Her Alpha Viking

by Sheryl Nantus

  She was one of the few unattached women. The others she’d spotted so far hung off some man’s arm like a valued trophy. They were there to see and be seen as they made their way to the elite section.

  She pressed on, her leather jacket brushing against bare flesh as she made her way to the octagon representing the dueling space.

  Something landed on her butt, grabbing and squeezing hard.

  She spun and glared at the owner, a thickset man wearing a vest and no shirt, his jeans snug around his hips. He was in his twenties, his beard sculpted into a devilish goatee.

  “Hey, honey,” he drawled. “You looking for a fine ride later tonight?”

  She looked down where his hand sat, still plastered to her behind.

  He yanked her close, showing off tobacco-stained teeth. “Come on, darling. You deserve a man, not those boys playing in the ring.”

  “I do.” Her reply was matched by her grip on the offending fingers, bending them back with ease.

  The grin turned to a scowl as he tried to not make any noise, his face contorting as she bent his entire hand back.

  “I’ll find my own man, thank you. And he won’t be an uncouth barbarian like you.” She gave him a shove, sending him flying into a nearby group of men. As he struggled to stand, gesturing and shaking his head, Brenna moved deeper into the crowd. She ended up standing in front of the cage, the octagon dominating the center of the warehouse. One fight had just finished, the loser being helped out by two attendants. His head lolled to the side as he staggered through the wire door. The victor took another lap, screaming as blood trickled down his face. Finally, he exited to the crowd’s cheering, vanishing from sight as the audience closed ranks, yelling for the next pair of fighters.

  Brenna flashed back to that moment on the battlefield, a rush of heat pouring through her veins at the memory.

  It’d been a mission of mercy. The original attack had taken the medical convoy apart, leaving them immobilized and decoys to draw out would-be rescuers, like Harrison’s squad. Then the insurgents had fallen on them. By the time she’d arrived, the fighting had been over—the attackers pulling back to disappear in the nearby mountains and the reinforcements rushing to get to the handful of survivors.

  She wasn’t there for them. She was there for the dead and dying.

  The crippled man had been first, bleeding out into the hot sand as she approached. The woman was her next target, another brave warrior ascending to Valhalla. Brenna remembered thinking maybe Freyja would consider this one for the Valkyries, a welcome transfer into their ranks. There were others who she relieved of their pain and sorrow, sent them to their rightful rewards waiting for them in the Great Halls.

  Then Erik challenged her. Called her out.

  Goose bumps rose on her skin as she recalled her shock at his seeing her. It was supposed to be impossible, beyond the capacity of mere mortals.

  But he shouted at her, brought her in close enough to weave his spell over her.

  The kiss…

  Brenna had never kissed anyone on the lips before.

  She couldn’t explain the desire, couldn’t answer when Mother Freyja herself had demanded a response as to why she’d failed in her duty.

  There was none to give. Somehow this man still had a hold on her, the image on the website reminding her of their original encounter. It clouded her mind, dulling her senses as she relived the moment again.

  She gave herself an angry shake, drawing a frown from the man standing beside her. She wasn’t there to go over old memories; she needed to finish what had started over a year ago on the battlefield.

  Find Erik Harrison and kill him.

  Only then would she be able to retake her place among the other Valkyries and go back to Valhalla.

  The thought snatched her breath away as the far cage door opened and a man stepped in.

  Not Erik but his opponent.

  Brenna raised an eyebrow at the hulking, bare-chested man thumping his chest as he circled the ring, encouraging yells and screams from the spectators.

  She might not get her chance if this man had his way.

  …

  Erik strode into the ring, raising his hands as the crowd screamed their approval.

  Matty let out a grunt, standing at the opposite side of the ring. The long dark hair was pulled back into a braid, swept back over his shoulder—a trap. Erik had seen others fall for the temptation, losing points for dishonorable fighting and giving the thick-necked Iowan sympathy votes.

  Stunts like that wouldn’t be tolerated at this level of competition.

  It shouldn’t be hard to take the giant down, having done it before. All he had to do was stay focused and pay attention.

  Erik took his corner and nodded at the referee across the way. No assistants, no pit crew standing by to prepare Erik. Just a towel draped over the top of the cage for use between rounds and it would be pulled away when the bell rang.

  The man waved them to the center of the ring. “Right. You know the rules. No eye gouging, no biting. The usual. Give a good fight, a clean fight, give ’em what they want, and we all walk away winners.” He looked from one man to the other, waiting for the approving nods.

  Erik gave a brief jerk of his head, not looking away from his competitor’s bloodshot eyes.

  Matty did the same.

  “Right, then. Back to your corners.” As soon as the pair did so, he raised a hand. “Let’s do this. Three, two, one—fight!” He ran to the open door. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the two fighters alone.

  Matty charged at Erik, uttering a war cry as the audience cheered and stamped their feet. It set up an addictive rhythm, matching Erik’s racing heart as he ducked under the swinging arm. He laid a punishing series of blows on the large man’s kidneys before swiveling away, out of reach.

  Another duck and punch with a jab to the belly, switching it up to make sure there was no routine, nothing to prepare for.

  This would take time, but he could outlast the larger man. Matty’s bulk made him look threatening at first glance, but over time the giant would tire and lose his concentration, making it easy to knock him out.

  Erik jabbed at the bulbous nose before leaping back, his plans made. Add in a flourish for the crowd and then he could deliver the final…

  Something caught his attention, right at the edge of his vision. He snapped his head around as if someone had slapped him.

  No.

  He stared at the blonde woman through the steel diamonds.

  In a blink, he was back on the battlefield, the eerie silence surrounding him as she took his friends’ souls and came to him. His throat went dry as he recalled his refusal, his demands that she explain herself.

  And the kiss. That brief, life-changing kiss before she left him alone and bleeding out, the medics charging in to try and save him.

  Erik had spent months thinking the wartime illusion signaled a break with sanity. He told himself it’d been a reaction to the ambush, nothing more. A hallucination brought on by the injuries and the trauma.

  But he was wrong. Because his hallucination stood on the other side of the wire fence.

  He studied her, trying to fit the mirage with the reality. No wings, no armor or lance. The black leather jacket and jeans suited her, the white blouse gaping open to show a flash of pale skin. She was real, and she was here.

  Here.

  A thick meaty hand landed on his shoulder, digging into his flesh.

  Erik’s stomach sank, the rest of the world rushing back into focus as he remembered where he was and what he was doing. Or not doing.

  Too late.

  Chapter Four

  Brenna stayed until the very end, unable to look away as he fell for the third and last time. The referee counted down to zero, and the duel was over.

  The match was over once Matty got hold of him. The initial punch sent Erik reeling, staggering across to the opposite end of the ring to fall against the cage wall. He clawed his way upright t
o try and gather his senses, prepare a counter-attack.

  It never came.

  Matty batted him around like a dog with a toy, ending it with a final blow to the face, sending Erik to the mat. The mob cheered as the giant took his victory lap, hands raised as he screamed and shouted at the applauding spectators.

  She winced when two men trotted into the cage and pulled Erik’s limp body up between them.

  “Put him out back with the garbage!” one man roared beside her, and she resisted the urge to punch him, send the thug to his knees begging for mercy.

  You don’t deserve to be in the same room with him, she thought. Erik Harrison was a warrior, through and through, unlike these petty armchair warriors getting their thrills through berating real men.

  She flashed back to the last few minutes of the fight, pulling her fingers into fists at the memory of Matty smashing his ham-sized hands into Erik’s ribs again and again.

  Erik had been…

  Beautiful was not a term used for men. But she couldn’t find any other word to describe him in her mind.

  A fast glance around showed other women agreed. One woman, sitting in the high-paying section, dug her nails into her bare thighs as he tried to counter-attack, failing in the end.

  Brenna shifted her weight from one leg to the other, turning her attention back to Erik as the men dragged him up to face the crowd.

  Sweat trickled down his bronze skin, the white scars standing out. The tight abs, chiseled and solid, had stood against the thick meaty fists as long as they could before surrendering.

  Erik lifted his head and groggily searched the crowd before they dragged him out. She took a step back, out of sight.

  She’d made a tactical error by letting him see her.

  Or maybe not, the tiny voice at the back of her mind whispered. Now he was tired and injured—easy prey.

  She pursed her lips, torn along different paths. After seeing him fight for so long on the videos, she’d looked forward to a challenge. Except this wasn’t Valhalla and she wasn’t here to spar. She was here to kill him.

  Mad Matty continued to parade around the cage. From what she’d picked up standing around, Erik had been the favorite to win and now lost his chance to move up in the league standings.

  It didn’t matter. Soon Erik would be in Valhalla and wouldn’t have to worry about such things.

  Still though…she flinched, reliving the punishing blows raining down on him. Erik’s stare had tunneled right inside, sending her back to the Mistake, as she had named it in her mind.

  It was over. All the long nights, all the long days following him from town to town, always one step behind.

  As soon as she killed him. It would as painless and quick as possible so he could join his friends.

  Along with herself.

  But you won’t be with him, her inner voice murmured. You’ll be with your sisters, traveling the world to find worthy warriors to bring to the Great Halls. If you’re lucky, you’ll spot him partying and carousing at the feasts as you pass by, delivering more men and women to their seats.

  She swallowed hard, recalling the way her heart jumped, his dark brown eyes capturing hers as they had a year before.

  No.

  No more hesitation. She would do her celestial duty and that would be it.

  Brenna pushed her way through the cheering spectators to the front door. They were too busy goading on the next fight to do much other than whine as she passed by, roaring for more blood.

  Too many questions and witnesses if she dared to kill him here, inside the warehouse. It wouldn’t be hard—she could easily get past the guard, play an adoring fan, and gain entrance to the dressing room. One quick snap of Erik’s neck and they’d both be gone.

  But it’d be messy and in full view of the other fighters and staff.

  Committing a blatant deed like this in plain sight would annoy the Allfather. Odin frowned on such public displays of power, and this certainly met the definition. She didn’t need to incur any more of Freyja’s wrath or Odin’s by making a spectacle.

  Better to wait in the parking lot until Erik came out to leave. In his weakened state, he wouldn’t be difficult to defeat, and the local authorities would likely put the death down to a disgruntled fan who lost money on the fight.

  She moved into the shadows and leaned against the building, waiting. It’d all be over soon. She’d return to her sisters and move on with the rest of her immortal life.

  …

  “What the fuck, man?” Struff tossed an icepack over. “Not even one round. Not even one goddamn round.” He jabbed a finger at the fighter sitting at the other end of the bench. “You. Get your ass into the ring now. The crowd’s waiting. Give them a hell of a show or I’ll cut your pay in half.”

  The man went to say something but stopped, shaking his head as he walked through the curtains.

  Erik caught the chemical pack and pressed it to his forehead, wincing as it settled over the raised skin. “Sorry it didn’t work out the way you planned. Matty got lucky. Happens once in a while, even to guys like him.” He felt the chill through his hand, helping the swelling on his bruised knuckles. “That’s why people bet on him. Eventually the odds are going to go his way.” He eyed the event organizer. “You think I liked him turning me into a pound of ground round?” He let the anger into his voice. “You hint that I threw it, you’re next in the cage. I always fight fair and as hard as I can.”

  “I believe you.” Struff nodded. “You came highly recommended. But…” He shook his head. “Sorry, Erik. No way I can justify putting you on the next card. If you had fought better or something, but this…this was crap. You looked like a damned rookie.”

  Erik glared at him. “No one wins every match.”

  “Yeah, but you let him beat on you like a piñata.” Struff snorted. “Maybe in a few months you can try again. I’ll call your manager and tell him to get you on some undercards out East. A bit more experience, more wins, and you’ll be back here, I know it.” He held out a towel. “Everyone has an off day. Too bad yours had to be today.”

  “No problem.” Erik put the cold pack down. He took the offered cloth and wiped his face clean of the blood and sweat. “I understand.”

  Struff sighed. “Keeps the crowd on their feet when things go screwy. Gives the bookies fits—not totally bad.” The manager let out a low whistle as he dug in his pocket. “Here.” He peeled off a thin wad of folded bills. “Two hundred. Best I can do under the circumstances. Sit and take your time recovering; no one’s going to toss you out.” He motioned at the guard standing nearby. “Understand? He stays as long as he needs to.”

  The man nodded his agreement.

  “Tell Matty it was a good fight,” Erik said. “But I’m putting him down next time around.”

  “He’s in the other locker room, taking his victory lap. I’ll pass it on.” He patted Erik’s shoulder. “Later.” Struff walked out through the curtains.

  Erik twisted the cap off the water bottle and reached for the headache reliever, cursing under his breath. His head still spun from the double attack, mentally and physically.

  You idiot.

  He was lucky he could still see straight. Those few seconds he’d spent staring at her had given Matty the opening the man needed to win.

  He stuffed the money in his wallet and tossed the ice pack on the bench. It took a few seconds to strip off his shorts, a few more to dig a clean T-shirt and jeans out of his duffel bag, pushing himself to move.

  Erik didn’t have time to sit here and lick his wounds. She was out there somewhere, and he had to find her. He zipped the bag shut and hoisted it on his shoulder before heading for the exit.

  “You good to go?” the attendant said, eyeing him closely. “Not supposed to let you walk out of here unless you’re feeling okay. Don’t want you passing out or nothing.”

  Erik smiled. “I’m fine.” He had a vision to chase and no time to waste.

  The guard held the curtain op
en as he walked through, finding himself at the edges of the eager crowd. They ignored him, too busy focusing on the new pairing.

  Mike came over, shaking his head. “Dude, what happened?”

  “Nothing.” He looked around, scanning the audience. “Just got unlucky.”

  “Keep that shit to yourself. Sorry to hear it.” The bookie raised his hands. “Got work to do, but glad to see you’re okay. Next time.” He walked away, blending into the crowd as people shoved pieces of paper at him, bets coming in on the future matches.

  Erik hesitated, pondering his next move.

  Would she be standing at the cage cheering on the next set of brawlers? Was she a fangirl, waiting around the victors’ area to throw herself at any of the winners for an evening of fast, hard sex? Had she gone somewhere with Matty, offering herself up for a quick fuck?

  The throbbing in his head intensified. For a single second, he imagined her in the parking lot, pinned against one of the limos while one of the other fighters took advantage of her.

  A growl broke free, unbidden and uncontrollable.

  No.

  She wasn’t there for anyone else. Only him and him alone. He knew it.

  Erik glanced around, his left eye slightly impaired due to the swelling. No one paid attention to him—only the victors earned the mob’s accolades. She might still be here, watching another fight.

  I’ll catch her when she leaves, either walking to her car or waiting for a taxi.

  Then what do you say? he challenged himself. Are you the woman I hallucinated a year ago in the middle of a firefight?

  Erik drew a deep breath, his ribs aching. He used the pain to tamp down the desire that surged every time he saw her in his mind’s eye.

  He headed for the door, consoling himself with the thought that if he were going crazy, he’d picked one lovely woman to lose his mind over.

  The parking lot was dark, the lines of cars waiting for their owners to come out from the warehouse. He heard the spectators roar behind him as another pair of fighters entered the ring.