e-ARC, 319 pagesRelease Date: January 2, 2018Published by: Wednesday Books
Read from: December 17-20, 2017Stand-aloneSource: NetgalleyFor fans of: Nordic Mythology, Fantasy, YA
Valkyries have one great responsibility: to return immortals to the afterlife by slaying them. As a Valkyrie, Malin has always known that the balance of the world rests on her ability to carry out orders. But when Malin discovers that her mother spared the life of an immortal who was destined to die, her world is thrown into chaos.
Malin not only wrestles with the knowledge that her mother might not be who she thought—she’s also thrust into the path of a gorgeous blue eyed guy named Asher who needs her help slaying the rogue immortal who destroyed his family. The balance of the world is at stake. And, as Asher competes with Malin’s ex for her love and loyalty, so is her heart.
Between the Blade and the Heart Excerpt
ONE
The air reeked of fermented fish and rotten fruit,
thanks to the overflowing dumpster from the restaurant behind us. The polluted
alley felt narrow and claustrophobic, sandwiched between skyscrapers.
In the city, it was never
quiet or peaceful, even at three in the morning. There were more than thirty
million humans and supernatural beings coexisting, living on top of each other.
It was the only life I’d ever really known, but the noise of the congestion
grated on me tonight.
My eyes were locked on the
flickering neon lights of the gambling parlor across the street. The u in
Shibuya had gone out, so the sign flashed SHIB YA at me.
The sword sheathed at my
side felt heavy, and my body felt restless and electric. I couldn’t keep from
fidgeting and cracked my knuckles.
“He’ll be here soon,” my
mother, Marlow, assured me. She leaned back against the brick wall beside me,
casually eating large jackfruit seeds from a brown paper sack. Always bring a
snack on a stakeout was one of her first lessons, but I was far too nervous and
excited to eat.
The thick cowl of her
frayed black sweater had been pulled up like a hood, covering her cropped blond
hair from the icy mist that fell on us. Her tall leather boots only went to her
calf, thanks to her long legs. Her style tended to be monochromatic—black on
black on black—aside from the shock of dark red lipstick.
My mother was only a few
years shy of her fiftieth birthday, with almost thirty years of experience
working as a Valkyrie, and she was still as strong and vital as ever. On her
hip, her sword Mördare glowed a dull red through its sheath.
The sword of the
Valkyries was one that appeared as if it had been broken in half—its blade only
a foot long before stopping at a sharp angle. Mördare’s blade was several thousand
years old, forged in fires to look like red glass that would glow when the time
was nigh.
My sword was called
Sigrún, a present on my eighteenth birthday from Marlow. It was a bit shorter
than Mördare, with a thicker blade, so it appeared stubby and fat. The handle
was black utilitarian, a replacement that my mom had had custom-made from an
army supply store, to match her own.
The ancient blade
appeared almost black, but as it grew closer to its target, it would glow a
vibrant purple. For the past hour that we’d been waiting on our stakeout,
Sigrún had been glowing dully on my hip.
The mist grew heavier,
soaking my long black hair. I kept the left side of my head shaved, parting my
hair over to the right, and my scalp should’ve been freezing from the cold, but
I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything.
It had begun—the instinct
of the Valkyrie, pushing aside my humanity to become a weapon. When the
Valkyrie in me took over, I was little more than a scythe for the Grim Reaper
of the gods.
“He’s coming,” Marlow
said behind me, but I already knew.
The world fell into
hyperfocus, and I could see every droplet of rain as it splashed toward the
ground. Every sound echoed through me, from the bird flapping its wings a block
away, to the club door as it groaned open.
Eleazar Bélanger stumbled
out, his heavy feet clomping in the puddles. He was chubby and short, barely
over four feet tall, and he would’ve appeared to be an average middle-aged man
if it wasn’t for the two knobby horns that stuck out on either side of his
forehead. Graying tufts of black hair stuck out from under a bright red cap,
and as he walked ahead, he had a noticeable limp favoring his right leg.
He was a Trasgu, a
troublemaking goblin, and his appearance belied the strength and cunning that
lurked within him. He was over three hundred years old, and today would be the
day he died.
I waited in the shadows
of the alley for him to cross the street. A coughing fit caused him to double
over, and he braced himself against the brick wall.
I approached him
quietly—this all went easier when they didn’t have time to prepare. He took off
his hat to use it to wipe the snot from his nose, and when he looked up at me,
his green eyes flashed with understanding.
“It’s you,” Eleazar said
in a weak, craggy voice. We’d never met, and I doubt he’d ever seen me before,
but he recognized me, the way they all did when their time was up.
“Eleazar Bélanger, you
have been chosen to die,” I said, reciting my script, the words automatic and
cold on my lips. “It is my duty to return you to the darkness from whence you
came.”
“No, wait!” He held up
his pudgy hands at me. “I have money. I can pay you. We can work this out.”
“This is not my decision
to make,” I said as I pulled the sword from my sheath.
His eyes widened as he
realized I couldn’t be bargained with. For a moment I thought he might just
accept his fate, but they rarely did. He bowed his head and ran at me like a
goat. He was stronger than he looked and caused me to stumble back a step, but
he didn’t have anywhere to go.
My mother stood blocking
the mouth of the alley, in case I needed her. Eleazar tried to run toward the
other end, but his leg slowed him, and I easily overtook him. Using the handle
of my sword, I cracked him on the back of the skull, and he fell to the ground
on his knees.
Sigrún glowed brightly,
with light shining out from it and causing the air to glow purple around us.
Eleazar mumbled a prayer to the Vanir gods. I held the sword with both hands,
and I struck it across his neck, decapitating him.
And then, finally, the
electricity that had filled my body, making my muscles quiver and my bones
ache, left me, and I breathed in deeply. The corpse of an immortal goblin lay
in a puddle at my feet, and I felt nothing but relief.
“It was a good return,”
my mother said, and put her hand on my shoulder. “You did well, Malin.”
Interested?! Win a copy for yourself from the publisher! Enter below!
And hurry! It's only open for ONE WEEK!