by Kate Pearce
Immortality had different effects on different people. Some of them clung to that life with a desperation, a fear that was unlike anything that a human could comprehend. Some immortals had lived so long, they’d gotten bored and almost welcomed death. Then there were ones like Erik—he didn’t fear death, but he didn’t flirt with it either. When it came, it came. He hoped it was a passing that he could be proud of, unlike when he’d shuffled off his mortal coil. Yes, he’d died in battle, and he’d taken the other guy with him, but…it had been a battle instigated by his dishonorable deeds. Not his finest moment.
“Heimdall might be dead. Or he might be just kidnapped.” Ivar looked both helpless and angry at the same time. “I don’t think the sinkhole itself would have killed a god. His mortal lovers, yes—their bodies were dug out by authorities this morning. But who or what was waiting for Heimdall when he crawled out of the hole…”
“Why would anyone kidnap or kill him?” Nauma sat on the arm of the couch. “He was pretty mild-mannered, as gods go.”
“He was supposed to sound the horn to let Valhalla know the apocalypse was upon them,” Bryn noted.
Erik finished that thought. “Someone just took away the gods’ advanced warning system.”
“Yep.” Ivar nodded. “I’m reviewing footage from several news cameras to see if there’s anything useful the humans might have accidentally picked up.” He rubbed bloodshot eyes and sipped his coffee.
“How long have you been at this, mate?” Val set a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“About five hours. Since Erik and Bryn went outside.”
Nauma gave him a no-nonsense look worthy of a kindergarten teacher with a naughty pupil. “Maybe it’s time to take a break.”
“Please, I haven’t even gotten to the part where I mix NoDoz and Red Bull into my coffee yet.” Ivar grinned. “That’s when the party really gets started.”
“That’s so frat boy during finals week of you.” Erik rolled his eyes. “My undergrad students would be so impressed.”
Ivar grunted, his gaze glued to the monitors. The others gathered closer to watch the footage with him. Erik figured it was as good a time as any to get some caffeine for himself. If they’d be settling in for a while, he was going to need it. He left the room, but when he reached the kitchen, he found only dregs in the coffee pot. It took a couple of minutes to have a cupful, and he let the rest of the pot percolate when he returned to the living room.
He rounded the corner and saw Bryn shrug and say, “I’m getting some lunch. If I have to watch boring shit, I’m gonna at least be fed.”
Waving his mug through the air, Ivar said, “I sucked down the last of the coffee pot.”
“I can make more,” she replied.
“Great. Bring me a cup while you’re at it, darlin’,” Holm called, plopping down on a chair. “And I’ll take some of that lunch too.”
Silence fell for a moment. Erik bit back a grin, leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, and prepared to enjoy the show. Nauma arched her eyebrows, Val pinched the bridge of his nose, and Ivar shook his head, disgust on his face.
Bryn smiled, though only a fool would call it a pleasant expression. “Does this look like Valhalla, jackass? No. Which means this valkyrie doesn’t fetch anything for fallen warriors, not beer, not caffeine, not food. You want something, feel free to get off your ass and get it yourself.”
Holm drew back, offense on his face. He glanced around and seemed to realize he didn’t have a scrap of sympathy coming from his comrades. Scowling, he inclined his head. “Noted.”
That acidic smile flashed again. “Good boy.”
“I made a new pot.” Erik handed her his steaming mug. “You need this more than I do, clearly.”
“Good boy,” she purred and sipped the hot, liquid ambrosia.
He offered her a grin that was all kinds of wicked and suggestive. She winked and made sure to brush against him as she passed, sinful promise in her gaze that lured him like a Lorelei. There was no way he wouldn’t follow her anywhere when she looked at him like that. Lust fired through his veins, a visceral reaction to her that would never die. He didn’t want it to.
After she’d left, Holm sighed heavily and glanced at Erik. “Before y’all occupy the kitchen for a different kind of cooking, would you mind leaving some food in the dining room for the rest of us?”
Erik shrugged and turned to go. “I’ll throw out some bread crumbs so you don’t waste away of starvation.”
He heard Bryn snicker and watched her slip into the kitchen. When he pushed through the swinging door, something was already flying at his head. Lightning-fast reflexes meant he caught it before it hit him in the face. A loaf of bread.
“You’re in quite a feisty mood today.” He chucked the bread out onto the dining room table and then turned back to her. “Need some help relaxing?”
Sauntering across the room, a provocative sway to her hips that made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, she shrugged. “After I’ve had some lunch, perhaps.”
Oh, she wanted to tease, did she? The wolf inside him growled appreciatively at the new game. He grinned and felt his fangs scrape his lower lip. She opened a cupboard, and he prowled around the small table in the middle of the room. Her head tilted, bird-like, and he knew she was listening to his approach. A little shiver went through her, and he watched goose bumps break down her arms. He could hear her breathing accelerate, the air was spiced with her arousal, and anticipation punched through him.
Stepping close behind her, he curved his hands around her waist and brushed his lips over the nape of her neck.
“I like that.” Her head bowed further. He nipped at the side of her neck, just grazing that sensitive patch of skin. She shuddered, but then she swallowed hard and a big breath whooshed out of her. “If Heimdall is dead or kidnapped, this is really it, isn’t it? We’re not talking prophecies or visions of what might be, but…”
“Ragnarök,” he finished for her. He pulled her back so they were pressed together, and he held her close.
She stroked her fingers up and down his forearm. “I was hoping Nauma was wrong. Wishful thinking, I know, but I don’t relish what’s coming.”
“Neither do I.” He didn’t mention that their fate—however bad it might be—was still supposed to be better than what lay in store for their compatriots in the living room.
“If this has to be it, then I’d like to go out with a bang.” She rolled her head against his shoulder until her gaze met him, and there was no mistaking the look on her face or the tone of her voice.
“A bang, huh?” He extended his claws, scraping lightly over her midriff. His cock went rigid, and he could smell her desire increasing by the moment. “You want it slow and soft or hard and fast?”
“Hard.” She squirmed against him, rubbing her ass into his groin. “Fast.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. Retracting his claws, he wrenched open her pants, shoving his hand in so he could feel that sweet cream. Ah, yes. She was so wet for him. The noises she made, little mewls of pleasure, made lust scorch his insides. His dick pulsed with the need to bury himself within her. He could bring her to climax with his fingers, with his mouth, but he just couldn’t wait. He had to have her, had to feel the slick grip of her tight sheath closing around his cock.
He swung her around until they faced the table, pressed his palm between her shoulder blades, and urged her forward over the flat wooden surface. She wore tall riding boots today, so this was the best position to take her in. Grasping the back of her breeches, he yanked them down to her thighs, baring her to his gaze. Her pussy was drenched, the pale curls darkened with moisture. He had his pants open in seconds, pulling his cock free. He rubbed the head up and down her slit, and she moved restlessly before him.
She glanced back over her shoulder. “This isn’t hard or—”
He pierced her core, gliding in with one swift thrust that sank him to the hilt. But then he stopped, and grinned when she
squirmed impatiently. His fingers splayed over the slender curve of her hips, and he drew back a hand to slap one cheek hard. He grinned at the lovely crack of sound. She choked on a breath and shuddered. He did it again, swatting the fleshy part of her thigh, peppering hot little spanks over the globes of her ass.
“Erik!” Her nails turned to raven’s talons and dug furrows into the table, her back bowing as she moaned.
Every time his palm made contact with her backside, her inner muscles clenched around his cock. He couldn’t hold back low groans, doing his best not to get too loud, but he heard the volume on Ivar’s video increase to near-blaring. Erik grinned and shook his head, but didn’t consider for a second that he should stop what he was doing.
“Erik, I…I can’t…”
She tried to straighten, but he set his hands over hers, lacing their fingers together and pinning her to the table. She shivered, but didn’t fight his hold. Instead, she pushed back into him, silently demanding he move now. He nipped at her shoulder, letting his fangs graze her skin. The salty flavor of her burst into his mouth, sinking into his psyche. It was a taste he’d never been able to forget, as familiar as breathing.
He’d dreamed of touching her so many times—even under the control of that fucking elixir, when he didn’t understand why—he’d craved the feel of her skin against his. There was something about her that excited him on a level no other woman in a thousand years had ever managed to replicate. It was just as good now as it was back then. No, better. Because now there was no taboo, no shame—just the two of them glutting themselves on the best fuck of all time.
He pulled his hips away until he almost slipped free of her, then thrust in hard. The slap of their flesh together made him growl in appreciation. The wolf inside him had craved her from the first, had never had the man’s reservations for how they might have torn each other’s souls to pieces. The wolf didn’t care about the past or the future, only the present. Only claiming the mate it wanted. He bit her shoulder again, sinking his fangs deeper into her skin, the tang of her blood rushing over his tongue.
A low cry broke from her, and she shoved back into him faster and faster. He moved with her, driving as deep as he could. Sweat slid down his face, stinging his eyes, but wiping it away would mean letting her arms go and…nope. He liked her right where he had her.
Her pussy flexed around him, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from coming then and there. He ground his pelvis downward, and moans spilled out of her.
“I’m going to come,” she gasped, tugging at her hands. He refused to release her, tightening his grip.
“Yes. Come for me, Bryn.” He pushed himself to greater speeds, hammering into her relentlessly.
Her body bowed upward, and her pussy pulsed around his thrusting cock. That was it, his control snapped. He exploded inside her, emptying every ounce of worry and tension into her. Groaning, he pumped into her until his dick began to soften. She relaxed against the table, her cheek pressed to the wood. Her eyes were closed, a tiny smile curving her lips.
It was one of the most perfect, peaceful moments of his life. He realized that he loved her. Still. Again. No other woman had ever fit him as well as her. The timing couldn’t have been worse, and there were so many ugly memories and unanswered questions between them, but he couldn’t deny the truth.
He loved her.
And with the world on the brink of doom, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. There might not be much of a future for them to have, even if they did want to spend it together. But he knew one thing—he would do everything in his power to hold on to her, to this.
* * *
They retrieved the untouched bread from the dining room and made sandwiches for everyone. After they’d disinfected the table, of course. Bryn figured it was only fair, considering the team had kept Holm muzzled while she got busy. That man couldn’t open his mouth without inserting his foot up to his kneecap. For Erik’s sake, she’d stuck to telling him off rather than decking him. Though Holm was no worse than many of the other males she’d dealt with in Valhalla, her tolerance for their he-man shit was at an all-time low. She doubted anyone was going to keep him from making sextastic wisecracks when they returned, but a well-placed comment about him being jealous because he wasn’t getting any and might never again should shut him down.
Her stomach clenched a bit. Ragnarök. Somehow the thought of Heimdall being killed made it all too real. All too immediate.
Despite what the prophecy said, she honestly didn’t expect to see the other side of this. As Nauma had predicted, Loki had accomplices, and it looked like one of them had done Heimdall in. Which meant the ancient Ragnarök prophecy might already be nullified, the deck stacking in favor of the giants instead of the gods. Wherever the rest of the gods were. Maybe they were dead already too.
She had both more and less information than she wanted.
“Come on.” Erik kissed the side of her neck, and warmth pooled in her belly. She still didn’t like this weakness she had for him, but she was starting to get used to it. Whether that was a good thing or not, she hadn’t a single clue.
“I may need my mind taken off this later tonight.” She brought his hand to her mouth, biting the base of his thumb. “Assuming something else doesn’t happen between now and then.”
His eyes burned silver for a moment, and that wicked dimple flashed. “Count on it.”
“Mmm.” She grabbed the tray of sandwiches and left him to bring the heavier tray loaded with glasses full of sweet tea. She’d grown addicted to the stuff since she’d moved to Virginia.
The crowd in her living room fell on the food like ravening beasts, making appreciative noises of gratitude with their mouths full. Vikings were never known for their manners, but they liked their grub.
“You’re looking mellower, love.” Val gave her an easy grin.
She ignored that, gesturing to the many screens playing the news. “Find anything interesting?”
Not looking away from the monitor closest to her, Nauma patted her mouth with a napkin before she answered, “Not ye—wait. Go back.”
Ivar jolted, dropped his sandwich on his plate, and reached out to click a button that stopped the video. “How far?”
“Maybe thirty seconds.” Nauma leaned further forward, squinting. “Can you slow it down to half-speed?”
“Yep.” The video whipped backward, with the people bobbing and weaving in awkward jerks. Then it started again and the people moved as though trapped in molasses.
After about ten seconds she tapped the screen. “There.”
He froze the video and enlarged the image, sending it to the largest of his monitors. The slightly grainy picture showed a nondescript woman with stooped shoulders, a sour expression, and frizzy dishwater blond hair. Ivar glanced back. “You know her?”
Nauma nodded firmly. “She’s a valkyrie.”
“What?” Bryn bent closer to the screen. “I don’t recognize her.”
“It’s a wig.” The other woman tapped a nail against the blond frizz. “Picture her with long, shiny black hair.”
Bryn shut her eyes for a moment, holding the mental image and making the necessary color shift. She looked again. “Kata. The ice-blue eyes give her away.”
“Yep.” The handmaiden grinned in satisfaction, though Bryn noted she had lines of exhaustion bracketing her eyes and mouth.
“Good eye.” As compliments went, it wasn’t much, but Bryn wasn’t accustomed to needing to flatter anyone but her horses. A sugar cube and pat on the rump usually did the trick. Not so much with humans.
“Thank you.” Nauma shrugged demurely. “I had a feeling there was something important on the video, so I paid closer attention.”
“Well, I’m happy about you feeling your feelings.” Holm flashed a charming grin at her, and Val gave him a resentful glare.
She snorted. “Thanks, I think.”
“Frey,” Bryn blurted out, her memories of the other valkyrie finally snapping i
nto place.
“Excuse me?” Erik stirred beside her, his hand coming to rest on her waist.
“Frey,” she repeated. “Kata is banging Freya’s twin brother. Or she was about a hundred years ago.” They’d gone off to some hidden corner of Odin’s hall to fuck and, unfortunately for all of them, that was also the spot Bryn liked to retreat to when she needed a break from the throngs of immortals in Valhalla. She’d beat a hasty retreat, but not before she’d gotten an eyeful of the two of them getting down and very, very dirty. “But…Kata was never the type who slept around, so it probably wasn’t a casual one-time screw. I always got the impression she was a little too controlled for that, you know?”
“Yeah, I remember that about her too.” Nauma worried her thumbnail between her teeth. “She was never one who was rude, didn’t seem to look down on me as a handmaiden or anything, but…she wasn’t warm and fuzzy either.”
“Difficult to get to know, yeah. Not that I tried hard.” Since Bryn wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type either. “I showed up when summoned and then got back to the mortal realm. Not enough time there to make friends.”
“Me too. After the first few centuries, it was just easier to keep my distance.” Nauma leaned back in her seat and sighed. “Quieter, less drama-filled. Freya wanted me more for oracle consultations than handmaiden duties, so…no need to be on site all the time.”
“I hear you.” Bryn hated the drama too, especially right after she’d gotten there, fresh from the drama of Grimhild and Gudrun. There was nothing Bryn had wanted so much as to be alone somewhere and lick her wounds.
“Can we get back to the sinkholes and bad guys? For just a sec, ladies? Hmm?” Ivar’s tone was saccharine enough that Bryn wanted to smack him. He really was in a pisser of a mood today.