Authors: Kristi Jones
Valkyrie's Kiss
Evernight
Publishing
Copyright© 2014 Kristi Jones
ISBN:
978-1-77130-733-8
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor:
Karyn
White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or
distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
VALKYRIE’S KISS
Rise of the Valkyrie, 2
Kristi Jones
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
I wanted to
kiss him the moment I laid eyes on him, but of course that was the one thing I
most definitely could not do.
The young
girl with the AK-47 held him steady in her sights. I watched him kneel and
carefully lay his weapon down, the ease of his movements stealing my breath.
His face was hidden behind a pair of tinted sunglasses, his body encased in
Army green and tan fatigues, but I could see his strong chin and tanned skin.
He knelt
opposite the girl, unmoving. In this place of swirling dust and daily eruptions
of gunfire and explosions, his complete and utter stillness was captivating
—
the sound of shouting retreated and fell away. Automobiles
and trucks on the nearby supply road quieted. The very air seemed to halt, the
dust falling to the ground like litter.
The
American soldier said something. I was too far away to hear the words, but
their tone, even at a distance, was calm and soothing. The girl rocked on her
feet, but kept the muzzle of the gun leveled at his chest. Tears ran down her
dirty cheeks, mixing with
rivulets
of sweat dripping
from her dark hair, giving her face a Madonna-like sheen.
I moved
closer, crouching behind the cars parked along the street. There were no
passengers, no drivers, and no pedestrians on this lonely street just outside
of Kandahar. The residents had either fled or were hiding behind closed
curtains.
The girl
had every intention of killing. I could see it in her eyes. They weren't the
eyes of a young girl, but the eyes of a soldier who had seen too much death. I
have seen those eyes on countless battlefields over the years. I saw it in the
eyes of the soldiers sinking and rotting in the mud at Passchendaele, in the
jungles of Guadalcanal, and in the blood soaked snow of Stalingrad. After more
than a hundred years of service, I knew the look of battle fatigue all too
well.
Courage,
true courage, on the other hand, is something I rarely see.
I will
admit that my job has gotten more complicated over the past seventy years. I
haven't seen it this bad since the Second World War. Not because atrocities
haven't happened in the past seventy years. Of course they have, but Valkyries
are restricted to battlefields only. Our job is to find the courageous,
selfless heroes of armed conflict. If and when we find such individuals, we
have the power to mark them for Valhalla where they will live out their days
pampered and feted like royalty.
But heroes
are hard to come by, and civilians keep muddying the waters. Like the misguided
young girl facing off against an American soldier.
Standing in
the shelter of a bombed out apartment complex, I scanned the area for enemy
activity. I saw only pockmarked concrete walls warming in the sun. Smoke
stained the distant skyline where earlier an OH-58 Kiowa Warrior helicopter had
gone down.
“
Drop
your weapon!" The deep-throated scream of an American soldier barreled
through the tense morning air.
I'd been so
fixated on the surreal scene playing out before me that I
’
d failed to notice an American squad moving into the sun
soaked street. Like lions circling, half a dozen United States soldiers fanned
out, taking up positions behind their defenseless comrade.
The girl
swung her weapon wildly, finally settling her aim on one of the soldiers to her
right.
My
courageous hero pulled off his sunglasses with slow, deliberate hands. I could
see he had vibrant green eyes. His gaze was frank, open, and filled with
compassion, not fear. He waved his arms, trying to draw the girl's attention
back, trying to save his buddies, no doubt.
Then I saw
It
.
Death
waited across the street. It was dressed in the long white robes of a Muslim
cleric. I didn't think twice. Suddenly I was in the air, leaping between the
girl and the captivating man with the kind eyes and empty hands.
I landed
seconds before the girl's finger pressed the trigger, taking one round in the
shoulder, one in the back. I felt their sting as the bullets tried to penetrate
my skin.
The
fearless soldier's eyes went wide. He lunged for me. "Get down! Get
down!"
The pack of
soldiers behind us scattered, running for cover. The girl fired off another
volley, hurrying their escape.
I turned
and knocked the weapon from the girl's grasp, the power of my swing wrenching
the object from her hands. She clasped her arms in pain. The AK-47 went flying
until it was a mere speck of black against the blue sky. The girl's blank stare
turned to wide-eyed fear.
"Run!"
I said in Arabic. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I saw the smoldering fear
ignite. She blinked, glanced at the man behind me, and bolted. I watched her
disappear into the remnants of the city block, a deadly waif fortunately leaving
her weapon behind.
"What
are
you?"
I turned
back. My hero was looking at me, confusion wrinkling his strong brow.
"What are you doing? What are you?" he asked again.
He looked
at the blood on his hands. I could feel the skin on my back tightening. The
healing had already begun.
He tried to
get to his feet, never taking his eyes off me. I could feel Death closing in.
I pulled my necklace out from under my t-shirt. It
was made of the finest silver, forged in the fires of Odin’s smithy at
Asgard
. The silver wings represented the flight of the
Valkyrie, and I used this talisman as a conduit for my limited powers.
"I'll
explain later," I said, enveloping him with my body.
“
Trust me.
”
"
Wha
—
"
I held my
hand over the soldier's eyes, pressing the silver wings against his lips and muttered
the spell that would slip him into a safe sleep. I only hoped my body was
enough to block my furtive action from Death as
It
approached.
"How
dare you interfere with my business here?" Its voice sounded like truck
tires on gravel.
I looked
up. It stood over me, eyes blazing.
"What
business?" I
said,
my crouching body the only
thing standing between my soldier and Death. "No one is dead here."
"That
girl was mine."
"Apparently
not," I said, lifting my chin. I was on my knees, shielding my unconscious
warrior. It was not a position of power and not one I often found myself in.
A Valkyrie
looking for heroes has no business with Death. It is a creature of numbers. It
wants souls, as many as
It
can get.
Quantity
over quality, every time.
This, of course, makes us natural enemies.
Death looked only to rack up the numbers, to claim as many souls as possible,
and every soul a Valkyrie marked for Valhalla was one soul fewer for Death to
take, one fewer notch in
Its
belt of triumph over
life.
"I
want that one," Death said, kneeling in the dirt, craning his neck to see
my spoils. He brought a pocket cloud of coldness with him.
"He'll
live," I said, wrapping my arms around my unconscious soldier.
"The
girl was mine," It said again, licking cracked lips. Its eyes bored into
mine. I swallowed back my revulsion. Death couldn't hurt me, not physically,
but
Its
very presence radiated emptiness, a yawning,
ice-cold void that could drive even the immortal mad.
"Well,
go get her then."
"You
know I can't follow her now."
"Not
my problem."
"It
might be," Death said, a smile playing across
Its
lips, like the curling of a snake across a rock face. "You broke the
rules."
"You
don't know what you're talking about."
"You
protected him," Death said. "That's against the rules, and you know
it."
"Not
if..." I faltered. I didn't know how much Death knew of our code of
conduct. It was unwise to give Death too much information.
"Not
if you mark him?" Death said, anticipating me. "So do it then."