“Come on, Jude. Aren’t you going to greet your guest? I remember you saying something about wrecking my pretty face the next time you saw me.”
Heavy footsteps moved toward the door.
“I’ll get to you one way or another, Jude. If I were you, I’d answer my questions.”
No more movement sounded from inside the building.
They were prepared for me to burst through the front door, which meant it was the last thing I should do. I didn’t have time to continue dealing with this smartly, though. The captive was likely Freya’s cousin and not her, unless they had some kind of underground tunnel to bring her through. There were no witches or fae here that would have been able to erase her scent if they’d manhandled her through the front door.
Taking a few steps back, I lurched forward to kick in the door.
The wood cracked easily under the force, slamming back to bang against the wall behind it. Inside, five men stood in the entryway, waiting in an ambush, and I started to use the momentum of the kick to disable at least one guard.
Gaze catching on the fifth man, farthest away from the door, my step faltered and I tripped.
A brief flash of pain razed me as cool steel pierced my arm, my blood mixing with the mess of other scents covering me. Flames licked up the hem of my pants, burning the skin and heating my blood to boiling. Catching myself before I fell to the floor or onto someone’s blade, I jumped back with my gaze still fixed on the one guard.
He stood tall, at least six and a half feet, with wide shoulders and pure bulk. Every inch of him was muscular and primed for a fight, but it wasn’t fear of him beating me that stopped me short.
It was his weapon of choice.
An axe.
Long-handled and featuring designs from the Viking era, he kept a matching one strapped to his back while he held his main weapon at the ready.
I couldn’t stop the brief flashback to that fateful night when I’d been a Viking and had lost my life trying in vain to protect Sigrid and our children. He wasn’t the same man, but the situation was similar enough that I saw red.
Ignoring the flames creeping higher up my leg, ignoring all four other men in their attempts to disarm or kill me, I kept my gaze focused on the Viking. When I used my wings to propel myself toward him, I lost track of where I was. Who I was. I felt more like Aric than Shan, holding my stolen weapons and trying to take down someone bigger than me.
He dodged my initial attack with a loud curse, and the other men closed in behind me. Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice was warning me I’d done exactly what they’d hoped for and trapped myself in the house, but I didn’t listen to it. All I thought was to go for the heart or the head. Stab, parry, stab. Intense focus on the Viking.
A sharp pain bloomed in my lower back and I spun around with a growl, pulling out the offending blade. I threw it straight back to its owner, hitting him in the middle of the chest. The wound had made the sense of where I was blurrier. On my way to Sigrid, I’d been shot in the back with arrows. On my way to Freya now, it was swords coming at me from behind as I tried valiantly to save her.
This time, I wouldn’t lose or die.
I’d been praying for the chance to redo this moment ever since I first dreamed of it years ago. I’d pushed myself to my limits, put myself through hell so I’d never be weak again. My efforts would pay off.
My blade nicked the wrist of the Viking, causing him to lose his grip on the axe. With a grunt, he switched it to his other hand, but he was clumsy that way; out of practice. I grinned, ignoring the pain in my upper back. With my single-minded focus, my body was taking a beating from behind.
“You’re going to die this time,” I murmured the promise, lunging with my sword aimed at his other arm.
He had no idea what I was talking about, confusion flickering in his features. The seconds of thought cost him, my blade piercing his forearm. His axe fell to the ground and I scooped it up, sheathing my sword at my hip.
Limbs heavy, I swung the axe in a wide arc. One scream. A series of curses. Then, the satisfying shake through my arms as the blade embedded where I’d been aiming for. Right in the side of the Viking’s neck.
His shriek pierced the air, mixing with the ones in my memory. All the screams my friends, family, and fellow villagers had let out as their homes were burned to the ground and women taken hostage. I didn’t stop to check what damage I’d done to the other assailants. Pulling the axe from his body with no small amount of effort, I swung again. This time, it cleaved straight through his neck and his head fell to the ground, his body wobbling before it toppled beside it.
“No way you’re taking my fucking wife,” I said aloud, kicking his body once.
The haze of bloodlust faded, my injuries making themselves known as I refocused on the other men surrounding me. I’d nicked the neck of one with the swing of the axe. He was healing, but looked pale from the blood loss. Three others were staring at me with uncertainty, like they couldn’t figure out what to think of me or how to beat me.
My pants were completely incinerated from the thigh down, my skin shiny as it healed from the burns, and flames were still licking higher and higher. I didn’t bother to try putting out the fire. The only way to do that would be to kill the man creating it, which was one of the four still standing in front of me. Every new burn healed slower, every time the flames touched me hurt more, and my back was riddled with holes from where they’d attacked me from behind.
I shut it all out.
Axe in hand, I darted forward and went for the legs.
They’d been expecting me to go higher, weapons raised to parry, and I did some damage to the first two before the others realized I’d gone for a different tactic. I darted back on astonishingly quick feet, considering the damage I’d taken, and one man took the opportunity to shift.
