by Angel Lawson
Valkyrie’s Sacrifice
Academy of Immortals
Angel Lawson
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Afterword
1
I’ve experienced a few world-ending moments. The battle with the Morrigan. Fighting in wars lead by Odin. It felt like the world ended when the god stripped me of my immunity after I violated my loyalty to him, Freya, and the Valkyrie. And it was a different kind of hell when my girlfriend Andi died, a victim to the evil that passes between worlds.
Every time, I made it through. That made me cocky. Can you believe that? Cocky about surviving the apocalypse.
Well, that shit ended when Marshal stood before me, coughing up blood, and said, “The apocalypse has begun.” A different sort of chill ran down my spine.
First of all, I’m not even there. The apocalypse, that I’d been sent to the Academy of the Immortals to stop, was happening without me—on the other side of the portal, while I stood in a peaceful Japanese tea garden working on my serenity.
Stopping the end of the world was my mission. My promise to the Guardians and Morgan, and I’d failed.
Unheroicaly.
My instinct had been to run—to crash through the portal and join the fight, but then Marshal fell to the ground, blood coating his lips, and I knew that despite our past, he is part this—part of my role in winning this battle.
Because that is what lies ahead; a battle, another war, the fight between Upper and Lower realms, between demons, fae, vampires, and every other type of immortal that exists.
Unfortunately, none of them have the Legion of Immortals on their side. None of them have what it takes to end it.
Me.
“How is he?”
The woman by the bed frowns and wipes the sweat from Marshal’s forehead. He’s had a fever all day, presumably from the wound on his lower belly, just above the hip. The injury is nasty—the edge raw and infected. It looks like it’s from a blade, possibly coated in poison.
If Marshal dies…
No, I tell myself, it’s not possible.
If he dies, we all die. The Upper Realm dies with him.
“He’s still fighting the fever, which is good,” the woman says. She’s one of the caretakers that live here—here being Miya’s home and garden. I’d been brought here to recover from the attack during the challenge at the Academy. I’d finally healed and now…I sit beside him and reluctantly take his hand. It’s burning with fever.
“I’ll sit with him,” I say.
“Don’t forget your own rest.”
I nod and keep my gaze on Marshal’s pale but beautiful face. I’ll rest when he’s better. And when he’s better, I’ll get the truth out of him once and for all; what side is he on? What game is he playing? Will I have to hurt him again? Or will he go back to the academy with me and fight?
He’d spent weeks aligned with Roland and Victorine in the Academy, watching the challenges from a box seat in the arena. Watching me nearly die in the arena, with a girl sitting on his lap and a drink in his hand. Bastard.
Yet, he found me. He knew how to find me, which means that the Legion told him where to get me. This is Miya’s retreat, and Agis is the one that brought me here. The access point is a painting in Miya’s room at the Academy. At least on that side. I haven’t been able to find my way out of here from this side. Miya’s staff is of no assistance with that. Maybe they don’t even know.
I study Marshal’s long, elegant fingers. They look like the fingers of someone that avoids hard work, not of a centuries-old killer. As a Valkyrie, I thought I understood the complexities of the realms. I knew about magic, about power, about victory and death. I’ve learned that what I know is a speck in the vastness of the gods' game, and that’s fucking intimidating.
So I’ll prioritize. I’ll get back to the Academy and find my men, and the rest of our allies. With their help, I’ll figure out what Marshal’s up to. If he’s trustworthy or not. Then, we’ll go kick some apocalyptic ass.
2
Luke
“Anything?”
Elizabeth strides into the room. She tosses the weapon onto the red velvet couch and shakes her head. “No. I searched the entire grounds. No sign of either Hildi or Marshal.”
She frowns at the painting over the fireplace—the one of the six-eyed monster. When Roland and Victorine led the charge through the temple, we took over the headmaster’s office. Not that there are any students here. We’re the only ones left at the Academy. Everyone else is either dead or followed Roland into the temple.
“I hate that painting,” she says. “I hate everything about this place.”
“Well, we won’t be here long enough to redecorate.”
On cue, the walls whine, followed by the shuddering of the building. We both grip the nearest heavy object for stability. The entire foundation of the Academy has been compromised and won’t hold much longer. But we can’t leave. Not until we find Hildi and Marshal. It was a direct order from Agis, although he had the backing of the other Immortals as well; Wait for Hildi. Bring her to us.
That was before I realized how much damage the building had sustained. A closer inspection revealed that when the temple was opened, it caused a ripple effect through the abyss that held the Academy’s realm together. This realm apparently was temporary, nothing more than a conduit to allow passage to the other side—to whatever realm was hosting the apocalypse. I have no proof, but I’m pretty sure that the gods want everyone in play—otherwise people would attempt to hole up in the Academy for safety—or maybe just to plan. The longer we stay, the more frequent the quakes rattle the building, which, at the current frequency, means our time is running out—for both staying here and finding them.
“They have to be in one of the portals that link to the school. Armin said that Marshal went to warn her.”
Her eyebrow raises. “And we trust Marshal?”
“I don’t know. I trust Armin.” I catch her violet eye. “Don’t you?”
“I do.” She sits on the couch. “A hundred percent.”
Another tremor runs through the walls, this one big enough to crack a window. Cold air from outside rushes in; the chill of the abyss.
“How long do you think we have?” I ask the fairy, as she shakes dust from the ceiling out of her hair. She’s healed from the ambush at the challenge. The bite wounds nothing but faint scars. She’s stronger too, spending a few hours of every day sparring with me while we wait.
“A day,” Elizabeth replies to my question. “Maybe two.�
�
Probably less. Only the gods know, and they sure as hell aren’t answering right now. There’s one thing we do know for certain. The Immortals, the Upperworld…they won’t win without Hildi, which means we have no choice but to figure out how to get her back.
“Well,” I say, grabbing a blade off my desk and tucking it into the waistband of my pants, “we’ll keep searching—room by room—until we find them.”
“And if we don’t?” she asks.
“We will.”
Find Hildi. The words echo in my head day in and day out. I’m not sure if it’s just the directive from Armin lingering or something else. The urge to get to her, to make her safe, is undeniably strong.
The fairy’s expression tells me she has doubts. Her faith was tested in the arena fight. She’s not the same as before. Gone is the happy girl with pink hair and a quick mind. Oh, her hair is still pink, but she’s scarred, angry, vengeful.
Good. That’s what we need for allies, because with every day that passes, there’s a nagging in my chest. Something, someone, darker is pulling the strings behind this apocalypse. Someone bigger than Roland or Victorine.
Someone I’ve betrayed.
3
Hildi
Warmth spirals up my body, settling around my neck. It’s like I’m drowning, pulled under, smothered. I gasp for air, tossing and turning, trying to escape. “Help!” I cry, my voice muffled. “Someone help!”
“Hildi!”
The sound of my name jerks me awake, and I blink into the dark room as I fight against the blanket bunched at my chest.
“Gods,” I mutter, slinging my legs over the side of the bed. Sleep has been elusive since Marshal arrived, but this heat is new. I run a hand over my neck and yelp when the metal of the ring on my finger meets my throat.
I blink at the purple stone—flickering with light. That’s when I sense the tug, pulling me out of bed, down the narrow hallway to the mirror over the bathroom sink.
“Hello?” I ask, heart hammering. The ring pulses happily. “Morgan?”
The surface of the mirror shimmers, like a pool of melted glass. Tentatively, I reach toward the center, feeling the energy that shifts between worlds. My fingers vanish, then my whole hand. An instant later I’m yanked through, tumbling on the other side onto hard stone floors.
I look up and see bare feet and a swollen belly.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “That place you’re in—it’s hard to locate.”
I get to my knees, then feet, towering over my friend. Her cheeks are pale, her stomach massive. “It’s Miya’s…somewhere safe.”
“The wards are very strong. If you hadn’t had the ring, I never would have found you.” She looks me up and down. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “What about you? The baby? The Guardians.”
Her hand runs over her stomach. “We’re fine. Worried, but fine.”
“The apocalypse—”
“Has begun. We know.”
“Is it there? Back home?”
She shakes her head. “No. It seems contained to the Lowerworld for now, but the Guardians have a way of keeping track, primarily through their artwork.” She holds up a book. “This is for you.”
The book is heavy, bound in a dark brown leather, runes stamped on the cover. “What is it?”
“Dylan has transcribed what he can surmise from Sam’s photos and Bunny’s paintings. Both a view into the Lowerworld.” She reaches into her pocket and removes a small velvet pouch. “Damien made these.”
I take the pouch and look inside. There are six rings. “What are these for? Protection?”
“You could say that.” She glances over her shoulder. “I don’t have much time. You don’t have much time. The gods are impatient and are ready for you to join the fight.”
“Marshal is still healing.”
“Then help him heal faster.”
“The nurse and caretakers are doing what they can. The wound is bad—probably poison or something mystical. I don’t know if or when he’ll be better.”
Morgan takes my hands and the ring flares with heat. “Hildi, you are the only one that can help him right now. Use the bond.”
“You want me to sleep with him?”
She shrugs. “If you have to, although I’m not sure that’s necessary. The bonds are more than about sex, although that can be when it’s most powerful. You’re tied to these men. Capitalize on that connection—on your ability. Test it. Push it.”
Like the Immortals' strengths and abilities boosted when they came to the Academy. Agis’ ability to read if people were telling the truth—and his wings appeared. Armin’s power of removing obstacles, physical or mental. Rupert’s telekinesis. They’d all grown when they entered the Academy. If my power was truly to balance the Immortals, then I should be able to use that to help Marshal heal.
Except…
“I’m not sure I trust him, Morgan. He’s been cruel and hateful. Deceitful and disloyal.” Or, I wonder to myself, was that just a ruse to keep Roland and Victorine on his side, to gather intelligence and protect us? He’d certainly intervened on my behalf more than once while they were torturing me at the Academy.
“Friend, you have to have faith in the process. You either believe in this or you don’t.” She gasps and touches her belly. Fear ripples through me.
“Morgan!”
“It’s okay. It’s just the baby kicking. Alive and ready to enter this world, but before she can come, the world needs to be safe.” She squeezes my arm. “Trust your instincts, let the power in you lead your decisions. It’s how you’ll win this war.”
Instincts… “Agis confessed to me that he’d already bonded to me long ago—before we even came here. He called me his mate.”
Her eyes brighten. “And?”
“I kicked him out.”
“Oh, Hildi, why?” She appears crushed. “Why would you turn him away? It’s a sign that things are coming together.”
“Because he lied to me—and hid himself—his face—and his feelings. He fought against me publicly, making me feel foolish and off center.” I lower my voice, though no one is around. “He came to me at night, like a flicker of a dream, and we…”
She leans forward. “You what?”
“Had earth-shattering, soul-restoring, sex.”
Her eyebrow shoots up. “And this is bad because...?”
“I don’t know. I’m just confused. I’m not accustomed to juggling the emotions and minds and bodies of five damaged, immortal warriors.”
She laughs. “That I understand. It’s not easy, and despite their incredible strength, you have to be stronger. Underneath the muscles and brawn and power are men—boys—that need nurturing and stability. You’re the one that will get them through this, to help them win, as a group. Together.”
“But—” I start, wanting to say I’m not sure I’m ready, that I don’t totally trust Marshal, and how I’m completely confused. I want to tell her I’m scared, but her image shivers, flickering into nothing. I close my eyes and when I open them, I’m standing in the bathroom staring at my reflection in the mirror. A dream, I tell myself. It was just a dream.
Except, in my hands are the book and pouch.
I sigh and look at my reflection in the mirror. My white-blond hair is a tangled mess. Dark shadows brim my blue eyes. Roland and Victoria tried their best to beat me down—to break me. They aren’t the first, or the strongest that have tried to do it. So far, no one has managed to succeed. I’m a Valkyrie. A warrior. I clutch the gifts from Morgan in my hands. I’m armed with knowledge, protection, and power from the gods.
It’s time to push past my anger and fear and go fulfil my destiny.
I ask the caretaker to start a bath, scalding hot, to burn the last few weeks off my skin. I wash my hair and scrub over the lingering scars from the wicked, fuzzy monsters Victorine created to lure me into her game.
In the past, having scars like this would have bothered me. I�
�m vain enough to want flawless, immortal skin. I’d reveled in the strength of my muscles, the power that coursed through my body. I’d been a virgin under Odin’s thumb—a requirement of the Valkyrie. I shed that along with my allegiance, falling for a mortal woman who saved my heart and soul. Who revealed other uses for my body—other powers—at least, until she was taken from me in another, different battle between the realms.
It’s like Odin knew that to allow us to explore our sexuality would grant us autonomy, a deeper understanding of ourselves. The Legion tugged on those already fraying threads, pulling at my deep-seated desires. It started as a way to blow off steam—to feel something other than grief, but slowly that changed. I like the Immortals, maybe even more. The confusing part is how much of it is real and how much of it is just the gods’ interference? One reason all of this is so scary is that what the Immortals make me feel is more than just game play. Agis confirmed that when he revealed the truth to me. In this game or out of it, he and I are bonded.
Mates, he’d said.
Mates.
The Immortals made me realize that scars make you real. They tell a story of battles won and lost. Some scars are visible, some aren’t.
The water cools, and I exit the tub, dry off, and walk over to the small adjoining dressing area. To my surprise, I see that clothing has been laid out for me. A pair of black fighting leathers, along with a matching vest that ties up the front. Soft boots sit on the floor. The blade forged by Damien rests on a sheath, the jeweled hilt glinting in the pale light of the room. Holding the towel at my chest, I look around, wondering who set these out. Whoever did also knows that the time has come to leave this safe haven and return to the fight.
