Chapter Thirty-One

Blanco glared at him and pulled the trigger, as Trace knew he would. There was no way he was going to let Trace walk out of the villa, not after all this.

“It’s okay,” Trace turned to look at Laila. “It’s going to be…”

His mouth went dry as the bullets entered his chest, each punching him hard enough to drop him to his knees.

Guess being one of Odin’s bastards doesn’t mean much now.

Laila shouted something in a foreign language and lunged at the arms dealer.

Blanco fired before she could reach him, emptying the rest of the magazine into her.

With a scream, Laila charged on, stabbing him through the heart with her sword. She let go of the blade as Blanco fell back against the hospital bed, his hands clasped around the impaling steel. His grandfather made a moaning sound as he grabbed at his dying grandson, withered hands futilely trying to get a grip.

The world slowed down around him as Trace reached out for Laila, unable to rise.

She turned to Trace, taking a few staggering steps before her eyes closed and she collapsed next to him. He saw a half-dozen bullet holes in her dark sweater, the soggy fabric hiding the damage—but he knew it was there, as sure as he knew his own injuries.

He glanced up at the portal and the dark sky visible through the hole in the ceiling. For a second, he saw a mighty tentacle rise over them, an angry black silhouette against the lightning sparking the clouds behind it…

Then it withdrew.

The massive canine paw rose, and for one terrifying second, Trace thought it was going to reach out for them…but it retreated back into the darkness, a whine signaling the Wolf’s retreat.

There was nothing left for him here.

He pulled Laila into his arms with the last of his strength, cradling her in his lap. The rumbling through the floor slowed and vanished, leaving only the remains of the villa around them. The dark clouds visible through the holes in the ceiling and windows retreated to show a bright sunny day.

Laila’s eyes opened, the sudden clarity startling him.

“The spear…” she whispered.

“It’s okay.” He stroked her cheek. “We took care of it.”

She drew a shallow breath and pressed her palm against his chest in a vain attempt to stanch the blood loss. “You’re bleeding.”

“So are you.”

It was getting hard to breathe, the weight on his chest increasing.

“Listen to me. Listen—I love you, Laila. I love you more than life itself,” he said, pressing his lips to hers for one last time. “If you can sneak away from Valhalla, come visit me in Helheim.”

“I will,” her faint whisper came. “No one will stop me.”

She went limp in his arms, and the world narrowed to a crimson tunnel as Trace pulled back and closed his eyes, surrendering to the inevitable.

“I wouldn’t stop her.” The soft voice startled him.

The pain in his chest vanished, urging him to open his eyes.

A woman stood in front of them, her long, loose blonde hair falling over her shoulders as she looked down. Music reached his ears—a classic composition of some sort, the sweeping sound of violins overhead.

Blanco let out a keening cry as he lay on the hospital bed in his grandfather’s arms, the bloodstain spreading across his shirt from the fatal wound. He gripped the blade and painfully, slowly, pulled the sword out to toss it to the side.

The dark portal had disappeared, leaving no sign it’d ever been there—other than the holes in the ceiling and the thick chunks of cement embedded in the living room floor.

Trace looked up to see three women descending from above, passing through solid matter as if it was nothing.

Not women, he corrected himself.

Valkyries.

He let out a soft gasp, seeing them in their full glory for the first time. He hugged Laila tight, her unmoving body stiff in his grip.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmured. “I wish I could see you like this…”

The multicolored wings spread out from their shoulder blades, majestic and almost blinding as they hovered over the battlefield. Gold and silver breastplates shone in the light, helmets hiding their faces from plain view.

Each of them held a lance like the one he’d snapped.

They encircled Trace and Laila, spears by their sides.

The woman standing in front of him gave a solemn nod, and they went to work, moving in and out of view as Trace stayed focused on the goddess.

There was no one else it could be.

Freyja.

“Yes.” She nodded. “You guess correct, Odin’s son.” Something passed across her face, an emotion Trace couldn’t fully identify.

Sadness? Anger? Envy?

“But I don’t want to talk to just you.” She reached down and touched Laila’s forehead, a soft smile on her face. “Rise, little one. Your mission here is done.”

A surge of heat shot through the body in his embrace, so intense he struggled to keep his hold on her. As he fought the urge to let her go, the burning shot up his arms and into his veins, scorching him inside and out. But it didn’t hurt—at least, not in a way he expected.

He’d gotten caught in a whirlpool years ago in Utah—a strong current sucking him down, pulling him toward the bottom. A peaceful feeling had come over Trace in the heated water, the warmth seducing the very life out of him.

It’d only been a last-minute grab by Aisha that had saved him, yanking him free from the vortex. When he’d come up out of the water, it’d been like bursting out of a sauna into a snowstorm, the cold air searing his lungs even as his heart raced as if making up for lost time.

This…this was like that, multiplied a thousandfold. The flash fire in his veins snapped to ice, the jolt shocking him back to life.

He felt…reborn.

Laila’s eyes shot open, bright and dark. She stared at Trace for a long second, a weak smile emerging. She reached up with trembling fingers to touch his cheek, prompting him to lean into the caress.

“I must say, I never thought you’d get in so much trouble.” Freyja knelt in front of the pair. “I underestimated your abilities. Both of you.”

Trace buried his face in Laila’s dark hair, dropping a light kiss atop her head.

“Enough of that. We have to talk.” Freyja extended both hands. “Arise. There’s still work to be done.”

Laila stayed in his arms, staring at her. “I failed you.”

“Yes. And no.” Freyja cocked her head to one side. “As you can see, I called for more than one of your sisters today—it’s good for them to see a victory against the Wolf.”

As Laila took the offered hand and got up, Trace looked around, taking stock of the strange new world he was now a part of.

The women moved in and out of sight, their wings carrying them to where he assumed the casualties lay.

Blanco’s men.

One Valkyrie hovered not too far from where he stood, just above the overturned couch. He watched her lean down with a weapon identical to the one he’d broken not long ago, likely touching the severely wounded or dead man.

A ghostly visage rose out from behind the couch, looking very much like one of the gunmen taken down earlier, dressed in the dark shirt and slacks that made up the unofficial Blanco uniform. The Valkyrie whispered something to him, so low that Trace couldn’t hear.

The confused look on the man’s face turned to a frown and then to a silent scream as he threw his hands up in front of his face, gesturing wildly.

The Valkyrie said nothing as she rose with the ethereal image, staying with the man. She drew a glyph in the air with her lance, the golden symbol flashing bright in the air.

Then she was gone, taking the man with her.

“Where are they going?” He knew the answer already but had to ask.

“She is taking him to his eternal reward. For a majority of those here, it will be Helheim.” Freyja answered. She held both of Laila’s hands in hers. “We do not decide where they end up. Their fate is what they chose for themselves, based on their actions throughout their life. As is yours.”

He cleared his throat, getting to his feet. “I’m ready to go.”

Laila let out a soft gasp, moving to his side. His arm went around her, pulling her close as he tried to memorize the way she smelled, how she felt.

It’d be a long time before he saw her again.

A Valkyrie hovered nearby, her wings keeping her aloft with short, light beats. She didn’t approach him, not yet.

Laila leaned in, pressing her face against his neck.

“There is something else I must deal with first.” Freyja turned to the two Blanco men, a scowl marring her beautiful features.

Blanco glared at Freyja, defiant to the end as he stood in front of his grandfather, his fatal wounds held in stasis for the moment. Obviously, the gift of extended life had fallen on the Blanco men as well.

“Step aside.” She returned his stern look with interest, the intensity nearly palpable.

Laila began to move, but Freyja stopped her with a wave. She took a step forward, her gaze aimed squarely at Daniel.

“I would have words with your grandfather.” Her eyes narrowed. “Then, I’ll get to you.”

Blanco scowled as he stood in defense of the senior.

The Valkyrie hovered nearby, spear at the ready.

Freyja continued her concentrated focus on the arms dealer, staring at him.

“He is my family,” Blanco said in a hushed voice. “Love for family is not a sin.”

“That is true. To a degree. It will be noted, in your defense.” She flicked her hand to the side. “Now, let me talk to him.”

Blanco closed his eyes and nodded, stepping aside and allowing her access. “He is all I have.”

As Freyja approached Jacob, the senior sat up, his back ramrod straight in defiance. His hands gripped the metal bars of the bed as he faced the goddess.

“You are the cause of all of this.” She pointed at the older man. “You for stealing the artifact in the first place, and letting your grandson think he could make a deal with the Fenris Wolf. This folly could have been avoided if only you had chosen a better path, one that didn’t destroy lives on so many levels.” She shook her head. “So much potential wasted on hate and revenge, greed and want.”

The senior glared at her, indignant and proud in his hospital gown.

“And you,” she scoffed, looking at Daniel. “I don’t need to detail your criminal activities. They’ve been well-documented—this is just another addition to that long list.”

Daniel opened his mouth as if to speak, then paused.

“Save your words. Your crimes condemn you both.” She crooked a finger at the Valkyrie standing by. “Take them where they belong, where they have chosen to go with their deeds and actions.” Her attention focused on the Blancos. “We shall meet again at Ragnarök, many years from now, despite your attempts to bring it forward. But until then, you’ll have time to contemplate your various sins against the good men and women of this world.”

Before either man could move, the Valkyrie flew in closer, covering the pair with her kaleidoscope wings.

Trace closed his eyes—no matter how badly he hated the Blancos, he had no wish to see this. The high-pitched screams pierced his ears for a few seconds before diminishing, as if the owners were traveling down a long tunnel away from him.

He came back to see the lifeless bodies of both Blanco men lying on the hospital bed, their faces frozen in horror. The Valkyrie was nowhere in sight, having left with the two souls.

Laila let out a knowing sigh, holding him tight.

“It is finished.” There was no satisfaction in Freyja’s voice, only a trace of sadness.

She looked at the couple, a soft smile replacing her hardened looks. “Now back to what we were discussing before. Tell me, Trace Dyson—one of Odin’s sons—why do you think you deserve to be sent to Helheim, to spend eternity there until called forth for Ragnarök?”