Valkyrie's Call

by Michelle Manus

  Valkyrie’s body came to full alertness. Her Aspect rolled to the tips of her fingers, eager for action. She hadn’t honestly expected Danvers to come himself.

  Her hands wanted to curl into fists. She pressed them flat to her thighs instead, and glass shards dug into her right palm. The pain was good. It kept her from doing anything stupid.

  Like trying to kill him right there, right then, in front of the entirety of the bar’s occupants.

  The sound of shattering glass was the excuse Random needed to move left and regain a scant few inches of his personal space. He couldn’t believe Kagen and Carli had brought fucking Lauren Hale with them.

  He should have left as soon as he’d seen her, had been going to leave when Kagen had pulled him aside and sworn up and down that Lauren and Carli were BFFs now, or whatever, and Lauren’s being here had nothing to do with Random. Then Kagen had asked him why he was “being this way” and he’d been convinced that maybe he was overreacting.

  He hadn’t been overreacting. All he’d wanted out of tonight was to get drunk and have a good time. Without a woman being involved. Instead, he had Lauren pressing herself to his side whenever the opportunity presented itself, and no one in their party seemed to have a problem with it except him.

  The shattered glass that had bought him a moment’s reprieve had come from the bar, where a woman with black hair and defined muscles, who could have been Valkyrie’s double, sat at a barstool in front of a mess of broken beer glass. The bartender took a single step toward the woman before he froze at the glare on her face, and she dumped a container of napkins on the problem.

  Not Valkyrie’s double, then. Valkyrie. No one, no one, save Valkyrie made anyone backtrack as fast as the bartender just had. The only problem with this theory was that Valkyrie didn’t go to bars. Valkyrie didn’t do anything that remotely resembled fun, unless one considered galloping around on the seventeen-hand-tall monstrosities she called horses, but which were more like wingless dragons, fun. Random did not.

  He briefly entertained the idea that she’d followed him here, but it was a ludicrous notion. She’d wanted him to leave her alone. She wouldn’t waste her time trailing him.

  A man stood behind her. He was good-looking, Random supposed, in that way someone could have features that were considered handsome in all the traditionally acceptable ways without actually being interesting. He said something and Kyrie turned.

  Random leaned on his pool stick, prepared to enjoy the glorious show that would be Valkyrie telling the guy to fuck off. It would be nice to see her ire directed at someone other than him for a change. Maybe he could even commiserate with the poor bastard later, if only to feel like he had something in common with someone for the night.

  Only she didn’t tell the guy to fuck off. She smiled—smiled—and followed him to a table far enough away that Random could only barely make her out.

  Random decided this couldn’t be happening. There was no way, absolutely no physically possible way, that he was in the same bar with Valkyrie Winters and she was on a fucking date.

  His Aspect surged and his pool stick broke in half.

  The sound of splintering wood snapped Valkyrie’s gaze back across the room. She wished it hadn’t. However Random’s pool stick had severed, it had had the effect of molding Lauren against him. His back was turned to Valkyrie, and she watched as Lauren ran her hand over his shoulder. White-hot fury hazed Valkyrie’s vision.

  She took a deep breath and forced her gaze back to the man in front of her. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, and Random—she clenched her fist beneath the table, digging the glass shards she still hadn’t removed deeper into her palm—Random could let every woman on the planet touch him, if he was so inclined. Valkyrie herself had done everything she could to guarantee that someone else would.

  As it had before, the pain from the glass in her palm helped, focused her attention where it should be. She doubted the face of the man before her was any more his true one than the one he’d briefly shown her a moment ago. No, his true face, she suspected, probably looked a great deal more like hers.

  “Tell me,” she said with false calm, “did you kill poor Danvers and impersonate him, or did you simply create a false persona to infiltrate the Council?”

  “Neither. Danvers worked for me. When it was convenient, I took his place.”

  “Worked?”

  The man shrugged, the casual, dismissive movement somehow familiar. “He was a loose end.”

  She supposed his movements should be familiar. She had sat in on plenty of Council meetings after Danvers’ hiring, watching him scratching away as he recorded the meetings via the extremely antiquated system of ink and paper. She told herself that that was why his movements felt familiar. That it had nothing to do with the fact they might share DNA.

  “Do you have a name of your own, then, or should I just call you Danvers?”

  His mouth twisted into a grimace of distaste. “It is such a mundane name to live under. Names have power, you know. They convey a great many things to the people who bear them. Take yours, for instance. There is strength in the syllables. Do you really think you could have become what you are now if you’d been given a name like Daisy?”

  The blow hit. But the fact he knew what her mother had wanted to name her didn’t quite prove he did indeed have Elijah. She’d been operating under the assumption that he did, but she needed to know for certain.

  “No answer?” he taunted.

  The answer was no. No, because any man who could have named her Daisy would not have had the desire and fortitude necessary to mold her into what Elijah Winters had made of her. A man who could name her Daisy might actually have treated her like a daughter.

  “I didn’t come here to discuss myself. Are you going to give me a name to call you or not?”

  He shrugged. “You and your lot have been calling me Danvers for months. I imagine it will continue to do the job.”

  So much for hoping he’d give her a name that would tell her something—anything—about him. “Well then, Danvers, I can’t decide if it speaks to your arrogance or your desperation that you came here yourself, after what Siren did to you.”

  If her words bothered him, he didn’t show it. He relaxed, leaning back against his seat. “How is your new sister-in-law? I heard the wedding ceremony was touching.”

  “She’s on honeymoon. How are your bones? I heard she broke half of them.”

  “Bones heal. A lesson you learned multiple times at fourteen, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Valkyrie’s left hand twitched beneath the table. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember the feel of each finger on that hand snapping, one by one. She didn’t close her eyes.

  “So you do have my father, then.” Elijah was the only one who could have told him that information. Not even Jace knew—Elijah had sent her away for the length of time it had taken the bones to heal, and she had been glad he had, glad she could protect her little brother from the truth.

  She remained outwardly calm but the words, the knowledge, sent the first tinge of true discomfort through her. If her father had told this man about her hand—such a seemingly pointless piece of truth in the great sea of other truths—what else had Elijah told him? And why had Danvers wanted to know about her in the first place?

  The man shrugged. “What is Elijah worth to you?”

  Valkyrie schooled her voice into indifference. “We both know that isn’t the real question. The real question is, what is he worth to you?”

  He laughed, softly. “Oh, one might say his value to me is incalculable. I could hardly bear to part with him. Unless, of course, you brought me something of higher value.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The Council’s adnexus. I want it.”

  Valkyrie stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “There is nothing,” he interrupted her, “Elijah Winters knows that I haven’t pried out of him. So let’s cut the bullsh
it. I want the adnexus, and I want you to get it for me.”

  Of all the directions she’d expected this evening to go, this one hadn’t even been on the list. She could count on two fingers the number of people outside the councilors themselves who even knew the adnexus existed: one of those people was herself, and the other was Siren.

  Now, she had to add Danvers to that list. If he managed to obtain the adnexus, he could destroy the Council. Something he’d already tried to do once.

  He could also destroy her, which was a fact prior to this moment she’d have said only she, Siren, and Elijah knew. How much had Elijah told Danvers? More to the point, why had Elijah told him anything?

  “And if I get the adnexus for you, you’ll hand over my father?”

  “Yes.” He lied easily, smoothly.

  “And if I don’t believe you?”

  “Then I’d say congratulations, you aren’t an idiot. Unfortunately for you, neither am I.”

  The words were all the subtle warning it took for her Aspect to leap to readiness. She got halfway out of her seat before his own Aspect struck, reaching for a leash she had foolishly thought only Elijah could hold.

  The cold chains around her wrists, links that had been inscribed there over countless hours, countless days, with power that had bit like acid into her skin, her muscles, her soul, awakened from the dormant state they’d slumbered in since Elijah’s disappearance. Danvers caught the ends of those chains, wrapped them in a fist of power, and pulled.

  Valkyrie froze. She didn’t have any other choice

  “As I said,” Danvers said, leaning calmly back in his seat once more, “I know everything Elijah knows. Now sit.”

  She fought the command, fought as she hadn’t fought since she was twelve, right after her mother had died, when Elijah Winters had first bound her in chains of Aspect and told her it was for her own good. She was too wild, he’d said, too prone to rages. She wasn’t really his daughter. She was the daughter of someone terrible, someone capable of raping her mother, and evil like that ran through a bloodline.

  He’d told her he wanted to love her. That he wanted to be proud of her, as if she were his own daughter. But if he was ever going to do either, he needed to control her. Until she could prove that she could be good.

  She had raged, then. Against the chains that had bit beneath her flesh where no one would ever see the scars they left. She’d raged until the heat in her had burned out and she’d almost died. For weeks, months, after that she’d gone along quietly, until her strength had rebuilt enough to challenge those bonds again.

  She had continued that way for years, trapped in an endless cycle of fighting a control she couldn’t break. But her resistance had taken its toll on Elijah and she’d known that, given the time, she would wear him down enough to break his hold on her.

  He’d known it too. So he’d found another lever to push. He had called her into his office one day and explained, in excruciating detail, how easily her brother could be killed. How easily it could be made to look like an accident. How irreversible death was.

  It had worked as no threat to her ever could. Because her little brother, Jace, was her responsibility. One she treasured because he looked up to her, looked at her like she was strong and good and worth something. He was nothing like her, nothing like Elijah. He was everything like her mother had been. Smart, and kind, and sweet.

  So she had stopped fighting. She had done everything she could to keep Jace safe. To keep him from ever knowing what a monster Elijah Winters truly was. She had succeeded, and she had been very, very careful to never care about anyone else enough that Elijah had more than one hold over her again.

  Had succeeded with that, too, until Random came along. She’d managed to keep that desire hidden until Elijah had disappeared, and in the drunken euphoria his absence had produced, she’d been stupid enough to take what she wanted. The panic had set in later. The realization that she had no idea where her father was. That his disappearance could simply be a game. That in one selfish moment she could have already signed Random’s death sentence.

  She’d understood, then, what needed to be done. Freedom and safety, they came at a price, and that price was a death. But she couldn’t kill a man she couldn’t find.

  And if she couldn’t fight the chains that bound her yet again, she would simply become a different man’s puppet.

  Danvers snarled and pulled on her chains with a vicious twist of Aspect that slammed her back into her seat. The illusion that made up his appearance didn’t show if the fight strained him, but she could smell the sweat he’d broken out in, knew she had cost him more than he would admit to. She was stronger—much stronger—than she’d been as a child, and even if this man knew enough about her to use Jace against her too, Jace was safely away on another continent right now.

  There was nothing to keep her in check in this moment.

  The hand that held her leash trembled.

  “You always were a disappointment to Elijah, you know?” Danvers spat out. “Never quite everything he wanted, never quite good enough. A Valkyrie that never managed to take flight.” He reached out, stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek in a caricature of a loving gesture. His iron grip on her chains kept her from taking that hand off at the wrist. “Let’s see if you can do better for me. Come.”

  He stood and held out his hand. She didn’t take it willingly, didn’t rise of her own accord. She made him work for every movement of her body, felt what it cost him to make her rise and walk with him out the door.

  “Touch me again without my consent and you won’t like the results.” Random never should have had to say the words. He didn’t touch a woman without her permission and he deserved the same respect.

  He’d tried to see the evening out because he hadn’t wanted to be rude, even if what was supposed to be a relaxing night for him to let off steam had turned into him clenching his teeth and trying to avoid all the casual touches he didn’t want. But he had his limits, and Lauren had hit them when she had apparently decided he wasn’t being fun enough and called him a tight-ass. He wouldn’t have cared about the comment if she hadn’t grabbed his ass to accentuate the point.

  Now her big doe eyes were filling up with tears like he’d slapped her, and Kagen and Carli were staring at him like he was the one who’d done something wrong.

  Carli gave Kagen a look that clearly said she expected him to deal with the situation.

  “It was just a joke, man,” Kagen said. “You’re overreacting.”

  “Do you have any idea how often I hear that excuse in court?” Since he primarily represented victims of domestic abuse, sexual assault, and sexual harassment, it was practically a litany in his head at this point. Your Honor, the defendant is clearly overreacting to the situation. If she didn’t want my client’s hand up her skirt, shouldn’t she have made a bigger objection at the time?

  “I am not overreacting. I did not come here to get felt up, which I was quite clear about.” He turned to Lauren. “And the next time you want to feel someone up, make damn sure the man you’re putting your hands all over wants them there.”

  He left his pool stick against the side of the table and walked away to the sound of Carli’s awkward laugh and her nervous, “Well, he’s clearly in a mood. Maybe we should call it a night.”

  By all means, he thought as he headed for the bar, call it a night. Let them leave. Because he had come here with the intention of getting stupid drunk, and now that he was freed from obligations, he intended to do just that. He ordered a whiskey soda and was impatiently awaiting its arrival when he caught sight of Valkyrie.

  He hadn’t precisely forgotten that she was in the bar, it was more that avoiding Lauren had consumed all of his mental faculties, and he hadn’t had time to think about Kyrie.

  He couldn’t not think about her now. Not when the man across from her leaned over and brushed his fingers along her cheek, then stood and held his hand out to her. Not when she rose and placed
hers in his and let him lead her toward the door.

  His Aspect leapt to wakefulness, pinging inside him with the instance that this wasn’t right. Valkyrie didn’t go to bars. She didn’t date, and if she did, she wouldn’t date a man like that. So plain and boring and vanilla.

  Maybe Random was just jealous. Maybe he was so gone on her that he couldn’t tell the ceiling from the floor. Maybe, no matter how badly she’d hurt him, he couldn’t stand the thought of her with someone else.

  But his instincts screamed that something was wrong. She had hesitated before she’d stood, and her stride now lacked its usual fluid grace.

  He slid off the barstool and quietly followed after her. If he was wrong, if she was on a date, if she wanted to be leaving with whoever the hell this guy was, Random would respect that. She’d never even need to know he’d followed her. But like hell was he going to let the woman he loved walk out that door and into someone’s vehicle if it wasn’t what she wanted to be doing.

  Valkyrie used the oldest trick she knew. Halfway across the parking lot, she quit fighting. The sudden release of tension caught Danvers by surprise, made him relax without meaning to. His hold on her lessened and she lunged at the opening, both mentally and physically.

  She got a single physical blow in before his Aspect reached through the chains and crushed her like a full-body vise. She stood, frozen, while his fist slammed into her face. He released physical control of her as the blow landed and she went sprawling on the gravel lot.

  “Kyrie!”

  Random.

  No. What the hell was he doing out here?

  Fear hit her, then, as it hadn’t when she had been the only one in danger. She opened her mouth to scream at him to leave, but her body wasn’t under her own control, her vocal cords frozen along with the rest of her. Everything else happened too fast. Danvers turned from her, his power aimed at a new target. Random’s footfalls sounded on the gravel as he ran toward her.