slicked back, and drops of water still trail down his neck and over those intricate tattoos I love to trace. His leather pants sit low on his hips, and his freshly trimmed beard accentuates his strong jaw in a way that makes my mouth go dry. He's the perfect picture of a Nordic warrior meets a romance novel cover model.
"How was your bath?" he asks, his ocean-blue eyes drinking me in as I cross the room. His voice carries that deep rumble that never fails to send shivers down my spine.
I pad across the furs, the thick blanket draped around me like a royal cloak. "Good. Relaxing. How about yours?"
His hungry eyes track my movement like a predator, darkening as I slip between his spread thighs. "Would've been better with you there instead of brooding with Mr. Stoic," he growls, his hands finding my hips through the fur.
"Aw, what's wrong?" I tease, enjoying how his nostrils flare as he catches my scent. "Getting tired of Erik's sophisticated company?"
His fingers find the gap in the fur, his breath hitching when he realizes I'm utterly bare underneath. "Fuck, Angel. Did you walk through the hall wearing nothing but this?" His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes heat pool between my thighs. Possessive jealousy flashes in those Nordic eyes, making me grin.
I let the fur slide off my shoulders, pooling at my feet. His pupils blow wide, nearly drowning out that ocean blue as his gaze devours every inch of my exposed body. The fire's warmth kisses my bare skin as I straddle his thick thighs, settling into his lap.
"You're avoiding my question, Rhyland."
His big hands find my breasts, rough palms cupping their weight as his thumbs brush over my nipples. "What question was that?" he asks, his voice thick with need as he kneads the soft flesh.
