Page 43 of Valkyrie Unknown

I had no idea what any of the characters meant, only that some were never-ending lines and others were straight, sharp angles that cut off abruptly. They meantsomething, though.

That was one of the things I learned first about myself when all this crashed into my life. The person who taught me smithing also taught me how to do enchantments, and I hadn’t realized it. Apparently, I was one of the few non-elf or fae people in the world with the ability to forge and repair their weapons.

As the design grew more detailed, I fell deeper into the creation process. When I was like this, nothing mattered but the art. I could ignore prophecies I didn’t want to be a part of. I could ignore the dull ache of pain from losing Mom. Yes, it had been years ago, and she and I had our disagreements—I didn’t give a fuck who my sperm donor was—but she’d always been there for me. Until right before my twentieth?—

“Hey.” A familiar voice yanked me out of a hole I didn’t want to be tumbling into. Finn pointed at the art without touching the page. “You do that, and you’ll summon powers you don’t mean to.”

I forced myself to chuckle. “What, like a god or something?”

Finn was both the reason I was losing my mind and my other link to sanity, outside of my art. He’d come along when I was at my lowest.

And saved me by cursing me with the knowledge that I was supposed to be a god. I didn’t want to be a part of that bullshit.

“I sure as fuck hope not. You don’t want a god in your debt,” he said.

I’d make a joke aboutI’m in your debt, but he didn’t think stuff like that was funny. He swore I didn’t owe him, but if the wrong fate overheard me, suddenly it would be true.

Instead, I asked, “What does it really do?”

“I don’t know. It’s your design.”

“Does it say anything?” If I worked without intention, what came of the experience was always a surprise.

“Pretty sure it says,Don’t mishandle my weapon unless you want me to shoot my load.”

Finn wasn’t anything like I expected a god to be. Not that I’d spent a lot of time thinking about gods before I met him, beyond the vengeful AR-15-wielding savior so many of the people in my past pledged their allegiance to. But Finn didn’t want to be worshiped, and he didn’t demand attention when he walked in a room.

He made a lot of dick jokes, and he liked to fuck.

I could appreciate that, and my laugh came more easily this time. “I’m thinking it doesn’t say that.”

“Then you have to make it and find out what it means. There’s probably protection in there, as well as connection,” he said.

That was a safe guess, since it seemed I worked both of those things into most of what I made. I set the sketch aside, to give him my attention. “What’s up?”

He slid into the space between me and the desk and scooted up to sit on the empty spot on the table. Placing a boot on my chair, between my legs, he nudged me back to look me in the eye. “That’s my line,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

I shook my head. When he came into my life, he told me,hey, you’re half a prophecy and so am I. There’s another person like you out there. Equal but opposite. You’re going to kill them to become a god. Or they’ll kill you. But that second one isn’t happening, because you have me.“Same old same old.”

Because I slipped into those thoughts too often. I had no desire to become a god, especially if it meant killing someone else to get there. I wanted to enchant objects withprotectionandconnectionon them, each its own work of art.

Finn twisted his mouth.

“I swear, if you tell me I’ll learn to accept my fate…” I let the thought trail off, not having a threat to go with it. We had this conversation too often.

“No. I’m done with that.”

Uh-huh.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Finn’s assurance was nice, but he’d figure out a new angle in a couple of days. A new way to try to convince me my future would bekill or be killed.

Not that I minded most of what he said. He taught me so much, and it had been hard to believe at first. That there was real magic in the world. That even that hadn’t been enough to save Mom?—

“After all this time, you’re out of words?” I teased.

“Fuck you, pretty boy.” His tone was playful too. He slipped from the table, to lean in and brush his lips over mine.

Had I traded one distraction for another? Given up drinking for incredible sex? I’d like to thinkno, but getting physical was Finn’s go-to when I shut down, so maybe.

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