"On all sides saw I Valkryies assemble,
Ready to ride to the ranks of the gods;
Skuld bore the shield, and Skogul rode next, Guth, Hild, Gondul, and Geirskogul.
Of Herjan's maidens the list have ye heard, Valkyries ready to ride o'er the earth."
- Völuspá,
It had been foretold. The fate of the gods and the twilight of the world. Tamsin had heard the crow of Gullinkambi – the dust-red rooster – all of the valkryies had. The impulse to return and take her place beside Odin was hardwired into her, but she'd be damned if she was going to be a puppet in a stupid prophesy that some old crone had given to Odin in his greedy, grubbing quest for knowledge.
Pausing to reflect on her thoughts, she smiled to herself. There was a time when she would have answered the call without question and joined ranks with her sisters in Valhalla. But the past couple of years with Bo and the gang had shown her that she could have a family and a life outside of what so-called fate had ordained for her. A life outside the rigid lineaments of duty and most importantly, one of her own choosing.
The scruffy dwarf behind the bar counter passed over another shot of whiskey. She'd always favoured striking out on her own, opting to become a bounty hunter with Acacia and take on independent jobs or assignments instead of remaining in the marbled halls of Valhalla under the thrall of Freyja. But when the call came to take up arms against the revenants sailing from Hel and the legions of fire streaming out of Muspellheim, she had known that she would heed it anyway, simply because she had never known any other option.
Or so she thought. When Hades – the man she now knew to be Bo's father – came to her with yet another mark, it had just been another assignment on what was now a very long list. Moreover, the girl he was looking for couldn't possibly exist, and she'd thought the case would stay open indefinitely.
Until of course, she met Bo. She knocked back the shot of whiskey, savouring the fiery drink as it went down her throat. The succubus' defiance of authority, tradition – resolutely remaining unaligned and slaying the Una Mens were just some of her more notorious antics – and her unwavering loyalty to her friends and family were a heady mixture to take in all at once. Despite her best efforts to expose Bo's flaws and treat her as just another mark to be turned in, she had quickly come to respect Bo and care fiercely for her.
Tamsin stared at the bottom of the shot glass and the remnants of the drink that glinted a warm, golden brown in the dim lighting. She remembered that day she held the blade to Bo's throat, her emotions at war within her as she looked into those eyes that could be both brown and blue. She had lowered her blade in defeat, her resolve broken, knowing that she couldn't deliver Bo when all every fibre of her being screamed for her to keep her from harm.
And now that she'd ignored the call to arms and effectively broken her oath to Odin, she was a marked woman herself. These Nordic Fae still lived by the same tiresome old traditions that they abided by in the 10th century, and the breaking of an oath was as heinous a crime as murder. There was supposedly a special place in Hel for people like her, but now that all hell was breaking loose, she wasn't sure how that would work out.
Asgard's legions weren't likely to let her off easy either. The Einherjar existed to do Odin's bidding and she wouldn't be surprised if Odin had sent some of them after her. The self-styled god hadn't taken well to the loss of his worshipers to Christianity in the 11th and 12th centuries, and even less to Hollywood and pop culture's depiction of him as a kindly old man on the big screen. Caught up in delusions of grandeur and believing entirely in his status as a god, Odin wasn't likely to let her insubordination pass.
Tamsin rolled her eyes and downed the last shot and turned on her heels to leave, glad to be out of this dingy watering hole with its dust-coated tables and chairs and centuries-old musk. While the drink was strong and full-bodied – just like they made it in the old days – and she'd needed some space and quiet to think, she found she missed the Dal and its crowd of merry-makers.
She made a mental note to call Dyson and tell him not to come – he had wanted a taste of the booze for himself but was held up at work. The grimy ceiling lights flickered, casting long shadows over the dozen or so men that had somehow gathered behind her while she was lost in her own musings.
Tamsin stopped in her tracks, the beginnings of a frown just beginning the crease her face. She hadn't heard them come up behind her like that, an oversight on her part that couldn't happen again. She smirked. "Can I help you?" she drawled, not wanting trouble but determined to put them in their place if she had to.
The one closest to her lunged. A flash of silver glinted in his hand, but she smoothly side-stepped him before bringing her elbow down on his neck, effectively putting him out of action. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, putting on her best smile for the rest of the unfortunate band. "Not bad for a first try. Who's next?" she chirped cheerily.
A fireball whizzed past her, singeing the hairs on top of head and providing the cue for the rest of the group to surge forward. Tamsin narrowed her eyes. No one messes with a valkryie's hair. The shadows gathered from within her as her eyes – usually the most limpid shade of green – became dark abysses that conveyed untold horrors to those who would meet their gaze.
She cast out over the entire room, ensnaring all its occupants. "Are you sure you want to do this? Didn't anyone tell you not to mess with a valkryie? Maybe you should think this over during your very long nap," she sang out. The room resounded with heavy thumps as the goons folded over one by one.
Rolling her eyes, she crossed the now body-strewn room on her way to the exit, not caring if she broke a few fingers or noses on the way out. That was almost too easy. Tamsin frowned inwardly as she contemplated what had just happened. They were untrained and weak, almost as if they were cannon fodder, tossed at her merely to render her complacent and – distract her!
She whipped her head to the right. Under the glow of the nearby street lamp, a dark cloud was materialising. Shit, she swore under her breathe. Suddenly, the cloud was behind her, and she barely brought her blade up in time to meet the shadowy sword gripped in a clawed hand seemingly composed of dark ether.
And then the thing was gone as quickly as it appeared, materialising a split second later above her, its black blade promising death. She parried the blow again, only to take a blow to the chest as the shadow lashed out with its arm and go flying into the brick wall of the alley.
Landing on her side, she winced. A svartálfar! A black elf from Svartálfaheim – clearly Odin hadn't been sitting idle and had set about forging alliances. Having lived in a shadow world for so long, black elves were masters of the darkness and almost ethereal in nature, although their weapons were often all too real. The perfect assassin, and she now had one on her tail. Tamsin scrambled to her feet.
She'd have to do this the old-fashioned way. Gritting her teeth, she charged at the dark form, sword held high and ready to strike. Her blade whistled through empty air. Fuck. And then suddenly, a white-hot pain in her gut that struck to her very core. "Ughh," she groaned, collapsing sideways against the wall, one hand gripping the blade that had somehow made its way past her defences.
Tamsin's sword slid from her weakening grip, both hands now clutching at the accursed blade that the accursed elf still hadn't had the decency to pull out from her. Back to the wall, she slid down to the dank floor of the alleyway as the thing leered over her. Odin sends his regards, a cold voice echoed in her head. A dark mist seemed to surround the thing, and its eyes glowed in its head like dark embers.
It twisted its blade, sending pain shooting through her. "Arghh," she gasped loudly, arching her back in pain and writhing on the ground. You disappoint him, the disembodied voice said, devoid entirely of emotion.
And then as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. It knows its work is done, she thought. No. "Unnhh," she grunted, one hand holding her stomach as she struggled to her feet. She'd be damned if she was going to go out to some sneaky shadow assassin on a Friday night.
Her truck was just parked across the street and she could probably reach it with some luck. Hunched over and grimacing in pain, she took a step forward and nearly collapsed as the pain struck back with a vengeance. Gasping, she dropped to her knees and folded her hands into her gut. The world swam, and the next thing she knew, she was curled up in a fetal position on the floor, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.
Bo. As darkness clouded her vision, her thoughts were on the woman who had made her happier than she had been in many lifetimes, who helped her find the good within herself and believed that she was better than she gave herself credit for. And then somebody was shaking her, telling her to wake up. "Tamsin! Stay with me. You're gonna be okay…" the voice echoed weirdly in her pain-addled brain.
The voice was one she knew. Dyson. He was picking her up now, scanning her quickly for visible wounds. Nothing. His hands probed her stomach worriedly, and she groaned in pain loudly. "A black elf," she barely gasped out. "I got hit…"
Dyson cursed under his breath. A black elf's blade left no external lacerations on its victims, but the internal damage dealt was as deadly as a regular blade, if not worse. Tamsin was probably haemorrhaging internally, and she could bleed out if he didn't get help quickly. She gripped his collar tightly, gasping, eyes shut tightly against the pain.
"Shhh, now. I'm gonna get you some help," Dyson muttered in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. He fumbled in her back pocket for the keys to her truck and darted over to the vehicle as quickly as he could with the wounded valkyrie in his arms.
Laying her out in the back seat, he got behind the wheel hastily and floored the gas. As he sped down the darkened streets, he had already dialled Lauren's number. "Meet me at the Morrigan's clinic," he barked out tersely. "It's Tamsin. She's hurt and it looks bad. Bring Bo."
Tamsin moaned softly. Casting a worried glance at the backseat at Tamsin, he just hoped he'd got to her in time.