Valkyrie Concealed
Valkyrie’s Legacy Book 3
Allyson Lindt
This book is a work of fiction.
While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Allyson Lindt
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 9781949986549
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Acelette Press
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Valkyrie Concealed (Valkyrie's Legacy, #3)
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
About the Author
For my eternal dragon
Prologue
1992 Los Angeles
Seeing the one they love die over and over again could jade a god. Especially a god who existed because people worshiped passion and life. Losing the woman he loved five times had made Min wary.
As he watched Kirby sunbathe on an inflatable raft in the pool, a lazy smile on her face, it was easy to believe this was it—she was here to stay. The sun caressed her smooth skin, teasing over pink nipples and the thin strip of blond that covered the V between her legs and matched her hair.
It was a little cold for swimming, as far as Min was concerned, but Kirby didn’t care for too hot after being deployed in the Kuwait desert for several months.
“You could join me, instead of watching from afar,” she called from her floating island. She turned her head to the side and dipped down her sunglasses, to meet his gaze. Her eyes were the same crystal blue as the water, and a smile played on her face.
How long had she been here? Safe? Away from war and danger? Did he dare let hope push away trepidation? If he were feeling bold, he’d imagine her being here in a year. In five. As the calendar struck 2000 then flipped into a new millennium.
“The view is incredible from here. Persuade me to leave it behind,” he said.
“Hmm... How am I ever going to do that?” Kirby trailed her fingers in the water, twisting her raft until her feet pointed in his direction. She propped one leg up at the knee, offering a perfect, teasing view of her pussy. “I guess I’ll enjoy myself out here.” She glided her fingers down her stomach.
“You know the rules, Huntress.” He let a hint of warning slide into his voice. If she did this now, he’d watch and he’d enjoy the show, but she’d be spanked after, and nothing more.
Which she chose always depended on her mood.
A distant bang echoed in the distance, and then another. Fireworks? Backfiring car?
Kirby’s hand froze and a frown crossed her face. “Gunfire.”
The next few shots were closer. Several blocks away, but near enough to dial up his concern. It was ridiculous to think a random shooting would impact Kirby, but her deaths didn’t tend to be predictable.
“Get out of the pool,” Min ordered.
Kirby half-sat and stared at him with one raised eyebrow. Her lips were pursed.
His commands were supposed to be for playfulness and sex, but she didn’t put up with being told what to do in other circumstances.
He didn’t care if this angered her. Only one thing terrified him—her dying. “Now.”
Kirby twisted her mouth but quickly climbed from the pool. She tugged on the oversized T-shirt sitting on a chair near the water, and joined him inside.
“I’m all right.” The irritation was gone from her voice. “Whatever’s going on out there, it’s not here.” The slight tremor in her words contradicted their reassuring nature. She could block out the memories of her deaths most the time, but not always. There were still nights when the pain and fear woke her up from a deep sleep. Still days when the haunted shadows of her pasts lingered in circles under her eyes.
Min led her farther into the house, toward the home theater he’d set up in the basement. It was safer, tucked away from the outside world, with several walls between the streets and Kirby. Easier to focus on her being here.
He settled onto one of the leather sofas in the room, and pulled her into his lap to straddle his legs. He cupped her face between his hands. “I can’t lose you again. There are days when I barely believe you’re still here.”
“But I am.” Kirby’s smile was sweet. Innocent. The way she pressed her heat against him was anything but. “If you want a more visceral reminder, I was in the middle of something before we were interrupted.” She was naked under the shirt, and her dampness practically burned through his lightweight trousers.
There were also days Min was certain the constant threat of death helped get Kirby off. She’d never struck him as being self-destructive, though, so it didn’t matter. She ground against him, and he gripped her hips hard, pinning her in place.
He glided his hands to her ass and squeezed tight enough to earn himself a gasp. “I don’t want you to finish things the way you started them. I need to feel you.” Desperately and completely.
He shoved her shirt out of the way and lowered his mouth to one breast, while he kneaded the supple flesh. He traced hungry patterns over her skin, tasting sunshine and chlorine and that distinct flavor of Kirby that had lived with him for centuries.
She arched her spine as she dug her nails into his back, pressing into his mouth, scratching along his exposed shoulders, and holding him in place.
Like this, he could happily drown in the noises she made and the warmth of her body. He alternated between breasts, lavishing them with attention—licking, then sucking and nibbling—until Kirby was panting and her hips rocked against his.
Min gripped her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her neck and biting hard enough to mark.
She ground against his erection, her dampness seeping through the thin cotton of his pants. The way her breath came in short bursts was familiar. Intoxicating. She was near climax.
He caught her earlobe between his teeth and tugged. “I changed my mind. I do want you to finish what you started.” He pressed his lips to the hollow behind her ear. “Make yourself come.” He lowered his head to devour her nipples again.
Kirby slipped her hand between her legs. Her knuckles brushed him with each stroke along her pussy, and her grinding grew more frantic. Potent, uncontrolled whimpers tore from her throat. He sucked harder. The sounds she made when she came were heavenly, wrapping him in aural pleasur
e.
Min needed to be inside her now. He nudged her back, to loosen the drawstrings on his bottoms and free his cock. He dragged the head along her dripping slit but didn’t have the patience for more play before he thrust inside her.
Her gasp was hoarse. Exquisite.
He returned his hands to her ass, any ability to restrain himself gone. This was a visceral confirmation that she was real. Here, with him. He set a fast pace, digging his fingers in hard. He spread her cheeks and teased a finger against her rear entrance while he slammed inside her.
She was so eager. So incredible.
He spread her juices back, to lubricate his finger, and slipped a single digit in her ass.
Her cry was throaty, and her gaze unfocused. She was lost in pleasure, and he was lost in her.
When Kirby came again, she clenched around his cock, milking him.
He let go of the last hints of restraint, and orgasm washed over him. He spilled inside her. The sharp, tangibly sweet tang of their auras mingling hit his tongue and wrapped around them both. He loved that feeling. That taste of her pleasure melting into his.
The frantic need flowed away, and they slowed to a stop. Kirby rested her cheek against his chest. He moved his hands to rest on the small of her back. They sat there for a while, consumed by each other and tangled in a cloud of contentment.
He softened and slid out of her. She sighed and snuggled closer. This was perfect. Min never wanted to lose it.
“We should get cleaned up.” Her voice was sleepy.
He lifted her enough to move her aside, stood, and scooped her into his arms. In the shower, he took his time cleaning every inch of her. This wasn’t about sex; it was about caring for Kirby.
When they were done showering, neither of them was in the mood to put many clothes on.
Kirby stole one of Min’s shirts, and he donned a pair of boxers, before they returned to their spot in the theater.
“We should see if there’s any news about the gunshots we heard.” Kirby sounded reluctant but insistent.
It was an odd contradiction. He grabbed the remote and flipped to the most likely local channel to be broadcasting.
There was news, and it was horrifying.
Kirby sat mostly in Min’s lap, as the news played on the TV.
Riots had broken out across the city, after a jury acquitted four police officers for the beating of Rodney King. Min had seen countless violent protests in his life—the oppressed rising up to find justice in a world that didn’t grant it to them otherwise—but this felt different.
“Gwydion wanted company.” A sadness had sunk into Kirby’s tone and lingered, the longer they watched the city around them burn on TV. “We could get away for a few days.”
It was a good idea. Take her someplace safe, at least until this blew over. “I have the plane on standby,” Min said. “Let’s go now.”
“Do I need to pack?”
He planted her on her feet, then stood. “You should probably put panties on. Maybe trousers.”
“Yes, sir. Dressed and ready to go in five.”
He allowed relief to trickle through him, as he followed her to the bedroom. This was probably an overreaction, but the trip would be fun and put his mind at ease at the same time.
A short while later, they were in the car, and Daz was driving them to the airport. They needed to drive past some of the most affected parts of the city to reach their destination, but Daz had found a route that allowed them to skirt most of the riots.
Thick smoke from fires a few blocks away clogged the air. Debris and broken glass lined the street.
The driver’s window shattered, and a man pressed a gun to Daz’s face. “Out of the car now, you rich fucks.”
“Okay. It’s yours.” Min didn’t care to argue. The car was a thing. Easily replaced.
“This isn’t going to help you any,” Kirby said softly. “There are better ways to get things done.”
What was she doing?
She reached toward the front seat. “We can help you. Whatever you need. This is only a temporary solution.”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” The carjacker fired.
Kirby gurgled and slumped back in her seat. Blood ran in dark rivers from the hole in her chest, near her throat.
Rage and grief flooded Min, spilling from him in waves. He was vaguely aware of the carjacker screaming before the sound stopped abruptly, but most of his attention was on Kirby.
“Huntress.” He pressed his hands to the hole. “You’re a Valkyrie now. This can’t... Please don’t...”
Glassy eyes stared past him, and her head lolled to the side.
Min’s fury grew until it clogged his lungs and consumed his thoughts. Not again. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
“I’ll find you again.” He pressed his lips to Kirby’s forehead. And in her next life, things would be different. He would do whatever it took to protect her, no matter how extreme. If it meant keeping his distance, pushing her to love someone else—anything.
She didn’t deserve to have her life ripped away, over and over, because she’d had the nerve in her first life to save the man she loved.
This wasn’t Starkad’s fault, though. Or even the fault of the trigger-happy carjacker.
Odin had done this. He was gone, but any god arrogant enough to think they had the right to tweak people’s lives for their own gain deserved eternal torment and punishment.
Chapter One
Another street. Another morning. Another building with a perfect view for picking off a target at a distance.
The difference today was that Kirby didn’t intend to shoot anyone.
Staring through her rifle scope at Gwydion was a precaution. He was there to intercept and warn a potential that she may have been sold out. Kirby and Starkad were three floors up in the building across the street, to make sure no third party interrupted the meeting.
Potentials were people who might or might not become gods, based on a series of prophecies a fate made centuries ago. Most of the existing gods were okay with letting the ascension happen. A handful—those on the board of The Order of Mistletoe—would rather take potentials out before they became a threat.
It wasn’t a coincidence that the potentials on their hit lists had been prophesied to eliminate those same gods.
Kirby was enjoying the scenery and the company while she waited. Her sight stayed mostly on Gwydion, a Celtic trickster god who was far more powerful than he let show. Right now, he looked deceptively normal, sitting at a table at the edge of an outdoor café, sipping coffee and scanning the street. His fair hair, tattoo-scarred skin, and easy posture didn’t diminish his muscular frame.
“The summit in Ukraine broke down.” His casual voice came over her earpiece, as he scrolled through his phone.
Next to her, Starkad let out a long sigh of disappointment. His appearance was seared into her mind without her looking, not that she ever hesitated to stare when she had the chance. He was tall, blond, and covered in ink. A modern-day Viking. Literally. He’d been Kirby’s lover in her first life, when she’d forsaken Odin to keep Starkad from dying, earning herself a nasty curse.
Starkad had come out of the deal with a tortured immortality, where Kirby got the opposite. She’d died a dozen times over the centuries, and was always reborn again. At twenty-six, in this, her thirteenth life, she’d already lived far longer than ever before. And she intended to keep it that way.
“And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake,” Starkad said.
Kirby would have rolled her eyes at the biblical reference, but Starkad’s meaning struck a concerned nerve. Urd—the fate who wrote the original prophecies—predicted the end of the world. Since none of her stanzas were what they seemed on the surface, it was believed she meant more of a rebirth than a literal end.
That didn’t make it any easier for Kirby to hear about the events heralding the world’s pending demise. Which was ironic—we
re her feelings on the matter irony? She was pretty sure they were, since she and Starkad had been working with an entire organization for the last few years, to ensure the prophecies happened.
The alternative was still mass destruction, but on a far more chaotic scale. Mostly because the TOM board members were going to dangerous and deadly lengths to stay alive.
One of them, Hel, had been defeated at Kirby’s hand. But not before Hel put a series of orders in place to execute hundreds of people upon her death. She’d told her most devoted—fanatical—followers that it was the only way to bring her back.
Kirby would save Hel’s targets regardless; she hated seeing people suffer at the gods’ hands. Keeping Hel in her grave was a bonus.
“Where is she?” Kirby grumbled. The target they were pursuing was one she’d saved before. Last time, the woman had a schedule to set a clock by.
Gwydion glanced up. He couldn’t see her—that was the point of picking this location to watch from—but she swore he met her gaze through the scope. “Maybe something spooked her and she already ran.”
Or TOM got to her first. Kirby preferred Gwydion’s assumption. According to Min, this potential was different. Most potentials were terrified to learn they were being hunted. A few seemed to take it in stride. But Azzie had expected the news.
If Kirby followed that logic too far, it pointed at Azzie’s walking the same path every day for months because she wanted to be a target. Kirby couldn’t fathom putting herself in that kind of danger intentionally.
Other kinds of danger, sure. But Brit had been the person hunting Azzie, and Kirby never wanted to be on the receiving end of Brit’s gun again. She didn’t want to let that train of thought run. It was hard enough, knowing Brit was still alive, without diving into the seconds—virtual days?—that led up to Brit’s not-death.
“How long do we wait?” Kirby asked.
She didn’t have to pull her attention from the scope to know Starkad strode to the other side of the room. Since the fight with Hel, she’d felt his presence more distinctly. It was hard to define, but she sensed when either he or Gwydion were near, and she had a vague feeling of their moods without seeing or talking to them.
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