Free Dragonslayer (Twilight of the Gods Book 3) by Eleri Stone Page A

was. He made note of it, as he did the sudden and oppressive silence that surrounded him between one footfall and the next. It was like entering a bubble. Once he broke the surface, the faint trace of perfume saturated the air, filling his nose and throat. The smell of blood, bright and fresh, lodged like a ball in his throat. He’d found the source of his uneasiness, but it was no comfort.
    A woman, gravely injured, lay on the ground before him, half propped by a fallen tree. She had long blonde hair, neatly braided away from a face that possessed more strength than beauty. The wood she rested against was smooth and gray, the bark long having fallen away. It almost perfectly matched the pallor of her skin. Her clothing was dark. The pants and jacket similar enough to what the humans here wore to pass as unremarkable, but the fabric gleamed dully in the weak moonlight, as did the leaves nearest her body.
    Her eyes gleamed too, with a ferocity and keen awareness that surprised him, considering her condition. She raised her blade, a finely made Skimstrok sword that marked her as a warrior or a queen. There were many questions raised by her presence, but of one thing he was absolutely certain.
    “You’re a very long way from home, my lady.” He spoke to her mind to mind and then, kneeling, sheathed his blade so he had the use of his one good hand.
    “Keep your distance, witch.” Her voice in his mind was as steady as the sword leveled at him. He would have thought he’d misread the seriousness of her injury if not for the strain that marked her face. She was running on pure willpower now, not strength of body.
    “I might help you,” he said.
    Her mouth pulled in a smile that was more of a grimace. “I know who you are and exactly what kind of help you might offer.”
    “My name here is Kamis, and I can assure you, you do not know the slightest thing about me. Lower your weapon.”
    She didn’t immediately move to obey him, but when a bat flitted directly overhead, the tip of the blade dipped ever so slightly. He shifted forward, intending to grab hold of the hilt, but she cut quickly to the side. He could have torn it from her grip then. It would be the easiest thing in the nine worlds to overpower her, weak as she was, but instead he pulled back.
    Her lips curled in a snarl. “Try that again and I will remove your other hand.”
    He settled back onto his haunches and studied her for a long moment. “I’d prefer not to sit here all night waiting for you to bleed out. Allow me to help you or end you, I don’t particularly care which. Let’s finish this. You and I both know that you are alone here.”
    “Am I?”
    “I can sense that as clearly as I sensed your presence. Why do you think I came so quickly?” Uncertainty flashed across her face, and he smiled. “Yes, I felt you even through your shield. We’re sitting directly over a ley line. Your presence here has disturbed the flow of it. Even shielded, your magic is like a germ in the environment of this planet. It works to reject you. You feel that, don’t you? You won’t be able to pull energy from this place, rich as it is. And your home is very far away.”
    “This isn’t your home either.”
    “No.” He shrugged slightly. “But I have been…grafted in, we shall say, to one who does belong here.”
    “You lie. That’s no small magic, and there’s none to speak of here.”
    “Ah.” He sighed. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Where they’d all been wrong. There was magic in Midgard. It was what had sent everything awry in the first place. A terrible, wild magic that was unrefined and impossible to harness.
    Nearly impossible to harness.
    “Lower your weapon and I’ll carry you to the fault,” he said. “Then you can show me how you were able to cross Asbrú.”
    She shook her head. “I won’t make it through Asgard, not in this condition.”
    “The demons are keyed to hunt Æsir blood, not Vanir. They might chase you out of