Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  Chapter Five

  AARON’S WORDS RANG through her mind over and over again as she finished dressing in his clothes. I feel like I should get to know you.

  Her heart thundered from his words. She almost couldn’t believe he’d say something like that.

  If Madde were here, she’d figure out if Aaron had some sort of angle, if he wanted something from her. But what human would want anything from a Valkyrie? He understood that if she touched him, he’d die. She’d assumed he would want to talk about what she’d seen in Afghanistan. But he didn’t seem to want to talk about that.

  Instead, he said something sweet about getting to know her.

  But why?

  Maybe Madde was wearing off on her, but she couldn’t figure out what Aaron would get out of the deal. She was...well, she was her. Long, long ago she’d been a warrior for a few years, but then the dísir collectively decided they could do more good by being fairy godmothers to the orphaned human children, and she’d loved that. But it’s not exactly exciting to talk about being an invisible nanny for a few hundred years.

  Let’s see, what could she talk about? Her embroidery? Gosh, yes, talking about that would be endlessly entertaining. The years she’d loved pop psychology and had even gotten a few degrees before and after the era of talk shows? He’d want her out of the house if she talked about that. She could talk about Gus, her Pegasus.

  She slapped her forehead, wondering if there was anything remotely interesting about herself.

  Madde was the exciting one. She had loved to fight. She was, at times, crass, which was at least noticeable, while Adala liked being quiet.

  She sighed as she looked down at her body now covered in Aaron’s clothes. She adored being in his things. The T-shirt smelled of laundry detergent and a slight hint of clean male. Her nipples puckered, free from the corset-tight breastplate as well as a little too excited at being in Aaron’s clothes. Great thunderclap, she didn’t have a bra to conceal whatever was going on with her body. It’s not like she needed the bra anyway, since she wasn’t exactly endowed in the chesticle area.

  Gods, Aaron was going to get so bored with her, whereas she imagined being intrigued with him.

  She shrugged to herself. Oh well. He’d get bored and she’d go back to her old life, seeing the dying, touching them, being ignored by the dísir and people alike. Day in and day out. Same old, same old. But she could have this moment when she wore a male’s clothes. She smiled at that as she got ready to leave what she presumed was Aaron’s room. He slept on the bed. She could imagine him lying down, almost nude, the covers strewn about him, revealing his wide chest, even wider shoulders, his flat stomach. Placing a hand over her heating cheek, she chided herself for getting overly excited, thinking of Aaron in such a sensual pose. She left the longsword on the bed, thinking it not the most welcoming sight to this dinner.

  She found herself back in the kitchen—a small table set with two plates of steaming hot spaghetti and marinara sauce, salad, and two empty wine glasses. Aaron held the fridge’s door open and glanced at her as she made her way toward the table.

  He smiled, his gaze tripping down her body, which strummed a whole lot of skittering nerves throughout her limbs and made her nipples bead all the more. Silly things had no idea that he was probably just giving her a cursory look to see what his clothes looked like on her. Her nipples had minds of their own this evening, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice. Well, he probably wouldn’t because she was she. A boring medieval throwback who could kill him with one touch. Yeah, this dinner wasn’t the best idea.

  “I thought we’d eat here.” He tilted his head toward the table. “Instead of the more formal dining room in there.” He turned and tilted his head again, indicating the direction where glass French doors separated the kitchen from a lovely room with a long table and many seats, a glass chandelier, and armoires full of fragile-looking china. “That okay?”

  Goddess, she loved the way he looked—rich brown hair, not quite short or long, a slight wave making it curl around his collar. He was a few inches taller than her, muscular in a way that made her body react with too much warmth and a constant buzzing feeling along her spine. But it was his eyes that she adored—deep, dark, vibrant blue. Almost midnight blue, making her think of sultry evenings, sensual evenings.

  She nodded, noticing he was back to looking in the refrigerator, and chirped, “Yep.”

  He leaned back a little. “Hey, when I burnt you—again, sorry about that—”

  “It’s okay. I’m a quick healer.”

  “I’ll say. Anyway, when I burnt you, did you really say flinging flanging?”

  She curled her lips in to keep from smiling. “I, ah, yeah.”

  He smiled at her. “That’s adorable.”

  Her cheeks heated more. “It’s...okay, so we, the dísir—”

  “The immortal bunch of women I met today.”

  “Yes. I’m sure this is a lot to take in. Anyway, we’re fairy godmothers to orphaned human children. As such, we’ve had to moderate our vocabulary, so there’s a lot of...creative adjectives instead of swearing.”

  He turned a little more toward her. “So, you’re a Valkyrie and a fairy godmother?”

  She shook her head, looking down at the plates on the intimate table. “No. I, ah, was a godmother, but once I turned into a Valkyrie, I couldn’t... If I touched a kid, I’d kill him. That doesn’t exactly make for a good babysitter, you know?”

  “You’re seriously fascinating.” He flinched. “I don’t mean that in a weird way.”

  She shook her head. “I...thanks, but I’m not fascinating. By any means.”

  “I’ve been standing in the fridge for about two hours listening to you. You’re really fascinating. By the way, I tried to find some wine, but there isn’t any. All I’ve got is beer.”

  She shrugged. “I’m fine with beer.” As he retrieved two brown, long-neck bottles, she said, “I’m more of a beer drinker anyway. That and mead were a staple while I was growing up.”

  After the refrigerator’s door closed, he halted, and his eyes narrowed, curious. “You drank while you grew up? Mead?”

  She shrugged and fingered the table’s fake wooden finish. “It was nine hundred years ago. Everyone grew up drinking beer and mead.”

  “Holy fuck.” One of the beers slipped through his hands and crashed onto the tile, sputtering and making a huge mess of glass and fuzzy dark golden liquid.

  She reached out but couldn’t touch him or even come close. “Gods, I’m sorry. You didn’t know I’m that old, did you?”

  He stood very still and looked at her, his face stoically neutral, but the color had drained from it. “You’re how old?”

  She tried to come forward, taking a kitchen towel and dropping it to the mess, trying her blammedest not to feel embarrassed when she admitted, “I’m nine hundred seventy-two.”

  He gave a soft chuckle, his mouth gaping for a moment. “I’m thirty-three.”

  She nodded and smiled. “That’s a good year. I had a lot of fun when I was that old.” Goddess, she sounded thousands of years old saying crap like that. Yeah, he’d kick her out soon at this rate.

  “You lived through the dark ages.”

  She nodded and toed the towel around, trying to sop up the beer.

  “You lived through the American Revolution.”

  “And the French Revolution and so many more. Kleidung, 1848 had so many revolutions that I can hardly remember them all.”

  He blinked and held a hand out, almost touching her before she backed away. “Wait. Hold on. First, was that German you threw in there?”

  She swallowed. “Oh, besides coming up with creative adjectives, sometimes it’s fun to use a German word instead of a swear word.”

  He smiled. “That is fun. I’m serious. Don’t frown at me like that. I mean it. And, let me get this straight, you were around for...for a long time and you saw some of the revolutions?”

  She nodded.

  H
e let out a big breath that almost sounded like a laugh but he stopped, smiling at her like she was the most interesting creature he’d ever met. “My undergraduate is psychology.”

  “I have one of those as well.”

  His smile expanded. “I got my undergrad eleven years ago from the University of Oregon.”

  “I got my first degree from University of Zurich in...1910.”

  Again, he let loose a big breath that almost sounded like a laugh, taking a step forward, not caring that he walked on glass, while she cringed. “I enlisted, served for a few tours, then went back to school. I have a master’s in history.”

  “You got me there. I don’t have a master’s in history. But I did continue with psychology—a master’s and PhD.”

  “Wait. You said 1910?”

  She nodded.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, did you study under Jung? And Freud?”

  “Yes. Crazy stuff they taught back then. But some of it was good. A little too much cocaine for my taste, but what do I know?”

  He closed his eyes, finally letting out a laugh. “Fuck, this is so cool. I sound idiotic because I’m...I’m—”

  “It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure. I’m sorry.”

  “No.” He reached out again, like he was going to touch her, and she backed away. He followed. “No, don’t be sorry. You keep saying that and I don’t want you to be sorry. I want to talk to you all night long, all day, and keep talking. I want to find out...everything. You have graduate degrees in psychology? Wait. Don’t answer. Not yet. Let’s sit down and eat. Food’s getting cold, and I have a beer mess to clean up.”

  “I can clean it up.”

  “No way.” He shook his head. “You sit down and tell me everything.”

  She turned, curling her lips in. Excited simply because he was excited. She was one of the most boring people on the face of the earth, but he seemed...intrigued and not out of some sense of politeness.

  She sat glancing at him as he captured most of the beer mess and threw it away. He then grabbed another beer, having already opened the one for her, and said, “Okay, so tell me about your degrees.”

  “Well, the Norns let us take time off for vacations or whatever. And I was always interested in learning more, but it’s not like the universities would allow women. But when they did—you know, around 1850s for some—and when there were colleges just for women, I signed up. I liked psychology, especially the Jungian theories. I liked how he mashed up what he thought of as the psyche with myth. That and, well, being what humans think of as a mythological creature made me laugh every day in class.”

  “I bet.” He smiled as he sat opposite her, nudging at her fork, indicating he wanted her to eat and yet still talk.

  She twirled some noodles around on her utensil, her heart glowing and wondering if it showed. No one had given her this amount of attention...maybe ever. It was wonderful, and she promised herself to savor it. He’d surely kick her out soon enough.

  She told him how it was easy to play the part of a human back then, before she’d turned into a Valkyrie. But the professors thought little of females in their classes, and male classmates thought she was there to try to find a husband.

  Things changed after her transformation, and she didn’t attend another university until they were online. That’s how she got her PhD—online. And she came to find out he’d gotten his master’s online as well.

  Around a mouthful, he asked, “Okay, nine hundred seventy-two years ago, let’s see...that would make you in your early twenties in 1066.”

  “The Battle of Hastings.”

  “Of course I’d ask that. It sounds rather British-centered of me, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re American. You have to steal your history from somewhere before Europeans stepped foot on this continent.”

  “Thanks. So, um, what nationality are you? Or are you a nationality?”

  She nodded as she swallowed a bite of the spaghetti. It was overcooked and the marinara a tad too salty. Perfect because she ate it with Aaron. “My sister and I were born in Greece, our mother was also Greek. We don’t know who or what our father was, though.”

  He nodded. “Ah, that’s your coloring.”

  She arched a brow, hoping that conveyed her unasked question.

  “Your dark hair and glowing golden skin.” He flinched, then tried to cover that flinch, his hollowed cheeks taking on a tiny bit of pink. “I mean...it doesn’t matter what I mean. So, you’re Greek?”

  She nodded. “But we soon moved to Ireland.”

  “Why?”

  “To be with the other dísir.” She wrapped more pasta around her fork. “Are you an American mutt, as they say?”

  He smiled. “Yep. Irish, German, Swedish, and someone once said a little Polish-Jewish too, that’s me.”

  She wanted to tell him it looked good on him. But she wasn’t that brave. She ate instead.

  “Adala?”

  “Yes, Aaron.”

  “I’m sorry the food is crap.”

  “I like it.”

  He laughed. “But, ah, I can make up for tonight’s crap food.” He forked his salad. “What about coming back tomorrow night? We could do this again? Keep doing it until you get sick of me asking a million questions?”

  She swallowed the soft pasta but almost choked on it, shocked Aaron would want to see her again. “You want me to come back?”

  “Yeah.” He still picked at his salad. “I mean, I don’t want you to go at all. I have so many questions. But I’ll try to be polite, let you leave when you want to.”

  “So I’m not a prisoner?” She teased and in the same heartbeat was surprised she could tease someone so easily about her own past that had once plagued her. She had been a prisoner. She had been held against her will, imprisoned with iron bars. Forced into experiments that had left her emotionally scarred and had turned her into a killing Valkyrie.

  Strange how she hadn’t even thought of it with Aaron. Strange how far away that had seemed, to even joke about it.

  He laughed. “Sorry, I’m probably getting too excited.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m just kidding.” She ate another bite, loving the way she felt, the food, the beer, the way Aaron kept smiling at her. “And I’d like to have dinner again.” Although, she didn’t quite understand why she was saying yes to Aaron.

  What was the point, Madde might ask? Indeed, what good could come from making friends not only with a human but a man? Especially a man who she had inappropriate feelings for, a man who could die if she accidentally touched him?

  He smiled widely and she forgot her worries when he said, “Good. It’s an ongoing date, then.”

  Chapter Six

  I WANT TO touch her, Aaron thought. I ache to run my fingers through her black silky hair, to caress her smiling cheek, run my fingers down her arms, and hold her delicate hand.

  Yeah, it was getting bad, this need to touch Adala.

  And it wasn’t getting much easier when she smiled at him the way she was now. For seven straight days, they’d been playing a fun game of getting to know each other. He’d started it. He had her listen to some Chris Isaak, old school, and made her guess who it was. She’d rolled her eyes.

  “That’s easy. Every female and their grandmother had a crush on Chris Isaak when ‘Wicked Game’ came out. Of course I know who he is.”

  That had made him laugh. So he tried to find less well-known music to make her guess who or what it was.

  Today was her turn, and she was damned good, finding contemporary classical music that was interesting, but stuff he’d never listened to before. The room was filled with sad violins and other strings playing their hearts out, but he and Adala smiled at each other as he narrowed his eyes and tried to guess the composer.

  After one solid week of daily dinners—lots of takeout and him trying like hell to learn something else besides spaghetti—and conversations that were getting longer and longer, Aaron realized he’d never wanted anyone more, ne
ver wanted to touch another person so much either. Sometimes, not often but sometimes, he wondered if death would be all that bad considering he’d get to touch her.

  Last night, Adala had stayed until three in the morning, and he’d tried to talk her into staying the night.

  “Just sleep in my bed.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  He’d wanted to hold her hand, beg her to stay. He hadn’t. She’d left, and he felt...a tad lost, sad, but more excited than he’d ever been just because he knew she’d be back soon.

  He’d fallen in love once, more than a decade ago. He’d been an undergrad and she’d been a year ahead. Funny but he’d always liked older women. Although, Adala took the cake with how much older she was than him. He worried he’d bore her or act immature. After all, she had a few hundred years on him.

  But they fell into an ease he’d never felt with anyone. Not even with Natalie, the young woman he’d loved. Nat couldn’t understand why he’d wanted to be an officer in the Army. It had been tough, but he’d ended things because she hadn’t seemed to get that he needed to serve. He couldn’t explain it. Maybe some people would refer to it as a calling. But it wasn’t that for him. He felt he should repay his country. It was a kind of patriotism that he didn’t like to articulate because it was so precious to him. And yet he understood that those who didn’t understand made fun of it.

  He’d thought Nat would make fun of his patriotism, of the need to serve. They’d ended things badly. He found out she’d married a couple years ago, and he wished her well. She deserved happiness because the truth was, he’d never really given her a chance to know him.

  But for whatever reason, he was letting Adala know everything. One of the first things he’d told her was why he’d joined the Army, his patriotism that he still felt. She’d listened and smiled, adding how rare it was to find someone nowadays who felt the way he did. Then she said how he reminded her of knights—chivalrous, loyal knights of the thirteenth century, not the thugs of the eleventh century, she’d distinguished. God, he loved that she knew so much, had lived through so much. He could listen to her talk for days on end.