am still seen as the baby of the family.
It was always the same. Maja was the youngest of the true Valkyries. The twelve true daughters of Odin made up the group of female fighters whose job was to claim the finest souls for their father.
There was a hierarchy among the ranks of the Valkyrie. For many centuries Odin’s daughters had been the only ones considered worthy to bear the title of shield maidens. As the population of the mortal realm grew and humans became more adept at finding ways to kill each other, Odin had widened the numbers of Valkyrie to include faeries, dryads and nymphs. Known as his stepdaughters, these new recruits were of lesser rank than Odin’s own flesh and blood.
Yet I am treated like a new recruit! Like a stepdaughter, rather than a true daughter.
Maja knew she was seen as a problem to be solved. She was that unheard of a rarity...a disobedient Valkyrie. Most of her rebellion took the form of minor insurgencies, such as wearing her helmet at the wrong angle or arriving for training a few minutes late. Now and then, however, she had been known to use the worst word of all. She had asked why. There were regular how-do-we-solve-a-problem-like-Maja conversations between Odin and Brynhild. They didn’t know what to do with their bad Valkyrie.
Maja had no idea why she was different. One of the difficulties about being the daughter of gods was that her parents were not exactly approachable. Growing up, she did her best to conform, tried to fight the desire to question why the Valkyrie way was the best way and accepted her punishment when she inevitably failed.
She was never given the same level of responsibility as her sisters, even though she had demonstrated her capabilities over and over. It made her more determined than ever to show them what she could do.
After some intense debate, she had worn Brynhild down. Even as she mounted her great winged steed, Magtfuld, Maja got the feeling her sister was indulging her, allowing her to have her own way, but not expecting anything of her. It infuriated her that Brynhild might think she wasn’t up to this simple task. She had arrived in Warda fired up and ready to take this American Lion back so she could lay his body in triumph at the feet of the Allfather.
It was intensely annoying to arrive at the location Brynhild had given her to be confronted by the wrong man. A living, breathing man. A man who, now that she looked more closely at him, dared to have a hint of amusement in his dark brown eyes alongside the perplexed expression he wore. It was as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
Those eyes made Maja pause. Maybe it was because she had never interacted with a living human being until now. Maybe it was because they were so incredibly beautiful. Whatever it was, she wished she had more time to spend looking into them.
When he fell, she experienced an unexpected dilemma. Her hand had actually twitched with the impulse to reach out and help him up. Luckily, he had hauled himself to his knees before she had forgotten herself and touched him.
“This has been fun.” He had to shout to be heard above the chaos around them. “But I think it’s time I was going.”
As he spoke, a group of men wearing dark clothing and carrying machine guns burst in through the damaged wall. They carried a white flag that bore a painted image of a hooded, grinning skeleton carrying a scythe. Putting his words into practice, the man darted out the open front door and into the main street of the small town. His action left Maja with a scant second in which to react. Since the American Lion was not where he was supposed to be, she should probably leave Warda right now. That would be the Valkyrie way. But the man had mentioned his brother. Did that mean he had further information? Was his brother the American Lion?
“Go to Brynhild.” She issued the order to her companions, ignoring their disapproving looks. She was the shield maiden in charge on this mission. They would not dare voice their reservations out loud. “Tell her I have been delayed, and that I will rejoin her at Valhalla later.”
Obediently, the two Valkyrie departed. The fighters who had entered the house paused in astonishment to watch the winged horses rise into the air. Within seconds, the Valkyrie and their steeds had become a swirling cloud. Less than a minute later, they had disappeared. Maja’s own horse would remain hidden in the shadows until she needed him.
Maja cast another glance around the damaged foyer. How could Brynhild have been so mistaken about this location? With a shrug and a swirl of her swan feather cloak, she ignored every prompting of her Valkyrie training and followed the man who had spoken of his brother out into the street. As long as she didn’t interact with him, or—the Norns preserve us—interfere in his future, what could possibly go wrong?
* * *
Adam glanced left and right as he exited the office building. Although he’d believed he’d blacked out back there, he now knew he hadn’t. In the same way, he knew his body hadn’t suffered any physical damage. He had been fully conscious when he’d imagined the Valkyrie, clearly suffering the effects of shock.
This was a living nightmare, and his subconscious was clearly responding with a subliminal message. Don’t worry. We’ll send a beautiful Valkyrie to the rescue. Just as he had been coping with that little treat for his senses, the arrival of a group of armed men bearing the dreaded Reaper flag—probably the most feared symbol in the world—had brought him sharply back to reality.
The terrorist organization known as the Reapers had risen to prominence in recent years, spreading its brand of hatred and fear across the globe. The Reaper himself, the shadowy leader of the group, was the most wanted man in the world.
Captured by the Reapers, the most feared killers on the planet? I don’t think so.
Now, Adam’s heart pounded against his rib cage and the hairs at the back of his neck stiffened until they felt like pins being driven into his flesh. The car in which he and Yussef had arrived was ablaze in the middle of the street. The roar and crash of grenades and the staccato sounds of gunfire were deafening. As he tried desperately to find a way out of this living hell, a small figure caught his attention and he paused, his eyes narrowing as he followed its progress through the dust and smoke.
The boy—Adam decided it was a boy—was bent almost double as he ducked inside a drainage ditch at the edge of the road, clutching something tightly to his chest. As he drew level with Adam, with only the span of the street separating them, another grenade went off, throwing the fleeing child off his feet.
Adam moved swiftly, closing the distance between them, sliding into the ditch and crouching beside the boy to inspect him for injuries. The child seemed stunned rather than maimed, and he gazed up at Adam with wide, uncomprehending eyes. As he checked him over, Adam saw that what the boy was carrying was a small dog. Despite the mayhem going on around them and the strangeness of the situation, the bedraggled canine licked Adam’s hand and wagged its tail.
Cradling the boy against his chest, Adam shielded him and the dog from the gunfire with his own body. From his size, he judged the child to be about eight years old.
“Where are you going?” He mimed a gesture to go along with the words.
“I speak English.” There was a trace of pride in the words. The boy pointed in the direction of the road out of town. “I go to the mission.”
Another grenade hit close by and Adam decided waiting around in a ditch wasn’t the best idea for either of them. Scooping up both the boy and his dog, he stayed low as he broke into a run. He had gone only a few hundred yards when the bullet hit him. Even though there was surprisingly little pain, he recognized what had happened instantly. It felt like someone had punched him hard in the back of his left shoulder.
I’ve really been shot this time. There should be more pain.
Blood, hot and sticky, began to pour down his back. The pain did hit then. Like a demon digging its claws gleefully into his muscles and sawing on his flesh with razor-edged teeth. As his vision blurred, Adam staggered and veered wildly across the road. Determinedly, he kept going. Getting the boy to safety was all that mattered.
“Let me help you.” The voice was cool, feminine and vaguely familiar. It