Valkyrie's Conquest by Sharon Ashwood Read Free Book Online

shattered the globes of the lamppost.
    The sight of Tyra’s blood incensed Bron, calling forth a primal need to protect. He rose up, his neck arched and fangs bared, tail lashing in a deadly, spiked arc. When the second demon rushed at Tyra, intent on the kill, it was the creature’s last action. Bron tore into it, crushing it beneath his claw-tipped feet before tossing it into traffic to be smashed to dust.
    Some of the oncoming cars flashed blue and red lights. Doors flew open, uniformed men piled out and drew their guns. Tyra had slumped to the ground, her hands pressed to her wound. Blood streamed between her fingers and pooled on the sidewalk.
    Bron wasted no time. He spread his wings, lifting from the ground in a mighty rush of wind. He snatched her up in his talons, holding her with as much care as he would a delicate artwork of blown glass. Bron turned as he rose, angling his body between Tyra and the armed humans below. A few fired, but their aim was poor. The rest remained frozen, mouths open in astonishment.
    Bron spiraled up into the sky, assessing his options. Tyra was hurt—badly. He wasn’t about to entrust her to just anyone’s care, but he had little time to decide where to turn for help. He flew up and up, breaking through the haze of pollution and clouds and into the sun-drenched crystal of the late afternoon sky. The air up here was clean and knife-sharp with cold. He held Tyra close, letting the heat of his dragonfire warm her. Worry ate at him. She was unconscious, but now and again he heard her mutter something he couldn’t make out.
    Whatever she was saying, though, must have been the key to opening the pathway he needed. Without warning, a magnificent bridge appeared, linking the sky with something far above. Bron angled toward it. Dragons were hard to impress, but it was impossible not to marvel at the glittering rainbow made of frost. As he followed its span upward, speeding as fast as he could, a long, mournful note sang in the air. At the top of the arch stood a giant in a winged helmet, guarding the entrance to the land above. In one hand he held a great coiled horn made from a creature Bron could barely imagine. The giant called out a challenge, but Bron flew high over his head, his wings eating the winds.
    And then a new landscape took form below—not one of cities, but one of fjords and mountains, icebergs and steel-blue seas. Up ahead, at the tip of a jagged peak, the Allfather waited, a grey cloak billowing behind him. This was the realm of Asgard.
    Bron steeled himself to explain to a god what exactly had happened to his daughter.
    * * *
    â€œI demand to see her!” Bron pounded on the door of the Healer’s Hall, but it had been barred against him. “I demand to know if she is well!”
    The blank slab of oak remained mute, nearly driving him to madness. He wanted Tyra in his arms, to touch the silk of her pale skin and reassure himself that she was still warm and breathing. Bron could still taste coffee on his lips from the kiss they’d shared. He could still feel the warmth of her breath feathering against his cheek. He clenched his teeth until his jaw muscles ached.
    He briefly contemplated turning back into a dragon and tearing down the door, but it hardly seemed the way to win the people of Asgard over. He raised his fist to pound again when the door swung open and a tall woman emerged and thrust a bundle of clothes at him. Bron took them out of reflex.
    â€œCover yourself, dragon,” said the woman. She was dressed in fighting leathers and carried a black sword. She was tall and fair with the same high cheekbones as Tyra, but her cool blue eyes were not friendly. Her gaze drifted southward, taking in Bron’s naked form. One fair eyebrow quirked in appraisal.
    â€œHow is Tyra?” he demanded.
    â€œShe will recover. I am Sigrid, her sister.” She raised her gaze with some effort. “Go to the feast hall and find