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

by Jane Cousins

  “You… you.” Laynn was shaking with fury, her cheeks blazing with colour. “You might have been able to defend yourself against my Shamans one at a time, but what happens if they all fire at once? You only have two hatchets. And there are two of you. Who do you save, you pathetic, jumped up, muscular, freakazoid?”

  “There, now that was an insult.” Stephanie smiled casually, even as she frantically ran through several strategies in her head. Galen was just too tall and broad for her to shield completely. She could attack, but the three Shaman were evenly spaced apart, she might miss one in her initial assault and take a magical blast to the back or worse, leave Galen exposed.

  Hmm, something caught her attention, light bouncing off some metal on the floor near the Shaman with an itch. Noting that several chain links dangled free as the Shaman ever so quietly used its clawed foot to dig into its flesh and slowly pull the embedded chain free. Thank you Goddess above, it seems like breaking one link in the hellfire proof, be-spelled chains had paid dividends after all.

  Progress was slow though, the Shaman needed more time, so it was all on Stephanie to draw out this discussion with Laynn. Bullshit and bluff, she could do that.

  Stephanie twirled her hatchets again, allowing her smile to shift to feral. “Or… I could just test the edge of my hatchet against that slender neck of yours. All I have to do is kill you before you give the order and all my problems are over. I’m no Demon, I’m not invested in bringing you to justice. What do you say, my reflexes against your verbal skills? On three?”

  Something flickered across Laynn’s dark eyes, caution? Fear? No Guards to protect her. Welst, her son, unconscious or dead. Her pet Shamans only followed her direct commands and would probably welcome her demise. The smirk on her face suddenly looked that little bit forced. “Galen, you’d really let this bloodthirsty barbarian kill me?”

  Galen chuffed a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t bring me into this. You began trading insults with a Valkyrie, what did you think the outcome was going to be?”

  A warm glow blossomed in Stephanie’s gut. Galen didn’t know she was bluffing, but he was backing her play. Damn the gorgeous big lug to Hell and back, for not loving her.

  Laynn glared at her nephew, before shifting her attention once more Stephanie’s way. “If you kill me, my death would not go unavenged. Would you start a war between my kind and yours?”

  “Not going to happen.” Galen coughed the words into his hand, then cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  “Please, and you don’t think my Sisters, my thousands upon thousands of Sisters, wouldn’t happily descend on this Realm and wipe it from the universe if you were to kill me? Assuming you could convince your army to continue fighting in your name.”

  Laynn scowled at them both. But she didn’t attempt to give her captive pets any instructions and the way her gaze kept flickering to the dead or incapacitated Guards, it appeared she was banking on one of them to rise up and play saviour.

  Not likely, when Stephanie put someone down, they stayed there, usually until the hearse arrived.

  “Was it worth it? Betraying your people just so you could sit on your cold, lonely throne?” Stephanie enquired, as she idly warmed up her wrists, letting the light from the chandeliers reflect off the edge of her blades and hit Laynn repeatedly in the eyes.

  “It must have been frustrating, never able to share with anyone how devious and clever you had been.” Galen surmised. There had to be a reason Stephanie was choosing to prolong this conversation, and he knew which buttons to press to hold his aunt’s attention.

  “Tell me about it.” Laynn gifted Welst’s sprawled prone body with a quick, sneering look. “It’s times like these I wish I hadn’t had Zeramus killed. Perhaps if I’d had more children, one of them might have proven capable and worthy enough to bring into my confidence and act as my second.”

  “You had your own mate killed?” Galen was shocked. That was incredibly cold.

  “Hardly. Zeramus was nothing but a wealthy sperm donor who my Shamans tricked into thinking was my mate. He served his purpose. But what a yawn. I couldn’t keep up the pretence for long. All that sickly affection he kept trying to shower me with. Easier to have him killed. Better still, I rode that sympathy wave for decades. The tragic, widowed Queen. It was shocking how easy it was to dupe all those so-called political master manipulators in my Court.”

  “You’re an abomination.” Galen shook his head in disgust.

  “And you have a surprisingly weak stomach for what needs to be done. I still don’t get how you managed to resist my woodchucks’ magic over the last few days and not turn Berserker mad? Not my problem anymore I suppose, though you are still infected, eventually you’ll devolve. It’s just a matter of time I suspect. Pity I won’t be here to see it. And where I’m going? Even some plodding Valkyrie bounty hunter won’t be able to find me. Enough with all this boring chit chat. Three, I won’t tell you this again, fail me and each of you loses an arm, and you know how long they take to grow back… ki-”

  Stephanie was spinning her hatchets faster than she’d ever done so before, hoping the pinwheel effect would deflect all three blasts. The Shaman with the loosened chain was no closer to being free and it looked like they had run out of time.

  Laynn never got to finish her sentence, instead she was frozen in place, her head tilted up at an awkward angle, the edge of Welst’s sword resting against the ivory skin of her throat. “Shut it, Mother.”

  “We… Welst… Sweetheart, you’re alright, what a relief.”

  “You can quit it with the mother of the year act, I heard what you said, about my father. And I remember everything now, all the times you had me do your dirty work and then erased my memories. Belittling me. Mocking me. Using me.”

  “Darling… you’re hurt, the blood loss… I think it’s confusing you. Let me instruct the Shamans to heal you, help you.”

  “If you utter one little word in their direction, I’ll be the one eliciting sympathy as the orphaned Prince. It might even become my campaign slogan as I challenge for the throne.”

  “Welst.” Galen kept his voice deliberately cool, his stance casual and non-threatening. “Don’t kill her.”

  “You? You of all people are suggesting mercy? After all she’s done to you? Any moment you could turn stabby, don’t you want to see her suffer for that?”

  “Yes. Yes I do. But not via a swift death. I want her to spend centuries confined, stripped of everything, miserable, alone. I want her punished for her crimes, not dead. That would be too easy. The satisfaction too brief.”

  Welst’s dark gaze hardened, the expression on his face mulish. If Stephanie had to lay money on what choice Welst would make right now, she would have said lust for vengeance would win. But that matter was taken out of Welst’s hand. The sound of a heavy chain hitting the cement floor was followed up immediately by a twig-like finger pressing against Welst’s temple lightly. His face abruptly losing all expression, his sword dropping away.

  Laynn turned, a smile flashing on her face before realizing that she wasn’t being saved, as five supple bark fingers wrapped around her throat and tightened, stopping just short of choking her. She could breath, but couldn’t speak and no matter how hard she desperately scrabbled at the Shaman’s hand, she couldn’t break its hold on her.

  The freed Shaman lifted its other arm, firing a stream of magic at its two companions. The hellfire proof be-spelled chains encasing them instantly shattered into a million tiny pieces that winked and reflected the light from the chandeliers like a sea of diamonds.

  Stephanie disappeared her weapons and moved back slightly to stand at Galen’s side, grabbing his hand in hers, presenting a united, hopefully non-threatening front. It was hard to know what these badly abused magical creatures would do now. She could only pray she had established some goodwill by being instrumental in freeing them.

  The trio issued a flurry of fluid, chirping sounds, communicating with one another. The d
iscussion didn’t last long, the three shuffling close together, crowding a silent, glaring Laynn, as she struggled to take shallow breaths. Her dark eyes flaring bright with promised dire retribution.

  “If you release her into my custody, I promise to see her punished for the rest of her long life for her crimes.” Galen assured the trio.

  “No.” The word was a rough whisper, issued by the Shaman who had a tight stranglehold on Laynn. Its voice sounding like dried leaves rustling on wind swept branches. “She goes with us. Like for like. Centuries of captivity and punishment to pay for. Pain. Torture. Hunger. Cold. She will come to know them well.”

  Laynn looked frantically towards Galen, her gaze now pleading. He ignored her. “I understand and won’t stop you. However, before you leave… can you undo everything she ordered done?”

  “Specifically the unmated Demons who turned Berserker? Can you change them back? Can you stop the change in Galen?” Stephanie wanted everyone to be very clear on what their priorities should be when it came to fixing things.

  The smallest Shaman coughed, or perhaps it was a laugh, considering its next words. “I suppose if we refuse, we can expect a Valkyrie Battalion to descend upon our lands, axes at the ready?”

  “It would probably just be me. I wouldn’t need a Battalion of my Sisters to get my message across.”

  “Those who have been Berserker for a long time, their recovery will be incremental as they come back to themselves. It could take decades, centuries. They will need to be protected from themselves for a good long while. Mentally, some may not ever recover.”

  “I’ll see they get all the help they need.” Galen promised. This was too easy. There had to be a catch.

  “So you would have us undo everything we have done?” Rasped the third Shaman.

  “You’ll fix Galen?” Stephanie wanted to hear the words.

  “Yes, Valkyrie. Your demand is we undo everything we have done, correct?”

  Again those bloody words. A definite trap but what else could she say if it meant Galen recovering his health, his future. “Yes.” Galen’s hand squeezed hers ever so slightly. Whatever tricky payback the Morghdorn Shamans were planning, they’d face it together.

  Two of the Shamans lifted their mottled and scabby arms, their twig fingers pulsing with a light green colour for just a split second. This was it, Stephanie was so relieved for Galen. She glanced his way, blue eyes meeting ink black, a matching smile on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but for some reason Stephanie couldn’t hear him. The feel of his hand suddenly no longer a solid, reassuring warmth.

  Stephanie blinked several times, shaking her head. Crap, that just made her feel woozy as the world suddenly turned into a black, swirling vortex of nothingness. She tried to keep hold of Galen, but he was gone… or she was.

  Then there was light, flickering and very familiar. She was back in the subterranean cavern, on the Fjornfiall plane, trapped. She couldn’t help but laugh. Bastards. Putting everything back where it belonged. She turned, looking for Galen, but he remained stubbornly absent. “Galen?”

  She ran down the short passageway to the hot spring, no Galen. She made her way back to the main living space. The silence was deafening. She was back here alone, where she belonged.

  So the question was, where did those tricky Shamans think Galen belonged?

  He was an intelligent, arrogant, determined to do what was right Conflict Demon Prince. No doubt he was sitting his gorgeous butt down on the throne right at this moment and trying his best to fix the fallout from Laynn’s selfish manipulative actions.

  He’d probably already forgotten the six-foot blonde, blue eyed Valkyrie that he’d shared a bed and a rather bizarre adventure with. Which was fine. Stephanie ignored the vast, heavy, hollow feeling that settled in her gut making her feel a little unwell. Absently she rubbed a fist over her heart, it was continuing to beat, slow and steady, but there was an annoying ache there now that gnawed at her. She felt empty, like something was missing.

  Which it was, obviously. A purpose, that’s what she needed.

  Turning, Stephanie contemplated the blocked exit; chock full of various sized pebbles, rocks and boulders. Tightening her ponytail, she morphed away her armour and replaced it with black jeans, a long sleeved matching top and heavy duty, steel capped boots. Picking up the first basketball sized boulder she tossed it off to the left, a second, third and fourth rock soon joining it.

  She was uncaring of the mess. As long as she could access the bathroom, kitchen and the bed, then it didn’t matter anymore about the destruction she wrought.

  She had a purpose. Freedom.

  She would not dwell on thoughts regarding a six-foot-four, black haired, gorgeous lug of a Demon with midnight eyes that made her insides quiver and sent hot shivers up her spine when he said her name.

  Galen had his life back now. And he’d been very clear, she wasn’t his ideal woman. The rock Stephanie was holding suddenly pulverized into dust. Grrr.

  Bending, she picked up another boulder to fling it off to the side, then another. Not thinking about Galen. More rocks followed. Liking the way they sounded smacking together, often breaking in two as she threw them on to the steadily growing discard pile. Still not thinking about Galen, and certainly not thinking about the ideal female he’d have plenty of time to track down, now that he was no longer in danger of turning Berserker. She sneezed as a puff of dust hit her in the face as she accidentally pulverised another rock she’d just picked up.

  Ignoring the grit, the dust, the growing ache in her lower back, the cuts on her hands and the loss of several fingernails, Stephanie kept on steadily making progress. Her focus on nothing but clearing the rock fall away from the tunnel that led to freedom.

  She only stopped when she needed a drink of water to clear the dust from her throat, or to grab something to eat when she began to feel light headed. Twice she collapsed on the bed. Managing to grab only a few hours of sleep that were plagued by dreams featuring Galen presenting his new, perfect mate to his people. Declaring her his Queen.

  On day five she stumbled into the bathroom and took a long hot shower because the smell of her own sweat was making her stomach roil.

  The following day she caught a faint whiff of the pungent weed like shrubs that dotted the wastelands and doubled her efforts. Rewarded four hours later by a miniscule glimpse of flickering sunlight. All that remained blocking her path were two massive boulders wedged together so tightly she wanted to scream out her frustration. So close. So fucking close.

  No, she would not be thwarted. Lying down on the ground, Stephanie rested the heels of her boots against the nearest boulder and shoved, hard, straining with all her might. The rock shifted ever so slightly. She kept on pushing, the crack of light slowly widening. A little more. Just a little more. There. Panting, she scrambled to her knees and began to wriggle through the tight crevice, uncaring of the rock scraping her boobs or her back. She wanted out.

  Tumbling out of the crevice, Stephanie rolled to a stop. Staring up at the purple sun, she revelled in the feel of its light warmth on her face, the fresh air caressing her bare skin, even if it did stink. She was free. Free to return to her Sisters, to the battlefield, to her old life.

  That hollow feeling in her chest expanded. Dread gripping her at the thought of spending the next few centuries hamstrung by Valkyrie Corporate Headquarters. Curtailing her bloodthirsty instincts because of legally binding contracts. Fighting faux battle after faux battle for birthday parties, anniversaries and corporate retreats. The endless small annoyances: scratchy towels, itchy sheets and sub-par basecamp conditions.

  Where would it all end?

  Before you know it, Headquarters would be rationing their ale. The horror.

  Stephanie would not stand for it. She would no longer swallow her discontentment. She needed a purpose, a real challenge if she wasn’t going to think about… no, don’t go there.

  What she needed was to kick some Corporate Headqua
rter asses. Make some noise. Demand Management step up and deliver better battlefield conditions. Put in place stricter quality controls in regards to their supplies. Actively pursue clients who needed an army of bloodthirsty, off-the-leash Valkyries at their backs. Uncaring of the resulting mayhem or mortality rates.

  Getting to her feet, Stephanie morphed away the steel capped boots, replacing them with runners, and began to steadily jog eastwards. Swapping out the jeans and long sleeved top for a t-shirt and shorts. The closer she got back to camp, the faster Stephanie found herself running.

  After just over an hour she began to hear the faint sounds of battle; the clash of swords, the cries of pain, the meaty thud of boots or fists connecting with flesh. The smell hit her next. Blood. Sweat. Dust. All so familiar. Then suddenly she was on the edges of the melee.

  Stephanie dove into the heaving throng. Using brute strength to carve out a pathway. Not even bothering to magic in her hatchets as she shoved, and kicked her way through the mass of fighters. Several of her Sister Valkyries called out her name in surprise and greeting but Stephanie only acknowledged them with a vague wave and kept on ploughing onwards through the slew of clashing bodies.

  Conflict Demons obviously didn’t know the meaning of the word surrender. They’d been getting their collective asses kicked by her Sisters for weeks now. Given how time worked differently on this plane she’d been missing for just over six. Yet the enthusiasm of the Conflict Demons for the madness and mayhem of battle didn’t appear to have waned one iota.

  Stephanie leapt, landing a kick to the jaw of a blonde Demon running straight at her, sword raised high. He hit the ground with a thud, sending red dust wafting upwards. Stepping on his back she ground her heel down deliberately hard, in order to express her disdain for the brief interruption to her mission.