What's Up, Buttercup? (Vexatious Valkyries Book 1)

by Jane Cousins

  Stephanie leapt straight up, kicking out, performing essentially the splits in mid-air, her arms thrusting out at the same time. The spike on top of the hatchet in her right hand expertly finding a home in the eye of the sneak attacker. Unfortunately, her other opponent had slipped on someone’s stray innards and fallen back a step. That saved his life, for the moment.

  Stephanie landed and took a moment to assess the situation. She had three Guards yet to deal with. Galen was continuing to fight with Welst. But where was Queenie? Over by the double doors, a look of pure rage and frustration on her face. Seems like Laynn didn’t open her own doors and had no idea how the mechanism worked. She was trapped in here. Good.

  But Stephanie could tell by the calculating look that settled over her face that Laynn wasn’t going to sit in the corner and wait for the dust to settle, as she began moving off to the left… towards the Shamans. Who remained frozen in place, almost like the trees they were so obviously related to. Crap.

  The trio, chained, diseased, all but crippled by Laynn’s machinations were still under her control. Worse, they had magic. Magic they could be ordered to use to trigger Galen in to taking that final step to devolve into Berserker mode.

  Stephanie began running. Hoping like hell that over the clash of swords and moans of pain issued from the wounded that the Shamans wouldn’t be able to hear Laynn’s instructions until she was closer to them.

  The race was on, Laynn needed to get nearer to her pets and Stephanie, well, Stephanie wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do. On the one hand, the trio had essentially stolen the futures of hundreds of young male Demons. Devastated families. Been instrumental in the death of millions of their own kind on the Western Front, sent into battle for their sake, trying desperately to reclaim them.

  On the other hand, the trio were nothing but prisoners, victims in all this. Laynn might have made them into weapons but Stephanie didn’t doubt that torture and brutality had been brought to bear if any of her darling little tree roots tried to baulk at her orders.

  Three more quick steps and Stephanie hurled herself into the air, hatchet raised high. The Shaman she was bearing down on glanced up, its gaze locking on the gleaming steel edge of her blade. In those depths all she saw was acceptance and gratitude. This creature didn’t... hadn’t ever wanted this existence and would gladly accept death at her hands as a means of escape.

  Stephanie crashed down onto one knee, bringing her hatchet slashing forward to strike at the only slightly protruding link in the hellfire proof chains she’d been able to identify. Just above the Morghdorn Shaman’s left ankle.

  Looking up she had to double check her hatchet had made contact, as there was no satisfying clank of the chains unravelling. No, the links were too deeply embedded in the Shaman’s bark like skin for that. But she had managed to break one link. A tiny bit of metal sparkling on the cement floor next to the Shaman’s slab like bare foot, reflecting the light from the chandeliers.

  It was very little pay off for such a lot of effort. But it was too late to regret her decision as Laynn was right in front of her now, looking smug and confident, issuing strident instructions. The Shaman nearest to Stephanie, the one who she’d tried so ineffectually to set free made quiet, sad, chirping sounds. Almost as if it were trying to apologise for what Laynn was about to make them do.

  Stephanie had run out of time. The three remaining Guards were just about to descend upon her position. Shit. Sweeping her booted leg around she swiped the nearest Shaman’s legs out from underneath it. The creature hitting the cement floor like a large log being dropped.

  Rolling, Stephanie stood straight up, ramming her shoulder into the gut of the Guard whose personal space she had just invaded. He folded over her shoulder, and she heaved upwards with her knees, sending him crashing into the two remaining upright Shamans and Laynn.

  Not stopping to see the results of her actions she spun, hatchets raised to face the two Guards who’d been playing strategy from the moment the fighting had broken out. They’d stood back. Allowing the rest of their squadron to attack first so they could take the opportunity to study her style and technique. Perhaps hoping that she would exhaust herself, grow clumsy with fatigue.

  Please, she was a Valkyrie, she could change her fighting style on a dime and could slay all week if required.

  Smiling, because no one liked it when a Valkyrie holding weapons smiled. Stephanie twirled her hatchets and gave her two last standing opponents the head nod, the one that translated as - come and get me boys, if you can.

  Still they played it smart, taking their time. Moving to stand four feet apart, approaching with measured, synchronised steps. Hmm, looks like these two trained as a team. Clever. Potentially deadly as they swung their swords in opposite directions and came at Stephanie, striking simultaneously from the left and right.

  Raising her hatchets Stephanie blocked both strikes, and then had to move quickly to block a flourish of several more slashes and lunges. Shit. These two were good. Having taken two further steps apart they continued to strike at her from both sides, splitting her focus. She could just barely keep the duo in her range of vision. Her hatchets moving so fast now they were all but a blur as the two Demons closed in on her. Effectively pinning her in place. She couldn’t afford any leaps or kicks. If she tried to focus on one opponent the other would surge forward and strike in her blindspot.

  Worse, she was very aware that the Shamans were slowly getting back up and Laynn, who’d been knocked flying, had made it to her knees. Stephanie managed a fleeting glance in her direction. Black eyes full of dark, intense hatred, were locked on her position. There was also a spark of eager, fever bright emotion on the Queen’s face. Stephanie could only surmise this was the first time the Queen had witnessed up close and personal real violence, and conflict. Bitch was feeding.

  Thankfully it was distracting Laynn from issuing instructions to her Shamans but Stephanie had no idea how long that situation would last. Any moment Laynn could have her chained pets shoot off Freyja knows what kind of magic into the mix.

  Steel, fists and boots, Stephanie could deal with. Magic? It was a pain in the ass unknowable. Though she had been taught many techniques to combat it, she still had no idea exactly what these Morghdorn Shamans were capable of. And right here, right now, she didn’t want to find out.

  The sound of her hatchets striking and blocking the two swords of her opponents rang out loudly, echoing throughout the large, empty room, joining the sounds of Welst and Galen’s swords clashing. Grunts, muttered curses and growls added to the mix to create a weird symphony of sounds.

  Stephanie ducked a chest high lunge from the Demon on her left but didn’t quite manage to block the sword of the opponent on her right, who feinted high but went in low. His sword ricocheted off her knife edge pleated skirt. She seized the opportunity to spin, but he managed to bring his still vibrating sword up to block her hatchet, though there was nothing he could do about the gold boot to the gut. That sent him reeling back several steps.

  She turned all her focus on lefty, but he was ready for her attack. Two swords in his hands, blocking her hatchets with quick, decisive moves. If she’d had a little longer to purely focus on him she might have gotten past his defences, but she sensed righty making his move behind her, determined to get back into the fray. She deliberately kept her back to him, acting oblivious, sliding fast sideways as he hurled himself forward, taking one of his partner’s sword to the thigh instead.

  The Guards broke apart. Panting. One now injured, a large bloody stain blotting the trousers of his left upper thigh. He, like his partner, produced another sword and the two performed a showy flourish of twirling swordsmanship, meant more for the Salle and children’s parties than the battlefield. Stephanie taught them why that was, as she hurled both her hatchets forward, burying them chest deep. Twin shocked expressions quickly slackened as the duo slid to the blood splattered cement floor.

  Stephanie wasn’t allowed to take a m
oment to pat herself on the back for a job well done. Because of course there was one last Guard in play, the one she’d used to knock down the trio of Shaman and Laynn. With her hatchets buried in his colleagues’ chests, he no doubt figured that attacking the unarmed Valkyrie was a smart move. Idiot.

  He was immediately made aware of his heinous error when he dashed forward, sword swinging wide in an arc. Stephanie leapt high, twirling, her knife edged skirt flaring out, neatly cutting her attacker’s sword in two. Left holding nothing but a hilt and four inches of blunted metal, he tried unsuccessfully to halt his forward momentum. Running right into Stephanie’s fist with his glass jaw. She could have pulled a knife, she had several hidden about her person. But there was something so very satisfying in hitting someone occasionally, and this was one of those instances.

  Stepping over his prone body, she began to pace towards Laynn. Who’d managed to get to her feet, her chin angled high, that smug smile back on her face. “Valkyrie? Well, well, aren’t you full of surprises? Not just another blonde bimbo. You’re like a collector’s edition Barbie, with your gold accessories and rather snazzy boots. But being good with those little sharp toys of yours is one thing. Let’s see how you deal with facing off against my Twigs’ magic. Kill her.”

  * * *

  Galen was annoyed to find that Welst hadn’t been boasting when he claimed that he was good with a sword. Not only that, he was fast and surprisingly graceful. In comparison, Galen felt ham-fisted and heavy footed. Thankfully the sheer brute strength he was putting behind every block, swipe and lunge meant though he might not be the same skill level, he was still proving a worthy opponent. More importantly, he surpassed Welst in the stamina stakes.

  For all his practise in the Salle, it was clear Welst was used to short, quick sparring bouts interspersed with long sessions of boasting and smack talk. This relentless fight had already lasted well over ten minutes. Galen was feeling twinges in his shoulders at the unfamiliar exercise but his arms felt good and his energy levels remained high.

  Welst’s blank empty face in comparison was bright red, his hair matted and drenched with sweat, his breathing coming in harsh, quick, uncontrolled pants. He might be a magically fuelled automaton at the moment, under a geas, instructed to disable, wound, or perhaps kill Galen. But nothing could change the fact that Welst was essentially a lazy, entitled, Conflict Demon Prince. Drain all the emotion out of him, and he made an effective and skilled opponent. But the magic couldn’t change Welst physically. Make him unbeatable, or fitter.

  Galen just needed to keep his guard up, the longer this bout continued the more exhausted Welst would become. His body would start to fail him. All Galen had to do was out last him. The sounds of their swords clashing was loud. Louder still was Welst panting, huffing and puffing, trying to suck in more oxygen.

  Problem was, without emotion to fuel him, no fears, no hesitation, Welst would never give up, never surrender. Fuck, as much as Galen disliked his cousin, the longer he fought him, the more he felt... not exactly sympathy for the manipulated mama’s boy, but certainly he couldn’t in good conscience kill him just because he’d always found him irritating. He was a better Demon than that.

  But trying to incapacitate a relentless opponent determined to carve the flesh off your bones was a lot more difficult than say merely killing them. Pinpointing an opening that would allow him to merely disarm Welst, that was Galen’s dilemma. But as he spun to the left to block Welst’s next parry, he caught a glimpse of Stephanie facing off against Laynn and those three bloody Shamans she had under her thumb. Fuck.

  A sick feeling blossomed in his gut. His Valkyrie taking on a squadron, even a whole Battalion of Guards didn’t worry him, but magic? These sly bastards knew how to manipulate DNA. What if they did something similar to Stephanie but in reverse? Made her into some happy, sweet, biddable creature without a violent bone in her body? Galen loathed the idea of that bloodthirsty light being extinguished in her ocean blue eyes.

  It gave him the extra incentive he needed to best Welst. He’d been trying to find an opening so that he might take his cousin out of the picture, but not damage him so greatly that he’d have to spend the next five hundred years listening to nothing but endless, ungrateful whining.

  Suddenly though, he’d lost his motivation for trying to do the right thing. Not if by doing so Stephanie got hurt or worse because he wasn’t by her side to protect her. Even if that meant taking a blast of magic to the chest to save her.

  Faking a stumble on his back foot, Galen let his sword drop to the side just a little. Welst pressed forward, attacking with a flourish of sweeping arcs. Deliberately slowing his response times, acting like he was beginning to lose steam, Galen managed to block each sweep and lunge, but only just. Welst took the bait, thinking he had the upper hand he pressed his advantage, crowding forward, putting the last of his strength behind each and every hit.

  Galen continued to move back, acting like he was barely maintaining his defences. Then, lightning fast, he sprang forward, his sword hitting Welst’s, sliding down the rapier edge until their hilts were only inches apart. Galen head butted Welst hard. The vicious hit enough to scramble his cousin’s senses just long enough for Galen to follow up with a body slam.

  Welst stumbled back, off balance. Galen leapt forward, bringing his arm around to swipe Welst’s sword out of the way, uncaring of the deep cut he incurred as he thrust his own sword deep into Welst’s gut. His cousin folded in half, he might be magically blocked from feeling pain but all his stomach muscles clenched in reaction to the injury, doubling him over. Allowing Galen the opportunity to pull out his sword and slam the hilt into Welst’s temple. His cousin dropping to the ground unconscious and bleeding.

  Galen instantly spun around and headed towards Stephanie. Stepping up to her side just as his aunt instructed her Shaman slaves to kill her. Instinctively he moved in front of her. Determined to take the brunt of what ever was to come.

  “What do you think you are doing? Get out of the way.” Stephanie tried to push Galen aside but he stubbornly held his ground.

  “Enough, Laynn. This ends here. By now our conversation has gone viral. Your reign is over. You achieve nothing by killing Stephanie.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I believe I would rather enjoy seeing her dead, and you, for that matter. As for losing the throne? Fine. I’m rather tired of ruling over ungrateful, short sighted idiots. I shall take my little woodchucks and create a new Kingdom.”

  Stephanie prodded Galen’s back insistently. “Move.”

  Laynn snarled at the Shamans. “What are you waiting for?” Listening to their muted chirps, her upper lip curled. “I don’t care if he’s in the way. Kill him too while you are at it.”

  Grrr, Stephanie was beyond frustrated. Galen wouldn’t get out of the way, and every time she tried to shift right or left, he blocked her with his big, over muscled frame. He was going to get himself killed.

  Damn, she caught a glimpse of one of the Shaman lifting its branch like hand and pointing it in their direction. Honestly, the male of the species, they never knew when to get out of the way and let the women do the heavy lifting.

  Stephanie raised a hatchet and contemplated Galen’s broad back. This was going to hurt him a lot more than it was going to hurt her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Fucking hell. Stephanie had fists of steel, and rabbit punching him in the kidney, totally uncalled for. Ouch. Her follow up elbow to the ribs had Galen stumbling to the side. Bent over, unsure which sore spot to rub first, he futilely tried to convince his body to ignore the pain. Come on, stand up like a Demon, protect your mate. Feeling nothing but frustratingly useless as Stephanie stepped forward to place herself between him and the blast of magic coming their way.

  Raising her hatchet at the last second, she carefully angled the blade. The magic ricocheted off the gleaming elf made flat surface, surging back across the room, just missing Laynn by half a foot.

  Stephanie immediately adj
usted her grip ever so slightly, as a second blast of magic sizzled her way, also bouncing off her hatchet. If the Queen hadn’t stumbled back half a step, it would have hit her full in her screaming face as she bellowed out instructions for the Shamans to cease firing.

  Galen slowly straightened, wincing, the room had gone eerily quiet. Laynn was breathing hard, looking just a tiny bit frazzled. The Shamans waited impassively for their next order, though Galen noted their twig like fingers were never still, forever twitching, like they were small branches caught in a gusty breeze. And the one that had fired the second blast of magic their way, its right leg was scratching at the back of its left ankle, as if it had an itch.

  Laynn carefully smoothed back her hair, noticeably composing herself. Stepping forward, her back to the Shamans but ensuring she didn’t block any of their firing lines. “Nicely done.”

  “And I can do it all day.” Stephanie twirled the hatchet in her left hand absently, thinking about sinking the blade in Laynn’s smirking face. Unfortunately, her code of honour wouldn’t let her kill an unarmed foe. Damn it.

  “I believe this is what is called a stalemate.” Galen advised.

  “Not really. We still out number you, four to two.”

  “Stephanie has already proven she’s more than a match for your little… slaves’ magic. Surrender. Now. There’s no where you can hide. No Realm where you will be safe from retribution.”

  “If it helps, the Valkyries have a stellar Bounty Hunter Department. They can track down anyone or anything. Though they do have serious trouble understanding what the words - bring them back alive - mean. But hey, Laynn, you’re a Conflict Demon, you can take some serious damage and keep on kicking, regrow stuff, like limbs I mean, right?”

  Laynn glared, seething anger making her dark eyes glitter with high emotion. “All the more reason to kill you here and now, Blondie.”

  “You say that like it’s an insult or something. I am blonde, it’s a fact. I guess you don’t get out of the Palace much and do any serious trash talk. Huh-ah.” Stephanie held up her palm as Laynn opened her mouth to speak. “You’ve had your turn, now it’s mine, you cracked-brained, delusional, pretentious wackerdoodle. I’ve stepped on dung beetles that have more intelligence, honour and integrity than you. See, now that’s an insult. You should take notes.”