Valkyrie Slumbering (2 page)

For several moments I stare deep into his startling blue eyes, searching for something in their depths. All I see is honesty and mirth. Deep down, I realize, I’m not ready to let him out of my sight. Finally, I ask in a guarded tone, “What would you require in return?”

Though it may be the noon sun, I swear I almost see his eyes twinkle. “Nothin’ but yer company, and perhaps help as a workout partner,” he says.

Trusting my instincts, for they have never led me astray, I nod and hook an arm in one of his. “Workout partner, huh? We’ll see if you can handle me,” I say.

He stiffens beside me and his eyes widen. Clearly the double meaning isn’t lost on him. I must admit, seeing him sweat is something I’m looking forward to.

We sit down to lunch in the packed barroom of a quaint little inn that boasts the finest roast deer in the land. I’m not sure if it’s all that, but it is tender and spicy. All through the meal, Grím listens to my every word as if he’s truly interested, and his eyes never wander to the barmaid whose breasts are nearly spilling out of her bustier. If he weren’t staring at me the entire time, I would almost have thought he didn’t prefer women.

Everyone in the barroom around us seems to be talking about the same thing. Apparently the contest is big news in this small town. No surprise there. We’re a ways inland, which means no excitement from the coast with ships coming and going.

“He killed a dragon you know,” a muscle-bound blond warrior at the table next to us says.

I lean over the table toward Grím and his eyes stray to my cleavage. “Is he talking about King Hildur?”

Grím nods, giving me a sheepish grin as he drags his eyes to my face.

Leaning back in my chair, I tell the man, “Actually I heard he made that story up to instill fear among his subjects.”

The man’s ice blue eyes narrow and his upper lip pulls up as if he finds me distasteful. He grunts at me and continues his tale as if I hadn’t spoken. One of his companions mumbles something about a ‘stupid half-elf’ and another makes a rude comment about a ‘woman playing with swords’. I nearly reach for the dagger at my side, but think better of it. Though he’s an ass, he isn’t the type I hunt. And I only kill those I hunt or those that hunt me.

Storm clouds seem to move across Grím’s eyes and he starts to rise. His teeth clench as he glares toward the table of men. I grab his wrist, my small hand barely making it halfway around. The gentle touch is enough to pull his attention back to me. He sits down slowly, but his eyes remain locked on the men.

As I’m finishing my spiced mutton, I hear the same man say, “They say he’ll hire anyone you know, even thieves and murderers.”

Grím’s eyes meet mine across the table, their weight heavy with thought. “Do ye care?” he asks.

I empty my ale mug before answering. “About what?” I really hope he doesn’t mean the men talking about me. If I cared about such things I would have driven myself mad years ago.

“If he hires murderers and thieves?” Grím asks in a careful tone.

“I’m counting on it,” I tell him, smiling as I do so.

He gives me a handsome smile in return and shakes his head as he pushes away from the table. “Ye’re a puzzle, Kyra,” he says.

Together we rise and leave the barroom to enter the bright sunshine outside. The sun is lower in the sky than I expect it to be; well past midday. Had I really got so caught up in those blue eyes and let him keep me talking that long?

“I mean it, a remarkable puzzle,” Grím says as we step into the dusty street and head toward the stables. He meets my gaze as he says it, and there is admiration in his eyes.

“As are you, a puzzle that is. I’ll let you know about the remarkable part in a sevenday when we reach Hildur’s kingdom,” I say, casting him a demure look over my shoulder.

He laughs, a deep, carefree sound that warms me all over. All the way to the stables he remarks on my fighting style, its beauty and efficiency. I’m left speechless. Being a woman, I’m not really used to the compliments of men when it comes to my skill with a sword. At least not the steel kind.

In the stables wait two sturdy, red horses that stand calmly munching hay in their stalls. Though their coats are short for the summer, their manes still reach well past their necks.

Murmuring soft words to them, Grím digs sweets out of his pocket and feeds them. The big stallion with the crested neck and flowing red mane rubs against Grím’s hand when the treats are gone. After snatching up her treat, the mare nips at his fingers and pins her ears.

Withdrawing his hand, he shakes his head at her. “Ye can ride the mare. Perhaps with yer feminine wiles, ye can get along with her better than I can,” he says.

Laughter bubbles from me. “You don’t know much about mares, do you?” 

One of Grím’s dark eyebrows raises, a look that is alluring and dangerous in being so. His smile makes me ache to touch his lips again. It really has been too long if he’s affecting me this way.

“That obvious, eh? I keep her around for a pack horse mostly, but she is broke to ride. So, where do we need to go to get the rest of yer things?” he asks.

I hoist my light pack higher on my shoulder and motion to it with my head. “Nowhere. This is it.”

Grím’s smile fades and a sad look creeps into his eyes. That is the
last
thing I need.

“I like to travel light,” I put in to try to head off what I see coming.

Cocking his head, he gives me a look that has no doubt melted many a maiden’s heart and probably opened even more bodices. “That’s good, because I’ve been meanin’ to pick up a few extra supplies. Ye won’t mind carryin’ them, will ye?” he says.

How can I argue with that? This one is crafty.  

After riding the remainder of the day through rolling green fields we finally stop at a copse of oak trees that line a stream. I dismount and stretch my sore back, rubbing my butt. Being of meager means as I am, it’s been over a moon since I’ve ridden a horse. A deep laugh, the kind meant to echo behind closed doors, sounds behind me.

“I can help you with that if you’d like,” Grím says.

I feel him approach more than I hear him, a pressure at my back that isn’t altogether unpleasant. My instincts force me to turn just enough that I can see him in my peripheral vision. He secures his horse to a line that he’s strung between two trees then turns to approach me. I remove my hands from my butt, acutely aware that his eyes are lingering there. Arms filled out to perfection from years of sword use reach around me and remove my horse’s saddle. His skin brushes against mine, sending a line of fire to places that haven’t been warm in a very long time.

 When he moves away I step back, right into him. The line of his body is hard against mine from my back all the way down to my butt. Then again, that could just be the leather armor. Despite my rationalizations, that line of fire spreads into a river that rushes through my veins.

“Sorry,” his deep voice whispers in my ear.

The feel of his breath sets me to tingling and the fire is so hot now it makes me ache. I move away from him and start to fuss with my bedroll to keep my hands busy. In the distance, the sun casts an orange and red glow across the open fields. Another day has passed and still I haven’t found my prey. But their trail has led me here and all indications show that they are likely entering King Hildur’s contest. I’m on the right trail. I can feel it.

My eyes are drawn to Grím as he starts to gather stones and create a fire pit. Without his help I’d be a day behind. There is time to relax, yet I’ve forgotten how to.

Once we’ve gathered stones and wood, Grím builds a fire and begins to remove his armor. Across the licking yellow flames, I watch as he strips off his forearm pieces, thigh pieces, then chest and back pieces. The swell of his defined chest gives way to valleys of rock hard abdominal muscles that look good enough to lick. Below his belly button runs a thin line of dark hair that disappears into the top of his breeches. My fingers ache to trace that line, and I have to look away otherwise, I fear I’ll dive across the fire and do just that.

I’ve never met a man that has such a powerful effect on me. It’s disconcerting. Then again, it isn’t often one comes across a warrior so polite and thoughtful. Let alone a half-elf. When I can finally drag my eyes up to his face, I find him giving me a crooked smile. The twinkle in his eyes is promising and oh so tempting. He spreads out his bedroll—the fire between us—and lays down. Bulging arms stretched behind his head, he gazes up at the darkening sky. Soon all I can see is his profile in the moonlight, but that alone is enough to fill my dreams as I drift off.

The stirring of the gorgeous body that dominated my dreams awakens me just as the sun is breaking over the horizon. Wearing only a pair of breeches, Grím takes up his sword, moves to an open space of level grass, and begins to dance. That’s the only way I can describe it. His moves are so fluid and beautiful, that muscular body of his wields the sword as if it were a part of him.

He is inspiring in more ways than one. My eyes are drawn repeatedly to where his breeches hug the swell of his groin. Behind him stretches the rocky landscape carpeted in green, framing him into the most exquisite picture.

A burning builds in my chest until I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and I suck in a lungful of air. There is an irony to the fact that he called my demonstration a dance when he is the true artist. I’ve never seen anything like him, and ours is a land of warriors.

The lines of his defined chest draw my eyes across their sculpted magnificence. He isn’t as big and overly muscled as the men I’m used to seeing, but there is something achingly alluring to his more sinewy form. A Viking he is not, but what exactly he is, I’m not sure. All I know is that I want to find out.

Rising, I stretch my muscles, not bothering to put on anything more than the long shirt I slept in. I like to make sure I can move freely when I workout. And honestly, if Grím is going to look so distracting in only those clinging breeches, I have to even the playing field. The morning is chilly, as always even in summer, but having grown up in this northern land, I’m used to it. Digging in my pack, I find my wooden comb and pull it through my long, blond locks until there is no resistance. I loosen the laces that close the neck of my shirt, revealing more than a glimpse of cleavage.

I take up my sword and walk toward Grím. A spin turns him in my direction, and he nearly stumbles as his eyes fall upon me. His mouth drops open and his eyes darken with desire. Walking on the balls of my feet, I strut to his side, enjoying the way his eyes take me in slowly from my legs on up. That wonderfully heavy gaze catches for a moment on my cleavage, but then actually makes it up to my eyes. Impressive. Keeping my own eyes from traveling down the swell of his arms and planes of his chest is no easy task. My lips pull up into a smirk.

“No fair getting warmed up before me,” I say.

His eyes flick to my breasts where my erect nipples are pushing against the thin fabric of my shirt. Even if only to myself, I must admit, it isn’t entirely due to the cold. While he’s distracted, I let my eyes flit quickly to his groin, which has swollen nicely against his breeches. Warmth flushes through me, and I have to force myself to look away. Damn, there goes my distraction advantage. That he can do the same to me is completely unfair.

“Um, yeah… well I like to rise early,” he says.

My eyes travel back to this groin, purposefully this time. “I can see that.”

His cheeks flush pink, and he smiles and shakes his head. Setting his sword aside beneath the thin, twisted trunk of a birch tree, he laughs. “Let’s see if we can warm ye up then, shall we?” he says.

I half expect him to start unlacing his breeches, but he doesn’t. With slow deliberation, he stretches his neck to one side, then the other. He interlaces his fingers and pushes his palms out, then stretches his arms out as far as they’ll go before raising them over his head and behind his back. His chest pushes out, drawing my eyes. I’m more than warm, I’m beginning to get wet, but I’m not about to tell him that.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” I ask, free hand resting on my hip.