Page 51 of Ravenous

The griffin cocked its head, wings mantling wider, tail coiling.

“I think our friend grows frisky.”

“It will no’ tolerate us much longer,” Thane said. “Go. I’ll stay between you and it.”

“So protective.” She stepped out from behind him, amused. “Why offer yourself to defend me?”

“I canna draw a trajectory from two points,” he said, “but I fear the witch leaders are going downhill. You’re worse than Lazara. The next could be even worse than you.”

“Stop, you silver-tongued charmer! I can only get so aroused!”

Sharp look back at her with a grudging grin.

“Still,” she said, manner turning brisk, “I accept. If one of us must be mauled, I prefer it to be you.” She shrugged from his coat, kept it in hand, and sashayed down the mountain trail. The leather swung against her bare thighs and flicking tail; behind her came the low, helpless sound of a hungry wolf.

She smiled into the night.

Chapter 21Ven

“She’s been twitching like crazy!”

Ven glanced from Eyrun to the Valkyrie sealed in the glass coffin on the dais. Sure enough, the female’s fingers danced, as if she played a tune only she could hear.

All evening a gnawing sense had plagued Ven, a feeling that something unwelcome was headed their way. The twitching Valkyrie was yet more evidence. “Twitching doesn’t mean waking, Eyesore,” Ven said.

“I know. But she has to wake sometime.” Eyrun spent too much of her life in this tower, keeping vigil over their entombed sister—the so-called Coffin Valkyrie, the one who’d once predicted the wrath of gods and a place called the Skein. The one who’d spoken of a Lore of immortals who’d kept themselves secret in Gaia in a different lifetime.

This tower in Valhalland’s stronghold held their relics: theBook of Warriors, detailing the glories of their worthy sisters; talismans of battle, both won and stolen; and the Coffin Valkyrie’s gleaming breastplate and armor, waiting for her to rise again.

Some believed she’d awaken any day, sound the horn, and lead them to victory against all their foes.

Ven didn’t share their optimism about this particular sister. Unlike Eyrun and many of the second- and third-generation Valkyries here, Ven had met herbefore the Exile. Visions had interrupted her reality like continuous lightning in storm clouds.

Eyrun said, “She’s likelier to wake during an Accession, right? Why not this one?”

Some claimed she would reopen her eyes when the witch’s Awaited One came into power or when the Horde rose once more. Or when all the monsters in the Helter secured their freedom.

The claims sounded more like superstition, but superstition had claws in the Skein.

Ven studied the Valkyrie in the glass, her lustrous mane of black hair, color blooming beneath pale skin. Still heartbreakingly beautiful.

Right before the All-Battle had exploded, a lightning strike had felled her. They’d all assumed it was a divine favor from Freya and Wóden. Instead it’d been a coma, the deepest slumber.

As a shield-maiden, she didn’t need food or water, would live on as long as her sisters did. Their shared Valkyrie energy thrummed in all their bones, a collective heartbeat.

Tonight that pulse tightened with unease. Even the clang of swords from the training yard below sounded sharper, more agitated.

The Valkyries were still furious about the Red Riders’ ambush, but Battle-Ax Brigid had forbidden retaliation until they knew more about the Witchwood’s new high priestess.

Ven asked her sister, “What do you think about when you come up to this room?”

Eyrun faced her, honey-brown eyes solemn. “That she must have known this was coming.”

“She knew,” Ven agreed. “She couldn’t predict her own future, but she had to have seen a hole where her predictions should have been. She knew, and she sacrificed herself for a reason.”

“Makes you wonder how bad her foreseen future must’ve been.”

“Pretty bad,” Ven said grimly.