Now, the remaining twenty-five combatants worked together. Immortals against humans, the immortals trapped inside an icy mountain valley, unable to leave until the conclusion of the meeting. Yet, their assailants could move in and out at will.
Metal clashed against metal, the scent of blood permeating the frigid breeze. Grunts, groans and bellows echoed, the battle as savage as the terrain. Above, streaks of green and purple lit up the night sky.
Ignoring the throbbing pain in his stitched shoulder, Bane swiped up a discarded sword and lopped off a mortal’s head. Since battling Valor, the wound in his shoulder had only worsened. Blood loss winded him far too easily, and slowed his reflexes.
Footsteps. Challengers approached at a clipped pace. The beast roared, enraged, thirsty for blood and hungry for flesh. As usual.
Calm, steady. If Bane transformed, he would slaughter the vikings, yes, but also the combatants, winning the war before he’d found the Terran princess. If that happened, he would remain bound to Aveline.
Unacceptable! Her downfall trumped everything. Right now, the vikings were obstacles in his path. Obstacles got mowed down.
Bane twisted and lurched. He ripped out one man’s throat with his teeth, and punched into the other man’s chest cavity, removing his heart. An action that pained his own heart, reminding him of the worst day of his existence.
Inner shake. Blank your mind. Another viking raced toward him, an ax raised and ready. But, just before they collided, an arrow pierced the man’s eye, and he dropped.
“Thank you,” he grumbled.
Emberelle of Loandria nodded and pivoted to unleash a volley of arrows upon the mortals outside the circle.
Usually she fought with a viking sword. She must have known she’d need a different method today. Possible. From home, she’d brought a metal band that fit over her forehead and allowed her to read the minds of anyone around her. Early on, she’d won a pair of wrist cuffs that might or might not grant the wearer the ability to time travel. Weapons Bane could utilize.
He placed her at the top of his hit list. Find the princess, make my kills.
When the skylights brightened, reflecting off the ice, his eyes burned and watered. He cursed. He’d left his goggles in his lair, knowing there would be a battle at the assembly’s conclusion; there was always a battle after an assembly. In the chaos, weapons were often lost, stolen or destroyed.
Should have risked it.
Another mortal approached, brandishing an ax, and the beast fought harder for release, sending a lance of pain through his temples. Bane blocked the human’s swing, spun and clawed out his trachea.
Behind him, a war cry sounded. Again, he spun and blocked—a plunging seax this time. Bane rammed his claws through the male’s torso, ripping out his intestines.
No time to rest. The next challenger arrived. In a (literal) snap, Bane ripped off his arms—and used them as clubs.
A horn erupted, blaring through the mountains. The vikings went still before rushing backward, forming a circle around the combatants, remaining outside the strike zone.
A male wearing a horned helmet split from the group and stalked closer. Blood smeared his tanned skin, scars marred one side of his face and a thick black beard covered his jaw. He wore leather, fur and sheepskin, and held a long staff with a bulbous tip. The Rod of Clima.
Bane stiffened. The Rod belonged to a combatant named Cannon. Had the viking killed him? If so... The viking had joined the All War.
Immortals drew together, watching as two soldiers dragged a decapitated body forward. Someone else pitched the head. It rolled, rolled... Oh, yes. Cannon was dead.
Hisses of fury blended with shouted threats, combatants throwing themselves against the invisible wall that trapped them inside the clearing, only to bounce back.
“When I rip off your dick, even your future children will scream.”
“Should I cut off your head, remove your heart or burn you to death? Who am I kidding? I’ll do all three.”
“I’ll enjoy making you rest in pieces, you son of a bitch.”
Bane remained in place, the beast busy tearing through his skull. Deep breath in. Out. Maintain control. In, out.
The helmeted male lifted the Rod and announced, “You invaded our land and killed our men, because you did not fear us. I am Erik the Widow Maker, and I will teach you the error of your ways.” He slammed the tip of the Rod into the ice.
A brutal arctic wind erupted, howling and blustering, the ground shaking. Between one blink and another, ice grew over Bane’s feet, up his calves. Higher, higher.
Ice grew over all of the combatants.
Horrified, Bane battled for freedom...to no avail. Trapped. Helpless. My fight over?
No! He hadn’t used his final weapon.
Bane stopped fighting the beast, and the transformation begun. Muscles and bones—
Nothing. The beast remained trapped as well, the ice unbreakable as it spread. Over his waist, his shoulders. Panic decimated what remained of his calm. None of the combatants escaped. Then, the ice covered his face.
I am...defeated?
I failed Meredith?
No. No! He refused to accept defeat. He would escape. He would find the Terran princess, win the All War and oversee the Blood Rite, finally severing his bond to Aveline. Aveline would come to Terra to claim the planet and then...oh, yes, then he would have his vengeance, die in peace and rejoin the love of his life.
CHAPTER TWO
You’ve got to tease to please!
Present Day
Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma
MAGNOLIA “NOLA” LEE swallowed a cocktail of medications, readjusted the mound of covers piled atop her and settled more comfortably in bed. Well, not more comfortably. Not really. Her entire body ached, her fingers looked like sausages, fatigue rode her like she was a horse and her every nerve ending sizzled, mini-bolts of lightning zapping her again and again. And again.
It—never—ended. Disease wrecked everything. Romantic relationships. Friendships. Goals. Fun. She’d only ever wanted to be a normal girl, with a normal life. But nooooo. Early on, she was diagnosed with lupus. After going into remission, fibromyalgia decided to come and play.
This was day too-many of a major flare-up, the pain too much. She felt like she was being poked with a thousand acid-drenched needles. Fatigue, foggy brain and insomnia continued to worsen. Basically, the party never stopped. She wished she had a medical marijuana card, but her pain management doctor considered it “unnecessary,” leaving her at the mercy of opioids.
Joke’s on me. Opioids had no mercy.
She’d already taken the maximum dose, but the pills had barely dulled the pain. If not for her upcoming vacation with her foster sister, Valerina London—Vale—she would have pulled the covers over her head and sobbed in the dark. Now, at least, she had a reason to get up in the morning.