Valkyrie Slumbering

by L. VanHorn

  I’ve never met a man that has such a powerful effect on me. It’s disconcerting. Then again, it isn’t often one comes across a warrior so polite and thoughtful. Let alone a half-elf. When I can finally drag my eyes up to his face, I find him giving me a crooked smile. The twinkle in his eyes is promising and oh so tempting. He spreads out his bedroll—the fire between us—and lays down. Bulging arms stretched behind his head, he gazes up at the darkening sky. Soon all I can see is his profile in the moonlight, but that alone is enough to fill my dreams as I drift off.

  The stirring of the gorgeous body that dominated my dreams awakens me just as the sun is breaking over the horizon. Wearing only a pair of breeches, Grím takes up his sword, moves to an open space of level grass, and begins to dance. That’s the only way I can describe it. His moves are so fluid and beautiful, that muscular body of his wields the sword as if it were a part of him.

  He is inspiring in more ways than one. My eyes are drawn repeatedly to where his breeches hug the swell of his groin. Behind him stretches the rocky landscape carpeted in green, framing him into the most exquisite picture.

  A burning builds in my chest until I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and I suck in a lungful of air. There is an irony to the fact that he called my demonstration a dance when he is the true artist. I’ve never seen anything like him, and ours is a land of warriors.

  The lines of his defined chest draw my eyes across their sculpted magnificence. He isn’t as big and overly muscled as the men I’m used to seeing, but there is something achingly alluring to his more sinewy form. A Viking he is not, but what exactly he is, I’m not sure. All I know is that I want to find out.

  Rising, I stretch my muscles, not bothering to put on anything more than the long shirt I slept in. I like to make sure I can move freely when I workout. And honestly, if Grím is going to look so distracting in only those clinging breeches, I have to even the playing field. The morning is chilly, as always even in summer, but having grown up in this northern land, I’m used to it. Digging in my pack, I find my wooden comb and pull it through my long, blond locks until there is no resistance. I loosen the laces that close the neck of my shirt, revealing more than a glimpse of cleavage.

  I take up my sword and walk toward Grím. A spin turns him in my direction, and he nearly stumbles as his eyes fall upon me. His mouth drops open and his eyes darken with desire. Walking on the balls of my feet, I strut to his side, enjoying the way his eyes take me in slowly from my legs on up. That wonderfully heavy gaze catches for a moment on my cleavage, but then actually makes it up to my eyes. Impressive. Keeping my own eyes from traveling down the swell of his arms and planes of his chest is no easy task. My lips pull up into a smirk.

  “No fair getting warmed up before me,” I say.

  His eyes flick to my breasts where my erect nipples are pushing against the thin fabric of my shirt. Even if only to myself, I must admit, it isn’t entirely due to the cold. While he’s distracted, I let my eyes flit quickly to his groin, which has swollen nicely against his breeches. Warmth flushes through me, and I have to force myself to look away. Damn, there goes my distraction advantage. That he can do the same to me is completely unfair.

  “Um, yeah… well I like to rise early,” he says.

  My eyes travel back to this groin, purposefully this time. “I can see that.”

  His cheeks flush pink, and he smiles and shakes his head. Setting his sword aside beneath the thin, twisted trunk of a birch tree, he laughs. “Let’s see if we can warm ye up then, shall we?” he says.

  I half expect him to start unlacing his breeches, but he doesn’t. With slow deliberation, he stretches his neck to one side, then the other. He interlaces his fingers and pushes his palms out, then stretches his arms out as far as they’ll go before raising them over his head and behind his back. His chest pushes out, drawing my eyes. I’m more than warm, I’m beginning to get wet, but I’m not about to tell him that.

  “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” I ask, free hand resting on my hip.

  Sliding one foot forward and turning sideways, he holds his hands up, balling them into fists. “By sparrin’, of course. Wouldn’t want to dull our blades a’fore the contest,” he says.

  A flush works its way to my cheeks. Turnabout is fair play I suppose. I lay my sword beneath the tree next to his, making sure to bend at the waist and give him a good look at my butt. My thin shirt pulls up to barely cover the swell of my buttocks, which no doubt gives him a better view than I had planned. That should have him all hot and distracted. Dirty as that is—in more ways than one—it fails to raise any guilt in me. As a man, he is stronger, and I need every advantage I can get.

  Grinning in a way that’s far more attractive than I want to admit, he advances on me. He throws a languid punch for my mid-section that is embarrassingly easy to block. I counter with a jab that strikes him softly in the chest, widening his eyes.

  “That’s how ye want to play is it?” he says.

  I cock my head. “I’m not your typical defenseless woman. No need to treat me like I’ll break.”

  The next lunge he makes nearly catches me off guard, and I barely block the punch in time. Now we’re talking.

  We weave back and forth, trading punches, kicks, and all manner of strikes. I hold my own well enough, but it quickly becomes clear that he is extremely adept at fighting. Whenever he lands a strike or kick, I barely feel the thud of impact before he pulls back. The contact isn’t even enough to bruise me. He is far gentler than my father was when he trained me, and than any man has ever been while practicing with me since. The impressed look upon his face tells me it isn’t because he worries about harming me, though. He’s simply disciplined enough that he can stop his power so abruptly. Despite the chilly morning, sweat begins to bead on my brow.

  I throw an overhead strike at him, and instead of blocking it, he takes my arm and spins it—and me along with it. Suddenly my feet are out from under me, and I’m speeding toward the ground with his grinning face following. Grabbing his shoulders, I roll back, pulling him with me. The move carries us both into a summersault, and I end up on top of him with my arm across his throat.

  “I win,” I say through a smile so big it makes my cheeks ache.

  Through the thin layer of fabric covering me, my nipples rub against his bare chest, making them harder. Warmth spreads between my thighs as I start to grow wet. His bright blue eyes stare deep into mine. The power of that gaze forces me to look away. But my eyes find his lips, and it’s all I can do to keep from pressing mine to his. I’m acutely aware of his hard cock pressing against my pelvis. It’s all I can do not to grind against it.

  Leaves rustle in the trees that stand not more than twenty feet from us. Bumps raise along my skin as a strong breeze whisks up the back of my shirt. All that stops the cloth from whipping over my head is Grím’s hands around my waist. The breeze becomes a wind that whips at me, touching intimately between my legs, up the curve of my butt. There’s pressure to the touch, almost as if it’s more than wind. And it isn’t Grím’s hands—they’re still securely around my waist. An eerie feeling starts to creep across my skin.

  Grím’s eyes widen before flicking around. He must sense the tension in my body. I roll off him and to my feet, instantly in a fighting stance. But the field is empty around us. Rocky hills covered in green roll out as far as the eye can see in three directions. Grím and I both turn to the forest. Shadows and lush undergrowth obscure everything more than ten feet in. Leaves move, and I almost catch a glimpse of something. It could have just been a shadow.

  My hand clenches and opens, longing for my sword. But it’s well out of reach, sitting beneath the tree at the edge of that forest—along with Grím’s. How did we allow ourselves to get so far from our weapons? One glance at his chiseled back reminds me.

  Laughter tinkles upon the wind; an eerie, unearthly sound.

  “Well, you were moving too slow, so I thought I’d get a taste of that lovely ass,
” a sweet, feminine voice calls from the forest.

  Bumps rise along my skin but this time it isn’t from the chill in the air. That voice is unearthly indeed.

  “A landvættr?” Grím asks me.

  I move closer to him, putting my back against his. Landvættr’s aren’t necessarily bad creatures, if they can be considered creatures at all. From the old stories I recall, they are land wights, spirits that protect the land they live in. The problem is, they aren’t supposed to live in this world. “I think so,” I whisper.

  “Ah come now, no need for whispering. I hear all in my woods,” the landvættr said again, its voice a whisper across my neck.

  Suddenly, a creature stands beside us, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Green almond-shaped eyes curve up within a face that is delicate to the extreme of being sharp. Its entire body is much the same way, delicate and thin, all four feet of it. Long green hair hangs down around its shoulders covering more than its gossamer clothing. Perky breasts bounce as it dances around us, dark nipples visible beneath the white dress it wears.

  “Please don’t stop on my account. I was enjoying the view,” she says.

  Grím tries to put an arm out to block me from the creature’s view but it only skips around behind us. “We’re not puttin’ on a show for ye,” he says.

  The landvættr stops and crosses her arms beneath her small breasts. Her chin thrusts up, lips pushed out in a pout. “Oh, come Alfhiem, that’s hardly fair. I haven’t seen anything more than forest animals couple all year, and nothing from this world. I want to see if it’s done the same.”

  An exasperated breath escapes me. “And who says we were about to…couple?” I ask.

  The landvættr giggles and reaches up to caress my cheek. “I could smell your cum from the forest,” it says in a soft, sultry voice. The euphoric look on its face as it sniffs the air around me is disturbing to say the least. Grím’s cheek brushes mine as he turns his head toward me, his stubble dancing across my nerves like lightning. Heat scorches up my neck, reaching my cheeks and making me acutely aware of the wetness between my legs.

  “That blush is lovely on you, my dear,” the landvættr says in a sing-songy voice.

  Grím laughs, and I have to resist the urge to push away from him. If I do then my back will be vulnerable, and I’m not convinced this creature means us no harm. The damn thing giggles again as she dances around to Grím.

  “Laugh not at her expense. I can smell what dripped off the end of your eager cock as well,” it says.

  Not only do its words make me laugh, but knowing Grím was that ready makes me even wetter. Damn body betraying me.

  “All right ye little peeper, what is it ye want?” Grím asks in a tone touched with amusement.

  “To watch you couple, of course.”

  Like she—or it, I’m not sure how to think of it—was going to say anything else! The urge to smack Grím’s shoulder is almost too strong to stifle.

  I lift my chin. “We’re not performing for your pleasure.”

  The pout returns to that angular face, and she runs the fingers of her hands down both my arm and Grím’s. “Oh, come on, I could join you.”

  Grím shudders, I feel it against my back, and by how tense his shoulders are, I’m guessing it isn’t a good shudder. “Ye’re a spirit. I hardly see how that would work,” he says.

  Its eyes gaze up at me with barely restrained lust. “Ask her. She felt my touch.”

  I tense and Grím straightens against me. “Enough of this. Ye heard Kyra—we’ll not perform for ye,” he says.

  Respect for him blossoms within me.

  The landvættr huffs and turns toward the forest, looking over her slim shoulder at us. “That is the price for passing through my forest.”

  “It so happens we’re going around. Sorry to disappoint ye,” Grím says.

  Feet scarcely touching the ground, the landvættr struts to the edge of the forest. It pauses to look back at us longingly. “Perhaps another time then.” With that, it breaks up like fog on the wind and disappears.

  Grím jogs to the tree line, retrieves our swords, and jogs back. “Well, that was interestin’,” is all he says.

  One of my eyebrows raises. “That’s one way to put it. Have you ever met one of those?”

  He shakes his head. “No, but from the tales me da told, only those touched by Odin can even see the creatures, let alone feel them.” His thoughtful eyes settle heavily upon me.

  I roll my eyes at him. “Well, we both have Alfhiem blood, remember?”

  “Aye, that could be it.” His eyes fill with light as he grins. “So, did ye really cum just from lyin’ on top of me?” he asks.

  In a huff, I snatch my sword from him and storm back toward camp. He calls after me, teasing and bragging about his prowess at bringing women to their knees. It’s all I can do to hide my smile. Today is going to be a very long day.

  That evening as the sun is casting an orange glow across the horizon, we set up camp beneath a rocky outcropping. Wind whistles over the rolling hills, carrying a chill with it that causes me to clutch my fur-lined cloak tighter. From the other side of the fire he’s coaxing to life, Grím stares at me with a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. The quiet is a stark contrast to his constant chatter today. As the day had progressed, it became clear he was filling the time with idle talk that would lead anywhere but to what had happened between us.

  Unable to take it any longer, I finally ask, “Out with it. What’s eating at you?”

  His eyes flit across my body. Pink spreads across his cheeks, and I can’t help but recall his hands around me, his hard body beneath mine. Perhaps I should have chosen different words.

  “I…uh… was just wonderin’ what it is takes ye into such a dangerous competition,” he says.

  One corner of my lips pulls into a crooked smile. “Were you now?”

  His eyes widen and focus on the fire as he pokes at the red coals. “All right, no, not just now. But I have been wonderin’ about it.”

  Anger burns through me. “Because I’m a woman?”

  His startled gaze meets mine. “No, of course not. Tis just that one doesn’t undertake such a thing without havin’ been touched by darkness in some way. And I think tis a shame that one such as ye has received the touch.” Both his words and soft tone cool my anger in an instant.

  “Indeed, it seems Loki himself has laid his hand upon my shoulder.” The words pour out before I can stop them. What possesses me, I have no idea. Perhaps it’s the concern in Grím’s widening blue eyes or the worry etched into his brow. Either way, I’m just as shocked as he is.

  He tosses the stick he was fussing with into the fire and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Ye can tell me if ye like, no pressure,” he says.

  I’ve never told a soul, but something about him makes me want to, finally. “My father was slain when rescuing a woman from a group of men who were trying to rape her. I’m hunting them,” I say, the words flowing from my tongue like oil. The emotionless tone to my voice chills me. Have I really become so cold?

  The lines between Grím’s brows deepens and his eyes fill with a sadness I hadn’t expected. “It sounds as though he was a good, honorable man,” he says.

  Shock spreads numbing fingers throughout me, stealing my voice. I’m not sure what I had expected him to say, possibly something judging or scathing about me taking on such a quest. But that, of all things, is a complete surprise, even considering how kind and accepting of me he has been.

  Twice I have to try before I can get the words out. “He was, thank you. Surely Odin has welcomed him into his halls already.”

  Silence falls between us as Grím starts to remove his armor. Once he gets to his chest and back piece he winces in pain, unable to reach the buckles. I set aside my sword and walk to him. Kneeling beside him, I work at the buckles he can’t reach.

  I lean close to his ear, making sure my breath will skim across it. “A bit sore are you? Let me help with
that.”

  A shiver runs through him, and a grin pulls at his lips. In the firelight he is even more handsome, his jaw strong, his lips full and inviting.

  “Aye, ye pack quite a punch,” he says in a voice deepened by desire.

  Once the buckles are all loose, I remove the two separate pieces of armor. He pulls his gray tunic over his head and lays it on the grass. His back is fit and trim the way a warrior’s is, all hard muscles and deep planes. My fingers trail down the line of his spine, following the lateral muscles that disappear into his breeches. More shivers run through him, and he mutters something in the language of Alfhiem.

  “Would you help me with mine?” I breathe against his ear.

  He turns to face me, and my eyes are drawn to his broad, hard chest. Before he can see the way he affects me, I turn my back to him so he can reach the laces of my leather armor. It isn’t quite as concealing as his, but it covers the vitals. He works at the back laces, tugging them slowly. Cool evening air blows between the leather and my skin, raising bumps all along my back. His fingers follow the breeze up my tunic, leaving lines of heat on my bare skin. I pull the leather bustier off, followed by the tunic, my breasts relaxing in its absence.

  I want his hands on more than just my back. Leaning into him, I nearly gasp at the feel of his hard, naked chest pressed against me. His hands snake under my tunic, across my belly, and up, so slowly up. At last those wonderfully rough hands cup beneath my breasts. His fingers work their way up around the swell. Gods, he moves so slow it makes me burn. I sit back into his lap, feeling his cock hard and eager against my butt. The feeling makes me moan.

  Finally, his fingers brush my nipples, first one, then the other. My back arches as I push my breasts into his hands, needing more. He pinches one, gently rolling it between his fingers. Those callused hands feel even better than I imagined they would. One of his hands continues to massage my right nipple while the other traces its way down my torso, inching past my belly button, grazing the top of my breeches. Already my breath is coming quicker.