by Lauren Dawes
“He was good.”
“But not as good as you.”
“Nobody is as good as me,” Darrion replied simply. He knew he was a natural—born to it. He understood that being a farmer, tilling the fields with his father, wouldn’t have satisfied this dark desire Njord had nurtured within him.
Thinking about his father and the life he could have been living brought him up short. He hadn’t thought about that before. All he’d ever considered was finding bloody revenge for his whole family’s death.
“What is it?” Njord asked, taking Darrion by the arm and leading him further away from the other nearby groups of Mares still sparring.
“Why is Odin doing this? Why is he hunting my people down like dogs?”
Njord seemed to think about that for a moment. Eventually he said, “One fears what one fails to understand. Odin is no different … and dark elves are some of the only beings in all the Nine Worlds that don’t bend to his will.”
“But why would he want to control us? What use do we have? We have no powers like the gods.”
The Vanir gave him a knowing smile that Darrion couldn’t decipher. “You are probably unaware of this, since you came from a poor family, but with special training, a Mare can be quite dangerous. With the right information and knowledge, they can become something special …” Njord trailed off before adding, “They can become Shadow Walkers.”
“Shadow Walkers?”
“Yes. Those of pure blood, and I mean pure blood, were able to wrap shadows around them, to conceal themselves. They could become invisible, making them the most feared creature in all of the Nine Worlds—even feared by the All-Father.”
“What happened to the pure-blooded Mares?”
“There are none left now. Odin wiped them out. He has been persecuting dark elves for over one hundred years, wiping out entire generations without a thought other than to strike first and strike hard.
“So what some families started to do was capture a light elf—usually a male—and force them to bed one of their females. The light elves’ paler features are dominant, so most of the offspring would have their blond hair and light eyes.”
Darrion touched his pale hair absently, staring at Njord with wide blue eyes. The Vanir nodded in silent understanding.
“You inherited the paler traits, but your sister and mother had the darker features.”
Darrion had often wondered why he’d looked so different from his sister and mother—and why his father looked more like a light elf. “My blood is not pure,” he reflected. “I can never be a Shadow Walker.”
“I don’t want you to be a Shadow Walker.” Njord stepped closer and grasped Darrion’s shoulder lightly. “I want you to become the Master of Shadow Walkers.”
Darrion’s brow knitted together. “And how is that possible, when I’m not even worthy of calling myself a real Mare?”
Njord laughed and swept Darrion around by his shoulder. Darrion saw immediately what the Vanir was showing him: every single pair of eyes in the room was locked on him, fear and uncertainty simmering just below the depths.
In his ear, Njord whispered, “You don’t need to be worthy. All you need is the determination to take what you want. All you need is their fear.” He gestured to Darrion’s fellow trainees, still staring at him. “All you need to do is control them with this fear and you will dominate them.”
Darrion grinned. He liked the sound of that. “How?” he asked.
“Who is the best out of the group? Is it Arthon?”
“Yes.”
“Kill him.” He said the words so calmly, as if asking Darrion to fetch him a cup of water.
“Now?” Darrion asked.
Njord studied his face, searching for something. “Make them fear you. Make them uncertain of their position in our army.”
“Our army?”
“That’s what we’ve been doing, Darrion. We’ve been building an army against Odin. I’m training them to become the most lethal killers so that you can get your revenge on the All-Father. But in order to have their respect and their fear, you need do as I ask.”
Could Darrion kill the other Mare? He weighed his master’s words carefully as he considered his reply. He stared into the god’s glowing green eyes as an idea took shape.
“I’ve got a better idea.”
Chapter 13
Eir was just finishing getting dressed when there was a small knock on the door. She’d been in a daze since she’d woken up that morning. Last night, she’d dreamed of Mason again. They were still in the park, but it felt different this time, though she didn’t know how to explain it. It was almost as if there were unseeing eyes watching her, which made absolutely no sense at all.
“Eir?” Korvain’s dark voice rumbled through the door. “Are you ready to go?”
With one last look at her reflection, Eir opened up the door. The Mare filled up the space between the jambs, and for a fleeting second, the fear rose up in her. She worked hard to push it back down. She could trust Korvain. He’d proven himself time and time again—it was just the old panic rising up in her. It was like trying to tell a cat not to fear a dog; it was instinct. Pure and simple.
“Morning,” she said, giving him a tentative smile. “I’m ready.”
Korvain led the way from the apartment and down to the lower levels of the club they now all called home.
Getting used to living with the other Valkyries had been surprisingly easy for Eir.
She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed them living alone—and now there were only five of them left, the sisterly bond she felt for her fellow Valkyries was ten times more potent.
Once they were outside the bar, Korvain placed his hand on the small of her back, applying the slightest pressure, to indicate he was ready to go when she was. Eir closed her eyes and thought of the darkest section of the hospital parking lot. An instant later, Eir felt the hum of a fade. Her eyes slid shut as she followed Korvain to the darkest section of the hospital parking lot.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, the sound of her shoes dainty compared to the harsh crunch of Korvain’s boots over the hard concrete.
“What time do you finish?” he asked.
“It’s a twelve-hour shift, so around eight tonight. I’ll let you know if I’m running late.”
“Okay.” Korvain didn’t take his eyes off the people and cars around them, always checking for potential threats. Once they got to the doors of the emergency department, he pushed her gently in the direction of the entrance. Eir walked through, the harsh sting of antiseptic hitting her nose the instant she was over the threshold.
Before she disappeared through the door, she turned and waved at Korvain.
“Wow, Eir, he’s smoking hot,” Stacy said from behind the receptionist’s desk as she passed.
That brought Eir to an abrupt stop. “Excuse me?”
Stacy indicated to the main doors. “That guy!” she exclaimed. “Talk about tall, dark and handsome.”
Eir only smiled and shrugged. “I guess.”
“Is he single?” the receptionist continued.
“Ah, no. He’s dating my sister.”
Stacy’s face fell. “Too bad.” She turned away, but stopped. “Hey, did you hear about that murder in Chicago?” she asked. “It’s all over the news!”
Eir frowned. She hadn’t had time to watch the news that morning. “No, I didn’t.”
Stacy leaned in as if she were divulging a secret. “The cops found this warehouse filled with at least a dozen bodies. Apparently it was some mob boss. It looked like it was personal, too, because there was one body that had been strung up from the rafters.” She glanced conspiratorially over her shoulder. “They haven’t released this information yet, but my brother was one of the first cops on the scene and he told me that the body had been decapitated. They found his head on the floor below the body, positioned so it looked like he was staring up at his own corpse.”
Eir felt her stomach
turn. “Why would someone do something like that?” She already had a pretty good idea of what could have caused that kind of damage.
Stacy shrugged unapologetically, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “I don’t know, but whoever did it, my brother said they’re good. They haven’t been able to find a shred of evidence at the warehouse. It’s as if they don’t even exist.”
She had a dreamy sort of quality to her voice when she spoke, making Eir shiver. “Anyway, I’ll see you later,” she chirped before going back to work, answering phones and filling out paperwork. Eir shook her head. The murders sounded like a Walker hit. Could it have been Darrion in a fit of rage? But why? From what Korvain had told her, Darrion was a cold-hearted killer, so the rage theory didn’t fit. And Chicago seemed like a strange city for him to be working in.
She went into the change room to get into her scrubs, only to be ambushed by one of the oncology nurses in the hallway.
“Eir, I’m glad I found you. I could really use your help right now.”
“Of course, Mark. What can I do?”
Mark looked up and down the hallway surreptitiously, leaning in closely to speak into her ear. “I need your special hands to work their magic.”
Mark—whose real name was Eolas—was a light elf who blended in well with the humans. It was only times like this that he let her see just how much he knew about her.
“Of course,” she replied. Eir knew her secret was safe with Mark. She followed him to the bank of elevators, standing beside him as they waited. “Who is it?” she asked him quietly, as another nurse and two doctors joined their waiting group.
“An elderly gentleman. He’s going to get his diagnosis and treatment options this morning, but he’s already in a lot of pain. I’m not sure how much more he can take. I was hoping …”
“I’ll do what I can,” she said, squeezing his forearm gently. When her palm connected with his skin, she could instantly feel Mark’s distress for his patient. “It’s going to be all right.”
Mark placed his hand over hers and squeezed it briefly before releasing her. The elevator arrived and they all got on. A few minutes later Eir found herself being ushered into a private room on the fifth floor.
The man lying on the bed was incredibly still, with just his chest rising up and down shallowly with every pain-filled breath. Mark walked towards the man and touched him gently on the shoulder.
“Mr. Adamsen?” he asked gently. The man’s paper-thin eyelids opened, his pale, cracked lips contorting into a grimace. The man blinked a few times, and Eir watched as his hands curled into weak fists at his sides. “I’ve brought someone here to help take the pain away,” Mark said.
He beckoned her forward, beseeching her with his eyes to do something for the man. Eir approached the bed, breathing in the scent of sickness through her nose. She knew without putting her hands on the old man that he didn’t have long left.
Mark spoke again. “Mr. Adamsen, this is Eir. She’s just going to touch your chest, and you’ll feel better. I promise.”
The man’s eyes focused on Eir for a moment before the slightest nod of his head said she could continue. Flexing her hands a few times, she lifted them up and placed them gently on top of the thin scrap of material covering Mr. Adamsen’s torso. She could feel the wiry hair of his gaunt chest through the gown, could feel that his body temperature was a lot cooler than it should have been.
Eir’s eyes slid shut when the rush of pain coursed through her body, making her heart pound faster. She stumbled back a little from the force of the cancer invading his frail body, but was able to keep her hands on his chest.
He had no hope.
Mark took hold of her upper arm, supporting her against the tide of pain ripping through her body. A few seconds later, Mr. Adamsen groaned in relief, his body becoming lax under Eir’s healing palms. After a few more seconds, she pulled away and took a few steps back from the bed.
“Is it bad?” Mark asked, pressing her shoulders so she’d sit down on the only chair in the room. Eir brought her hand to her forehead, noticing the shake.
“It’s aggressive. It’s in his lymph nodes and in nearly every organ.” She blinked up at the light elf. “He doesn’t have long.”
Mark’s eyes hardened. “It’s worse than we thought, then. I’m not sure his body can even handle the treatment we have planned for him.”
Eir slumped forward, feeling as useless as she’d felt after taking her sister’s pain from her. She had only deferred it for Kristy, and even then, it hadn’t stopped Loki from killing her twin in any case.
Taking away the pain when it was this severe always took it out of her. She was used to doing small things, like regulating breathing or improving circulation. Her palms began to burn and, seeing her discomfort, Mark took one hand in between both of his and started to rub the pain away.
“Better?” he asked.
She bit her lip, hastily pulling her hand free of his grasp as the doctor walked into the room. Mark stood a little straighter, she noticed, too.
“Mark? Are you ready?” the doctor asked. Eir didn’t know the man personally, so she stood back and tried to blend into the background. A few times, Mark’s eyes flicked over to her, but Eir tried not to notice.
Eir stood off to one side as they explained to Mr. Adamsen what the combination of chemotherapy and radiotherapy would do to his already ravaged body. Hair loss. Anemia. Fatigue. Nausea. He’d have it all, and even then there was no guarantee that he’d beat the cancer, given his age and ailing health. The doctor was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that she wanted to throw her hands over her ears and stop listening. He was treating Mr. Adamsen like he was already dead.
“Eir?” Mark said gently, taking one of her hands.
Her gaze landed on her hand and saw how well it fit into his. She liked Mark, but she wasn’t interested in having a relationship with him. Mark’s face fell when she pulled away from him, but it only lasted for a moment.
He said, “Thanks for coming in to help. He’s sleeping peacefully now.”
Eir looked over his shoulder and saw Mr. Adamsen was indeed resting, his breathing even. “That’s good.”
“Look, Eir … I know there’s a policy about this and everything, but do you think you’d like to have dinner with me sometime?” Mark asked, his eyes hopeful.
She took a step away. “That’s really nice of you to ask, Mark, and I’m flattered, really, but—”
Mark stopped her with the wave of his hand. “It’s okay, Eir. I just thought I’d ask.” He sighed. “Have a great rest of the day,” he added, a little too brightly.
And with that, he turned and left the room. Giving him a few minutes’ head start, Eir left the room, too, making her way down to the elevators to get back to the ER. She just needed to get lost in her work for a little while.
Chapter 14
Chicago …
The heady scent of blood was floating on the air. This, accompanied by the panic and fear tainting the wind, drew Loki in. He was surrounded by warehouses, obviously in the more industrial part of town. Up ahead, shouts of surprise and pain echoed, and Loki knew without seeing it that it was going to be good.
Loki moved towards the sound, and as he got closer to the source, he could see the first of the bodies lying on the ground outside the door. Getting down onto his haunches, Loki got a better look at the corpse. The wound to the back of his neck looked as if it had been angled up, the weapon being driven into his spine to kill him instantly. There was blood everywhere, growing tacky around his body.
The light spilling out of the nearby door drew Loki’s attention. Standing up from his crouch, he entered the warehouse, hitting the wall of blood, seeing the carnage. There were more than a dozen bodies with at least a dozen different fatal wounds. Loki was impressed, and curious to know who had orchestrated such a beautiful scene.
But as he looked around a little more, he realized that he hadn’t even noticed the best part. In the middle of the ro
om, Loki found a disembodied head positioned so it was looking up. Droplets of blood decorated the ground, a small perimeter of red circling the head. Loki’s eyes rose to the rafters, a gratified grin spreading across his lips. The body strung from the steel beams was still leaking, the victim’s life blood dribbling and seeping all over the bare concrete floor. His belly had been cut open, the intestines spilling out and dangling, suspended in the air like a macabre chandelier of human blood and flesh.
“Let’s get out of here,” a voice said, and Loki recognized it immediately. Stepping behind a tall wall of wooden crates, Loki watched Galen and Rhys descend the staircase at the back of the room and wander casually through the warehouse. They were covered in blood and gore, both of them wearing satisfied grins. They faded from the scene as the wail of sirens started in the distance.
The human authorities must have been on the way. Not wanting to be seen, Loki left the warehouse and staked out a spot in the shadows to watch. Within moments, the flash of red and blue lights reflected off the windows and steel doors of the surrounding buildings.
The first car pulled up, the word POLICE stamped across the front door. Another three cars followed, lights blazing, and the men from the first car got out. They both unclipped the snaps across their weapon’s holsters and kept their hands on the grips as they walked towards the front door of the warehouse.
Their eyes were on the first body as they passed it, but they pressed on. The man in front drew his weapon and led the way inside, his partner closely following behind him. Loki’s eyes moved to the other officers, now filing in behind the first two cops. He could see the wariness in their eyes as they passed him.
Staying back and out of sight, Loki drew closer to the door, watching the humans survey the scene in front of them. One of the younger ones suddenly doubled over, the contents of his stomach spilling out onto the floor a few feet away from one of the corpses.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Moloney,” someone said. “You’re fouling up the crime scene. Take it outside.”
