Valkyrie's Conquest

by Sharon Ashwood

  “But what about…”

  “Your dragon? He is the thief who stole you from me. These flames will destroy any dragon who tries to claim you. This is the curse and promise I lay upon you, daughter.”

  Odin took a step back. A god’s curse was law. He was condemning her to an inferno and to a life without Bron. Tyra’s courage cracked and she lunged, grabbing his hand. “Father, don’t do this. Doesn’t it matter that I love you, too?”

  He brought her hand to his lips, his face sad but cool. “Of course it does, but you have betrayed me, and that is what I must punish.” He dropped her hand and took another step away.

  “No, Father!” She heard the frantic note in her voice.

  But Odin was gone. He had abandoned her.

  Tyra sank to the rocks, dazzled by the heat and colors of the roaring flames. She put her face in her hands, blocking out the feral glow. It wasn’t enough. She could still hear its laugh and licking tongues. And she could smell it. The air was dry, even choking.

  Sorrow and anger welled up in Tyra. There was no hope of rescue by the one person who might have braved the flames. She crawled away a few yards and slumped to the stone, her head cushioned on her arms. There was a human expression about the dangers of playing with fire. Too late, she understood what it meant.

  She’d fallen in love with a dragon, and now she was all but burned alive.

  Chapter Nine

  For the third day, just as the light was wrung out from the sky, Bron stood on the cathedral roof looking for Tyra. Once again, she wasn’t there. He had searched the whole city but found no information he could use.

  Something had happened. He searched every word that had passed between them for clues.

  Bron leaned against his old friend the gargoyle. “Have I been dumped? She’s a soul-impaired reaper. Sometimes she’s hard to read.”

  Sensibly, the gargoyle said nothing. Bron scanned the sky, hoping against hope—and for once he was rewarded. A golden-haired woman flew toward him—just a speck in the distance, but his dragon sight could make her out. His heart leaped, but a moment later that spark was dimmed by caution. There was something wrong—the posture, the pace or the way she rode the air. This was a Valkyrie, but not the one who belonged to him. This was not Tyra.

  As his visitor drew closer, he recognized Sigrid. Bron remembered the last time they had met. He had been naked. Perhaps that accounted for the disapproving set of her mouth.

  “Is this where you live?” she asked without preamble, giving the cathedral roof a curious look. “I asked my father’s ravens where the dragon slept, but they do not always give clear answers.”

  “It is, for now,” Bron replied, eying the long scabbard that hung at her hip. It was empty of its long black sword. There was a story there. “But you’re not here to give decorating tips.”

  Sigrid gave a disgusted snort. “I would rather I hadn’t come here at all.”

  “But you did.”

  Her answer was tense. “I came for Tyra’s sake. The Allfather has sent her away.”

  “Where?”

  She raised her eyebrows at his outraged expression. It was the first sign of real understanding between them. “A place she cannot leave. Father has made her an example so that the rest of us will obey.” Sigrid’s frown said what she thought of that.

  “And yet you’re here. I doubt the Allfather would like that.”

  “Tyra is my little sister. She is all of the Valkyries’ little sister, and we can’t let this stand. I know at least some of the reason she’s in trouble is because of you.” Sigrid took a step forward, her blue eyes slits of dislike. “For some mad reason she likes you.”

  “And I would do anything for her.”

  As he spoke, Sigrid folded her arms and raised her chin, regarding him down the length of her nose. His words must have passed muster, because she gave a curt nod. “I hope you do not lie, because Tyra requires rescue. Father has sent her to a wilderness roamed by demons, and she is trapped in a ring of fire.”

  Angry shock flared through Bron. Burning heat rippled through his veins before he calmed his temper enough to reply. “Fire? No problem. Fire means nothing to a dragon.”

  At that, she gave a wry grimace. “There is a wrinkle. Only a human can cross the flames. That is the only reason I’m not taking care of this myself.”

  “For fear of pointing out the obvious, I’m not human.”

  Sigrid pulled a knife from her belt. It looked old and blackened, as if the metal had been eaten away by some corrosive poison. “I traded my sword for the secret to outwitting the spell. None of us get through this without risking something real. If you succeed, I get my blade back. Don’t disappoint me, dragon. It’s the only thing that’s truly mine.”

  Bron gave her a narrow look. “So how do I outwit the flames?”

  Her look was almost apologetic. “If you’re going to do this, you’ll have to cut out your dragon magic.”

  * * *

  Tyra sat cross-legged in the center of the circle, as far away from the flames as she could get. It was sweltering, and she was tired of pacing her jail, desperately seeking a way out. She had come up with a hundred plans for escape and poked holes in them all. She was far from defeated, but Odin was a crafty jailor. The only way out was through the fire. She wondered how long it would be until sheer desperation had her stepping into the flames.

  Although something in the magic kept her from needing food or drink, her lips had cracked from dryness. It felt as if she were baking. And she was so lonely. She wanted Bron so badly her entire body ached with the need to touch him. Even the fire itself was a reminder—not just of his dragonfire or the heat of his flesh, but the passion that flowed in him as naturally as blood. Bron was fire, and being with him had thawed her like spring.

  Remembering that had made her a little less afraid of her prison, but not of what was outside it. Demons prowled there, teeth flashing, eyes reflecting the flames with unholy brilliance. Odin had taken Tyra’s every weapon, even down to the belt knife she used to cut the skin from apples. If the demons got past the magic ring, she would be utterly helpless. No doubt that was his point. His protection kept the world safe from the hellspawn, and her disobedience put that shield at risk.

  Tyra scrubbed at her face with her hands. The Allfather had a way of being just too all.

  It was then she saw movement beyond the flames—not the prowling demons, or even the wind tossing the branches of the stunted trees, but a figure. She ran forward, fearing the heat but eager to make sure of what she saw.

  It was Bron. She knew the swaggering way he walked, the set of his head as he scanned the scene around him. He wore the leather armor he had brought with him from the mountains, a broadsword in one fist. A demon scrambled toward him, and he cut it in two with an almost casual flick of his wrist.

  Tyra’s breath caught, but not purely from joy. Odin had said any dragon who tried to cross the flames would be destroyed. Bron was heading for destruction. He had to turn back.

  But there were demons massing behind Bron. He might be a mighty warrior, a hero, a paragon of bravery, but she had reaped enough souls to know a death was about to happen. There was no one to watch his back, no one to be his shield. Even an unarmed companion might mean the difference between life and death.

  Without thinking, Tyra lunged into the flames to save him.

  * * *

  “Bron, wait!” Tyra cried, rushing toward him like a madwoman.

  Bron caught her halfway across the width of the fire, his body arching to meet hers as he pulled her close. Fire curled around them in tongues of heat that somehow scorched and yet did not touch the senses. It was different than when he was in dragon form, where flames were no more fearsome than water against his hide. It did not matter that Sigrid had told him the fire’s secrets. This time he was no more than an ordinary human, naked and powerless. He had felt real fear plunging into the blaze.

  That didn’t stop him from pressing his lips to
Tyra’s the moment they touched. Their days apart had felt like centuries, and she kissed him back with desperation that mirrored his own. Her body melded with his, familiar and enticing. A slow heat began to build inside him, and it had nothing to do with spells.

  “Why are we not burning?” Tyra murmured. “The fire will destroy any who are not human!”

  “Magic,” he said. “It won’t last forever, so we’d best be gone.”

  She pulled back, her eyes a little wild. “How?”

  “I had to set my dragon aside to come here.”

  “You could have died!”

  “Not if we both walked into the flame.”

  He had gambled on their love. She would have died if he hadn’t been there. He would have perished like an ordinary human if Tyra had turned her back. But that was love in a simple sketch. Lovers risked all in the hopes of surviving—and thriving in—passion’s heat.

  He bent close, whispering in her ear. “I had faith in you.”

  “And I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much. But there are demons everywhere behind you!”

  He turned, and saw the crowd of monsters behind him. There were more than there had been a moment ago. Ah well, that was a problem that would have to wait a moment. None of them were going to walk into Odin’s fire. He returned his attention to the Valkyrie in his arms.

  “Your sisters weren’t happy with the Allfather sending you away.” That was the understatement of a lifetime. Sigrid had looked positively cheerful compared to the mood of the others. “In fact, they’re just out of sight behind me, and I’m very glad they’re on my side.”

  And with that, he kissed her again. Odin’s spell broken, the ring of fire collapsed in a loud whoosh. Flames spread across the scrubby grass like waves, chasing the demons right into the swords of the waiting Valkyries.

  * * *

  A few mornings later, Bron and Tyra watched the sun rise from the top of the cathedral. She lay against him, her head on his chest and his back against the gargoyle. It had been a quiet week so far—the demons had been all but absent since the incident at the fire circle.

  Bron figured they were shaking in their boots—or whatever footwear hellspawn wore. The Valkyries had fought so successfully, there was no stopping them now. They had badgered Odin until he had grudgingly promised to let them ride into battle. They had made Odin take Tyra back into his service. They had made him accept—or at least tolerate—Bron.

  And, with Sigrid’s guidance, they were teaching a growing band of humans how to fight demons. It was still insanely dangerous for mortals to risk their souls, but at least they were safer with the Valkyries’ help and instruction. And the humans were needed. The Valkyries had released the warriors of Odin’s army who wanted to leave, and had sworn only to reap the souls of those who wished to fight.

  Rebellion had given the Valkyries back their souls. They were smarter and tougher than the Allfather had expected. The warrior women had carried the day, and the brave humans were in a good position to secure the future, with a little help and leadership from Asgard. It was the start of a new era, whether Odin liked it or not.

  Bron was certain the Allfather would adjust. He had to. The demons would be back one day soon, and it was up to them all to be ready for the fight.

  Of course, the temporary quiet gave Bron and Tyra less to do. Instead of battling hellspawn, they had spent their nights relaxing. Once they’d gone to a movie—where Tyra had asked a thousand questions and eaten her own weight in popcorn. Tonight they’d just lazed on the roof, talking and making love and finally watching the dawn blaze orange and pink and red. It was always the final show before Tyra spread her wings and went back to Asgard.

  Bron sighed, stroking her hair. “I suppose it’s time for you to go.”

  “No,” she said, surprising him. “No, I don’t want to.”

  “You’ll stay here today?” He tried his best not to sound ridiculously hopeful.

  “No, not that either.”

  “Then where are you going?”

  Tyra sat up with a catlike stretch. “Do you remember once you asked what I found beautiful?”

  Bron scrambled through his memories of their time together. There were a lot. Dragons were hoarders, but instead of jewels, he’d collected moments with Tyra. Nevertheless, he knew exactly the one she meant. “I do.”

  “I still believe the heart is what makes a home lovely,” she said with a faint smile. “But I am ready for a roof that does not leak.”

  Bron shrugged. “It’s a big step forward.”

  Tyra leaned over the edge of the roof, pointing at the newly finished condominiums across the way. “Let’s get one of those. My father is a god. I’m sure we can find some way to afford it.”

  Bron squinted. He’d never fit in there in dragon form, but his perch on the cathedral would still be handy. He slid his arms around her, embracing her from behind. He knew this was an enormous step for her, a vote of confidence in their partnership. He smiled against the golden cloud of her hair. “Are you sure? It might be, y’know, comfortable.”

  Tyra chuckled. It was the first time he’d heard the throaty sound, and it roused the fire deep in his bones.

  “We’re warriors,” she said. “We shall stand courageous in the face of comfort.”

  We shall stand courageous. The words said everything about her, he thought. Living with her was bound to be an adventure. His heart leaped with as much amusement as anticipation. “It’s a battle I’ll look forward to.”

  She turned in his arms, slowly sliding her hands up his chest. “And to think, mighty as you are, the sword is the least of your weapons. You changed everything since I met you.”

  “That’s not true,” he replied. “You’re the one who challenged your father.”

  She smiled with a touch of wistfulness. “I needed my soul for that. You gave it to me. And you walked through fire to get me back. You had only the hope I would have the courage to meet you in the one place I feared the most.”

  “But you did,” he replied simply. “Nothing made you falter.” His chest ached in a way that was both pleasant and painful. It was the perfect moment, bathed in dawn light and in each other’s arms. “The most important victories are always won by lovers.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “And what happened to gods and heroes?”

  “Bleh. Overrated,” Bron replied. “Dragons rule every time. And dragons in love are unstoppable.”

  And then they kissed, giving everything in their hearts.

  About the Author

  Sharon Ashwood is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk. Sharon is the winner of the 2011 RITA® Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.

  eISBN: 9781460335642

  Valkyrie’s Conquest

  Copyright © 2014 by Naomi Lester

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