by Kate Pearce
Gunnar couldn’t get through the flames—too weak and cowardly—though Erik hadn’t acknowledged that at the time. He’d had only one focus then: marrying Gudrun. He’d thought he might die if he couldn’t, known that he’d do anything to wed her. Everything else was irrelevant, crowded out by the single goal that possessed him.
So he’d passed through the fire in Gunnar’s stead, promising that Bryn would remain untouched, and swearing that he’d give her one of Grimhild’s potions to make her believe it was Gunnar who’d made it through the fire, not Erik.
The only thing he hadn’t counted on was how the passion between Bryn and him would explode out of control. Even believing he loved someone else, Erik couldn’t stop himself from touching her, taking her. Again and again and again. He’d never told Gunnar the truth of his actions, and hadn’t known until much later that the night he’d spent in Bryn’s bed had resulted in a child. Erik had always told himself that Aslaug was Gunnar’s daughter.
The woman he’d loved became his sister-in-law instead of his wife. When the potions wore off, the irony of it had left bitterness coating his tongue every time he’d seen her. The ugly truth had spelled his doom. His and Bryn’s and his young son’s.
Erik shook his head, dragging himself back to the present day. He slowed to a stop and let his head fall forward, panting for breath. A glance around revealed a small clearing of sweet-smelling grass and wildflowers. Bryn certainly had chosen a beautiful patch of country for her retirement.
He wished he didn’t have to drag her back into the fray, but he couldn’t regret that circumstances had pushed them into contact again. No matter how love-hate their relationship had become, there was a part of his soul that would always belong to her. He’d tried for centuries to excise that treacherous part of himself, but he’d never succeeded.
Somehow that didn’t seem so bad now.
A shadow passed over the meadow, and when he looked up he saw her. His raven, his shieldmaiden, his Bryn. She swept past, headed in the direction of home. A growl rumbled in his chest, anticipation and longing tangling inside him, for once defeating the bitterness of the past. There was much they still had to hash out, and he thought he’d start with the issue of her ditching him in bed this morning. Talking about bed might land them back there, and that was just fine with him. Being near her had made the future more inviting than ever before.
He rose to his feet, running back to her.
3
The wind ruffled over Bryn’s feathers and she banked into an easy turn, descending in slow circles toward the long stretch of her main barn. She swooped under the roof into the wide aisle, shifted midair and landed neatly on her feet. Combing her fingers through her hair, she tried to straighten it into some semblance of order.
A low growl made her stiffen and turn, prey before a predator. The massive gray wolf prowled inside the barn, and a few anxious whinnies echoed from the stalls. Even though it could have been any of the berserkers, she knew down to her bones this wolf was Erik. It was unsettling to realize how attuned to him she was after less than a day in his company.
She cleared her throat. “You’re scaring my horses. Knock it off.”
His body twisted, fur retracting, and then Erik stood before her. Their eyes met, and something electric passed between them. She’d swear the air crackled around them. A breath shuddered into her lungs, fire ripped through her body, and her pussy went slick and hot, clenching on emptiness.
He stared at her, his gaze raking over every single inch of her. By the gods, he could rev her up with a simple glance. This was bad. Terrible. He was naked, she was naked, and they were alone. Not only was he naked, but he was hugely, flagrantly aroused. So was she, but at least her body could hide it better.
Then his nostrils flared, and she knew he could smell her readiness. A reminder that this wasn’t a normal man. This was an immortal, a berserker, half-wolf, and he had abilities no human could claim.
Then again, even when he’d been a mortal man, he’d been able to strip her of all defenses with a single look.
His eyes narrowed, and that was when she realized he was irritated. “For the record, I didn’t enjoy waking up alone.”
“I had work to do.” She lifted a brow.
The look he gave her chastised her for the lie, but his tone was deceptively mild when he spoke. “You could have woken me. I would have helped.”
“Maybe I don’t want your help any more than I want to offer you my help. Too many strings attached.”
Dropping his gaze to her breasts, lower, to the juncture of her thighs, he licked his lips. She shivered, recalling his mouth on her flesh the night before. He took a step toward her, and she had to muster every ounce of self-discipline to stand her ground. Her heart hammered, but not from fear. Anticipation sang through her.
“If this isn’t what you want, say no,” he ordered, but the expression on his face dared her not to.
She couldn’t have even if she wanted to, even if she could have resisted such a blatant challenge. Lust speared her, the need more intense than any other lover had ever managed to make her feel. That made her uneasy, but it didn’t stop the throb of want that passed through her. Her nipples tightened, her pussy contracted, some muscles within her loosening, others tightening as her body readied itself for sex. Good sex. The most amazing sex of her entire existence. She’d wanted to tell herself she was just romanticizing the memories, but the sizzle of chemistry the moment she’d seen him again made a lie of that.
She lifted her chin, staring him down as she gestured to their surroundings. “I’m not interested in concrete road rash, splinters, or getting hay wedged up my ass.”
Which left very few options for getting it on.
With his head tilted, his eyebrows drew together in consideration. Without saying another word, he wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her forward until his back was against the wall and she was plastered to his front. Cupping her hips, he lifted her so her legs naturally wrapped around his trim waist. She gripped his shoulders and held on tight.
Her breath caught at the feel of his skin against hers. He was rough satin, all hot skin and crisp curls that abraded her nipples.
“Kiss me,” he demanded.
Instead of obeying, she tightened her legs and lifted herself, then took his cock deep in one swift downward plunge, letting gravity impale her on his thick shaft. Years of riding horses had given her some amazing leg and ab muscles, and she put them to good use now. She shimmied upward, then dropped down, letting him stretch her, fill her to the limit. He was so big, it would have been painful to take him if she hadn’t been so wet. They both moaned, and she felt raven’s claws tip her fingers, digging into his flesh. His fangs flashed as he smiled, and then his grip became bruising as he helped gravity along.
Their skin slapped with every plunge, and sweat made their flesh glide together. Their gasps and groans echoed down the long aisle, and she knew any of his friends could walk in at any moment, that they were basically fucking in public, but she was beyond caring. Everything about this—him—was just a little forbidden, and that made it so much sexier. Her thighs burned with the strain of riding him, but she couldn’t stop, had to have that carnal surcease.
He shifted his grip, banding an arm under her ass, and then one hand came up to tunnel into her hair. He jerked her forward so he could claim the kiss he’d wanted. His tongue filled her mouth, and their lips melded. She felt the scrape of his fangs against her flesh, and excitement poured through her. The wildness in him called to the wildness in her, and her talons curled into his shoulders, raking down his arms. He groaned into her mouth, settled his shoulders more solidly so he could push his hips further from the wall. Then he pistoned into her harder, faster, their movements growing rougher.
She kept up with him, taking him deeper, loving the thrill of it, the feral edge to their coupling. Heat roared high within her. She was so close to exploding, she could taste it. She threw her head back, a low
cry breaking free, the sound almost a raven’s call.
“Come now, Bryn,” he ordered.
He swatted her ass, and the sting sent her jolting forward. His dick slammed so deep, pinpricks of light burst behind her lids, and she tumbled over into orgasm. Her channel clamped down on his cock, pulsing in rhythmic waves. Goose bumps broke down her limbs, and each of his thrusts pushed her to another peak. It was almost more than she could take; she could only hang on and experience the overwhelming rush.
He shoved into her pussy one, two, three more times, and then he shuddered against her, flooding her with hot fluids. Their lungs heaved for breath, and that was the only noise that broke the silence. Even the horses seemed to have gone still. He let his head fall back against the barn wall, but he didn’t loosen his hold on her. “Bryn, I—”
Whatever he was going to say was lost as they both noticed the sound of approaching footsteps. Deliberately loud footsteps, she thought, and then Val called, “Uh…Erik? Bryn? Ivar rang me, and he said he’s got some news for us. Looks as if the end is nigh. Though if I was doing what you’re doing, I couldn’t be arsed about it either.”
He didn’t come around the corner of the barn, so he couldn’t get an eyeful of her buck-naked ass. Maybe she should be embarrassed to be called out twice in as many hours for banging Erik. But she was too old to regret good sex—she knew firsthand that a shag this good didn’t come around very often. Should she be fucking her former whatever-the-hell-he-was? Probably not, but the world was ending, so who cared? She might as well get some play before it all went to pot.
Erik closed his eyes. “How urgent is it?”
A pause, then Val answered, “He should be pulling up to the house right about now. Yes, there, you can hear his van. I’d wager you have maybe five minutes before he comes looking for you, mate. But he’s impatient like that, so no telling how big the emergency actually is. He didn’t say much over the phone.”
“We’ll be there in five minutes, then,” Erik replied.
“Cheers.” And then the other man left much more silently than he’d approached.
Bryn unhooked her legs and dropped to the floor, biting back a moan as his cock slid free. She headed for her office and the clothes she’d left there. Erik followed her, tracking her like a convict who might escape. That didn’t annoy her at all. Nope. Not her. “You can go back without me, Erik. I don’t need an escort.”
“You’re getting one anyway, so I can make sure you don’t fly off into the sunset and disappear.” He crossed his arms, making his sculpted biceps bulge.
She reared back, and she went from annoyed to pissed off in under two seconds. “Oh, that’s nice. Your pillow talk blows, for the record. Should I remind you that you’re trespassing on my land right now? I could have your ass tossed in jail. Wouldn’t that throw a wrench in your plans to save the world, trying to talk the humans into letting you go without revealing any of your superhuman powers?”
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. The bottom line is you’re involved in this whether you like it or not. You don’t really have a choice, you know.” His tone was less than civil, flashing that new edginess. In the old days, he’d only ever lost his cool in bed and in the intense heat of battle when his berserker side came out to play.
“Yeah, and fuck you very much for pointing that out.” She thrust both hands into her hair, wrenching the tangled locks into a braid, and yanked a hair tie out of her desk drawer to fasten the plait. Then she stuffed herself into her clothes and shoved her feet into her boots, not bothering to lace them as she stomped toward the back porch.
“This isn’t my fault,” he barked.
“You could have found another shieldmaiden,” she snapped, silently enjoying the fact that he winced as his bare foot hit a sharp stone in the yard. “Tangling with you has never served me well, Siegfried. It ends in lies, betrayal, and death.”
“Erik.” He folded his arms and jutted his chin, like this was an essential point to make.
She went in the screen door and let it spring closed behind her. Yep, it was petty, but good lay or not, the asshole had brought the apocalypse to her tranquil safe haven. She had no reason to be nice. “I note you didn’t address the actually important part of what I said, but Siegfried is your surname now, right?”
“From you, I prefer Erik.” He opened the screen, a dark scowl on his face. “We both know you don’t mean my last name when you say Siegfried.”
She grunted. Yeah, there was a lot of history tied up in their names. A lot of history that tripped over legends that were only half-truths. It was one reason why she went by Bryn instead of Brynhild. She didn’t really want to be reminded of who she used to be. Of course, him being here did nothing but remind her.
* * *
The woman was fucking impossible.
He wanted to strangle her half of the time. He’d commanded armies of men, and he couldn’t keep one damn woman in line. Typical. He ran a hand down his face. Of course, that was part of her appeal, wasn’t it? So many women cowered before a man as dangerous as him, but not Bryn. No, not her. She was every bit as dangerous, and he liked that far more than he should. There was a praying mantis appeal to fucking a warrior woman—you might die in the process, but it’d be the ride of your life.
He grabbed his recently discarded towel, wrapped it around his waist, and strode behind her into the living room, glaring at the back of her head. She paused in the doorway, blocking his path unless he wanted to bowl her over or walk around her. He walked around her because tripping her was a little too juvenile. Though still tempting. Holm and Ivar were waiting for them, but he had no idea where Val had gotten off to.
“There’s an emergency?” she asked.
“Not an emergency, per se,” Ivar answered. “I found someone who has news and will be able to help us.”
Bryn’s eyebrows lifted and she stated the obvious. “I don’t see anyone else. Also, Holm, get your feet off my coffee table.”
Dropping his heels to the floor, Holm offered her a charming smile and drawled, “Yes, ma’am.”
Ivar met Erik’s gaze and shrugged. “You said you needed a shieldmaiden, and I thought, why not look for more than one? So I did some homework, and I found something almost as good.”
“Almost, but not quite,” came a dry tone from the doorway. Erik closed his eyes and didn’t bother to turn around to greet the new female. He’d already caught her scent, so he knew exactly what Ivar had found.
This was going to go so well.
The woman gave both him and Bryn a wide berth as she went to stand beside Ivar. She pushed up a pair of sunglasses and set them on the top of her head. She was of medium height, had medium-brown hair and medium-brown eyes, and wore a shapeless dress.
Holm nodded a greeting. “And you are?”
“Nauma.” While she was just passably pretty, her voice was low and throaty and well-suited to a phone sex operator.
Arms crossed over his chest, Holm’s brows rose as he repeated, “And you are?”
A brief smile fluttered at the corners of her lips. “A handmaiden. Freya’s handmaiden. Once mortal, but I was…promoted, I guess. More of a pity promotion, really, but there it is. Or, here I am, rather.”
He shook his head.
“I know,” Ivar sighed. “She talks a lot.”
Holm shot him a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Talking a lot is fine, as long as it makes sense.”
“I am a handmaiden of Freya.” Her words were slow and measured and just this side of insulting. How she managed that, Erik wasn’t sure.
“Well, another immortal is a good thing,” Ivar assured her. “We need all the help we can get. Thanks for hopping on a plane when I called.”
“Not sure how much help I can be.” She shook her head. “Don’t expect much in the way of brawn because weapons are not in my repertoire.”
Ivar grinned broadly, slapping a hand against the arm of his chair. “Brains trump brawn any day
, sweetheart.”
“Nauma?” Val came into the room, looking as if he’d been poleaxed. “I thought I smelled…so I tracked the scent.” He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Blinked again. “You’re alive.”
Her face went pasty white, her hands clasping and unclasping in front of her. “Hello, Valbjorn.”
He shook his head. “I…You…How?”
“Freya’s got a soft spot for pathetic saps who die for love.” Her shoulder jerked in a shrug. “She made me a handmaiden. Because there’s no way I’d ever go valkyrie.”
“I see.” But it was clear he didn’t.
The silence stretched into something awkward. Since neither Ivar nor Nauma had bothered to mention it, Erik broke in with, “Ivar, you brought a völva here.”
Ivar frowned. “She’s a handmaiden.”
“She’s both, actually.” Nauma managed a knife-thin smile. “Just to stop any debate on the subject.”
“You told me you weren’t like your mother.” Val scowled, his eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t know.” She smoothed a crease in her dress. “The first time I had a vision was the day I died. Even then, I didn’t fully realize the extent of my abilities until after I was a handmaiden. Freya found my visions useful, so...it kept me in favor.”
“How did you know she was a völva, Erik?” Bryn spoke for the first time since the other woman had walked in. Her tone was measured, like the calm before a storm. Bryn hated völva. He didn’t like them much himself, considering they’d both ended up with the same spiteful, avaricious witch for a mother-in-law after she’d drugged them into marrying her son and daughter.
He kept his answer short and to the point. “This is the völva who told me I needed the help of a shieldmaiden.”
Bryn bared her teeth at the handmaiden in a terrifying rendition of a smile. “So, you’re the one I can blame for him showing up on my doorstep? Or rather, for this entire pack of berserkers invading my home?”