Sun's Tear (The Valkyrie's Passion Book 2): A Valkyrie/Shifter Romance (2 page)

Raven

“I see Odin is keeping tabs on us,” Magnus grunted as he pulled his pickup truck into a parking space at a strip mall in the heart of Maple Valley.

A raven perched on the nearby electric wire, his head cocked at us. “Muninn, I think.”

Odin had two ravens that served as his eyes and ears—Muninn and Huginn. It was more proof that Odin knew I was special, that he needed me for something. He had probably watched me all my life as I was passed from foster home to foster home wishing to be rescued by a friend of my parents or a distant relative I never knew I had.

Finding out my parents were over five hundred years old explained why I had none of those.

“He's harmless,” I said, turning my head.

Magnus nodded and climbed out of his pickup truck. It was old and dusty, a work truck. He walked back and hauled out the large duffel bag thrown in the bed. Together, we walked up to the door of what looked like a martial arts dojo. Maple Valley HEMA Club was written across the door.

“HEMA?” I asked. “Is that some sort of kung-fu?”

“Historical European Martial Arts,” Magnus answered as he fished out a set of keys. “No hand-to-hand fighting, it's all armed combat. Swords, axes, polearms, daggers, hammers, and flails. We study Medieval and Renaissance combat manuals and recreate it as accurately as safety permits.”

“Hence the armor?” I asked.

“And blunted weapons.” Magnus pushed open the door. It was a large, open space, the center covered in blue gym mats. Along the walls were an assortment of swords, axes, spears, and more. I did not recognize what most of the weapons were. I moved to one and picked it off the wall. It was a hammer, the head not much bigger than a carpenter's hammer, but the handle was far longer.

“Why such a small head?” I asked. “Wouldn't a sledgehammer make a better weapon?”

“Too heavy,” he answered. “You need to have control over a weapon. The bigger and heavier it is, the more unwieldy. You have to find a balance. Besides, that is a mounted weapon. The knight would be charging on his warhorse when he hit you with that. Trust me, that's plenty of force.”

“I thought knights used swords.” I glanced at the other weapons.

“Swords are great sidearms, but against a man in full plate, they were all but useless. Knights used flails, hammers, and maces to batter their opponents. But swords had their places.”

“Oh,” I nodded.

Magnus unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a blunted, metal sword. He handed it to me. It didn't feel as nice in my hand as the blade I could summon. “The balance is off.”

“You can tell?” Magnus asked.

“It doesn't feel as...right as my sword,” I answered. I gave it a swing. It was too top heavy.

“Yeah, it was damaged and I haven't had time to replace it. The balance shouldn't be too off.”

“I guess.” I gave it a few swings and Magnus had a grin on his face. “What?”

“Your feet. You're not standing right.”

I glanced down at my feet on the mat. “How am I supposed to stand?”

Magnus walked up to me. “Swing your sword at me.”

I did, an overhand swing. Magnus twisted his body, my blade missed him, then he pushed on my left shoulder. Hard. I gasped as I stumbled back. My feet tried to move beneath me to keep my balance. I tripped over them and crashed onto the mat. I groaned, my butt smarting. The mats were softer than concrete, but it didn't feel like by much.

“See, poor footwork,” Magnus said. “The most fundamental part of fighting is how your feet move beneath you. If you can't keep your feet beneath your center of gravity, you'll fall over. If you don't know how to move your feet, you'll be tripping over them. Both are disastrous in a fight.”

He extended his hand and easily pulled me to my feet. His calloused hand pushed back a strand of my black hair off my cheek. His hand was so warm on my cheek. My heart raced faster as he caressed my flesh before withdrawing his hand.

“Let me show you.”

I nodded my head, afraid to speak and have my voice crack.

Magnus moved behind me. His strong form pressed against my tall figure. It was nice. I wanted to let out a sigh and melt against him. His hands gripped my waist through his borrowed shirt, his fingers strong. My nipples hardened, standing out against the gray material.

I should have worn my bra.

I sighed and pressed back into his jeans. The hard bulge was satisfying. His musk filled my nose as his hands reached around and caressed my stomach. I couldn't help the wiggle that seized my hips, savoring his girth against my rear.

Magnus let out a pleased growl. His lips nipped my neck for a moment.

“Okay, let's pull your right foot back,” he said, breaking the spell of his touch. Right, we were here to learn, not to play. His foot hooked my right and pulled it back. “And turn it outward. Good. Now move your left foot forward, pointed in the direction of your attack.”

I did, trying to concentrate on his words and my feet, and not his strength pressed against my back.

“Okay, see how your legs are spread apart and keeping your center of gravity between them. That means you can bend and twist your upper body without falling over.” His hands slid up higher on my sides, his fingers nearing the bottoms of my breasts.

“Okay,” I moaned, my voice throaty with excitement.

He bent and moved my torso, his groin pressing tight against my rear. His girth burned through our clothing, warming my flesh. I sighed again as I remembered the passion of riding him last night beneath the moonlight. My ass ground against him and the blood pounded in my ears.

My hips shifted as the heat intensified between my thighs.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his lips nuzzling my ear. “Then you can move with all the grace and beauty of the night.”

“I see,” I shuddered.

Motion drew my attention. A woman walked by the front of the training center. The entire front was windows running from floor to ceiling and facing out on the busy main street of Maple Valley. People could see us, otherwise I might be tempted to try something naughty.

Magnus moved away and I let out a groan, missing his strength.

“Okay, now you need to learn to move,” Magnus continued. “Step forward with your left foot then move your right foot up. Don't let them cross. Always keep your left foot forward as you walk across the room.”

“I thought we were going to spar,” I said as I began my walk, keeping my knees bent as I shuffled one foot and then the other, never letting them cross. It was awkward and completely unnatural.

“You have to learn to walk before you can run,” he grinned.

I groaned. “That was terrible, Magnus.” I reached the end of the mat. “Okay, now what?”

“Turn and come back.”

Magnus had me walk back and forth across the room. The awkwardness faded as I grew more used to the strange gait. I walked faster, a smile crossing my lips as my muscles learned the movements.

“Good,” Magnus nodded. “Now, let's go faster around the perimeter.”

“Faster?”

“At a jog.”

“You can jog doing this?”

It turned out you could.

It was like being back in PE in high school, racing around the perimeter of the gymnasium during warm-ups. The room echoed with our footsteps slapping on the vinyl mats. Magnus was at my side, moving with his dangerous grace. He made the strange steps seem deadly and natural, a wolf running down his prey.

“Now let's switch feet.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Your feet need to learn this stance with either foot forward. In a real fight, you'll be moving around and your feet need to learn to fall into this pattern as you move. It's all about muscle memory.”

“When are we going to swing swords?” I groaned.

“In a while.”

We did swing swords after an hour spent on footwork. I learned the art of the backpedal, how to switch my right and left foot stance, how to lunge, and how to sidestep. Of course, sword swinging turned out not to be any more fun. It was all about learning different stances and forms. People had figured out the best way to swing swords to maximize their strikes hundreds of years ago.

It was a lot different than a movie.

I learned about a sword's center of percussion. It was the spot on the blade where you actually want to hit, about two-thirds up its length on a straight blade. “This is where the maximum amount of your swing's energy is transmitted from the blade into your opponent,” Magnus explained. “You always want to hit with it.”

At the end, we sparred, putting together the forms I had learned into practical use. As I moved my blade, I felt the efficiency of the strokes. It was all about delivering the maximum amount of force for the least amount of effort while simultaneously keeping yourself protected. Wild attacks would not only be obvious to the enemy, but leave yourself open to a counterattack.

And all the while, Magnus moved like a wolf—sexy and dangerous. He was a delight to watch, keeping me on the edge of excitement as we traded blows. I can understand why my mother enjoyed sparring.

When we were finished, I had to ravish Magnus. My blood thudded hot through my veins.

“You're a natural at this,” Magnus grinned. “Boudica reborn in flesh.”

My arms were sore, my thighs burning, and I was drenched in sweat. I didn't feel as sexy as Magnus looked, but exhilaration beat through my hot blood. I wanted to shower and then throw Magnus down on the bed.

“I looked her up,” I smiled. “Warrior-Queen of the Celts who fought against the Romans.”

“It fits you. I'd call you Joan of Arc, but she never was a queen.”

I was suddenly feeling a whole lot sexier. “Why don't we head back to your place, slip into the shower, and you can give me more compliments as you wash my back.”

~   ~   ~

Magnus

Raven's lips were on mine the moment we entered my apartment. She was on fire from training. It had taken all my self-control not to throw her down on the mats and take her in the training center. But the windows would have let the entire world see her beauty.

I was selfish. I wanted the beauty of the night all to myself.

Her mouth was hot and fierce. She had the passion of Boudica. Her body pressed tight to mine. She was a tall woman and bore the beauty of her Scandinavian heritage. Strong cheekbones, lush lips, and ice-blue eyes that could pierce the stoniest of hearts.

Raven always made me feel poetic.

My hands found the curves of her ass, squeezing her through her jeans and pulling her tight against my crotch. The desire I kept bridled in the training center could be unleashed in the privacy of my house. My lips drank in her wonderful taste.

Raven broke the kiss, her eyes dancing as her hands ripped up my t-shirt. She licked her lips as her hands ran up and down my body, tracing the scars from knives, gunshots and, most recently, a giant wolf.

Greedy hunger burned on her lips as she kissed. Her arms tightened about my neck as she did a small leap and wrapped her thighs about my waist. I held her easily, my hands cupping her ass. She seemed as light as a feather in my grip. Her legs were tight and her hips undulated as she ground against me. My cock was hard in my jeans, throbbing with need to be inside this wild woman.

“Magnus,” she panted when she broke the kiss, “do you know how sexy you were when swinging a weapon?”

“How?” I asked with a grin.

“Well...I...you just are,” Raven shuddered. “I'm not the poet here.”

“The face of all the world has changed, I think, since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul,” I quoted from Elizabeth Barret Browning's Sonnet 07.

Raven's eyes went wide. “How do you do that?” Her right hand slid down from around my neck to touch my heart. “How do you share what beats in here? I want to say the same, but the words get all tangled up. But...the face of the world has changed since I met you. And not just because of all the Valkyrie stuff.”

I nodded to her. Tears filled her liquid eyes. “I could stare into your depths until the end of days.”

Her mouth seized mine. It wasn't as fierce as before. She shuddered in my arms as her lips moved against mine. This woman had so much love beating in her heart. I tightened my hands on her rear as our kiss became salty with her tears.

The fire kindled hot between us. I carried her through my apartment and banged through the bathroom door. I set her on the countertop before ripping off the borrowed shirt she wore. Her breasts were naked beneath, her nipples dusky-pink and hard.

Her hands went to my belt. “I am going to scrub your back for those words,” she promised. “So hard.”

I grinned at her. “I need to quote more poetry to you.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Or you can even make up one of your own. Which will I treasure more?”

My belt whisked through my belt loops before her fingers unsnapped my jeans. Her hand rubbed at my cock straining my boxers as my jeans slid down my thick thighs. She leaned down and kissed at my nipple, sending a strange tingle down to my cock.