Valkyrie's Sacrifice - Angel Lawson Page 0,3

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.

I dress quickly, easing into the soft pants and perfectly fitting vest. I place the gifts from Morgan in the vest pockets; the small pouch and the book. I shove my feet into the boots, lacing them tight, then attach the sheath to my thigh. The blade’s magic hums with energy.

A quick glance in the mirror startles me. I see the woman I once was before all of this; before Andi died, before the Morrigan, before grief and despair. I’m no longer posing as a girl in the Academy, I’m a woman, a Valkyrie, a warrior.

And it’s time to kick some ass.

I linger outside the bedroom door, possibly more afraid of this first battle than any others.

Marshal.

Is he an enemy? A spy? Is this all a trick?

I push open the door and look at the wounded Immortal. He doesn’t look like any of those at the moment. Although his body is still magnificent--lean, hard muscle--it’s obvious that he’s weak from the severity of his injury. The cut on his lower abdomen is deep—disturbing. The poison eats at his flesh. A bowl of hot, steaming water sits on a table at his bedside, a stack of clean cloths next to it.

Standing over him, I reach out and touch his cheek. He’s still feverish. I run my fingers down his arm until I reach his hand, which I take in my own. He’s unresponsive, lost somewhere in deep sleep. The ache in my heart tells me this is the first of many challenges. If I could do this without him, I would—but Morgan made it clear. Marshal is part of this, and I have to wake him—heal him.

I muster the courage to do what I need to do.

“I try to imagine what you