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Cathy’s hands shook. She needed something to stop it, but she had absolutely nothing with her except for the wetsuit and her car key in the secret pocket. Maybe there was something outside. She crawled out through the bushes, and saw the banner clasped in a warrior’s hand. When she was sure no one was nearby, she reached out and grasped the linen. Back in the cave, she beat the soil and grass from the cloth and pressed it against Brad’s wound.

She looked at his peaceful face, just like countless days at the hospital, wishing, praying, that he’d move, twitch and wake up.

“I believe in the magic of life,” she said. “I believe that you’ll be all right.”

Then she began repeating the words like a prayer. She began rocking, after a time, in meditation.

Cathy didn’t know how much time passed. But the sounds of battle stopped outside, and more light came into the cave—the sun had moved to the west and would start setting soon enough.

She was used to waiting and looking at every eyelash, every little vein on his eyelids for a movement.

Which had never happened in the whole year he’d been in the hospital.

Now, his eyelids flew open, and his blue eyes stared right at her.

CHAPTER THREE

She was lovely. Big gray eyes with long, thick eyelashes; soft, rosy cheeks; a mouth like a flower in full bloom; and pale freckles that spilled across her nose like gold dust. Her blonde hair was tied high in a knot on top of her head—a warrior’s hairstyle—exposing her face fully to him.

Her expression was raw and open. Vulnerable. She looked at him with concern and something resembling wonder. Elation.

And although it was dark here, the bright-pink skin that started right under her chin glowed like the last sunrise before Ragnarok, hurting his eyes.

“Valkyrie?” he croaked.

She frowned. “What?”

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light of the cave. “Valkyrie, did you come to take me to Valhalla?”

Her lips curved in a sweet, sad smile. She cupped his jaw, the touch feather-light. “Poor baby, you hit your head hard. Again. At least you’re not in a coma.” She looked around. “Maybe this really is some weird alternate reality, and I’m speaking some weird language I don’t remember learning.” She looked at him and her eyes softened. “But you’re alive. And I’m here, with you. And that’s all that matters.”

Andor blinked. Her words made little sense and made his head hurt. He attempted to sit upright, but his head spun and ached, and bile rose in his throat. He became aware of the cold, rough surface he was sitting on, and sharp rocks digging into his flesh.

This could not be the way to Valhalla. He was not dying.

And this woman was not a Valkyrie.

“Brad, honey, don’t move.” She leaned closer to him. “You’ve lost blood, and you might have a concussion.”

Whoever this stranger was, at least she was not trying to kill him.

“What is Brad?” he said.

Her face fell. “It’s your name. Isn’t it?”

“No.”

Something was wrong with her. Andor pushed off the wall of the cave to sit up. A big mistake. The ground shifted like the deck of a ship in a storm. He leaned back and touched the spot on the back of his head from which the pain was radiating. His fingers found linen instead of hair. She must have bandaged his wound.

“What is your name, then?” she said, her voice shaking.

“Andor Thornsson.”

She licked her lips, her chest rising and falling faster. “Do you remember me?”

He squinted at her. “I remember. You came out of thin air on the beach. I thought you were a Valkyrie. All my men did.”

Her frown deepened.