his body was intact—there were no bullet wounds, after all—this shock-induced delusion hit him hard. Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision as dizziness overtook him and the dust scented floor rose up to meet him as he sprawled at Maja’s feet.
* * *
The man facing her with an expression of bewilderment clouding his handsome features was not a warrior. He was clad in pants made from a faded, heavy-duty blue cloth and a lightweight, khaki jacket, under which he wore one of those garments she had heard described on other earthly visits as a T-shirt. On his feet were scarred and dusty boots. Not combat clothing, Maja decided. He carried no weapons. More importantly, he was alive.
Maja wasn’t interested in living people. Her task was simple. Odin the Allfather wanted the souls of the bravest warriors who died in battle. They would join his army-in-waiting. The role of the Valkyries was to swoop into the scene of conflict and escort those souls to Valhalla, the great Hall of the Slain, within which Odin’s elite fighting force lived.
This land called Syria had recently become a scene of such great strife that even the Valkyries had turned their attention in this direction. Although their chosen warriors were usually Norsemen, Odin wanted the finest for his army. If that meant widening their search, then his shield maidens must follow the Allfather’s will. Brynhild, the Valkyrie leader, who was also Maja’s older sister, had been at the end of her wits as she planned this mission. There was desperate fighting going on in two places at the same time and Odin’s demands were becoming more difficult to fulfill.
“The American Lion.” Brynhild had shaken her head as she pored over her charts. Finding the bravest warriors wasn’t an exact science. Brynhild could predict where each fighter would be; she had an idea of the danger they would face, but she couldn’t be certain who would die. Odin remained insistent. Only the best would do for his army.
“One name crops up over and over in the stars. The Allfather is determined to have the warrior known as the American Lion. The Norns tell me he will be here in the town of Warda—” Brynhild had pointed to a dot on her map “—and there will be intense fighting there today.” She had moved her finger to another location, also in Syria, but many miles away. A frown descended on her face. “Yet there will be ten other warriors, all of whom Odin wants, in this other town at the same time. Each of them is less likely to survive than the American Lion. Do I risk the chance at ten warriors on the gamble that the American Lion will die today?”
“Why don’t I go to Warda, while you take the other town?” Maja had said.
It would be a chance to prove herself. To step out from beneath the shadow of her older sisters. The skepticism in Brynhild’s eyes as Maja had made the suggestion told her everything she needed to know.
I am still seen as the baby of the family.
It was always the same. Maja was the youngest of the true Valkyries. The twelve true daughters of Odin made up the group of female fighters whose job was to claim the finest souls for their father.
There was a hierarchy among the ranks of the Valkyrie. For many centuries Odin’s daughters had been the only ones considered worthy to bear the title of shield maidens. As the population of the mortal realm grew and humans became more adept at finding ways to kill each other, Odin had widened the numbers of Valkyrie to include faeries, dryads and nymphs. Known as his stepdaughters, these new recruits were of lesser rank than Odin’s own flesh and blood.
Yet I am treated like a new recruit! Like a stepdaughter, rather than a true daughter.
Maja knew she was seen as a problem to be solved. She was that unheard of a rarity...a disobedient Valkyrie. Most of her rebellion took the form of minor insurgencies, such as wearing her helmet at the wrong angle or arriving for training a few minutes late. Now and then, however, she had been known to use the worst word of all. She had asked why. There were regular how-do-we-solve-a-problem-like-Maja conversations between Odin and Brynhild. They didn’t know what to do with their bad Valkyrie.
Maja had no idea why she was different. One of the difficulties about being the daughter of gods was that her parents were not exactly approachable. Growing up, she did her best to conform, tried to fight the desire to question why the Valkyrie way was the best way and accepted her punishment when she inevitably failed.
She was never given the same level of responsibility as her sisters, even though she had demonstrated her capabilities over and over. It made her more determined than ever to show them what she could do.
After some intense debate, she had worn Brynhild down. Even as she mounted her great winged steed, Magtfuld, Maja got the feeling her sister was indulging her, allowing her to have her own way, but not expecting anything of her. It infuriated her that Brynhild might think she wasn’t up to this simple task. She had arrived in Warda fired up and ready to take this American Lion back so she could lay his body in triumph at the feet of the Allfather.
It was intensely annoying to arrive at the location Brynhild had given her to be confronted by the wrong man. A living, breathing man. A man who, now that she looked more closely at him, dared to have a hint of amusement in his dark brown eyes alongside the perplexed expression he wore. It was as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
Those eyes made Maja pause. Maybe it was because she had never interacted with a living human being until now. Maybe it was because they were so incredibly beautiful. Whatever it was, she wished she had more time to spend looking into them.
When he fell, she experienced an unexpected dilemma. Her hand had actually twitched with the impulse to reach out and help him up. Luckily, he had hauled himself to his knees before she had forgotten herself and touched him.
“This has been fun.” He had to shout to be heard above the chaos around them. “But I think it’s time I was going.”
As he spoke, a group of men wearing dark clothing and carrying machine guns burst in through the damaged wall. They carried a white flag that bore a painted image of a hooded, grinning skeleton carrying a scythe. Putting his words into practice, the man darted out the open front door and into the main street of the small town. His action left Maja with a scant second in which to react. Since the American Lion was not where he was supposed to be, she should probably leave Warda right now. That would be the Valkyrie way. But the man had mentioned his brother. Did that mean he had further information? Was his brother the American Lion?
“Go to Brynhild.” She issued the order to her companions, ignoring their disapproving looks. She was the shield maiden in charge on this mission. They would not dare voice their reservations out loud. “Tell her I have been delayed, and that I will rejoin her at Valhalla later.”
Obediently, the two Valkyrie departed. The fighters who had entered the house paused in astonishment to watch the winged horses rise into the air. Within seconds, the Valkyrie and their steeds had become a swirling cloud. Less than a minute later, they had disappeared. Maja’s own horse would remain hidden in the shadows until she needed him.
Maja cast another glance around the damaged foyer. How could Brynhild have been so mistaken about this location? With a shrug and a swirl of her swan feather cloak, she ignored every prompting of her Valkyrie training and followed the man who had spoken of his brother out into the street. As long as she didn’t interact with him, or—the Norns preserve us—interfere in his future, what could possibly go wrong?
* * *
Adam glanced left and right as he exited the office building. Although he’d believed he’d blacked out back there, he now knew he hadn’t. In the same way, he knew his
