I stare at the shimmering mark on my palm. "Bridge worlds? Like... the different realms?"
"More than that."His voice takes on a teaching tone I'm starting to recognize."You are born of light, mated to storm and shadows. You walk between science and magic, mortal and divine. The fjörniskratti see this duality in you, and now they've given you the means to harness it."
The little otter-dragon chirps in agreement, nuzzling against my hand. The mark pulses in response, sending waves of tingling energy up my arm.
"That scale-mark they've gifted you,"Gullfax continues,"it's not just a pretty tattoo. It's a key—one that will help you see and manipulate the spaces between things. The very boundaries that separate elements, realms, even states of being."
"Like how I saw the guardian was quantum?" I ask, thinking back to our earlier battle.
"Precisely. But now you'll be able to see such things naturally, without having to puzzle them out. The mark will help you perceive the in-between spaces, the transitions, the moments of possibility."He pauses, adding with what sounds suspiciously like pride,"It's a powerful gift, little light. One that could change everything about how you approach the trials ahead."
I flex my marked palm, watching the shimmering patterns ripple. "So basically, I've just been adopted by a bunch of magical otter-dragons who've given me cosmic X-ray vision?"
The Keeper makes a sound suspiciously like a giggle, while Gullfax just sighs."If that simplified explanation helps you process this momentous mystical occurrence, then yes. You've been adopted by magical otter-dragons."
The Keeper chirps one final time before waddling back to the water's edge, its tiny wings giving an almost apologetic flutter. One by one, the other fjörniskratti bow their heads to me before slipping beneath the surface, leaving only ripples and the echo of their song behind.
I turn to Gullfax, emotion tightening my throat. "Thank you," I whisper, reaching out to touch his velvet nose. "For bringing me here. For showing me..." I press my forehead against his, feeling the ancient power that thrums beneath his hide. "For everything."
His mental voice is gentler than I've ever heard it."This is my gift to you, Lightborn. A small repayment for saving my life."His breath ruffles my hair."Though I suspect those little troublemakers just gave you a far greater present than I could have planned."
The mark on my palm pulses warmly, as if in agreement.
I grin up at him. "Well, for a snarky immortal horse who's been nothing but a pain in my ass since day one, you sure know how to plan one hell of a field trip." My voice softens. "Thank you, Gullfax. Really. You've actually turned out to be one of the best gifts I could have asked for."
Rhyland
40
Six fucking days of sleeping alone while Dani camps out in Bryn's quarters. Six days of watching my mate exhaust herself in the training ring, pushing Bryn through drills like a woman possessed. Meanwhile, I'm stuck brooding with Erik, who's about as comforting as a stone wall with fangs.
Six fucking days of handling my own business like some horny teenager who just discovered his right hand. My body's so wound up I'm ready to explode, and not in the fun way. Every time Dani walks by, my cock stands at attention like it's trying to salute its commander. This self-imposed celibacy is a special kind of torture that's got me acting like I'm back in puberty, discovering what my dick's for all over again.
And the worst part? She knows exactly what she's doing to me. Every little sway of those hips, every "accidental" brush against me—she's playing a dangerous game, and my control's hanging by a thread thinner than Erik's patience.
Six days of watching Erik and Bryn dance around each other in the training ring like two wounded predators. Every time he tries to help, she shuts him down hard. Something went down in that ice cave that neither of them is talking about—and whatever it was has turned their usual tension into a fucking glacier of awkward silences and avoided eye contact.
The tension between them is thick enough to choke on, and neither one's talking about what really happened. Just more secrets and silent suffering to add to our growing pile of shit to deal with.
Whatever happened on her little jaunt through the skies with Gullfax didn't do shit for her attitude either. She gave me the cliff notes version—something about a memory valley and dragons that look like goddamn otters, gifting her a tattoo.
Sure, it's probably some big damn deal, but I'm too pissed off to give a rat's ass right now. My mood is six feet in the goddamn dirt right now, and I can't bring myselfto give a shit about whatever privileged information Gullfax decided to share with her.
If she thinks I'm going to keep playing this game of emotional hide-and-seek while she proves her point about honesty and trust, she's got another thing coming.
The Valkyries stripped Bryn of her command—a dick move that made my blood boil. These self-righteous bitches think losing a wing makes her less of a warrior? One wing down, and suddenly years of battlefield glory mean jack-shit. But their realm, their rules, and all that political bullshit.
Bryn's turned into a ghost of herself, moving through the halls like a shadow. Dani keeps throwing sunshine and motivational speeches at her, but you can't fix a warrior's broken spirit with pretty words. Dani's anguish burns through our bond every time Bryn shuts down another pep talk. My mate's heart bleeds for her sister, and there isn't a damn thing I can do except watch them both suffer.
Fuck this whole situation sideways.
Tomorrow, we hunt down another one of these ancient bastards, and my gut's already churning. The last Einherjar nearly took my mate's head off—watching her throw down with that ice-powered asshole nearly gave my heart a restart. But fuck me if she didn't shine like a warrior goddess, all fury and power. My fierce little mate, serving up divine ass-kicking with a side of sass.
Meanwhile, my silver-haired brother is still being a stubborn asshole, finding every excuse in the book not to claim Bryn. "She needs time," he says like he's some emotional expert.
Bullshit.
I see right through his righteous act—he's scared shitless she'll reject him. And I get it. Having your mate tell you to fuck off? That's a special kind of hell that makes death look like a vacation option. But watching him dance around Bryn like she's the plague is starting to piss me off. Man needs to grow a pair and face his fate, one way or the other.
