Her Alpha Viking

by Sheryl Nantus

  …

  His ribs and his head hurt. He wanted nothing more than to spend an hour in bed with the pain reliever of his choice and a bottle of whiskey to wash away the nightmares.

  Except the woman who he’d dreamed about a thousand times over the past year was sitting right here beside him, her fingernails digging into the dashboard.

  He glanced over at her at the first stoplight, readying himself if she bolted. He was in no shape to chase her.

  She stared out at the night sky, making no move to flee.

  It was the best news he’d had lately.

  “Are you okay?” Erik asked. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

  “No. No,” the blonde woman repeated, running a hand through her hair. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “She damned well just attempted to stab you through the chest. Whatever you think you know about her, you might want to revise it,” he replied. “Do you have anyone nearby we can go to? A clinic, a doctor, a family member…”

  “I’m not ill,” she snarled. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Well, I’m not.” He tried to take a deep breath and failed, seeing spots behind his eyes as the stabbing pain shot through his left rib cage. “I took one hell of a beating in the cage. Then I come out to the parking lot and you jump me…” He paused, first wanting to regret his choice of words and then deciding not to. “You jump me, talking wild stuff about having to kill me, and then the other woman tries to take us both out with a damned spear. This is crazy, beyond crazy.”

  She said nothing, prompting him to look over. Her eyes were closed, her head resting against the window as she let out a long, painful sigh.

  He reached out and touched her arm. “Hey. Hey. We’re going to be fine.”

  “I don’t see how,” she whispered. “If I don’t kill you, Kara will.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that.

  Erik cleared his throat. “Right. Here’s the plan. We’re stopping at the first hotel we see once we get out of town and get a room for the remainder of the night. I need to rest, and we have to talk.” He kept glancing at her. “No more mysteries, no half-lies. Tell me the truth.”

  She crossed her arms and stared out the window as he sped up and switched lanes.

  Erik wiped his forehead. A few hours ago, his biggest concern had been how to spend his winnings and looking forward to newfound fame on the circuit.

  Now he was running from an unknown attacker with his mystery woman who had tried to kill him.

  “Let’s start with the basics. I’m Erik Harrison. What’s your name?”

  “Brenna. My identification cards say Brenna Lund.”

  “That’s something.” He studied the road. “What unit were you with?”

  She frowned.

  “Right. I forgot. You’re a Valkyrie.” He mentally flipped through his therapy sessions, trying to figure out what to say, what phrasing to avoid for fear of setting her off. “Sounds like a special job.”

  “It is.” She tugged at the sleeves of her leather jacket. “We’re among the Chosen Few, the ones sent to gather souls for Valhalla.” Her gaze fell. “Kara’s one as well.”

  “I see.” He didn’t, but it wasn’t the time or place to confuse the issue with facts. “And your orders were to kill me?”

  “Yes, and no. It was to reap you.” She shook her head, the blonde hair falling about her shoulders. “To take your soul to Valhalla, as I should have done a year ago.”

  He had no idea what to say to that, so he stayed silent and studied the speedometer. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over and having to explain why he looked like someone’s punching bag.

  He snuck glances at her, his heart racing as he realized his greatest fear, that he had been losing his mind, was false. Brenna might be a troubled woman, someone in desperate need of therapy, but she was flesh and blood. Who had just attempted to stab him but that was another whole discussion.

  …

  Brenna stared out into the darkness, praying to Freyja for guidance, for some sort of sign she hadn’t been forsaken. She felt the hollowness in her heart and knew there’d be no reply.

  Kara.

  Her sister, her fellow Valkyrie. Sent to watch her, to finish the job if she failed. With Freyja’s permission and blessing.

  And to send Brenna to Helheim.

  She glanced at the man beside her. If she killed him, she might still be able to regain her status, her glory…

  The line of reasoning broke with a loud snap in her mind.

  She couldn’t kill Erik Harrison.

  The revelation drew a jagged gash across her consciousness. After all this time, after all this searching, imagining taking his life and reclaiming her old position…all for nothing. Now she was outcast and condemned because something held her back, keeping her from finishing her mission.

  But before Kara sent her to Helheim, she’d figure out why not.

  She dug her nails into her palms.

  What have you done to me?

  Her arm burned, reminding her of the light injury.

  That was another issue she didn’t want to think about this moment.

  Erik pulled off the highway, sending them down an off ramp.

  “Sign over there advertising a hotel,” he offered in way of explanation.

  She stayed silent as he took the exit and turned down another road, bringing them through a small town. A gas station lay on the outskirts, already closed for the night.

  They pulled into the motel parking lot, Erik expertly sliding the car between a pair of tractor-trailers.

  He got out, shouldering the duffel bag. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired and sweaty and more than a little sore between fighting Matty and then you and that other woman. We’re going to only stay until morning, long enough to get cleaned up and plan our next move.” He moved off, the long-measured strides carrying him away from the vehicle.

  She fell into step beside him, trying to gather her thoughts.

  He glanced at her. “What are the odds your buddy’s going to be able to track us? Does she have access to a car, to guns…what’s her skillset?”

  “I don’t know,” Brenna confessed. “And she’s not my buddy. She’s my sister.”

  Erik let out a sharp laugh. “Your mother must be so proud of you.”

  “Probably not,” she admitted.

  Chapter Seven

  His plan was simple—find a safe place for the night, go to ground to catch his breath, and figure out what the hell was going on. Whether it was San Francisco or Afghanistan, he’d have done the same thing.

  Except in Afghanistan he wouldn’t be dragging someone along with him who was as likely to kill him as help him.

  The hotel was a long L-shaped building with only a handful of cars in the parking lot other than his own and the tractor trailers. The neon sign flashed red and white, the “NO” part unlit. It looked quiet and clean, one of the independents trying to hold their own against the big chains sprawling on each side of the highway.

  Small and simple was exactly what they needed. Little paperwork, no credit card tracing, and flying under the radar as much as they could manage in the middle of the night. If someone was actively hunting him, he wasn’t going to make it easy.

  He took her hand as they approached. “Let me do the talking.”

  She nodded, her fingers cool to the touch. She seemed to be almost in a trance, the stoic look unsettling him.

  He couldn’t afford to have her mentally check out, not until he got some answers.

  Erik kept a firm grip on Brenna as they entered the office. Not to keep up appearances—he was still afraid she’d break and run.

  The young woman behind the counter looked up from her college mathematics textbook. She flipped her blond ponytail back and smiled as if she was used to people coming in after ten o’clock at night. “Good evening. Can I help you?”

  “We need a room.” Erik released Brenna’s hand and dug out his wallet, gratef
ul for the money the fight organizer had given him.

  She eyed him, taking in his bruised face.

  “Got into a bar fight,” he added.

  “Sorry to hear that.” She moved her fingers over the keyboard. “Your name?”

  “Erik Harrison. I’ll be paying in cash, if you don’t mind. Credit card’s maxed out.”

  The woman nodded. “No problem.” She slid a cardkey across the counter. “I’ve got a first-aid kit here in the drawer. Nothing fancy, just bandages and healing cream, but it’ll help you out. Just leave it in the room when you’re done and Housekeeping’ll return it.”

  “Thank you,” he said and meant it. The pain relievers popped back at the warehouse had stopped working, the throbbing headache behind his left eye increasing with every step. He took the single key, tucking the small box under his arm as they walked back out and along the sidewalk.

  Brenna kept hold until he opened the door and led her inside. She sat in the lone chair, her shoulders slumped as she stared at the floor.

  “Let’s start with some basics.” He dropped his duffel bag on the bed and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if your sister has any computer skills, she might be able to track us through our phones.” He eyed her. “Does she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Better safe than sorry.” He wriggled his fingers.

  She handed it over without further comment.

  “Right. Stay here.” He took his own out. “Be back in a minute.”

  Before she could ask, he walked out into the parking lot. It was still quiet, a bit of a cool breeze coming in.

  Erik flipped through the various screens on Brenna’s phone, finding nothing but airline and bus schedules. No personal contact numbers, no way to call someone to come and get her. It was a blank canvas, giving him no help.

  He dropped the two phones on the ground and stomped on them, hard. It took the last of his strength, but he broke through the cases. Pulling them apart, he strolled around the area and distributed the pieces between a trio of pickup trucks, tossing them into the flatbeds.

  He re-entered the hotel room to see her staring at him, forehead furrowed with disbelief.

  “Where’s my phone?”

  “In little pieces in the dumpster with the SIM card hopefully riding out in a few hours in the opposite direction.” He held up his hand before she continued. “I smashed mine, too, so we’re equal. We can pick up burner phones if we need them.” He sat back on the bed again, ignoring her shocked glare. “Next question. Where do you live? Is it near here, down the coast? Where’s your home?”

  She shook her head, letting out a soft sigh that tore at his heart.

  “Hey, hey.” Erik knelt by the chair, fighting the urge to put his arms around her, comfort her in some way.

  She had just tried to stab him only a few hours earlier.

  He compromised and patted her knee. “It’s going to be fine. I’m not going to let her hurt you. Or me. We’re going to make a plan and figure a way out of this.”

  He glanced at the bathroom. “First I need to clean up and shower. Promise you’ll be here when I come out?”

  Brenna said nothing.

  “Come on, work with me here.” He gestured at his duffel bag. “I don’t have any rope or handcuffs packed—not my kink.”

  That brought out a snort and a bit of a smile to her lips, an almost devilish twist to them.

  His heart lightened at the sight. At least she wasn’t too far gone into herself. “I don’t feel like improvising something to tie you up. I’m too damned tired to fight anymore.” Something popped into his head. “Do I have your word, on your honor as a Valkyrie, that you’ll be here when I come out? No tricks, no games?”

  She stared at him for a second before nodding.

  “Then settle in.” He picked up the first-aid kit and headed for the bathroom.

  …

  Finally alone, Brenna went deep inside herself, trying to make some sense of recent events. She might have given her word, but was it worth anything now, forsaken by her family and her sisters?

  No. You abandoned them when you didn’t kill Erik Harrison. You screwed up by not collecting his soul in the first place, back in the desert. Everything that has happened since then is on you, not on them.

  She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of Kara tracking her at the fight, shadowing her movements. Watching, biding her time until she had to step forward and take charge of the situation.

  Brenna closed her eyes.

  Freyja spied into your heart and knew you wouldn’t be able to do it. She knew even before you did.

  It should have been easy to take a tired, weary warrior. Even one like Erik.

  The question now was why? This was the second time failing in her duty, and she was no closer to finding out why.

  She rubbed her face with her palm.

  Brenna got to her feet and walked toward the bathroom. Maybe there was some sort of clue about him, something she could pick up. Her only memory of him before tonight had been almost a year ago and under very different circumstances.

  The door was ajar, the water running. She edged close enough to look in.

  The breath caught in her throat as she gazed at Erik Harrison, his bare torso gleaming with sweat in the dim light. The shredded remains of his shirt lay on the floor along with his jeans and shoes, kicked to the side in a jumbled heap. He wore only a pair of tight boxer briefs riding low on his hips.

  It wasn’t like she didn’t know what a naked man looked like. Berserkers donned a scrap of bear fur as armor as they charged into battle, racing to a glorious death. Armored knights rode encased in metal, charging onto the battlefield. Soldiers from all times and places sat together in the Halls, fought every day and celebrated all night. She’d seen them all.

  Including Erik, in the cage only a few hours ago, facing his opponent and going down to defeat wearing much the same as he had on now.

  But this…this was different.

  He wasn’t perfect, far from it. Erik’s chest was dotted with white puckered scars, some the size of nickels and others as short slashes. As he turned, she saw his back and other, older marks showing previous battles. Yet it didn’t seem to detract from the power coming off him in waves, the silent strength evident with every move, every shift of his body. The muscles were tight and well-defined, not an inch of fat on his frame.

  He winced as he pressed a damp cloth to the mottled bruises over his left rib cage. Matty had focused in on that during the fight, and it showed. The swollen cut over his eye had stopped bleeding and was already going down, but it still warranted a cleaning and a fresh bandage.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him. The toned muscles seemed to be calling to her, urging her to soothe his distress with her touch, offer to take the pain away somehow. Images flashed through her mind of the couples she’d seen in the shadows of the Great Halls, lovers stealing away for some private time before the never-ending battles started at dawn.

  Brenna clenched her fingers, digging her nails into the skin to stay still. A flash of heat between her legs shocked her, and she pressed her knees together, cursing in silence.

  What is this madness?

  He twisted to the right to study himself in the mirror, lifting his arm up over his head.

  His deep brown eyes caught her reflection, and she froze.

  Erik gave her a friendly grin. “Thought you got enough of me in the ring.” He wagged a finger at her. “Remember, no bolting. See you in a few minutes.”

  He reached out and gently closed the door, cutting her off.

  Brenna retreated to the chair. She was completely lost with no idea what to say or do. All her training and it was like arriving in the Valkyrie barracks for the first time.

  Lost and alone.

  She glanced at the door before crossing her legs, squirming as the flash of warmth slowly ebbed away.

  Maybe n
ot so alone.

  …

  The scalding hot water soaked through his weary muscles. Erik spun around slowly in the shower, bracing his arms on the thin chipped tiles to keep his balance. The cheap hotel shampoo ran down his neck, taking the last of the sweat out of his short hair.

  Two fights in one night. Rough on anyone but he’d come out of it better than most others would have.

  He took inventory. Bruised ribs—thankfully, nothing broken. A bit of road rash from skidding along the pavement. The shirt had taken the brunt of the fall, but his skin still itched where it’d been rubbed raw.

  Compared to the alternatives of either being disemboweled by Brenna or impaled on a lance by her “sister,” he was doing damned well.

  He opened his mouth and drew in some water, rolling it around and spitting it back out after a few seconds. There was no reddish tinge to the liquid, reassuring him there were no open wounds inside his mouth.

  It still left him with the very annoying and important question—what the hell was going on here?

  His first theory was that Brenna was mentally ill, hallucinating she was a Valkyrie. Traumatized from battle, she created a world where she was a shield maiden, a warrior woman taking those deemed worthy to Valhalla where they’d party forever.

  That worked right up until the second woman showed up, spear in hand and ready to kill them.

  He took in another mouthful of water and let it dribble out between his lips.

  That took it to a different level.

  He was faced with two options. Accept that both women were caught up in some elaborate fantasy they shared, roleplaying Valkyries and fighting each other with Erik in the middle. Whether they were really sisters or just girlfriends, they were dangerous to themselves and those around them. That spear was no toy. It had been solid metal, able to injure and kill anyone at the wrong end of the lethal staff.

  The other option…

  He spat out the last of the water.

  The other choice was to believe Brenna and her associate were what they said they were. Mythological women from Valhalla come to life, the tales of his childhood proving to be true.

  Erik sighed as he let the heat sink in, rolling his shoulders back to try and loosen the tight muscles up.