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Words froze on Ulric's tongue. Oxygen refused to fill his lungs. He was going to die. Not one of his brothers or their mates. Him. Why hadn't the possibility crossed his mind? He thought it over for a few quiet minutes but couldn't find a suitable reply.

As a Berserker, death was a familiar companion, as constant and unavoidable as eating, sleeping, or breathing. Ingrid's supposed death, all those years ago, had been the first to scar his heart, a wound he'd blinded himself to up until Mother and Father's deaths tore the infected scab off, inflicting an even deeper injury. "Are you sure?"

Tears fell down her cheeks and thickened her voice, "Yes..."

"When?"

Ingrid wiped moisture from her cheeks, "I should have told you before—"

"When am I going to die?"

She clenched her eyes shut and forced her reply past trembling lips, "Soon...within the next three days."

Ulric grunted. He wasn't sure what he'd expected her to say, but he hadn't counted on it being quite that quick. He stared out the window at the dark silhouette of the stables for a moment, then frowned and turned to her, "How do you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I'll die in the next three days...how do you know it will be so soon?"

She bit her bottom lip and wrung her hands. "It's difficult to explain. There was a sense of time ending... similar to when I saw what would occur at Clover Hill." Taking a deep breath, she swallowed before saying softly, "Sometimes I see a specific date...but I've had many visions, especially those involving death, where events shown happen in the days leading up to it and not necessarily on it."

"You're certain it was me you saw...not Gunnar?"

Ingrid nodded, "Yes."

Ulric paced to the fireplace, staring into the flames, waiting for it to sink. Shouldn't he be more alarmed at the news? It wasn't as though someone told him regularly he was going to die. Was he in shock? It had to be. "Why did you run away?" He stared at her, just as surprised at his question as she appeared to be.

Her eyes were wide with shock as she stammered, "You aren't afraid?"

"What of?" He scoffed.

"Dying..." she said in disbelief.

"What should I be afraid of? Everyone dies."

She looked at him as though she thought him insane. Perhaps he was. "Of the pain," she whispered at last.

"It's nothing to be feared," he said with a slight shrug. "I've experienced enough of it to know that even pain has an end."

It was strange, but had she informed him Gunnar or Esmund were the ones about to die in the next three days, he wouldn't have accepted the news so readily. He'd be on his way back, prepared to fight whatever nameless foe it was that would dare try to kill his brothers. But, knowing it would be him instead filled him with an emotion he could only describe as relief.

He searched her eyes for answers he wasn't sure he wanted to see and frowned as a startling thought formed within his mind and refused to be ignored. "That's why you left...isn't it?" He held his breath, steeling himself against her upcoming refusal that would prove once and for all that she felt nothing for him.

She gave a subtle nod, and her shoulders drooped as she admitted in defeat, "Yes."

His heart raced, making him dizzy as it thundered in his ears. His mouth was suddenly dry, and his throat tight with emotion when he said, "Why?"

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