Dreams of a Dark Warrior iad-11

by Kresley Cole

  Yet this only alarmed Lucia. “An insatiable beast lurks within him, one that wants only to rut and conquer and possess. I hope to the gods, for your sake, he’s not tried to leash it for nearly a decade.”

  “I am going to him,” Regin said simply as she turned toward the stairs. Her mind was made up. She wasn’t one to debate things with herself. She rarely pondered, never mulled. She acted.

  Lucia sighed, following her down to the front entrance. “Then for once, be circumspect.” At the door, she handed Regin her hooded cloak. “Survey the situation before you stride into his army’s camp as if you own it. Promise me.”

  “Very well.” Regin shrugged into the cloak, then stepped outside, glancing at the darkening sky. A spring storm neared. “Wish me luck,” she said cheerily, leaving Lucia to pluck her bowstring with disapproval.

  Regin set off across the countryside, hurrying through melting ice fields into the forest. She was so eager that she easily outpaced the oncoming storm.

  As she neared Aidan’s encampment, she heard women’s voices among the men’s. Camp wenches, as usual. What bawdy scenes would she come across this time?

  Perhaps Aidan had a bedmate this very night.

  The thought made her claws straighten with aggression. He vowed to me. Yet though she would feel betrayed, her desires were growing so intense that she might just toss the woman away and take her place.

  Nay. If he’d broken his oath, she would not gift him with her innocence.

  I have to know. … At the edge of a central clearing, she leapt into a tree, adjusting her cloak to keep her glow concealed. Around a great fire sat berserkers of every stripe, all with women or jugs of mead or both clasped in their meaty fists.

  Except for one.

  Aidan.

  He sat off to one side on a long bench, his blond head in his hands. He looked to be squeezing his temples.

  Brandr, that cur, sat beside him with a wench in his lap and one hand up her skirt, fondling her backside. With his other hand, he clapped Aidan on the shoulder. “There will be other leads, friend.”

  “I felt so certain.” He raised his head, revealing a miserable expression. “Last night, I dreamed I’d found her.”

  Regin stifled a gasp at his appearance. Aidan’s striking face was weary, his mien defeated. Yet underneath the signs of the ongoing years, he was still the most beautiful male she’d ever seen.

  Brandr handed him a jug. “Here. Drink this.”

  Aidan pushed it away. “I need a clear head. We ride north tomorrow.”

  “Forget for one night,” Brandr said with an exaggerated slap of the whore’s bottom.

  Aidan scowled at that, then all around at the men groping and the women writhing. He took the jug, turned it up. When he’d emptied it, he swiped his tunic sleeve over his mouth. “Gods, what was that? It burns my throat.”

  “That was the choice spirits! Now follow them with a choice woman.”

  Nay, do not!

  “For once, Aidan.”

  For once? He truly had kept his vow?

  When Aidan cast him another scowl, Brandr sighed. He lifted the woman to her feet, telling her, “Go pleasure others for this hour. I’ll find you for the next.”

  Once the two men were alone, Brandr said, “This cannot go on, Aidan. I am your friend, and I cannot see you like this any longer.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Return to being the leader you used to be. For all the gods’ sakes, Aidan, I am closer to ohalla than you are, and you’ve half a dozen years of age on me. Forget this obsession. You think of nothing but her.”

  “And can you blame me? Imagine the woman she would be.” He gazed up at the cloudy sky as if picturing her at that moment, and Regin’s heart clenched again. Then Aidan faced Brandr. “Nay, do not imagine her.”

  Brandr exhaled. “There are women aplenty in this camp. Women who burn to bed you. Surely you can replace her.”

  “The idea is laughable. As well you know.”

  “I’d take a warm woman in my hands over a cold Valkyrie in my mind.”

  I am not cold!

  “By the way,” Brandr added, “that was enough drink to put down a horse. You’ll be on your face soon. Mayhap you’ll actually sleep a night through.”

  With a snarl, Aidan shot to his feet, then lurched toward a nearby tent.

  “Go to your lonely bed, old man!” Brandr called.

  Brandr and I are going to cross swords one day, Regin decided. Then she leapt from one limb to another, settling in a tree outside Aidan’s tent. From there, she could spy the dimly lit interior through the outer flap.

  Inside, he angrily ripped off his tunic, displaying broad shoulders and a brawny back that tapered down to narrow hips. As he moved, his muscles flexed beneath smooth tanned skin.

  Magnificent male. She hissed out a shaky breath at the sight.

  He kicked a shield on the ground, then knocked a tankard from a table. He was like the approaching storm, his ire building as he began to smash his belongings—weapons clanging, wood splintering.

  Regin tilted her head in wonder, frowning at the mortal’s rampage.

  When the storm gave up its first bolt above, he froze. She thought she heard him mutter, “Lightning. Lightning?” Out of the tent he staggered, clearly the worse for the liquor, and headed away from the camp.

  Regin dropped down and silently followed as he made his way out of the forest into a nearby field. He stopped before an ancient rune stone—an upright slab of rock more than ten feet tall, carved with glyphs. They were numerous in these Northlands, each created to be a direct path to Wóden’s ear.

  He faced the stone. “You give me lightning this eve?” With every word, his voice grew louder, until he was shouting: “To remind me of what I have lost?” He launched his mighty fist against the rock.

  Regin’s jaw dropped at the blasphemy.

  Aidan punched it again, bloodying his hand. “To remind me of what I cannot find?”

  With his every word, she felt his pain. It washed over her like a flood, temporarily numbing her desires. She’d never known hurt like this—a torment not of the body but of the mind.

  Of the heart?

  She’d never known he would come to this.

  As if pulled to him by an invisible force, she eased closer. When he drew back his bloodied fist again, she stayed his arm with a touch.

  He went still, but his whole body seemed to be thrumming. Regin’s was as well; her own lightning lit the sky from her turbulent emotions.

  Slowly, he turned to her. With a shaking hand, he reached for her cloak. She didn’t think he even realized he spoke aloud: “Be her, be her, gods, let it be her. ”

  He unfastened the garment, let it drop to her feet, then sucked in a breath at her uncovered face. His bloodshot eyes now glowed gray as they flickered over her features. Brows drawn together as if he were pained, he held up a lock of her hair, threading his fingers through it. “So fair.”

  A light rain began to fall, misting their skin, but he seemed not to notice as his gaze dipped to her body. Rocking on his feet, he rasped, “Gods, ängel. I dreamed of you like this. Every night.” Then he frowned, muttering to himself, “Still in reverie. That was the choicest spirits.”

  “’Tis no dream, warlord—”

  One strapping arm shot out to circle her shoulders; the other was a band around her arms and torso, dragging her against him. She felt him groan from deep in his chest as their bodies met.

  The closest she’d ever been to a man.

  “You’ve returned to me. No longer must I worry for you, out in the world alone,” he said, his voice breaking lower with emotion. “You were just a little girl. Without my protection.” He nuzzled her hair, inhaling with another groan. “But you’re a woman now.” His erection pressed against her belly as he growled, “My woman.”

  The bare skin of his chest was smooth against her cheek and felt so hot in the rain. His scent surrounded her, enticing her as much
as his muscles rippling all around her. When he rubbed his chin over the sensitive tip of her pointed ear, her claws curled, readying to sink into his body and pull him ever closer.

  Yet then he drew his head back, suspicion in his expression. “Have you lain with another?”

  She frowned, genuinely curious when she asked, “Would you not want me if I had?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. He ignored her question. “Has there been another, Valkyrie?” His wild eyes were seething gray. “Tell me! The beast in me stirs. It can’t share its mate. I can’t share my mate.”

  Regin swallowed at the intensity of his gaze. He would never give her up, would never accept the mere months she’d intended to give him. “Th-this was a mistake.”

  “There has been.” He threw back his head and roared like an animal in pain, crushing her against him with one arm as he pounded his fist into the wet stone over and over. “You were meant for me, meant only for me!”

  “Aidan, wait,” she cried, grappling to free herself, but he’d pinned her arms to her sides. “Listen to me!”

  He didn’t. “I was true to you, Valkyrie!” The rune stone began to crack under his assault. “I will slaughter any who’ve touched you. …”

  Seeing no other recourse, she sank her fangs into one of the thick muscles of his chest.

  He seemed not to feel it. She bit harder until she’d drawn blood.

  Finally he slowed. “You’re biting me?” he slurred.

  With a roll of her eyes, she released him.

  “If you mean to pain me, you will have to do better than that. I’ve had nine years of perfect misery.”

  “I had to do something to make you listen. Aidan, I’ve never been touched. Not that it should matter—since you are certainly no innocent.”

  He sagged against her in relief.

  She added sarcastically, “My virgin’s blood is still yours to spill.”

  He took her words seriously. “’Tis mine by right. You belong to me! If there’d been another, I would make him eat his own entrails.”

  She blinked up at him. “And these are your words of sentiment?”

  “There’s no poetry in me, Reginleit. No fine words.” He stared down at her, his gaze seeming to consume her. “I come to you as a man unfinished.”

  Raw, grim male.

  He took her hands in his bloodied, callused ones. “Accept me?” His eyes glowed, his lashes spiked from rain.

  Lightning struck then and her breath caught—he had a face made even more beautiful in the blaze of lightning. “Warlord, you once told me I’d always know what you’re thinking. What are your thoughts now?”

  “Partly, I’m thinking that I might shame myself in my trews, just from the feel of you next to me.” One of his hands snaked around to cover her backside, gripping her there.

  “Oh!”

  “And partly, I’m fearing I will frighten you away again.”

  “You did not frighten me away before. Nothing frightens me.”

  “Then why did you leave me?”

  “Because you would not listen to me. You sought to take away my freedom.”

  “And give you mine in turn, woman! Then why’ve you come to me now?”

  “Mostly because of … the change. When beset by these needs, I came to you to have them eased.”

  Again, he went still. “You came to me,” he repeated hoarsely. “To your man. Reginleit, you make my chest bow with pride.” His lips curled. “And my shaft swell. I’m greedy to sample these generous new curves you’ve brought me.”

  “My looks please you?” She straightened her shoulders self-consciously. “I fear I did not grow tall.”

  “Please me?” He laughed from deep in his chest. “You stun me. Ah, little wife, if you did not grow up, you certainly grew out.” One of his hands dropped to cover a breast, giving it a tender squeeze. When he shuddered with delight, she felt a thrill down to her toes.

  “And you came to me to ease you here?” His other hand trailed down between them to gently cup her sex.

  She gasped. “Y-yes.”

  His eyes burned with excitement, with possession, with pride. “I’m going to make your lightning rain down.” He pressed the heel of his palm harder, and her head fell back.

  “Ah, yes! Make love to me, warlord.”

  “Words from fantasy. But I cannot. I need more time.”

  She lifted her head. “I do not understand.”

  “I want more of you. I want eternity.”

  “What are you speaking of?”

  “If I deflower a Valkyrie before wedding her, I will never earn ohalla. Wóden would never gift me with it.”

  “Wed?” She yanked his hand from her. “Immortals cannot wed mortals! It’s unnatural.” To watch him die a little each day, until he withered with age …

  “Precisely. So I must be of your kind. And even were it not forbidden, I still would not wed you without ohalla. I know of no warrior older than sixty winters. I’ve forty. Two decades should be but a taste of life with you.”

  In a crestfallen tone, she said, “You want me to … wait?” Her plan was foiled, utterly. Not only would she not get what she came for, she’d be punished for trying.

  “Only to be claimed. Rest assured, I’ll sate you in other ways till then.”

  But she wanted to know everything, to experience it all. “How many battles do you have left?”

  He lifted his chin. “A mere six dozen or so.”

  “Are there even that many wars?” she cried.

  “Between the vampires and the unallied demonarchies, a lifetime of war awaits.”

  “Seventy battles could take years! I came here because I wanted you to be my first lover.”

  “By all the gods, I will be, woman. But not yet. You wait for me, Reginleit. I will seize ohalla for you, for us.”

  “And what would you expect me to do while you are out fighting? My Valkyrie nature hungers for war as much as yours does. And I hold no love for vampires.” Her mother’s people, the Radiant Ones, had been exterminated by them.

  “You will remain behind—”

  Eyes widening, she opened her mouth to give him a blistering reply.

  “—to train, as all my men do before they go to battle,” he finished.

  “Train?” she scoffed. “I’ve readied for war all my life.”

  “Using the wrong weapon. You still wield your long sword?”

  “Yes.”

  “With your small height and Valkyrie speed, you should be fighting with two short swords. I could teach you how.”

  She pursed her lips, reluctantly intrigued by that idea. “And once I am trained …” she prompted.

  As if the words were pulled from him, he said, “You can join me at the front. But only after I deem you ready.”

  She dug one fang into her bottom lip, actually considering his offer.

  He must have taken her silence as acceptance, because he leaned down to kiss her neck, his mouth so hot in the rain. Against her skin, he rasped, “And, brightling, know this …” His tongue flicked out to lick drops from her. “I vow to you now, I will be your last lover.”

  She couldn’t think when he was doing that! “I-I haven’t agreed to this. Am I to have no say? Again?”

  He inhaled as if for control, then raised his head. “Give me a chance, and I will claim your heart. All I need is time.”

  She didn’t believe that could happen. An immortal like her could never fully love a mortal. Her instincts would rebel against tender feelings like that.

  After all, she could never give her heart to a man who would take it to the grave with him, leaving her broken and yearning for eternity.

  Still, there was something captivating about Aidan’s utter confidence. As if he knew something about her that she didn’t even know herself. And her out-of-control desires were making it difficult to deny him. “I will give you three months, warlord. You have three months to win me.”

  “Ah, Valkyrie”—he curled his finger unde
r her chin—“your heart will be mine in two.”

  -iii-

  Seven months later

  Where is he? I’m going mad without him here.

  Regin paced their longhouse as a blizzard raged outside. Aidan was a week overdue from a campaign. She’d ridden the countryside searching for him for days, but found no sign.

  There was rumor of a capture.

  Did he even live?

  Aidan. The bear of a warrior she could never allow herself to love, but the one she wanted above all others.

  Even though she was a full immortal now—her appetite for food had disappeared, her need for war burgeoning—she lingered with him here at his camp.

  I am better for being here, for being with him. She was a better swordswoman—though he hadn’t deemed her ready for war yet, and she secretly feared he never would.

  She was a better lover. Though he hadn’t coupled with her.

  Seven months ago, she had tried repeatedly to seduce him, coaxing him to take her completely. Yet in time she’d come to want more of him, too. No, he couldn’t win her heart, but he’d won her desires. He’d pleasured her relentlessly, teaching her to slake him as well.

  Each time he set off to battle, she demanded, “Take me with you, warrior.” His ploy to keep her in camp? He left her sexually sated and sprawled on the furs, exhausted but glowing with bliss. Already pining for him to return.

  As he’d done so long ago, Regin had begun to ask herself, why not him?

  Because once she’d learned how to handle her stormy berserker—knowing when to tease him, when to claw him, when to draw him into her arms and murmur, “Shh, be at ease, warlord”—life with him had been surprisingly gratifying.

  He treated her like a goddess, spoiling her with gifts and surprises. And they laughed constantly. She savored the sound of his laughter coming from his big barrel chest—as well as his gruff words of affection: “Remember those years ago when I vowed I would love you one day? I told you true.”

  Could any male make her feel as he had the night he’d lightly rasped his blond stubble over her stomach and murmured, “I want babes with you—berserker sons and Valkyrie daughters.” He’d raised his head, gazing at her with clear gray eyes. “Give them to me one day?”