by L. VanHorn
“Was that really a níðhöggr?” I ask, speaking its name in the old tongue.
“I think so. The real question is why is a nidhogg here? And more importantly, did Loki send it?”
For that I have no answer, at least for most of it.
“Being on the same plane as Earth, I can almost see how creatures from Vanaheim, Midgard, or Jotunheim could somehow get here. But nidhoggs are from Niflheimr, not even on the same plane. How can this be?” I ask, voice barely a whisper.
Grím shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Of the nine worlds, three are on the earthly planes, three on the upper planes, and three on the lower planes. My mother always taught me that it takes magic to travel from one world to another and even more powerful magic to cross planes.
The idea that Loki himself could have sent such a creature here sends a chill shuddering through me. He would be powerful enough to do such a thing.
Grím rises and walks over to the horses. After checking on them, he gathers both of our packs and returns to the fireplace. The drumming of the rain outside is soon accompanied by the rasp of flint and steel as he works on the fire. Soon after flames are leaping at the wood.
Unfurling a bedroll, Grím gives me a thoughtful look. “Before ye met me, had ye ever seen a creature from one of the other worlds?” he asks, voice scarcely more than a whisper.
I lean to help him spread out the blankets. Thanks to our treated saddlebags, they are dry for the most part. The question catches me off guard and it’s a moment before I can answer.
“No. But what could that mean?”
He shakes his head. From within his pack he pulls out a fur cloak and wraps it around me. It’s blessedly dry, unlike me.
“I don’t know. All I know right now is that we need to get warm and dry,” he says.
Orange firelight frames his kneeling figure, revealing the lines of worry on his face.
The distance between us is suddenly too much. We reach for one another at the same time. His arms wrap tight around me and his lips crash into mine with a fierceness that drives away the cold.
Somehow my numb fingers make quick work of the buckles and straps of his armor, as his do mine. In moments we’re standing amidst a pile of armor and shed weapons. I pull Grím’s damp tunic from him and toss it aside. The planes of his chest and hard stomach draw my hands like a force of nature. I trace down them, fingers snagging in the thin line of hair that runs from his belly button into his waistband. A giggle bubbles over my lips. I can’t get the laces undone fast enough. Patience and restraint have fled me as if swept away by the storm.
Just as I get the laces undone, Grím lifts me and carries me across the room. He smothers my protest with his lips, hot tongue darting in my mouth. I’m lost in the caress of his tongue against mine. He sweeps the cloak from my shoulders and moves away for a moment to spread it out over a stone table.
In a smooth move he spins around, grasps my undershirt, and pulls it over my head. One hand snakes around my back while the other slides up my stomach toward a breast. He cups as much of it as he can, lowers his head slowly, long lashes fluttering as his eyes close. Warmth covers my breast as he pauses, breathing on me. I start to move toward him just as he flicks his tongue across my nipple. The cool, wet contact sends a contradictory line of warmth shooting into me. Wetness spreads between my legs.
Giving me a devious grin, he unties the laces of my breeches and slides them over my thighs. They fall to the dusty ground.
His tongue continues to tease a breast while a hand snakes around my waist. Soon he’s cupping my butt, fingers grasping as if he’s trying to anchor himself to this world. The flicking of his tongue has my nipple so erect it aches. But it is such a wonderful ache. His mouth closes over my nipple and sucks hard, tearing a cry from me.
The hand on my butt slips between my thighs, to my folds, and inside me. My body contorts as I press back against his hand and forward against his mouth.
Though I never want him to stop touching me, I grasp his shoulders and push him back, my impatience getting the better of me. “Gods, Grím,” I murmur as I reach for his breeches.
I shove them down, freeing his cock. It’s already so hard that it stands upright. On the way to pushing his breeches down farther I lick the length of it, lingering a moment to suck the head into my mouth. He moans.
“Me?” he says and laughs, stepping out of the breeches.
Grabbing my hand, he pulls me to him. Our bodies press against one another, his cock hard against my stomach. Need more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt scorches through me. My breath catches, strangled by terror.
This is exactly the kind of distraction I can’t afford. For years I have kept every man I’ve met at a distance. But I’ve never met anyone like Grím.
Thoughts melt away as he lifts me onto the table. His cock presses between my thighs. The angle is wrong for penetration but it still feels amazing to have it against my pelvis. Our tongues dance together, both probing, teasing, chasing. He pulls back, leaving me feeling as though my anchor has disappeared.
His blue eyes travel the length of my body and settle on my face, fixing me with a fierce gaze.
“And what is it ye need tonight?” he asks in a voice deepened by desire.
The words slip from me before I can stop them. “You, I need you.”
With a gentle push, he lays me back onto the fur cloak, climbing atop the table. Hovering over me, he caresses my cheek, those alluring eyes pinning me in place.
“Then I’m yers,” he whispers as his cock slides inside me.
The penetration of the head alone sends waves of pleasure through me. My muscles tighten around his shaft as it eases in, filling me. Once he’s sheathed completely inside me, he makes a noise caught between a groan and a cry. Careful of my hair, he places his hands on the table, repositioning.
Slowly, he eases his cock out, nearly to the tip of the head, then slides back in. I can feel every wonderful ridge along the length of him. It’s been so long that I’m tight as a sailor’s knot. Concentrating, I relax the muscles inside me as much as I can. If he’s raw in the morning he may be reluctant to do it again, and I definitely want to do this again.
He pulls back out a little easier this time, but still glides in slowly. After two more slow strokes, I raise my hips to meet him. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me, a smile on his handsome face. Our eyes remain locked as he pumps again, and again, so slow it makes me ache.
“You won’t hurt me,” I say.
The smile widens. “I know, I just want it to last,” he says.
His lips brush mine, then retreat to my neck. First I feel his wet tongue, then his teeth. The sensation makes me raise my hips into his thrust again. If he keeps this up I’ll go insane. He bites my neck gently, moves up to my ear, and pulls it into his mouth. The combination of his breath and tongue on such a sensitive area makes another flush of wetness spread between my legs.
The next pump of his cock is a little faster, making me moan. He keeps up this new pace for a few strokes before standing back up. Wrapping his arms around me, he lifts me, turns us both, sits on the table, and plants me on his lap.
His mouth goes to my left breast, tongue teasing, then moves to my right. I press it into his mouth and slide down onto his cock at the same time. He gasps against my breast before locking his lips around the nipple and sucking hard. Teeth graze across it, once, twice, then nibble at it.
Eyes half closed, he releases it and lays back onto the table. Hands running up and down his chest, I lift nearly off his cock, then slide back down. A few more slow strokes and he’s moaning and begging. I laugh.
Sitting all the way down onto his cock, I slide my pelvis back and forth in short motions. He groans and grabs my thighs, moving me faster. The motion rubs my engorged clit against his pelvis, sending a wave of pleasure to my core. Wave after wave roll through me, bringing me to the edge. He pushes and pulls on my thighs, moving even faster.
My muscles tighten around his cock and suddenly they’re convulsing. I buck against him as I’m pushed over the edge. Wetness gushes around his cock. Letting out a long sigh, I collapse onto his chest. His arms wrap around me, grab my butt, and pull it against him at the same time he pushes his hips up into me.
Effortlessly, he lifts me, rolls us both over, and withdraws. A protest springs to my lips until he lifts me again and turns me over, pulling me up onto my hands and knees. He strokes my back, playing with my long hair, then slides his hands down to my thighs. His hands push gently on the insides of my thighs until I spread my knees farther apart for him. Fingers trailing up my legs, he makes his way to my slit. Spasms travel inside me as he strokes, playing with the outer folds.
Air cools the heat inside me as he separates the folds with his fingers. New wetness follows as his tongue probes at my slit. He licks the length of it then plunges his tongue inside me. The soft, bumpy texture rolling into and over my most intimate parts from behind is a new sensation.
I’m gasping for breath by the time he pulls away. Glancing back, I see him climbing onto the table, knees behind my thighs. Eyes catching mine, he smiles. Taking his cock in his hand, he approaches me from behind. The anticipation is too much, I can’t watch.
The head of his cock teases my slit. He slips slowly into me, not stopping until he’s fully sheathed. At this angle he fills me completely, head just touching the end of my capacity. His hands grab my thighs and he thrusts into me. He pulls out faster, thrusting in again, and again, gaining momentum with each stroke. We’re both gasping in only a few heartbeats. I rock back to meet his next thrust, making it that much harder, faster. His balls slap against me, sending lines of pleasure shooting to my nipples. We find each other’s rhythm, pumping hard and fast.
His cock swells impossibly larger at the head a moment before it spills his seed into me. He cums screaming my name, bringing me right over the edge with him again. My body convulses around him, milking his cock, drawing another cry from him and earning me a few more thrusts.
Spent utterly, we collapse onto the table together. Yet his collapse isn’t complete, I can tell by the lack of weight on my back. He’s holding himself up slightly. I don’t want any distance between us, not now, maybe not ever.
“Relax, you can lay on me,” I tell him once I can muster up my voice.
His chest presses against my back, but it’s still not his full weight. Lips brush my neck. “I don’t want to crush ye,” he says.
“Grím, I want you closer,” I say.
Weight settles onto me. We press together as if we can’t get close enough even though we’re still joined. It’s a long time before we move. The pattering of the rain outside nearly lulls me to sleep until he pulls out of me. I groan in protest and roll over. He lays beside me, body hot against mine.
Without him in me I feel disoriented, ungrounded, like a broken compass. Rolling over, I snuggle against his side. He lets out a content sigh and puts his arm around me.
“Ye’re amazin’,” he says.
A pleasant flush works its way through me. If I weren’t so utterly spent and satisfied, the flush might travel to places low in my body. Instead it travels somewhere unexpected; my heart.
“As are you,” I say, hating how tender and vulnerable my voice sounds.
Grím’s arm tightens around me. I’m not sure if it makes me feel better or worse. My fingers trace a spiral on his chest, mimicking my future as it spins out of control. I have a quest that must be completed. Yet now I’m utterly distracted. How did I let this happen? I cast my gaze to the pitted stone wall opposite us.
“Ye’ve gotten under me skin, Kyra, in a way no other woman has,” Grím whispers.
Something won’t allow me to withhold the truth from him, no matter how badly I might want to. “As have you,” I say.
Laughter rumbles through him. “No other woman?”
I slap his chest. “You know what I mean.”
He runs his fingers through my hair. “For the first time I can finally see havin’ a life after this quest is over. I finally want to have a life after it’s over. With ye,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper on the last words.
I push up onto an elbow so I can look into his eyes. “Then you shall,” I say.
I can hardly believe that I’ve thought it, let alone said it out loud. Yet now that I have, I realize I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Even more than I want revenge. The thought sends a bolt of fear through me.
Rolling into me, Grím’s lips find mine. The passion in them is so gentle that it sets my body to tingling. He pulls back and traces a hand down my chest. Suddenly, his hand halts and he shoots to a sitting position, eyes on my stomach.
Blood pounds through my veins in an instant. I reach for my sword and realize I’ve left it across the room. There’s no threat that I can see in the darkness of the chamber. The horses stand with their heads hung in slumber. Rain streams down outside the dark windows. Diluted moonlight reveals the hallway leading to the room to be empty. Even the shadows across the distant ceiling are still and quiet.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I whisper.
His eyes remain on my stomach, hand hovering just over it. Had I been wounded and not realized it maybe? My eyes shoot down to his hand.
Gold lines weave in an intricate pattern just below my breasts, reaching almost to my naval. I rub at them, thinking the rain must have smudged something onto me. It doesn’t come off. Closer inspection reveals the woven triangular symbol of Odin himself in the midst of knotwork that resembles wings.
“What in Helheim…” I ask of no one.
Grím leaps up and settles between my legs, hands splaying across the markings. “The mark of Odin himself, and these look like wings,” he murmurs.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
Grím’s gaze meets mine. “I think it means ye’re marked for service to Odin.”
My attention shifts from his bright eyes to the markings. They are smooth and flat with my skin and almost seem to have an internal glow to them. The gold color is only a few shades off that of my skin, but it’s enough to make it stand out. Wings, Odin’s mark, they can only mean one thing.
“A valkyrie, me?” My voice is soft and small, nothing like a legendary creature should sound.
Grím’s fingers lift from my stomach to cup my chin. His eyes are filled with light, and though I cringe to admit it, love.
“Were I chosen to be einherjar, I would want none other than ye to take me to Valhalla,” he says.
Bumps rise along my skin. I can hardly imagine it, me a Valkyrie. To be one of Odin’s chosen who bring warriors’ souls from the battlefield to the hallowed halls of Valhalla has always secretly been a dream of mine. What Norse girl doesn’t dream of it?
Compelled by a force more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt, I lean forward and press my lips to Grim’s. The kiss deepens. My arms wrap around him, holding him tight to me for so long we are breathless by the time we part. He leans his forehead against mine.
“But why would it appear now?” I ask.
Sitting back, Grím scratches his chin. “I think somehow us meetin’ attracted the attention of otherworldly things,” he says.
Though I can’t see why that would be, it does make sense. Reaching out, I trace a finger along the blue knotwork markings around one of Grím’s biceps.
“What about these? Did they just appear?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. These are a tradition among me ma’s people when they go to war. I had them done to honor her and me quest to avenge her.”
My fingers continue along the woven lines. “They’re beautiful, and almost look otherworldly the way they seem to glow at times. I’ve never seen tattoos in blue like this,” I say.
A shiver runs through him. Suddenly I’m in his arms, his scorching lips are locked onto mine. All thoughts of markings and service to anyone fle
e in the wake of our passion.
The rising sun peeks above the ruins, painting them orange. Smoke rises from the crumbled structures in three places across the hillside. Ducked behind an arched opening, I do my best to remain hidden while scanning the area.
A pleasant force pulls at me from behind, compelling me to turn my head. I know it’s Grím before I even lay eyes on him. In only a pair of breeches, his sculpted chest is hard to look away from. The sight of him, eyes half-lidded, dark blond hair rumpled, nearly makes it worth ignoring the possibility of danger at our backs.
Laying his head on my shoulder, he embraces me from behind. His body stiffens, and not in the way I would like it to.
“We’re not the only ones who found refuge here,” he whispers, breath warm upon my ear.
“Others on their way to the contest, you think?” I ask.
It would be nice not to have to face another fight any time soon. I want all the energy I can save up for confronting Steinn. Having grown up around him, I know all too well his prowess in battle.
“Likely,” Grím says.
Another idea occurs to me. “He could be here,” I say.
For the briefest moment, Grím’s arms tighten around me. “Could be.”
Bumps rise along the skin of my arms. To potentially be so close to the man who killed my father sends a charge through me. “Then we have to check.”
“Aye, but we should try to sneak up on them, see if he’s among the parties first. If he isn’t, no reason to approach them,” Grím says.
I nod. “And if he is, we fight with a cool head.”
Turning, I cup his face in my hand. The rough stubble sends pleasant prickles down my arm and to my chest, hardening my nipples. Part of me doesn’t want to leave this room. After all this time, I can’t believe I’m hesitant. Yet looking into Grím’s sapphire eyes, it’s obvious why I am. The unthinkable has happened.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Grím,” I tell him.