by Susan Harris
Donnie glanced in his direction, having read the thoughts in Derek’s mind, his power both a gift and curse. Donnie’s brow raised as he went to untangle himself from Caitlyn but stayed when Derek growled. Derek kept on eating until Caitlyn had Ash sleeping once more and settled his daughter in her little cot again. Then she leaned into her mate’s embrace for a second before she slipped from Donnie’s arms.
The lights flickered overhead, and they all froze, half expecting the world to erupt into chaos once more, but after a few minutes when nothing attacked them or made a surprise entrance, they relaxed a little.
“Maybe I should let Erika loose and see if she can wound him?” Derek asked. “Am I selfish enough to let her try, even if it might mean her death? Loki might just kill me if I let her, but I think a surprise attack might be our best shot at ending him. Am I a horrible person for even considering it?”
Caitlyn shook her head. “Non, because it is not a bad option. Yet when push comes to shove, we would not sacrifice our family like Odin has. Odin and Cain, they are not dissimilar in the fact that they would happily stand by and let others bleed for their purpose. People were pawns to be used to accomplish a goal, and whilst you may think on it for a time, there is no part of you that would do as they have done.”
Derek wanted to believe Caitlyn, wanted to take stock of her words and truly reassure himself that he was not like Odin and would protect all of those he considered part of his family, his pack. And while he would never order Erika to do what she’d been itching to do for days, possibly even centuries, if the Valkyrie made up her own mind to go rogue and make an attempt to stop Odin, would he even try to dissuade her further?
Dear god, he hoped so …
Ever
* * *
The water lapped against her feet as the waves crashed against the sandy beach. Even in the never-ending night, Ever could see it as clear as if the sun shone high in the sky. The scent of salt and water in her nose with every intake of breath felt familiar, like a sliver of paradise. It was like she had never left, the sights, the sounds, the scents all so utterly reminiscent of the place she used to call her home.
But then there was her actual home, and she needed to get back to there. She just wasn’t entirely certain how.
Behind her, the trees swayed in the breeze, the rustling of leaves like voices in the forest, of warriors uneasy, restless as the final battle approached and frustrated as the pull of the Allfather did little to drag them free of the confines of Valhalla and onto the battlefield. Ever was surprised to feel the pull herself in the pit of her stomach as she lay between life and death, as if Odin could command her to his side and force her to fight against her family and friends.
That would never be the case.
When she had spoken to Donnie when he had dream-walked her, Ever had been honest in her assessment that she needed time to heal. However, as she stood now staring once more out at the ocean, Ever was unsure if she would wake from this healing slumber.
“Wake up, Ever. We need you. You hear me. Stop being so goddamn lazy and get your ass off that bed. We don’t need a martyr; we need our queen.”
Ever smiled as she heard her best friend and general chastise her, as if those words alone could drag her from her sleep to answer Erika. She heard them all: the soft little cries from her newborn daughter, the reassuring strong tone of her mate, and even the hauntingly beautiful French lullaby that Caitlyn sang whenever she fussed over the baby.
A gust of wind swept over the island, causing a shiver to tremble through her. Glancing over her shoulder, she could feel the presence of the fallen, the warriors who would be called forward by her father to fight the final battle, yet somehow, even as she felt the pull herself, they did not leave. Rather they waited, ready to once again take form and rage against the night.
Ever walked along the shore, her toes in the fine grains of sand. Over the last few days, as if by magic, her clothing had changed to an outfit she had worn many centuries ago, when she was nothing more than a Valkyrie princess and warrior. Skirt of tough leather, cut into strips, the same material across her chest, Asgardian metal to her wrists and shoulders. Even the daggers she had worn as a youngling running across these very sands with Erika were sheathed at her waist.
Yet it did not feel like reality, as if this was merely a construct of her mind. A howl in the distance snagged her attention, and she lifted her head to the sky and howled back, well, as much as any human could. She was not sure why those in Valhalla kept their distance from her, why they did not come and spar with her, why she could not see who watched her from the forest.
It struck her all of a sudden, a memory of running through the forest, leaping over branches and brambles, ducking behind trunks as her systirs came in pursuit of her, her heart beating like a drum inside her chest, trying to keep her breathing even so as not to give away her position, even as Erika flashed in front of her and smiled smugly before disappearing once again and foiling any sneak attacks her systirs had in mind.
The joys of youth, of growing up in paradise, had been snuffed out shortly after that memory when Freya began their training vigorously and childish playing was cut short. Hide-and-seek became war games; pretending to be Asgardian warriors with wooden swords became sparring with the real thing. There were no lazy days and long nights, no friendly camaraderie. It was early mornings and competitiveness, the bonds of sisterhood strained.
Ever had always imagined she would grow to be like her hero, the most famous Valkyrie of all time, Brynhild. Ever had seen her once, meeting with Freya, when she was a child and had been awestruck by her obvious strength and poise.
Built like a Viking, she towered over Freya and was all hard angles and muscle. And then she was gone, before Ever could even speak a word to her. Yet over the years, Brynhild had been the subject of many a story as Freya had told them that even the greatest of Valkyrie could be felled by human emotion, for Brynhild had fallen in love, been tricked into forgetting her love, then once the trickery was revealed and having already sent someone to kill the man she truly loved, Brynhild threw herself upon his funeral pyre and went to Hel with her love.
Ever had wanted to be like the Valkyrie who had paved the way for her and her systirs. She wanted her name sung in ballads of glory and spoken of in prose by scholars. She wanted her name to be the first to come to mind when someone mentioned Valkyrie. She was the daughter of gods, of Odin and Freya, the sister of Thor and Loki. Her name would be written beside them in the history books, and for that, she needed to do something worthy of being written about.
Perhaps when she had made the deal with Odin to live and die seven times over, it was with the hubris that this would be her tale of sacrifice and victory. Never in a million years would she have imagined that the stories told about her would be of death, of loss, of the end of the world.
She had been cocky, even as Odin stabbed her the first time, kicking off the curse, believing that she could somehow beat her father, end his silly little quest, and become famous. Instead, she was now down to one life, a life she desperately wanted to cling to.
She thought of all the iterations of who she had been, so many cities she had lived in. Every single one of her six previous lives, other than this time, felt separate from her, like watching someone else’s memories. Even the memories she had of growing up on Valhalla felt like she was watching a movie of someone else’s life, even if it was her face in all of them. She wondered what might have happened if she had remembered sooner, had found Derek and Erika and been able to best Odin, but would that have cost her and Derek the love and support of their chosen family? Would Melanie have died rather than been raised once more as a vampire? Would Caitlyn have succumbed to the darkness in her soul? Would Erika have found her partner in Loki?
She had so many questions and struggled to find the answers.
“Maybe that is why you still sleep?”
Ever turned with a smile to see her brother standing beside her. Thor
was dressed in his Asgardian metal and his long red cloak. His red hair was pulled messily off his face, and his feet were surprisingly bare as he rocked back and forth beside her.
“I wondered when you might appear.”
“It is not like you to brood. Especially when you have a family that needs you.”
Ever rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I thought I should remain here in order to give you the chance to chastise me some. I miss you, brother.”
“And I you, sister. I even miss that troublemaking little guttersnipe.”
Ever laughed, and before her eyes, the water seemed to calm, as if the sea was controlled by her emotions. The wind stilled, and peace settled in her bones.
“I regret not being able to hold my niece with my own hands.”
“And yet you gave her the gift of the gods. It is a blessing and maybe a curse all in one.” Ever sighed, shifting her weight.
“She has the capacity for greatness. Had it not been bestowed on her, Odin could have granted it to someone else, and I could not enjoy the feasting I have earned in Valhalla knowing that the Mjölnir was in the hands of someone less worthy. It was either the child or …”
Thor trailed off with a faint tug upwards of the corners of his mouth, and Ever knew her brother would not spill any more details, even should she press him. Turning her gaze toward the forest, she felt the dead of Valhalla again with their wish to be free, yet they still did not slip the confines of their immortal resting place.
“I do not understand why they do not answer his call. I feel it, the pull, yet they remain.”
“You will.” That was all her brother said, no hint on further answers on his face, his features impassive so Ever could not decipher his words. His lack of answer sparked anger in her chest, but was that not what older brothers were for?
Ever huffed out a breath. “It would seem that you have learned Loki’s skill of evasiveness. Can you not just tell me what lured you away from the mead and the shieldmaidens to come and mess with my head?”
Thor laughed, the sound like a rumble of thunder in the dark. “This is not my quest, nor is it my place to advise you. Some decisions must be made by yourself. Some paths must be walked alone. My time as Midgard’s protector has ended. A successor has been chosen. I have fulfilled my destiny until I do get the chance to fight once more, which should be soon.”
Thor rested a hand upon her shoulder. “Your destiny is your own. The future is not written in stone. It is time for you to be just who you were meant to be.”
“And if I wish to remain here, forever, with you?”
“Then our father wins and our brothers he has slain in his pursuit of his goals will forever be restless. Your daughter will grow up without a mother, possibly raised by a woman who despite being the goddess of love has forgotten how to love. Your mate will grow cold and distant and trundle down the path away from those who keep him human. You know this. You know you cannot stay here. So say what it is that you wish to say and go home.”
Thor had never been one for many words, never one to speak when actions prevailed, the swing of his hammer all he needed to get his point across. If he was taking the time, whether his appearance was real or a figment of her imagination, to lay all of the cards on the table, Ever had to listen to his words and accept them. She had considered that perhaps those she called family would be better off without her, yet if her death was the catalyst for more pain, she could not remain here, safe from harm or hurt, and live with that choice.
Thor turned away from her, making huge strides across the sand as he headed toward where the fallen warriors waited. Tears sprang to her eyes as she called his name, her big brother casting his eyes over his shoulder at her.
“Will I ever see you again?” Ever asked, sadness like an anchor in her chest.
“I will see you in the final battle, but I am never far from you or my niece. I shall watch you from Valhalla and await your arrival, when we will toast to our lives with much love and revelry. Though I hope that not be for many eons.”
Then her brother was gone, leaving her alone in the sand, tears streaming down her face. By the gods, it hurt to say goodbye. Yet, as Ever placed a hand over her heart, felt the steady beat of it, she knew that she would carry her brother with her until they were reunited in immortality.
“Hail and farewell, dear brother. Hail and farewell. May we meet again.”
And Ever finally let Thor go, let go of her grief at his loss and the desperate need to keep him here with her. But she was Asgardian, and death was not to be feared. It was the end of one’s destiny, and Thor, he would be rewarded and worshipped in the great hall. He would be feasting with Tyr, with Baldur and Heimdall. It would be a party like no other.
Heat flushed her face, and Ever lifted her face to the sky. Through the dark clouds that had fallen over Valhalla, a little slice of sun had managed to cut through, resting upon her skin and heating her bones. It felt like an embrace.
As Ever wondered how the sun had managed to slip through, the sun reflected off something along the shore, and Ever crossed the sand, but as she did, whatever was glinting in the sand went farther and farther away.
With a snarl, Ever swore, wondering what else she had to do in order to get to her destination. Her thoughts were jumbled, even after she had freed herself from the burden of the loss of Thor. She had such guilt in her, for Tom, for her systirs who had died, even for Derek, who had died six times already for her quest, for her destiny.
When she had first laid eyes on him, a slain warrior in Valhalla, training with the rest of the fallen warriors, she had been captivated by him. She had wanted him even then, wearing clothing befitting a Viking warrior, his skin sun-kissed and his strength obvious. When their eyes had clashed across the sands, a spark had coursed through her, and sure as if she had been struck by a bolt of lightning, she knew that she should be his and he hers.
Why was she standing here, brooding over the past, when her future was waiting for her to snap out of herself? Why was she maudlin over things she could not change? For so long she had been reluctant, indifferent to her very past. She moaned and groaned and felt sorry for herself, for the way her life had transpired.
For too long, she had pushed down parts of herself that made her who she was. She tried to be past iterations of herself, yet they were all part of who she was now. Instead of being this kick-ass warrior she had always wanted to be, she had become a whiny, watered-down version of herself.
She had run from battle instead of facing it head-on. She had allowed weakness to soak into her bones and fear to paralyze her. She had forgotten that she herself was a goddess and not human. She had let herself be controlled by her perception, and it had crippled her.
The clouds above her parted more, the darkness receding, and once more the sun shone on the shores of Valhalla. Her skin tingled, her palms sweated, and when she glanced down at them, little cracklings of lightning crawled over her skin. Her chest felt as if it would explode as she sucked in a breath, as power was unlocked from deep inside her, sending her to her knees on the sand.
A surge of power forced her hands into the sand. Magic like she had not felt before flowed from her hands and out into the sea, which shifted under her grasp, the very earth beneath the sea rumbling.
Ever closed her eyes, and she could feel every soul that inhabited Odin’s great halls of the fallen as if they were a part of her, as if every grain of sand on this beach she had constructed in her mind was representative of all those who craved battle. Her spine locked as another wave of power cracked deep inside her, and she cried out, her voice carried by the wind, and the black clouds vanished.
The wave of power ebbed and flowed under her skin as Ever darted to her feet, raced across the distance and yanked the sword from the sand. The moment her palm clasped the hilt, she sucked in a breath. The runes on the sword blazed for a moment before Ever smiled.
Cocking her ears, she listened in to the world where her mate and daughter waited, her
mate speaking to Caitlyn as she cradled her daughter. Ever’s heart constricted. Her arms ached to hold her child, to hug and kiss her mate.
The time for wallowing was over. She needed to wake up. She needed to wake from her slumber and protect her family.
After all the centuries trapped in confusion about who she really was, Ever was ready to embrace her true self.
“Derek, something’s happening with Ever.”
Donnie’s voice sounded in her ear as Ever took off across the sands, her sword firm in her grasp, knowing that she was the only person with the power to wake herself up. She was finally ready, body and soul, her newfound power simmering under her skin, to face her father and end centuries of death and destruction.
“Ever? Ever?” Derek’s voice called to her. “It’s time to wake, babe. I’m waiting for you.”
And he always had, his soul tied to her on the most primal of levels, their fates intertwined, their love transcendent, one that defied death and curses and megalomaniac fathers. No matter where in the world they were separated, Derek always found her.
Machines beeped, her heart rate racing, as Derek called her name. But Ever came to a halt, the scent of a berserker hitting her nose as the creatures in the room were distracted by her human body. As her corporeal self tried to rejoin her body, the scent of brimstone and ash hit her, the shores of Valhalla disappearing under her feet as Ever slashed out with her sword and opened her eyes.
Ever
* * *
Ever’s eyes opened to a white ceiling, machines blaring all around her, her heart rate racing as the cries of her daughter turned her head. Caitlyn was clutching the child, Donnie shielding her as Derek pressed the button for the nurse. Her fingers coiled inward, her right hand grasping the sword she had pulled free of the sands of Valhalla as a berserker used the chaos and noise to trudge into the room.