Mine roared out after battle. I had returned for her. I belonged to her.
Every rune on her blade glowed like the sun itself. The violet-colored magic that allowed me to wield her buzzed as if it was about to transcend into ultraviolet. My axe knew her purpose and she would avenge those in need of vengeance. She was the blazing blade of Salvation, brought forth with her sister sword from Nidavellir and forged in the fires of Mount Eldgjá. She cut a path through those who claimed righteousness but who brought only death and destruction.
I twirled her around my wrist and she sang her glory to the universe.
We would stand between our own and any Ragnarok, great or small, vampire or wolf. Fae or mundane. We were rage harnessed.
I dodged around Arne’s frozen sigil, arm up, and ready to slice through limbs and magic. Fae limbs. Arms and legs and neck of a royal who threatened my family. My mate.
Sal and I would sever these tentacles that threatened our elves and we would slaughter any who—
Slaughter.
One of the ewes baaed. She lifted her head high and she called into the magic that was this place. She touched the truth. She called out all that roamed inside this mirror place.
And she would not allow me to forget who I was.
I do not kill. I have never murdered. I would not kill. Even at my weakest, I understood not to cause irreparable harm. I would not cause someone else to become how I had been.
“No!” I dropped Sal. Again. I dropped her to the snow and I stepped back. “We can’t.” There’d be a cataclysm. A war.
Ragnarok. And I’d lose everything and everyone yet again.
I glanced at frozen Hrokr. It was supposed to be a thorn that precipitated the end times, not a lone Loki elf trying to help.
No one moved but the sheep. We were in the shadow lands, the place of twilight where Midgard bumped up against all the other realms. Ivan and Dracula had formed Vampland from the raw material here. All realms budded off the real world through this material, like little universes pushing though into their own regions of space and time.
We weren’t in a bubble. We were on a bubble. We were inside the veil itself. We were in a magical event horizon.
Hrokr had stopped us from moving into Titania’s realm, or any fae realm, and had accidentally allowed the mirror of this place to magnify my rage into flashing life inside my personal resonance chamber.
I had to get out of here. I had to, or the rage would take over again. I rubbed my temple and looked around. How was I supposed to get Ellie out of her mother’s magical grip?
“We do one killing,” Sal said. “We kill the spell.”
I looked down at her glowing runes and her ultraviolet handle. She spoke in a real, actual voice, or at least a voice that was real as this place allowed. She somehow modulated the air to make words that could be heard.
That voice had carried Dagrun-level authority.
“No killing, Salvation,” I said.
My father had framed me for several murders. I had my reasons for hating him. Legitimate reasons. He left stories and documents out in the world that, to this day, describe me as an eight-foot monster full of self-centered and self-absorbed pain and rage. He was the killer, not me.
If I killed, there’d be consequences. There were always consequences. Because the darkness might be a hole but it was never alone. It came with prison walls.
“Disrupt, then,” Sal said. “You can get the helpful fae magic away before the Queen comes fully through.”
“You’re helping now?” I asked.
Her runes pulsed. “Our King believes the fae magic to be of value.”
So Salvation helped for Arne’s sake, not mine.
I’d take what I could get. “We’re inside the veil itself.”
“We’re in the switching station,” Sal said. “We’re standing in the map. Once they’re here, they will realize their spells need rerouting. In here, that’s easy.”
My axe had the voice of an opera singer, or a goddess. One a person did not disobey.
If I got Ellie to the cottage before Titania realized what we were doing, the cottage would control where Ellie moved to, not her mother. I’d have a higher chance of remembering her after the fact—and figuring out where it took her.
Which meant I could find her.
“Are you going to do another deep dive into jealousy if we do this?” Because I’d find another way if I had even the slightest inkling that my axe might hurt Ellie.
Sal seemed surprised that I still cared so much, since my mate magic had disappeared.
A blip of rage blanked out my senses. There was no seeing Titania, or the elves, or Sal. No smelling the crystal-clear air here. No thought of consequences.
I almost snapped Sal’s handle in half.
She yipped and I caught myself. This place removed any and all moderation. It distilled, and when one of its modulated waves crashed into me, it crashed.
I dropped Sal yet again.
There was no chaos here, only rage looking for chaotic cover. I had to remember that. Breathe it. Feel it in place of my lost mate magic.
Sal’s warrior needs were not helping.
I shook my head and took a step toward Magnus. “Maybe the elves are carrying something that will work.”
“Wait!” Sal said. “Love isn’t only mate magic.” Her voice resonated.
“I don’t think you should be talking, Sal,” I said.
Swing me wide and I will disrupt the tentacle, she pushed into my head. I must warn you: It will hurt. “I will be unconscious for some time afterward,” she said.
If it would knock her unconscious, it meant snapping the tentacle would release a lot of energy. What about Arne and Magnus? “Will this hurt the elves?”
She paused. Our King and his Second can take care of themselves, she thought-said. She paused again. They will process this place in a way not unlike how you
