Shouldn’t be enjoying this.
He ignored the whisper of conscience, and embraced glee instead. This was living.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brit
The house vanished, but Brit, Kirby, and Magnus appeared in the middle of an empty field instead of on campus.
Danger surged through Brit.
“Where—”
“Shield.” Brit cut Kirby off.
Flame struck the air immediately in front of them, heat flooding the air. The fire didn’t hurt them, though.
“I’ve always wondered what Valkyrie tasted like.” The smooth, seductive woman’s voice was more in their heads than reaching their ears. A dragon appeared in the middle of the field, wings spanned as wide as a medium-sized plane and head as big as a car.
“—the fuck?” Brit expected Magnus and Vidar to pull something, but feeding them to a dragon was so far outside the realm of what she could have imagined.
Kirby wrenched Magnus’s arm, forcing her toward them and away from the beast. “Get us out of here, now,” she barked.
Magnus’s eyes were wide with fear. “I can’t. This isn’t me.”
Another charge of magical threat sparked over Brit. “Shield.”
Once again, flame struck everything around them, but not them. The ground burned hot, and the fire vanished in a blink, leaving a circle of scorched earth.
When Brit had met Artura, she’d asked Gwydion anything and everything she’d ever wanted to know about dragons. He shared their history, incredible stories, and the fact that only three were left. Artura, Lance, and Vera.
The flash of sapphire and gold scales on this one matched his description of Vera. She and Lance protected all things to do with fate, and were the backbone of FU.
Maybe Magnus being more truthful than Kirby suspected up until now.
“Would you like to test that little toy shield of yours against my jaw, Valkyrie, or will you fight back?” Vera asked.
Brit was awed by the entire idea of dragons walking among humanity, but that didn’t diminish her disdain for any immortal who wielded their power as a threat. “Do you like to play with your food?” she asked.
“I’d like to see if the rumors are true.” Vera’s tone stayed calm and smooth. “That the two of you don’t lie down and die. That you fight.”
“How are we supposed to fight a dragon?” Fear spilled from Magnus.
Brit couldn’t fight. She hated this helpless feeling. Maybe if she had a gun, she’d try. It seemed like a waste of bullets, though. “I’ll cover Magnus,” she said to Kirby. “You fight.”
“Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for her.” Kirby looked from Brit to Magnus.
Kirby cared.
Brit couldn’t ignore the warmth that flooded her. “I survived a bullet to the brain. I’ll be fine.” Unless she was chewed up and swallowed. She couldn’t think about that right now, though.
Kirby stepped away.
“Wait.” Brit had to do this. Today wouldn’t be the end, but just in case it was... “I love you.”
Kirby glanced at her with a smirk. “I know.”
Magnus made a gagging noise.
And then Kirby had wings. A full armor Brit had never seen before, that was intricate and dark. A sword. Kirby didn’t have any magical weapons as a Valkyrie—where did that come from?
Kirby flew straight toward Vera, sword drawn.
“Fuck me. That’s amazing.” Awe mingled with Magnus’s terror.
“Get down.” Brit tackled her, as Vera’s tail swiped over their heads.
Kirby might have the dragon’s attention, but Vera was so large that all of her was a threat.
Brit hopped to her feet and pulled Magnus upright. “We need distance and shelter. Don’t leave my side.”
“I’m an average fighter, I’m not stupid.” Magnus kept pace with Brit, as they raced toward the nearest tree line. They ducked into the thin foliage and turned to watch the fight.
Kirby wove and dodged with awe-inspiring skill, sometimes touching down and others flitting around Vera like a raven. But neither of them was making contact.
Every time Vera attacked with magic, Brit felt the charge in the air increase.
This was beyond frustrating. Brit had power—she could feel others and didn’t die—but not being able to consciously access whatever lived in her veins was ridiculous. She hated being stuck on the sidelines like this. If she could do anything, it would be better.
Vera’s slash through the air was followed by a burst of flame.
Kirby dove, but a wing caught her in the shoulder and sent her tumbling to the ground. She sprang to the air again in an instant, but she was moving more slowly. She couldn’t do this alone.
Brit needed to help.
The ambient charge in the air faded. Was Vera getting tired? That didn’t seem right.
Brit spun to Magnus, but Magnus was gone.
She had abandoned them.
Why was Brit the least bit surprised?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gwydion
Fight or flight.
Instinct for most creatures.
For Gwydion, a conscious struggle during battle. He gripped the resolve to fight, as the house creaked and groaned around them, and large chunks of plaster fell the floor.
Starkad’s lack of hesitation was expected, but this was different. The ferocity and cognizance he attacked with were almost as terrifying as the fact that Lance was the enemy.
At least the dragon had chosen to limit his size to that of a house, rather than growing much larger.
The house shuddered. Gwydion felt the wooden beams sigh, then crack. He wove magical fingers through the beams—there was no reason to worry about destroying the structure, since it was crumbling around them—and grasped everything wooden that he could to weave a shield around himself, Min, Frey, and Dahlia.
Creating and holding the structure strained him like overworking a muscle, but he pushed past the sensation. He glanced at Frey. “Get her out of here.”
Bullets bit into the wooden shell, drowning him out. He reshaped it, to account for each new hole, but that wouldn’t last long, if the shield disintegrated in a hail of gunfire.
“I can help,” Dahlia said. She pointed at the closest gunman, about ten meters away. “Take him out.”
Gwydion didn’t have a better plan, so he sent a stake through the target’s heart—not just for vampires. He tossed up a rolling wall, as Dahlia sprinted out to grab the now-available gun.
“Get me to a better vantage point,” she said to Frey when she returned.
She’d made her decision, and Gwydion had other things to focus on. He grabbed more wooden ammo, not needing as much of a barrier now that Dahlia had moved, and picked his next target.
Starkad was holding his own against Lance, but nothing more. Each time the wolf got close, the dragon flung him back.
Gwydion’s magic slipped from his grasp, and wood fell to the ground around him.
“Are you all right?” Min sounded concerned.
Gwydion rolled his neck. “Fine.” His magical grip had faltered; that was all. He flexed ethereal fingers and grabbed again, ignoring the cramp that ran through the connection.
The ground shook under his feet, and death poured through nature. Rot. Decay. It tasted foul, and he almost lost his grip again.
Gluskab.
The blight rushed over Gwydion, until he couldn’t see or think or breathe. He clawed past the corruption. Panic clogged his mind, and he dropped to his knees. A fist squeezed around his lungs. Was this panic, weakness, or the more powerful magic? All of the above, most likely.
Blackness licked at the edges of his vision.
Silence descended.
Gwydion dragged in a deep breath and looked around. He was still conscious. Min and Starkad looked as confused as he felt.
Lance was gone. So were his forces. There was no more suffocating presence from Gluskab.
Gwydion didn
’t like it. “What the—”
“Aya’s gone.” Frey’s yell clattered over the demolished house. “Gone, gone. I can’t feel her anywhere.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kirby
This dragon was fucking with her. It had to be.
Each time Kirby got close enough to land a hit—which had yet to do discernible damage—she’d be knocked back. By a wing. A flick of the tail. A claw.
Every action Kirby took in this fight, from flying to the shield, drew power. Fortunately, once she summoned the armor and sword, they were physical. She had no idea where the weapon came from, but it was the perfect weight and length, so she wasn’t questioning too deeply.
She had to meter everything else and she had to stay airborne. Standing on the ground, jabbing this beast in the ankle wouldn’t do her any good.
Then again, neither did the rest of this. If she found a weak spot, could she drive the sword deep enough to matter? What she wouldn’t give, to have some sort of ranged or area attack right now...
Did she want to kill a dragon? It apparently wasn’t trying to kill her.
Kirby dove for the crook where wing met back, her shield going up at the last moment. It wasn’t soon enough, as a gust of flame knocked her back.
The burns that crackled along her skin healed quickly but left her gasping for breath. If she told the dragon, Just kidding. Let us go, would that work?
Considering the dragon brought them here in the first place and threatened to eat her, it seemed unlikely.
A soft pop reached Kirby, as she angled herself for another attack. A suppressed gunshot? And then another. Was Magnus armed, after all? There was more than one source. Who was here?
“You brought gunmen?” the dragon growled.
“Of course I did.” Kirby’s confident retort was distorted by her own shock.
“I see. This isn’t your doing.”
Kirby alternated her attention between the dragon and the tree line. A squad—maybe two—of soldiers was fanning out, exactly where she’d expect TOM grunts to be.
“Vidar, this isn’t your fight.” The dragon’s casual tone shifted to anger.
Vidar? That couldn’t be right. “He’s not here. Not for me,” Kirby said.
“She’s one of us.” Vidar’s voice echoed in the air, magically amplified.
No. He couldn’t be talking about her. Not honestly, anyway.
“She’s never been one of you.” The dragon’s retort echoed Kirby’s thoughts.
Kirby should be lunging in and attacking while everyone was distracted, but something wasn’t right. Actually, none of this felt right. She touched down, using the pause as an excuse to catch her breath and draw in a little more magic. The latter wasn’t as difficult as she expected.
“This is your fight, Valkyrie. Not theirs.” The dragon swept a wing across the clearing, and a chorus of screams erupted from the tree line.
Kirby attack, ignoring the chill of terror that raced down her spine. She hit empty air. The dragon was gone. Vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
“We need to go.” Vidar grabbed her arm. The field vanished, replaced with an infirmary.
Kirby clenched her jaw, as she jerked from Vidar’s grasp. She’d spent a month here once, when Starkad broke her ankle to keep her away from Brit. Starkad had visited her, racked with guilt. Brit never had.
But it hadn’t happened here. This was a recreation. A bootleg. Kirby needed to remember that.
As she pushed past the memories, Vidar barked orders for triage, pointing a doctor toward Magnus first. That was one thing not in Kirby’s past—a god, hanging around the infirmary. Was that concern on his face?
Of course it was. He’d had a notable chunk of trained soldiers put into hospital beds.
The moans, whimpers, and screams of pain made it difficult to think.
Kirby needed to help. No one deserved to suffer like this.
“We don’t know what’s wrong,” one doctor called. “No wounds. No signs of internal injury.”
“So sedate and medicate them until you have answers.” Vidar snapped off the words. He stayed near Magnus’s bed, face etched with deep lines.
Brit joined Kirby. “What do we do?” Brit sounded fine.
A stale wave of doubt joined the cacophony of Kirby’s emotions. “I’m glad you healed.”
“I didn’t. I wasn’t attacked. Ever get the feeling everyone knows what’s going on except you?”
“Every fucking day. How did Vidar know...?” Where they were. To bring an army. Any of it.
“Magnus vanished during the fight, and moments later, she was back with the cavalry. Can you heal them?” Brit’s voice dropped in volume on the question.
Starkad would probably have some argument about letting the enemy wallow in their agony, but Gwydion would already be helping the doctors. Kirby wouldn’t let these people suffer, regardless of what the people she loved thought. And not just because these soldiers were hurt when they came to save her. “I can try.”
She approached Magnus first, shouldering Vidar aside.
He grunted in disbelief.
Kirby didn’t care, as long as he didn’t stop her. She wasn’t his student or his soldier. She was more than his equal. When she took Magnus’s hand, she was met with a glassy-eyed stare of agony.
Kirby turned her concentration inward, drawing on the energy that kept her healed and spilling it into Magnus. She focused on removing the pain and repairing any damage.
Magnus’s grip relaxed, and Kirby opened her eyes. The pain was gone from Magnus’s face, and she was flexing her free fingers. Her arm.
“You fixed me.” Magnus was in awe.
Kirby was relieved to see her better. It didn’t matter that Magnus’s motives were still suspect, Kirby didn’t want to see her in pain. The healing didn’t take anything out of Kirby the way she expected, either.
“Do this for everyone. Please. If you have the strength.”
If Kirby didn’t know better, she’d think Vidar was begging. She’d planned to help regardless, and she moved to the next bed without pause.
Magnus was on her feet, looking fine. She rushed to another bed, concern in her voice as she chatted with the man who was only half-conscious thanks to the painkillers pumping through him.
Kirby healed one soldier after another. It didn’t take as much from her as she expected. She was moving to Grunt Number Six, when Brit nudged her. Kirby followed her pointing, to see Magnus helping her friend out of bed.
“What...?” Kirby muttered.
“She healed him.” Brit was quiet. “I watched.”
—the fuck? If Magnus could do that, what was Kirby doing? Was this part of the same magic used to hide them? Teleport them?
Kirby finished her task, nursing irritation the entire time. The lies were expected, so why was she surprised by this one? Because she’d believed they needed her help. Bought into Vidar’s concern. Magnus’s pain.
And she was going to demand answers.
As she and Brit went to find Magnus and Vidar, Kirby ignored the chanting voice that wanted to know why she thought they’d tell her any more than they did before. Vidar wanted her here for a reason he hadn’t given her yet, and that meant she had at least a little negotiating power. She also had some serious Valkyrie power.
She and Brit didn’t have to go far. Vidar stood at the end of the hallway, talking quietly to Magnus.
“What did you do to me?” Magnus asked, wide-eyed.
“I healed you. I think. Though maybe you never needed it.” Kirby didn’t try to hide her distrust.
Magnus shook her head. “No. I—”
“Not here,” Vidar said sharply.
He led them out a back door, keeping a brisk pace. The portion of lawn they covered was as neatly trimmed as Kirby expected, but the trees weren’t right. They were too close—the infirmary had been nudged up near the woods on the old campus—and had been mostly maples and oaks. These were evergreens. Were they on
the West Coast? Somewhere besides the US?
She didn’t recognize the new building, either. It was a similar brick, late 1900’s construction to the others on campus, but brand new to her. The interior was nothing like she expected. Sleek glass, steel, and black leather decorated everything. It was modern and minimalist.
The contrast of brand new versus having her past shoved down her throat was jarring, but a relief. “Nice to see you didn’t go full jilted-lover and recreate the entire TOM campus.”
“Heh.” Vidar huffed out a strained laugh and led them into a small conference room. He looked at Magnus.
She pulled her tablet out, made a few swipes, and nodded.
He gestured to the chairs. “We can talk in here.”
Weird. Did he expect someone besides him to be listening? No one sat.
“Is this reverse psychology tactic sixty-nine?” Kirby asked. “Now that we’ve been everywhere traumatic, let’s go somewhere completely unfamiliar and pretend it should instill a false sense of security?”
Vidar pulled out a seat and made himself comfortable. “I barely knew you in your time here. Hel talked about you like a weapon, and to Loki, it was all a game. I don’t know what causes you trauma. I’d rather you weren’t suffering it while you’re helping us. I put you in the room because I hoped the two of you would talk, and you did.”
“Uh-huh.” Kirby wanted a better comeback, but he made a good point.
“This is falling apart more quickly than I anticipated,” Vidar said. “It’s time for all of us to stop playing games and come clean.”
Brit settled into a chair, expression bland. “Okay, boomer.”
Kirby laughed and took the spot next to Brit. Being casual about this whole thing seemed like the most effective approach to frustrating Vidar. Since she wanted answers from him, and he seemed to need much more, it was time for Kirby to call his bluff and stop playing games. “I like the sound of it. How about this—you tell us why you’re working so hard to keep us around, and then you let me bring in my associates, because your soldiers are mortal and very obviously not equipped for this.”
“The attack you tried to use on me, you said it transfers the pain of your death to others,” Vidar said.
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