Chapter Three

“I thought you were having dinner with Tay and Manny tonight?” Violet asked as the group moved to the living room with their bowls full of Peyton’s locally famous chili.

Dezzy brought in a basket of garlic knots freshly removed from the oven and set them down on the coffee table. He sat between Sif and Thor on the large sectional. Peyton and Violet sat together on the loveseat section, Peyton assisting Violet in transferring from the wheelchair to the sofa.

“We were,” Thor said around a spoonful of chili. “But Tay had a wedding venue emergency and they had to bail.”

“Ugh,” Violet groaned, remembering that she had her own wedding-related appointment with Tay in a few days.

“Right?” Thor scoffed, grabbing one of the garlic knots from the coffee table in front of him.

“I offered to do ice sculptures for it,” Sif chirped. “I do so love weddings!”

Violet stared at the fairy, agape. Dezzy and Peyton had similar reactions.

“What?” Sif asked, looking between them, her expression petulant. “The afterparties are always the fun part.”

Violet shrugged and nodded, taking a bite from her own bowl of food. While it was odd, she couldn’t fault the little fae for her guilty pleasures. Thor chuckled and washed down his chili with a swig of the beer he brought.

“Sif is in high demand for wedding planning in Valhalla. And I have to say—she throws a mean afterparty,” Thor laughed, then belched.

“There are weddings in Valhalla?” Violet asked, perplexed.

“Why wouldn’t there be?” Thor countered, winking at her.

Violet moved to say something, her lips failing to form words, and she closed her mouth with an audible “pop”.

Sif sniggered derisively, “Dumbass.”

Dezzy barked a short, surprised laugh, then unsuccessfully tried to hide it with an impromptu coughing fit; a trick he’d picked up from his big sister but failed to ever execute correctly.

Violet rolled her eyes and said, “Laugh it up. I just can’t imagine anyone willing to marry Thor.”

It was Sif’s turn to crack up laughing, which she did with gleeful abandon.

“Why are you laughing, pixie?” Thor chuckled.

“You need new material, Princeling,” Sif said, unperturbed. “Your incessant repetition of that single insult renders it useless.”

All of them laughed. The conversation shifted back to training, and exhaustion claimed Violet’s focus. She ate quickly and slipped mostly unnoticed outside to the back patio where Dezzy had created a small oasis. She scrambled from her chair to one of the benches and stretched her legs, the muscles already grown stiff from disuse. She groaned and rubbed at her knee, the action eliciting a secondary groan as her shoulders ached in protest. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she had been sorer, with the exception of the first week of soccer training in high school and college.

“The first couple weeks are always the toughest,” Peyton drawled from somewhere behind her.

Violet gingerly sat upright and rolled her head to look at him. He leaned against the door jamb, feet crossed at his ankles, arms crossed over his chest. She offered him a tired smile. Peyton straightened and strode quickly over, joining her on the bench.

“Are all the… Flashbacks or whatever… Are they all like that?” Peyton animatedly asked, his hand twirling in the air when he said “flashbacks”.

Violet’s gaze fell to her feet as she whispered, “Yes.”

“So. Ya saw yourself… Die? Four times today alone?”

“Yes,” she answered, even more softly.

“Oh darlin’,” Peyton murmured. “Why didn’t ya say that they were like that?”

Violet lifted her eyes to meet his and she quietly replied, “What can anyone do about it?”

He smoothed his hand up her arm and pulled her against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him, her head falling to rest on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and drew his arms around her shoulders.

They sat in silence for several long moments, watching the wind stir the palm leaves above them. His hands slid to her shoulders and he began gently kneading the muscles there. Violet’s chin dropped to her chest and she shifted to give him better access.

A moment later, someone cleared their throat. Violet started, nearly falling forward off the bench, and Peyton steadied her, gentle laughter escaping his lips.

“Sif is kicking Dezzy’s ass in that fighting game,” Thor said, grinning broadly.

“Yeah, but she cheats. She uses her damn wings,” Peyton retorted.

“True,” Thor allowed. “Never bet with fairies. How are the flying lessons going?”

Violet smiled and said, “High point of my day. I’m not sorry for the pun.”

Thor and Peyton both chuckled.

“That security team Manny hired—they’re Odin’s?” Peyton asked as Thor sat across from them.

“Einherjar. Yes,” Thor confirmed.

“What is Einherjar?” Peyton pressed.

“They are the chosen,” Thor replied simply.

“Chosen by who?” Peyton continued.

“In every battle, there is at least one Valkyrie watching. Valkyries are drawn to war, to struggle, to battle. It’s how they fulfill their highest purpose. They decide which warriors are invited to Valhalla,” Thor stated, then sat forward, watching Peyton’s reaction intently.

“And what happens when they’re chosen?” Peyton drawled.

“I think she’s told you,” Thor said, indicating Violet with the point of an index finger.

“Tommy’s einherjar?” Peyton asked.

Violet answered, “Einheri. Yes. And if they choose to join the einherjar, they forsake a future. They serve Odin and Valhalla for eternity. If they aren’t chosen for the inner circle, they lose all their memories and cannot have anything beyond that purpose. No love. No family. They exist primarily to serve.”

Thor nodded, adding, “If they are chosen for the inner circle, they keep their memories, but still exist primarily to serve. They’re essentially the Kingsguard.”

“Vi chose to become Valkyrie. Does that mean when she’s done with the trainin’, she won’t have any other purpose, too?”

Violet waited for Thor to answer. She’d always been murky on those details. Her situation was different than the others who had chosen the path of the Valkyrie.

“No,” Thor said at length, studying both of them. “Valkyries are not primarily warriors, except for the Queensguard. They are allowed love but they aren’t necessarily allowed families. There have been special circumstances. One such circumstance already applies.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“What circumstance is that?” Peyton queried, sitting forward.

“A Valhallan royal serving in the King’s or Queensguard,” Thor plainly replied.

“And Vi is a Valhallan royal?”

“Yes,” Violet and Thor answered in unison, “And she’s a goddess,” Thor added.

“I thought Sif was just being facetious when she called ya princess,” Peyton said, shifting his attention to Violet.

“Oh she is,” Violet giggled. “But she’s always been that way, far as I can tell.”

Thor confirmed the statement with a quick, “Yup.”

Dezzy joined them then. His expression conveyed his extreme annoyance. Behind him in the living room, Sif chortled maniacally. He sat next to Thor and regarded Violet.

“That creature is evil,” Desmond said, vaguely gesturing toward the house.

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Violet laughed.

“No, I’m confirming it,” Dezzy snarkily replied.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments before Thor excused himself and left with Sif. Dezzy’s girlfriend stopped by and they left to catch some show on the strip. Peyton left to do some grocery shopping and Violet happily went to bed.

*****

It was the prettiest bow she’d ever seen. Ullr’s battle bow. A short bow with famously monstrous draw tension—only a god could wield it. It cast a ghostly, silvery glow as she lifted it. It appeared to be made of silver and some sort of strange, opalescent, white wood. Intricately carved runic writing graced the outside of the magnificent weapon’s arms, inlaid with the sparkliest silver she could ever recall seeing. The string between the arms seemed as slender and delicate as a spider’s web but when she plucked it to test its tensile strength, she was struck at how stout it seemed.

The bowstring hummed in the wake of the action and the weapon vibrated at a low, disturbing frequency. It glowed brighter and the gems set in its ornately forged arms appeared to light up. Sapphires, garnets, emeralds, and some sort of opaque, iridescent white stone.

Moonstone. Enchanted moonstone.

Violet opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was dark and quiet. Next to her, Peyton snored lightly, his arm draped protectively over her hip. She smoothed a hand up his forearm, which encouraged him to tighten his embrace.

Another Gersemi memory. The bow. The one she’d lusted after and in her attempts to retrieve it, kicked off Ragnarok. She shuddered. How could Gersemi be so stupid? So selfish? What was the whole point in acquiring that weapon?

The sound of muffled giggling reached her ears, drawing her attention away from dissecting the latest insane flashback. Voices murmured quietly from the direction of the living room. A female voice giggled again, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a pleasured groan.

Dezzy must have brought Brie home with him, she realized.

Violet sighed and adjusted her legs, wincing at the dull ache the action elicited. Peyton groaned in protest and tightened his hold on her hip. She reassuringly stroked his forearm in slow, long, languid movements.

“Where ya think you’re goin’?” Peyton sleepily drawled.

“Nowhere,” Violet quietly replied. “Just trying to get comfortable.”

“Sleep, darlin’. Best medicine for healin’.”

“I had a vision again.”

That instantly roused him and he relinquished his hold on her in favor of sitting up to look down at her in the darkness. Feeble light cast from the nightlight on the wall by the bathroom allowed her to see his silhouette.

“Tell me,” he gently commanded, smoothing his rough palm up her bared arm.

She told him about the flashback, about the bow, about her role in instigating Ragnarok as she understood it. He listened intently, silently. His hands gently roved over shoulders as she spoke, fingers working to loosen the tensely coiled muscles.

“Sounds like a pretty important weapon,” Peyton quietly stated when she finished relaying the information.

“But why is it important? Why risk the fate of your world for it?” Violet mused, frustrated.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his hand sliding from her shoulder to her collar bone.

A loud, feminine moan issued from somewhere in the direction of the living room.

“Somebody gettin’ some,” Peyton suggestively said, a hint of laughter in his undertone.

“I wish they wouldn’t do it on the sofa,” Violet replied, sighing as his hand slipped down her body, between her breasts, and down her stomach.

“Let me take your mind off it. Off it all,” he whispered, pressing his lips to a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, just below her ear.

His hand traversed the soft, flat expanse of her belly. She sighed again and relaxed, moving to lie on her back. The move allowed him easier access and he was above her in a flash, his mouth ardently claimed hers.

Things were just starting to get really good, when…

The bow still hummed. She couldn’t let go—like grabbing on to a live cattle fence wire. Glowing blue eyes appeared in the darkness behind it.

“You are unworthy,” an unfamiliar, ethereal female voice said in her head. “Usurper. Thief. Liar.”

“Vi?”

She shook her head to clear it and realized Peyton was above her. He rolled so that they faced each other on their sides.

“Well. That’s highly inconvenient and stupidly annoying,” Violet grumbled as he stroked the cascade of her hair that fell over her shoulder.

“Yeah it is,” he scoffed good-naturedly.

“I’m so sorry,” Violet said.

“It ain’t your fault,” Peyton murmured. “Really killin’ my mojo, though. What’d ya see this time?”

“The bow. I picked it up and couldn’t let go. Somebody said I was unworthy,” Violet relayed, the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. “They called me a usurper. A thief. A liar.”

“And ya ain’t any of that,” Peyton breathed, cupping her face in his hands. “You’re not unworthy. You’re not a thief. You’re not a liar. Maybe that Gersemi chick was, but that ain’t who ya are.”

“What if I am those things though? Just not yet?”

He silenced her with a quick, impassioned kiss.

“You’re not, darlin’,” he said as he pulled away. “Now. Can we get back to what we were doin’?”

Violet laughed softly, “You still want to when I could just check out again?”

“I’m game if that’s what ya want,” Peyton whispered as his hips shifted, and the movement teased her mercilessly.

Her hand flew up to the back of his neck and drew his head downward. She seized his mouth with hers, her answer a definitive “yes.”

*****

“What do we think about this one?” Taylor asked, one knee crossed over the other, her impeccably manicured fingers swiping up on her enormous tablet.

Violet watched as Taylor tapped on the screen, then flipped it so Violet could see. They sat across from one another in Violet’s little gym office. Their lunch littered the desk with wrappers and crumbs. Tay had brought her a sandwich and some fruit from their local favorite deli place.

Violet chewed thoughtfully as she looked over the dress that Taylor showed her. Taylor tapped on a 360-degree view. Violet liked it. It was elegant, understated, and to be honest—sexy as hell. But she wasn’t exactly an haute couture type and had no idea what all the terms Taylor talked about with regard to the dresses even meant.

“If I could pull it off, I’d wear it,” Violet finally answered.

“Mmmhmm,” Tay chirped, tapping on the screen again. “Saved. We’ll add that to our queue for try-ons tomorrow.”

Violet nodded and took a bite of her sandwich. As she chewed, Taylor found her next selection and showed it to Violet.

“Too much fluffy stuff,” Violet garbled as she finished chewing the mouthful and swallowed.

“I think I’m inclined to agree. Taffeta is so outdated and overrated.”

When Taylor had hit her arbitrary quota of at least fifteen dresses to try on, she bouncily meandered out of Violet’s office and disappeared toward the gym. Violet finished eating her lunch and started working on training schedules.

“I saw Luis Bolimba worked with a Muay Thai instructor the past two weeks.”

Violet started and looked up sharply to find Manny standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb as he watched her. He idly inspected his fingernails and lifted his gaze to meet hers. She motioned for him to come in. He did, closing the door swiftly behind him.

“His ground game is his weakness,” Violet replied, pulling up Manny’s training schedule and turning the laptop so he could see the screen.

Luis Bolimba challenged Manny’s title as the league’s welterweight champion. Violet made it one of her priorities to research him some more that morning, trying to get a better feel for his style. She knew he favored kickboxing and his signature move was a spinning back fist. He’d been injured recently and it was rumored that after the title fight, regardless of whether or not he won, Bolimba was scheduled for rotator cuff surgery. If he won, the title fights would be fought by Manny as an interim champion until Bolimba recovered.

If Bolimba lost, at age 42, it was likely the end of his career. He was a former titleholder and had successfully defended the title a record 19 times. He was unseated by a younger fighter in a devastating fluke knockout a couple years ago. He’d been fighting his way back through the ranks ever since and had lost to Manny several times both in the undercards and in co-main events. He’d been switching up styles the past few months in preparation for the title shot and it was difficult to ascertain what his real gameplan for the fight was.

“It’s too late now, but I wish I had done more training in Muay Thai. Or that we had a Krav Maga instructor available,” Manny groused, settling into the chair recently vacated by his wife-to-be.

Violet winced. It was extremely difficult to find Krav Maga instructors anymore. They were in high demand. There just weren’t that many since the sport had suffered for years due to a popularity decline with the general populous.

“Know any Israeli Special Forces?” Violet quipped.

“No. But, I was wondering if you knew more about Thor’s ground game. He’s more of a striker, but after watching him toss Gorski around…”

Violet smiled and said, “He’s got excellent ground game. Want me to see what his schedule is and put you two together for some sessions?”

“Yes. Do that,” he returned the smile. “How are you doing? I saw you’re pushing 300-pound reps on the quad machines.”

“Ugh,” Violet replied. “Yeah, two days ago. Today, I was hard pressed to handle 200, and even worse, I only got through a couple sets.”

“Don’t rush it, Vi. If you end up injured further, it’ll take even longer to recover.”

“I know. I’m just… Frustrated with it all.”

“I get it. You lost your freedom and now that you can taste it again, you wanna run marathons.”

“Exactly,” Violet breathed.

“Would it be alright if I joined the guys for flight training watch tonight? Are you flying tonight?” Manny asked, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face, like a kid asking their parents if they could go to prom but uncertain if they’d be allowed.

“Sure!” Violet replied, brightening.

“Great. What time do you head out to the canyon?”

“We try to go about an hour before sunset so around 7 or 8 pm. We fly for about an hour, but it might be shorter tonight because I’m all sorts of sore.”

“Fantastic! I’ll be there,” Manny beamed as he stood. “See ya there at 7.”

“See ya,” Violet quipped, turning her attention back to the scheduling as he exited the office.