Dakshana knew it was all over when Chadstone turned toward her. He approached with measured steps, blood dripping from his brow, his cheekbone, down the front of his tunic. The rest of his men still chanted, eager, waiting.
Dakshana brought up her sword. What was she supposed to do?
“Are you ready, mighty Valkyrie?” he asked.
“Ready for what?” Dakshana asked.
“To face your death.”
Dakshana had been ready for that since the beginning. But she smiled and twirled her sword. “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“For this.” Dakshana stepped forward, lowered her sword, and pulled him into a kiss.
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