Page 20 of Valkyrie Song

I throw my arm out in front of her, halting her in her tracks as my eyes quickly pick out another, thicker shadow at his feet. Another wolf. Only this one isn't moving.

Kara notices the second animal at the same time and cries out softly, a broken sound of distress and horror. She rips herself free of my hold, stumbling forward.

"Kara, nei!" I warn her. "Don't touch him."

"Oh, Stephan." She jerks to a stop as her Light falls on the wolf at Ing's feet. It's badly injured, blood staining his muzzle. One leg is badly deformed, as if it were broken in multiple places.

But the…stench…coming from it is sickeningly familiar. It's subtle, so faint I doubt we'd notice it at all if the animal weren't losing blood so rapidly. But this close, with his blood all over him, there's no mistaking it.

"Don't touch him, Valkyrie. That smell is varulv poison."

She turns wide eyes in my direction, horror stamped across her beautiful face. "Varulv? In Valhalla?"

I nod grimly, glancing at Ing, who still paces restlessly around his fallen packmate. "Can you ask him what happened?"

Kara takes a tentative step toward Ing, lifting her hand toward him. He darts out of the shadows like a streak, pressing up against her thigh. Her fingers sink into the thick fur of his coat, a soothing noise whispering from her throat.

I take another step toward the wolf lying in the mud and muck, keeping my eyes on him. But he isn't getting up again. The poison running through his veins will kill him soon if his injuries don't.

For centuries, the Forsaken twisted the minds of shifters, subjugating their souls. What was left behind wasn't man and wasn't wolf. It was something else—something born of the Dark. The varulv are more demon than anything, and until Tori Healed Reaper of a bite, they killed everything they sank their teeth into.

I'd call her now…but she won't get here in time. No one will.

"Oh, Ing," Kara whispers, her shoulders shaking as she cries softly.

He chuffs mournfully, his grief obvious.

"He says his pack was hunting and they stumbled onto the Dark Ones. The Dark Ones attacked from all sides. They tried to fight them off, but every time his packmates bit one, somethinghappened to them." She wipes tears, her bottom lip quivering. "They howled like they were burning alive. He and…" She pauses for a moment. "His n-name means rider of the hunt, but that's not entirely right. It's a specific hunt. It feels almost…sacred? I'm not sure."

"Oskoreia," I murmur. "The Wild Hunt."

Ing chuffs as if in recognition.

"Yes, that's it," Kara says. "Oskoreia."

Jesus Christ. I glance back at the dying wolf, my blood running cold. I've never much believed in signs and symbols, but I've heard the Fae talk of Oskoreia. Odin only ever called for the Hunt before war. Those who witnessed it knew it meant war was on the horizon and began their preparations.

If this is meant to be a sign that we're running out of time, it's a giant flaming arrow pointing toward the end.

"He managed to get away without being bitten, but he says the Dark Ones attacked Rider as they were fleeing. Rider managed to make it here before…" she trails off, her shoulders shaking again.

I stride forward, pulling her into my arms as she cries quietly. There are varulv in Valhalla. Gods. How did we miss it? Is that what the Forsaken have been trying to do? Not access the Bifröst themselves but get their hellhounds across the border?

I don't know, but I don't like it.

"How many were there, princess? Can you ask him?"

Kara sniffles and nods before pulling back to communicate with Ing. A second later her brow furrows. "That can't be right," she mumbles.

"What?"

"Wolves don't count, so I could be wrong, but I think he's saying there were two times as many as were in his pack."

I glance down at the wolf, my gaze sharp. "How many were in his pack, Valkyrie?"

"Seven."

Jesus. If she's right, there are at least fourteen varulv in Valhalla. Fourteen chances for the Forsaken to strike. And they could be anywhere. Valhalla is miles and miles of forests and valleys and rivers. Even if every warrior inside its borders searches, it'll take days. Weeks, even.

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