Kresley Cole - Dreams of a Dark Warrior

She seized his hand in both of hers, squeezing hard. “Then take it, warlord. Take more time—you fight for us! You heal so quickly, you can recover from this!”

But his lids slid shut, his breaths rattling. Brandr roared with grief.

“Aidan, come back to me.” She wept over him, tears spilling onto his skin. “Come back to me, come back to me!”

Just before his breaths ceased, he vowed, “Somehow, love … I will find you.”

And Aidan did.

Yearning for Regin endlessly, he was reborn again and again for the next thousand years, re-embodied in different guises and lives, with no memory of his past. Yet each borrowed lifetime ended more tragically than the last.

A pair of lovers—bound and cursed by fate.

Some say ’tis Wóden who punishes Aidan for his hubris, dooming him to perish just when he’s found Reginleit and remembers his love for her.

Some say Aidan’s indomitable will proves so strong that, at times, he can escape the Reaper’s gaol; but no man can elude that dark scythe forever.

Others say that the Valkyrie’s kiss was so sweet that it enchanted the mortal, who finds her through eternity by following a mad longing within his heart.

Whatever may be the case, to this day, Reginleit awaits.

To this day, Aidan returns. …

Outside of New Orleans

Present day

Declan Chase eased his Humvee down a winding bayou drive leading to Val Hall, the estate where a notorious coven of Valkyrie lived.

My target will be within.

Regin the Radiant.

Though his head was splitting from lack of sleep and his usual tension plagued him, he felt a measure of excitement about his mission. Ever since he’d received her dossier two weeks ago, Declan had been impatient to seize this female.

Perhaps because no other magister had ever captured a Valkyrie?

Yet he reminded himself that tonight’s target would be merely another capture, yet another prisoner he delivered to the Order—the mortal army to which he’d pledged his life.

When he spied lightning in the distance, he pulled off into the thick brush, deep enough to conceal his truck. After turning off the ignition, he readied for the night with a swift efficiency born of years of combat.

He strapped his sword to his side, then checked the pistols in his dual holster and the extra cartridges in his dark flak jacket. More cartridges filled the pockets of his camo pants. He was well aware that a gun couldn’t kill an immortal, but an armor-piercing round between the eyes at close range could bring one to the ground.

He opened a briefcase filled with sensitive electronics, retrieving a minuscule GPS beacon/listening device. After carefully stowing the bug in another pocket, he tested his radio earpiece.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the bayou heat was intense, assailing the truck’s cab. With the jacket, his customary gloves and high-necked shirt, he began to sweat. Drops of perspiration trickled down his chest, over the countless scars covering his torso.

His never-ending reminders of a time spent in hell. …

Tamping down those memories, he focused on the mission. Tonight’s was one of only two remaining. Then he could return to his island, to his sanctum. To my medicine …

With that thought in mind, he stepped out into the humid air, then began jogging along the dirt driveway.

Under a canopy of oaks, he ran through muddy ruts until he reached the estate’s opened entranceway: a pair of battered stone columns, each with a rusted gate clinging by a hinge.

He turned a corner and slowed, taken aback by the sight before him.

The Valkyrie’s antebellum mansion was draped in a dense fog that didn’t stir, not even with the breeze. Lightning struck all around the building; the grounds bristled with metal lightning rods. Spectral wraiths flew around the manor, defend-ing it against intruders.

An incongruous row of luxury cars lined the drive. Inside, loud music boomed and raucous women’s laughter sounded. Intermittent Valkyrie shrieks pierced the night.

So this was where Regin the Radiant lived.

Though the Order possessed much information about other species of immortals—such as the vampires and demons—they had acquired only basic facts about her kind.

Valkyrie had little need for sleep and didn’t eat or drink, instead taking nourishment from some unknown mystical source. Though they varied in looks and abilities, they all possessed superhuman strength, speed, and regenerative powers.

Declan knew of only one way to destroy her kind: beheading.

The Order had garnered a few specific details about Regin. History: Thought to be over one millennium in age. Description: Five foot three, slight build with small claws and fangs. Pointed ears. Waist-length blond hair and amber eyes.

But her most notable feature was her skin. She’d been named the Radiant One because she purportedly had skin that glowed .

The file had contained no clear photos of her. The exposure would show only a bright light where she was supposed to be.

Glowing skin. Another freak of nature. Yet she went out freely among civilians.

She customarily wore two short swords crisscrossed over her back—even in public—and was rumored to be an exceptional swordswoman.

That skill wouldn’t save her tonight.

If Declan had been put in charge of this immortal’s capture, then she was a priority to the Order. He’d never failed to bring in a target. He had backup troops awaiting in the city, ready to mobilize in an instant.

Initially, he’d considered storming this place, inflicting as much damage and destruction as possible. But there were other Valkyrie inside, and though their species was uniformly female, they were among the strongest and most vicious in the Lore.

Regin might be slight, but she could likely lift a car by herself.

To bring in a team would risk his soldiers’ lives unnecessarily, and he’d already lost men at a recent capture. A powerful, older vampire had put up a fight as few others ever had.

Plus, Declan had no idea how to battle those wraiths guarding the house. No, he’d wait until Regin the Radiant was separated from her kindred. Then he’d strike.

He approached the row of cars, pulling the bug from his jacket. Determining which one was hers proved simple enough. The RegRad license plate on a red Aston Martin was a dead giveaway.

The field notes in his dossier had described her as ostentatious, prone to flaunting her uniqueness in public. No wonder she’d been targeted. One of the Order’s objectives was to prevent civilians from ever discovering the deathless beings living in their midst.

He eased open the door and affixed the bug under the driver’s side headrest. After testing the sound with his earpiece, he gingerly shut the door and turned to leave—

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a light, turned to it.

Through one of the mansion’s front windows, he spotted her, or at least the radiance she emanated.

She does truly glow. …

He silently moved in, camouflaged behind a tree about two hundred feet from the front porch. He couldn’t see her face, but from the back, her figure was curvaceous. She wore a pair of indecently low-cut hip-hugger jeans and a cropped red T-shirt that revealed her midriff.