The Last Valkyrie Series Complete Boxed Set Read online

  The Last Valkyrie Series

  Karina Espinosa

  Copyright © 2020 by Karina Espinosa

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by © Orina Kafe

  Edited by Beyond Def Lit and Hot Tree Editing

  Copyright 2020 by Karina Espinosa

  ASIN:

  Contents

  The Last Valkyrie

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  The Sword of Souls

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  The Rise of the Valkyries

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Also by Karina Espinosa

  About the Author

  The Last Valkyrie

  1

  Every. Single. Time.

  You would think I’d learn by now and not let them get to me, but here we are. It’s a never-ending cycle of shit, like a clogged toilet I can’t unplug.

  “Say ‘I’m sorry, Raven,’” I taunted. “C’mon, say it, you fat fuck. Say my name.”

  “No,” he grunted. With his head slammed on the counter of the bar, I held on to his greasy hair—well, what he had because it wasn’t much.

  He’d called me a cunt, and while most things rolled off my shoulders, there was something about that word that grated my ears.

  “You humans never learn.” Sighing, I lifted his head and brought it to my face. Acne scars marred his face, and his breath smelled of alcohol and mothballs. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to walk away before I shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll be tasting the leather of my boots. I don’t ever want to see you in my bar again. Understand?”

  He gritted his teeth before nodding stiffly.

  “Thatta boy. Now scurry along like the vermin you are.”

  I pushed his head away from me and crossed my arms over my chest as he stumbled backward, away from the bar top. Glaring daggers with my honey-brown eyes, I watched the man who’d tried to roofie one of my patrons walk away.

  This is what I get for trying to defend a measly human.

  “This isn’t over, Raven Romero!” he yelled as he headed for the door. “The Boss will hear about this!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m shitting bricks over here.”

  He curled his upper lip as he left the bar. The Drunken Monkey was a little dive bar in the seedy part of Portland, Oregon. Like most shitholes, it had all the makings of a stereotypical pub: its linoleum floors were sticky with gods knows what, the lighting dim—perfect for beer goggles—and it smelled of vomit and regret.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” the girl who’d almost been roofied whispered. “I could have handled it.” Her strawberry-blond hair was in a ponytail, and she had hazel eyes underneath thick, black-framed glasses. Wearing a white button-up tucked into a black pencil skirt that fell below her knees, she looked like a nun.

  “I’m sure you could have.” I snorted. “Next time, don’t meet up with a stranger you met on a dating app.” I pulled a rag from my back pocket and began to wipe down the countertop where drinks had spilled when I dragged the guy’s head across it.

  Her face reddened, and she diverted her eyes in embarrassment. “I didn’t meet him online,” she murmured. “It was a blind date my friend set up …”

  “Then you have a really shitty friend if she hooked you up with that grease ball. He looks like he spends his days playing video games in his mother’s basement and only showers once a week.”

  Her nostrils flared, and it made me laugh.

  “Okay, I’m being an asshole.” I stuck out my hand. “My name’s Raven Romero. And you are …?”

  She narrowed her eyes and paused before replying, “Charlotte O’Malley, but they call me Charlie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Charlie.” I poured two shots of tequila and slid one to her. She shook her head and passed it back to me. I threw back the shot and focused my gaze on her. “Now, why don’t you get out of here. It’s not safe for someone like you.” I gave her a lazy grin and hiccupped.

  I’d already had three-fourths of a bottle of tequila and was starting to feel it. Pulling out my Pez dispenser, I popped one in my mouth.

  “Excuse me?” she said incredulously. “I’ll have you know I can handle myself very well,” she huffed and straightened. It was cute.

  I cocked my head. “What made a librarian like yourself think this was a good idea for a date?”

  Charlie gulped, and her eyes grew to the size of golf balls. “How do you know I’m a librarian?”

  I laughed. Loudly. “Whoa, that was a lucky guess.”

  Her chest deflated with relief.

  As a valkyrie, I could see and feel souls. I tried to ignore it most of the time, but sometimes my curiosity got the best of me.

  Each soul appeared as a cloud located in the middle of someone’s chest, and each one was a different color that represented personalities in general. Charlie’s was white, which meant she was innocent, pure of heart. That alone was unusual. White souls typically were brighter than most people’s eyes could bear, but considering what had just happened to her, it had dimmed a bit, understandably so. If I wanted to dig a little deeper, I could touch her soul and know exactly what she was feeling. I wouldn’t do that now. With someone so untainted, I wanted to respect her soul and privacy. That was odd for me. I normally wouldn’t care, but I was in rare form tonight.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. It’d gotten quiet between us, and I was mindlessly staring at her chest. It was such a pervy thing to do. Charlie hopped off her stool and straightened her skirt.

  I nodded, and that was enough for her. She grabbed her purse and left the bar.

  I’ll n
ever see her again after her experience tonight.

  Good. That purity wasn’t something I saw every day, but I wasn’t holding my breath. It wouldn’t last long.

  It was one in the morning when a gaggle of girls burst into The Drunken Monkey. I’d been serving my regulars—truck drivers and blue-collar workers who spent their nights at the bar to avoid their wives—when my attention was redirected.

  The cheerleader-type girls took the section in the far back corner of the bar, laughing loudly and being annoying. They were drunk and most likely bar hopping.

  “Shots!” a woman shrieked, and her friends cheered in unison, agreeing to a night of intoxication.

  One of the blondes stumbled to me and gave me a messy grin. “Heyyy,” she sang as she sprawled her hands across the counter and leaned forward.

  “Let me guess,” I smirked. “Bachelorette party?”

  She gasped in mock horror. “How did you know?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, playing along. “Maybe the hot-pink sash gave it away.” I pointed at the glittery sash across her chest that read Maid of Honor.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Aren’t you a smart one?” She bopped my nose with her pointer finger.

  Pressing my lips together in a straight line, my jaw ticked. I didn’t like anyone randomly touching me.

  “What do you want?” I gritted out.

  “Ten princess shots!” She giggled, not catching the change in my attitude.

  Rah-rah! My smile was tight as I nodded at the cheerleader. Their high-pitched squeals made me want to bust my eardrum.

  “Coming right up,” I muttered, reaching for the vodka, watermelon pucker, and whiskey sour mix.

  Bartending wasn’t what I’d planned to do for the rest of my immortal life. I’d been a fighter, a warrior, a bringer of death. I’d held the souls of those slain in battle in my hands. I’d chosen who lived or died and decided who was worthy to rest for all eternity in the paradise of Valhalla.

  My chest swelled with pride as I reminisced on my past life. The sounds of glass breaking and someone burping loudly stirred me awake. Now I was just pitiful.

  “Here you go.” I set the tray of bright-pink shots on the countertop for the maid of honor.

  I was mildly drunk, but this chick was sloppy. I originally found her attractive. She was cute—the bubbly kind, potentially an excessive talker, but I could tune her out. I wasn’t opposed to being with a woman. This was something I didn’t understand about humans. They had a constant need to categorize everything around them, including themselves. Their need to label things only restricted them from enjoying each other. Men, women, they were all the same—pleasure was pleasure, no matter how it was achieved.

  “Keep the change.” She slid me a hundred-dollar bill and winked.

  Taking the Benjamin from the bar top, I noticed “Kendall” written next to a phone number. Sashaying back to the bachelorette party with her tray of drinks, she looked over her shoulder and bit her glossed lip.

  Chuckling, I nodded, acknowledging her flirtation.

  Donnie, the owner of The Drunken Monkey, rented the apartment upstairs to me when I first arrived in town two months ago. Since I started working behind the bar, my apartment had been a revolving door of strangers that warmed my bed. Kendall was my target for the night.

  Someone to my right whistled and glided his hand across the counter until he stopped in front of me, a wicked smile on his face. “That one is potentially dangerous. Wild in bed but crazy in the streets.”

  I eyed the stranger warily. It was rare when we had new guys roll in, much less those who showed up in thousand-dollar suits. His black hair was flawless—not a strand out of place—and his dark features commanded attention. He had a perfectly trimmed beard with a smirk that could melt any woman’s inhibitions away.

  “Can I help you?”

  “You may.” He grinned. “I’d like a beer and some conversation.” Daddy Warbucks dropped a wad of cash before me. Although his accent was hard to distinguish, I thought he was British.

  “What kind of beer?” I sighed, sounding uninterested.

  “You choose, doll.” He winked.

  “Right,” I muttered. Shocking. Men like him were always charming, acting like their shit didn’t stink.

  Grabbing a glass, I poured him some piss beer from the tap and slid it to him. “Anything else?”

  “Sure.” He took his beer and drank half in one gulp. “Mmm, delicious. Might I bother you for one moment?”

  Besides the bachelorette party, it was a slow night. I could amuse him for a while.

  “What’s up?”

  He motioned me over with his finger, and I played along. Leaning forward, he whispered, “Has anyone ever told you you’re absolutely stunning?”

  I snorted.

  In a pair of baggy boyfriend jeans and a tank with an open flannel over it, I was far from stunning. My olive skin was pale from the lack of sun due to working nights. I usually spent my days in bed and drank myself into a stupor, which accounted for the dark rings around my eyes.

  “Don’t believe me?”

  I shook my head. Leaning my hip against the edge of the bar top, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Oh, I believe you, but I don’t need you to boost my ego. I can do that just fine.”

  He threw his head back and laughed loudly, ignoring my comment. “So how long have you been working here … what’s your name?”

  “Barbara Streisand,” I deadpanned. “What’s with all the questions?”

  “I’m new to town. Just trying to get to know the locals.”

  There was something about his gaze that made me wary. Something was off about this man. Narrowing my eyes, I looked to his chest. His soul was a cloud of blackness, swirling uncontrollably. A black soul was the purest form of wickedness. Yes, he was attractive, there was no doubt about that, but he wasn’t a good man.

  “What’s a suit doing around these parts? You a cop?”

  He burst out in laughter. “A policeman? Really? That’s a good one, Barbara.”

  Does he really think my name is Barbara?

  “Happy to entertain,” I said mindlessly. “What’s your name?”

  “Fen,” he said. “I’m not a cop, but I am in search of something. Someone.”

  “Your missing wife?” My inquiry was out of pure curiosity, of course.

  He chuckled. “No wife. She’s a friend of a friend. I need a favor only she can do.”

  I grunted. “Because that’s not cryptic at all.”

  “Sorry, Barbara,” he shrugged, “but I can’t tell you all my secrets. I must keep an air of mystery.”

  I raised a brow. “Right. Do you have a name for this special woman?”

  “I have a description. Blonde, blue-eyed. She’s mesmerizing, even goddess-like.” Fen’s dark eyes twinkled with excitement in anticipation of finding her. I waited for him to keep going, but that was it.

  It was my turn to laugh. “Are you serious? Flip through a Victoria Secret catalog. You’ll find her there.”

  “I found you in this decrepit bar, so why could I not find her here?”

  I shook my head. “That’s not what I mean. What I’m saying is, you don’t have much to go on.” I nodded toward the bachelorette party. “There are many gorgeous blondes with blue eyes in this bar alone. You’re going to need more than that to find your mystery woman.”

  Fen eyed me for a moment, and I did the same. Not breaking eye contact, we stared each other down. He loosened his tie and took off his jacket. Gulping the second half of his beer, he slid me the empty glass.

  “Another.”

  And that was how the night went. Drink after drink, Fen carried on about his unknown blonde, and I listened while serving customers around him. I almost pitied the man. He was never going to find her.

  I took out my Pez dispenser, popped one in, and swallowed another shot of tequila.

  “Interesting contraption you have there,” Fen said. “Is that …” He squint
ed to get a better look. “Is that Thor?”

  “Yup. The moron with the big-ass hammer,” I deadpanned as I looked at my Pez dispenser. When I saw it at the store, I knew it was the perfect thing to keep my vices in—all my happy pills. Ironically, Thor didn’t even look like that in real life.

  “Fan of Norse mythology?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. The last thing I wanted to talk about with a human was my heritage. They were ignorant, and it would only piss me off. “Last call. Want another?” I nodded to his empty glass. He was going for his twelfth beer and wasn’t even buzzed. A human who could handle his alcohol? Well, wasn’t tonight full of surprises?

  “No, thanks.” He waved me off. “What time do you get off tonight?”

  “Why?”

  “With such stimulating conversation, I thought we could continue this at your place,” he smirked. Those onyx eyes glittered as if he were a hundred percent certain I would take him home. Usually, I would out of boredom, but he seemed like the type who’d never been told no. It made me want to deny him even more.