Valkyrie Slumbering Read Online Free PDF

together.
    Cresting the hill not twenty feet to our right is a monster from legend. I thought it only a tale to frighten children into not straying too far from home, yet here it stands. In many ways it resembles a wolf. Yet no normal wolf stands high enough to look me in the eye as this beast does. It’s easily five feet at the shoulder and as broad as a horse. Hair dark as coal covers its thickly muscled body. Claws that look sharp as daggers extend from its massive paws, stabbing into the ground. Dark lips pull back from slavering fangs that could probably fit around my head.
    Cold fear and hot battle rage coil within me, fighting for dominance. I tighten my grip on my sword hilt. Warmth spreads through me as the battle rage wins. Nightmare creature or not, I will fight.
    “Is that a fenrir?” Grím asks, tone filled with disbelief.
    My vision begins to narrow as if I’m staring down a tunnel. Hearing him name the beast makes it seem all the more real. A few deep breaths open the world back up and calms me. “It must be,” I say, voice steady.
    Impossible as it is, that’s the only answer. What one of the hounds of Loki, God of Fire, is doing here though, I have no idea. Movement to my left catches my eye but doesn’t draw it.
    “There’s another,” Grím says.
    My sword arm begins to shake. Facing a man down is one thing, but this, it’s unfathomable, and huge .
    “Excellent. One for me and one for you. Any suggestions as to how we fight a creature from the underworld?” I ask.
    “Just like any other,” Grím says with a confidence that manages to soothe me a bit.
    I focus on my breathing and try to convince myself that it’s just a wolf. A really, really big wolf.
    With a snarl, it charges. I wait for it to get close enough—which takes less than a heartbeat—then swing with all my might. In a blur of black, it dodges out of my way. Momentum carries my swing up as the beast recovers and slashes a claw at my mid-section. Arching back, I barely avoid a gory end. I’m not used to anyone—or anything in this matter—being as fast as I am.
    Sure to control my speed and aim this time, I swing again. The beast dodges easily as I expected. In mid-swing I arch my sword upward and feel steel bite into flesh, but just barely. The fenrir roars and rears back. A bloody gash runs down its chest but it’s not as deep as it should be. Sharp as my sword is, it should have filleted the beast.
    Teeth gnashing, it lunges at me again. Side-stepping, I swing for its shoulder, putting my hips into it to add as much speed to the move as I can. The swing connects solid enough to jar my shoulder and shove me back, yet again it barely slices the fenrir’s black hide.
    “Dammit!” I yell.
    Again and again it lunges. I fall into an easy cadence of dodging and counterattacking. The beast is so fast that it gives me no time for fear, only reaction. Normally my superior speed and skill—thanks to my Alfhiem blood—allow me to overcome my foes in only a few moves, but this is no regular foe.
    Those sharp claws snag my left leg. Anger over the wound burns through me, cauterizing the pain and strengthening my resolve. Reading the pattern of the beast’s movements, I position myself. This time when it lunges, I meet it head on, thrusting my sword straight into its chest. The collision drives me back, the beast toppling toward me. For a moment I wonder if it will crush me to death. Not exactly the way I wanted to go. Before my butt hits the ground, though, the fenrir turns to ash and blows away in the wind.
    Not wasting a moment, I flip to my feet and face the other direction, sword held at the ready. Standing atop a pile of ash, arms crossed, eyes soaking me in, is Grím. One eyebrow is raised above his blue eyes and a smirk pulls at his lips. The fading light catches brilliantly on the blue knotwork tattoos that surround his bulging biceps. A new gash in the chest piece of his leather armor offers me a glimpse of his hard