Page 160 of Valkyrie Unknown

The boy let out a yell that was the worst, most tortured sound I’d ever heard.

I jerked away, and peddled back on my hands and feet and butt, not wanting to make things worse.

Forty-Three

Davyn

The tasteof war hung heavy in the air, singing my name as I raced beside Starkad.Battle. I sensed it when I found Azzie and Finn.Fight. The scent had lingered in my nostrils since, tempting and calling to me.Happy.

The beast ached to be a part of it, especially with other warriors. Another Berserker. An ally.Wolf friend foe.

That was a great way to describe Starkad.

The chorus of battle drew us toward what looked like a low-hanging black cloud in the distance. As the hoard rushed us, it was easy to see the swarm of metamoura as individual threats rather than a single enemy. Dozens of them.

The creatures were an ancient sort of vampire, but once one of them drained their prey, the victim died, and the creature became a clone of them, rising up to take their place. Several flew in to sink their teeth into us, and I batted them aside without pause.

Azzie better not be facing these. She could take care of herself, and I trusted her in combat. However, she was still mortal.

Still mortal.

The thought clashed with the rest of my mind.

She was powerful. More competent than many gods I’d known.

Not strong enough for this. Pack. Family.

A metamoura latched onto my arm and sank its teeth deep, and my bear roared in irritation, rushing to the surface. I couldn’t lose myself completely to the Berserker, but I let enough out to grasp his strength, and dove deeper into combat.

“What are you doing?” Starkad’s voice was in my head as the two of us tore our way through the nuisance. If I didn’t hear his words spoken aloud, he was full Berserker… but still in control enough to form full sentences?

“Fighting.” This wasn’t skill. More see. Smack. Kill. Stick and move.

Starkad wasn’t family. Not pack. I liked side-by-side combat with him, though.

Azzie.

Safe. Away from here.

I sank my teeth into a metamoura, snapping it and tossing it aside.

Starkad moved fast through the mess. “Stop holding back.”

A screech filled the air. A shadow passed over us.Dragon. The thought made me look up. Huge leathery wings beat the air. Flame mirrored in its scales.

Dragons didn’t fight in wars. They already knew the outcomes. Didn’t care.

Another bite yanked me to the fight. All that mattered. The fight. The kill. The celebration and the next fight.

The metamouras were all dead. We needed the next fight. Starkad knew where, and I followed.

When was the last time I’d seen metamouras? The clear question jammed its way through my bear’s insistence I keep chasing and killing.

Malsumis.

Azzie. Fight.

What? The clash of rational thought and Berserker gnawing to be free stopped me in my tracks.

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