Described as Game of Thrones meets Blade
Runner in this commanding new YA fantasy inspired by Norse Mythology from New York Times bestselling author Amanda
Hocking.
As one of Odin's
Valkyries, Malin's greatest responsibility is to slay immortals and return them
to the underworld. But when she unearths a secret that could unravel the
balance of all she knows, Malin along with her best friend and her
ex-girlfriend must decide where their loyalties lie. And if helping the
blue-eyed boy Asher enact his revenge is worth the risk—to the world and her
heart.
Title: Between The Blade And The Heart
Series: Valkyrie
Author: Amanda Hocking
Genre: YA, Fantasy, Mythology
Publisher: St Martins Press
Release Date: 2nd January 2018
BLURB from Goodreads
Valkyries have one great responsibility: to return immortals to the afterlife by slaying them. As a Valkyrie, Malin has always known that the balance of the world rests on her ability to carry out orders. But when Malin discovers that her mother spared the life of an immortal who was destined to die, her world is thrown into chaos.
Malin not only wrestles with the knowledge that her mother might not be who she thought—she’s also thrust into the path of a gorgeous blue eyed guy named Asher who needs her help slaying the rogue immortal who destroyed his family. The balance of the world is at stake. And, as Asher competes with Malin’s ex for her love and loyalty, so is her heart.
Malin not only wrestles with the knowledge that her mother might not be who she thought—she’s also thrust into the path of a gorgeous blue eyed guy named Asher who needs her help slaying the rogue immortal who destroyed his family. The balance of the world is at stake. And, as Asher competes with Malin’s ex for her love and loyalty, so is her heart.
PURCHASE LINKS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amanda Hocking is the author of over twenty young adult
novels, including the New York Times
bestselling Trylle Trilogy and Kanin Chronicles. Her love of pop
culture and all things paranormal influence her writing. She spends her time in
Minnesota, taking care of her menagerie of pets and working on her next book.
Social Links
Author Website
Twitter
Facebook
EXCERPT
ONE
The air reeked of fermented fish and
rotten fruit, thanks to the overflowing dumpster from the restaurant behind us.
The polluted alley felt narrow and claustrophobic, sandwiched between
skyscrapers.
In
the city, it was never quiet or peaceful, even at three in the morning. There
were more than thirty million humans and supernatural beings coexisting, living
on top of each other. It was the only life I’d ever really known, but the noise
of the congestion grated on me tonight.
My
eyes were locked on the flickering neon lights of the gambling parlor across
the street. The u in Shibuya had gone out, so the sign flashed SHIB YA at me.
The
sword sheathed at my side felt heavy, and my body felt restless and electric. I
couldn’t keep from fidgeting and cracked my knuckles.
“He’ll
be here soon,” my mother, Marlow, assured me. She leaned back against the brick
wall beside me, casually eating large jackfruit seeds from a brown paper sack.
Always bring a snack on a stakeout was one of her first lessons, but I was far
too nervous and excited to eat.
The
thick cowl of her frayed black sweater had been pulled up like a hood, covering
her cropped blond hair from the icy mist that fell on us. Her tall leather
boots only went to her calf, thanks to her long legs. Her style tended to be
monochromatic—black on black on black—aside from the shock of dark red
lipstick.
My
mother was only a few years shy of her fiftieth birthday, with almost thirty
years of experience working as a Valkyrie, and she was still as strong and vital
as ever. On her hip, her sword Mördare glowed a dull red through its sheath.
The
sword of the Valkyries was one that appeared as if it had been broken in
half—its blade only a foot long before stopping at a sharp angle. Mördare’s
blade was several thousand years old, forged in fires to look like red glass
that would glow when the time was nigh.
My
sword was called Sigrún, a present on my eighteenth birthday from Marlow. It
was a bit shorter than Mördare, with a thicker blade, so it appeared stubby and
fat. The handle was black utilitarian, a replacement that my mom had had
custom-made from an army supply store, to match her own.
The
ancient blade appeared almost black, but as it grew closer to its target, it
would glow a vibrant purple. For the past hour that we’d been waiting on our
stakeout, Sigrún had been glowing dully on my hip.
The
mist grew heavier, soaking my long black hair. I kept the left side of my head
shaved, parting my hair over to the right, and my scalp should’ve been freezing
from the cold, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything.
It
had begun—the instinct of the Valkyrie, pushing aside my humanity to become a
weapon. When the Valkyrie in me took over, I was little more than a scythe for
the Grim Reaper of the gods.
“He’s
coming,” Marlow said behind me, but I already knew.
The
world fell into hyperfocus, and I could see every droplet of rain as it
splashed toward the ground. Every sound echoed through me, from the bird
flapping its wings a block away, to the club door as it groaned open.
Eleazar
Bélanger stumbled out, his heavy feet clomping in the puddles. He was chubby
and short, barely over four feet tall, and he would’ve appeared to be an
average middle-aged man if it wasn’t for the two knobby horns that stuck out
on either side of his forehead. Graying tufts of black hair stuck out from
under a bright red cap, and as he walked ahead, he had a noticeable limp
favoring his right leg.
He
was a Trasgu, a troublemaking goblin, and his appearance belied the strength
and cunning that lurked within him. He was over three hundred years old, and
today would be the day he died.
I
waited in the shadows of the alley for him to cross the street. A coughing fit
caused him to double over, and he braced himself against the brick wall.
I
approached him quietly—this all went easier when they didn’t have time to
prepare. He took off his hat to use it to wipe the snot from his nose, and when
he looked up at me, his green eyes flashed with understanding.
“It’s
you,” Eleazar said in a weak, craggy voice. We’d never met, and I doubt he’d
ever seen me before, but he recognized me, the way they all did when their time
was up.
“Eleazar
Bélanger, you have been chosen to die,” I said, reciting my script, the words
automatic and cold on my lips. “It is my duty to return you to the darkness
from whence you came.”
“No,
wait!” He held up his pudgy hands at me. “I have money. I can pay you. We can
work this out.”
“This
is not my decision to make,” I said as I pulled the sword from my sheath.
His
eyes widened as he realized I couldn’t be bargained with. For a moment I
thought he might just accept his fate, but they rarely did. He bowed his head
and ran at me like a goat. He was stronger than he looked and caused me to
stumble back a step, but he didn’t have anywhere to go.
My
mother stood blocking the mouth of the alley, in case I needed her. Eleazar
tried to run toward the other end, but his leg slowed him, and I easily
overtook him. Using the handle of my sword, I cracked him on the back of the
skull, and he fell to the ground on his knees.
Sigrún
glowed brightly, with light shining out from it and causing the air to glow
purple around us. Eleazar mumbled a prayer to the Vanir gods. I held the sword
with both hands, and I struck it across his neck, decapitating him.
And
then, finally, the electricity that had filled my body, making my muscles
quiver and my bones ache, left me, and I breathed in deeply. The corpse of an
immortal goblin lay in a puddle at my feet, and I felt nothing but relief.
“It
was a good return,” my mother said, and put her hand on my shoulder. “You did
well, Malin.”
