Prologue

“Where is she?” Jora Brynhild, leader of the Valkyries, strode through the halls of Valhalla, her feathered cape slapping against her legs.   

“She was in her room–.”

Jora pushed past the Valkyrie who’d been charged with keeping an eye on Jora’s sister–to stop her from doing something foolhardy. Rune stones covered the small bedside table. A note lay propped against a pillow.

A fist gripping her heart, Jora snatched up the piece of vellum and turned so the light was to her back, illuminating her sister’s ornate script.  

    I love the Valkyries, but I love my daughters more. The ErlKing is coming.

   Halda

Jora crushed the letter in her hand. Her sister was the first half-Norn Valkyrie. With the Norn talent for seeing the future, Halda had become a key tool in the Valkyries’ battle against the ErlKing.

Halda’s note left no doubt in Jora’s mind that the ErlKing was on his way to take what Halda, what all the Valkyries, valued more than anything, Geysa and Runa, Jora’s nieces.

“Gather the others. We fly immediately.”

Halda’s guard hurried from the room. Jora listened to her yells, to the sounds of weapons being grabbed and horses readied. She started to follow, but paused to calm her racing heart and regain the iron control the Valkyries expected of her.

She wouldn’t let her sister sacrifice herself. If the ErlKing was targeting Geysa and Runa, she would stop the otherworldly hunter from getting his prey–somehow. It was her job. She was leader of the Valkyries.

She closed her eyes and fought a wave of doubt. Had the choices she had made so far had been the right ones? It had been her responsiblity to stop the ErlKing and his pack of vile hellhounds from stealing the spirits of the dead, spirits meant for Valhalla. And, with Halda’s help, the Valkyries had been able to cut off most of his efforts, known where the ErlKing would appear early enough to get there first. But their success had come at a cost. Halda’d had a vision days earlier, this one showing the ErlKing–not stealing spirits but Halda herself.

Jora had sought to save her sister by confining her, but she hadn’t thought to call back her neices from their visit to their Norn relatives.

And now it appeared Halda’d had a second vision. Halda’s daughter were the Hunt’s new targets.

Jora stared down at the crushed paper in her hand. If anything happened to the girls, or her sister, it would be her fault.

She had to stop him.

# # #

The wind howled around Halda, whipping hair across her face. She shoved it from her eyes, ignored the pinpricks of pain where it had snapped against her cold skin.

The smell of damp leaves and dirt engulfed her. The woods. The human woods. She’d never been here. The Valkyries didn’t venture into the human world with the regularity of the Norns, and Halda’s mother hadn’t allowed her to visit her Norn relatives.

How Halda wished she’d placed the same restrictions on her daughters.

With stiff fingers she tugged at the leather ties of her feathered cloak, let the cape fall to the ground. She wouldn’t need it any longer. She’d leave it for Jora to find, for her eldest daughter to inherit. After a second’s thought, she tugged at the chain around her neck, felt the metal give. She pressed a kiss to the tiny charm attached there, then placed chain and charm gently atop the cloak. Rising back to a stand, she glanced around.

It was dark, like always when the Hunt arrived. The ErlKing was here, hunting her children. She’d stop him–from that. The runes had told the tale. He would lose what was most precious to him.

An equal exchange for what the Valkyries would lose tonight.

No choice, no escape. 

Halda pulled free the blade she’d stored in her boot. Wrapped her fingers around the hide-covered handle and closed her eyes. She would turn the hunt back to her, then use the weapon.

The ErlKing’s pack wouldn’t survive this night.

But then, neither would she.

Chapter 1

  The peal of a horn pierced into Venge Leidolf–stopping the breath he was about to take, freezing every movement but the beat of his heart. He felt himself being swept away, his human body still standing in a dark street of the human world, but his hellhound spirit traveling…following the horn’s call.

He landed somewhere dark. A biting wind howled around him and shoved against his fur. He padded forward. Packed dirt scratched the bottoms of his paws. The scent of prey, sweat, and blood filled him–a heady potion that urged him to run again, faster, until his feet left the ground and he flew through the clouds. Other hounds pressed against him, all hungry and driven to find whoever or whatever left the irresistible trail of adrenaline and fear they followed.

The noise stopped, and the vision faded with it…releasing Venge. His gaze darted around the dark street, searching for whomever…whatever manned the instrument, but the streets were empty. Venge pulled in a breath and waited. Waited for the call to sound again…for the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain to wrap around him, twist through his very soul. Waited because he had nothing else to do, no where else to go.

When it came, he was ready. This time the call was softer–less demand, more offer, a promise. Venge’s heart beat faster; his nostrils flared. Come, run, hunt, be free…the horn whispered. The call licked at Venge, stoked his desire to give in, to follow. And with nothing to hold him, no reason to care whether he lived or died…he didn’t resist; he shimmered.