“A bear?” she asked . . . anyone. “Seriously?”

Yeah. He’d changed into a bear. A ten-foot, really pissed-off grizzly bear with her suddenly puny blade sticking out of his incredibly thick shoulder.

Kera tried to move away, crab-walking a few feet back, but the bear took one step and it was right over her. It pulled its arm back, its big claws—like five big knifes aimed right for her head—glinting in the waning sunlight.

That paw started to come down and Kera raised an arm and yelled out, “Wait!” The bear stopped, stared at her, its arm still raised. “Why don’t we talk about this?”

The bear growled.

“Or not,” she squeaked.

The bear pulled its arm back again, but Vig dropped from the sky onto its back. He yanked Kera’s blade out of the bear’s neck and tossed it to her before grabbing the bear by its muzzle and prying its jaw apart. Then he kept prying as the bear tried to swipe Vig off.

Kera took her blade and ran to the bear, sliding in the mud and blood and muck on her knees until she was between the bear’s legs. She stabbed up into its inner thigh, having to push hard to get past fur and skin and muscle and bury her weapon deep into the artery.

She pulled her blade out and did the same thing to its other inner thigh. When blood began to flow freely from both wounds, she scrambled back in time to see Vig yank the powerful jaws apart until the bone holding them together split. Vig lifted the top jaw up farther until he ripped it off. Then he jumped down and away, allowing the bear to fall dead in the mud.

“Hate shifters,” Vig muttered. “Tricky. They’re all tricky. Never forget that.”

“Thanks,” Kera said as she got to her feet. Then she punched Vig in the face. Hard.

Vig stumbled to the side, his hand reaching up to touch his jaw. “What the hell—”

“Don’t you ever leave me alone with rape-loving Vikings again.”

“But—”

“You just left me! Never again!”

Vig held his hands up, moved his jaw around. “Fine. But there was a purpose to—”

“I don’t care.”

“I would never have let anything happen to—”

“I don’t care!”

Vig leaned his head away from her yelling and promised, “Fine. Never again.”

In the distance, Kera heard a deep, resounding noise radiate throughout the valley. “What the hell is that?”

“The horn that calls the surviving warriors to the halls for the feast.”

“Good. I’m starving.” She started to follow the stream of warriors moving toward one of the shining castles in the distance, but Vig grabbed her by the back of her tank top and pulled her to his side.

“We should wash upfirst. Before we go in. Or we’ll be using the communal washbowl to—”

“That’s all you needed to say,” Kera cut in, pulling away from him and walking toward a creek. “Communal washbowl. There’s really no reason to even finish the rest of that sentence.”

Kera washed her hands, arms, and face in a spot where clean water flowed . . . away from the bodies that bled out nearby.

In silence, Vig did the same and, once done, together they walked toward the hall. It wasn’t a short walk and by the time they reached the Halls of Valhalla, most of the remaining warriors were sitting down and eating. But as soon as Kera walked in, they all stopped . . . and stared at her.

She immediately started to pull back, to walk away, but Vig placed his hand against her spine and pushed her forward.

“Show them no weakness,” he murmured against her ear as he pressed her forward with that warm hand against her back. “Never show them weakness. Show them that you’ll never back off. That you’ll never stop fighting. That you’ll take all of them with you if you have to.”

Using her Marine training, Kera kept her shoulders back, her chest out, and her spine stiff as she walked by all those men and women. As she was halfway through, wondering how she’d make it all the way across this enormous hall with all those eyes on her, she heard a caw from the rafters. She raised her eyes and saw crows and ravens watching her from above. The crows began to caw at her, pushing her on. The ravens joined in, their low croaks seeming to dance between the crows’ higher-pitched sounds. They were singing to her.

By the time Kera was across the hall, nearing the many tables that held her sisters and Vig’s Raven brothers, their horns, mugs of ale, or fists were slamming against the wooden surface, welcoming both her and Vig to join them.

Vig’s hand slipped to the back of her neck, and his thumb brushed a spot right behind her ear that nearly had her knees buckling. Then, just as quickly, his hand was gone and he moved over to the table with his brothers.

Kera was called to the table where the First Crow sat. Beside her was an East Indian Crow with beautiful long black hair and the darkest eyes Kera had ever seen.

“Hello, my beauty,” the East Indian Crow said, wrapping Kera in a warm hug. “I’ve heard so much about you today. I’m glad you’re here to join us.”

With a flip of her hand, she moved a Crow out of the spot beside her so that Kera could sit next to her.

“I’m Aditi.”

“I may be the first crow,” the First Crow announced, reaching for the platter of ribs making its way down the table, “but Aditi is our mother. The one who gave us . . . what is that word you always use?”