Hildi
My first thoughts are of Valhalla. The gardens. The heroes. The place for champions. I’m terrified of what I’ll find when I open my eyes. Will Odin even grant me entrance into Valhalla? The Valkyrie didn’t come for me.
It was the God of Death.
Pain strikes, seizing at my side, followed by icy coolness. The sensation jerks my body, including my eyes, open. I’m in a small bedroom, fire roaring in the stone fireplace against the wall. There’s a bed, a dresser, and a chair.
Agis, the man, the Immortal, kneels by the bed, cleaning the wound on my side. With every ounce of strength I can muster, I reach for him, gripping his thick wrist.
“Don’t touch me.”
Soulful eyes burn into mine.
“Infection will spread if I don’t clean and bandage it.”
“That whole time, it was you, wasn’t it? Walking into my dreams?”
His jaw tenses. “Those weren’t dreams.”
Before I can respond to that bit of information, he pours icy alcohol over my side, and I writhe in pain. I’m scared to look at the injury, so I focus elsewhere, seeing that my legs and feet are bare, and that he’s already wrapped both in white, pristine cloth.
“Gods,” I grunt, as he pokes and prods the injury. “What are you using, pins and needles?”
“Not exactly.” He grimaces.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“This was much easier when you were asleep.” One of his large hands clamps down on my shoulder, keeping me still. “The creatures' teeth extracted when they met flesh. They’re stuck inside.”
Bile rises in my throat and hot tears prick at my eyes. I face away as he works, the process slow and painful. Occasionally I hear the small clank of a tooth falling into a ceramic bowl and just when I think I can’t take much more, he wipes the wound once more and lays a flat bandage over it.
A million questions run through my mind; where are we? Why did he bring me here? What’s happening back at the Academy? Where are the Immortals and why, why did he hide himself from me all those nights we were together?
But they catch in my throat, overwhelmed by exhaustion. I drift with the sensation of him nearby. I may not know what or why Agis did what he did, but I’m certain of one thing.
I’m safe.
The knock at the door draws me from a groggy sleep. I shift toward the door, well, as much as I can with the aching pain throughout my body. Agis is in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking my view of who is on the other side. He speaks in low tones and when he’s finished he shuts the door, holding a tray of food.
“Who was that?” I ask, struggling to sit.
He frowns at my movement. “Just someone bringing us food.”
“This place has room service?” It’s supposed to come out sarcastic, it doesn’t. “Seriously, where the hell are we?”
He walks over to the window and pushes aside a white curtain. There’s a garden outside, lush and green.
“Miya’s tea house?”
“On the property.” He drops the curtain. “The garden and kitchens will provide food and medical needs. It’s heavily warded. We should be safe while you heal.”
We.
I’m still struggling with this. An emotion flickers across his face—guilt, perhaps. Regret?
He should have both.
“There is no ‘we’, Agis. You made that clear.” Although that clarity is now anything but.