A bed with messy sheets and a plethora of pillows was on the other side of the room. Someone should teach this guy how to make a bed. My mother would be appalled at how untidy it looked.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
I swirled around, stumbled, fell. My towel unravelled and ended up around my waist, leaving my chest bare. I looked up at the Archivist, who'd entered the studio without me realising. I jumped to my feet, my boobs bouncing, only making it worse. The towel fell to the floor. I was naked, bare in front of the one man who I really didn't want to see me this vulnerable. For some reason, I wanted him to think that I was strong, but being naked wasn't conducive to that in the slightest.
I clutched my arms in front of my chest, then realised what else was naked and put a hand between my legs.
My skin had to be bright red by now, and all I wanted was to sink into the ground and never face him again. I dared a quick glance at his expression - and couldn't help but look again and again. His eyes were fixed on me, his pupils strangely dilated. His expression was tense, as if he was trying to control himself. He couldn't hide the desire in his gaze though, the way he seemed to devour my body with his eyes.
My skin seemed to burn wherever his attention fell. My nipples pressed hard against my arm, reminding me that I was trying to hide my assets, not let him stare at them. I made a squeaky sound, a mixture of panic and embarrassment. That was it, the moment was gone.
The Archivist pointed to my feet. "Towel," he said drily, without turning around to give me some privacy. Was the bastard enjoying this?
My eyes fell to his crotch. His black jeans were tight, but there was an obvious bulge between his legs. This was arousing him. It kind of made me feel better. In a way, I had power over him. I was the one who could decide to hide behind a towel or to stay naked. Not the best choice ever, but it gave me a bit of confidence.
"Turn around," I told him, more an order than a suggestion.
"No."
He crossed his arms in front of his chest. He'd changed into a black shirt with rolled up sleeves, leaving his arms exposed. He had a tattooed snake circling across his left upper arm, wrapped around him in a strangling embrace. It looked beautiful from afar and I was tempted to ask him if I could have a closer look. I'd always wanted a tattoo myself, but with money being tight, that had been very low on my list of priorities. Maybe once I graduated from TTA. If that was ever going to happen. The way things were looking just now, chances were I'd never even get to finish my first term.
"Fine." Rather than give him the view of my boobs, I turned before bending down to pick up the towel. I hoped he got the message. Kiss my arse.
"You're asking to be spanked," he muttered under his breath. His voice had changed to a husky tenor, making me all warm and squishy inside. That man was going to be the end of me. As if two Vikings weren't enough trouble. Now here I was, lusting after a man whose name I didn't know, who I knew nothing about at all.
Now that I finally had my towel back, I wrapped it around me as tightly as I could. He'd seen enough, I didn't want to give him another opportunity.
"Did you bring me some clothes?" I demanded more forcefully than I'd intended.
He pointed to the bathroom door. There, right next to the door, they lay in a neat pile. I was such an idiot.
His lips curved into a taunting smile. "Do you need help getting dressed?"
In response, I snatched up the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, banging the door shut as hard as I could. Inside, I leaned against the tiled wall, the coldness of it giving my flushed skin some relief. My nipples were still hard and thinking about the Archivist on the other side of this door didn't help with that. Was he going to touch himself to get rid of that erection? I kind of hoped he would. He'd be thinking of me, even if he was annoyed about me.
I shook my head, disappointed of my own thoughts. I was trying to rescue Hjalmar to be with him. I also wanted to be with Asger. And now, after seeing the way the Archivist had looked at me... I was a lost cause. Maybe I should become a nun. Have no man instead of three. That might save my heart from being torn into three pieces. Or maybe two, in case I was misinterpreting the Archivist's behaviour.
Slamming my hand against the wall, I pushed those thoughts away, far away, then hid them behind a wall, then built another, higher wall, then threw a whole load of stones on top of them. I was going to be sensible, strong, successful. And I was going to rescue Hjalmar without getting distracted.
I put on my clothes as quickly as possible, then pressed my ear against the door. No sounds that suggested the Archivist was still in the living room. That gave me hope. I didn't want to be alone with him again, not for quite some time. I'd just be a blushing, stammering idiot, especially if his grey eyes were full of barely held back desire as they had been before. A shiver ran over my skin at the thought. A very, very pleasant shiver.
WITH HEATHER GONE, it was just Asger and the Archivist in the dusty little room. Asger was still wearing the same clothes as before, but then, his weren't ripped and covered in puke. I shot a quick glance at the Archivist's shoes. They were different ones than before. Not the ones I decorated with the contents of my stomach. I almost thought about offering to clean that other pair, but no, not right now. He'd probably come up with some form of torture to add to the humiliation.
"My contact has arranged a meeting point for us," the Archivist said once I'd taken a seat. "Before we go there, we'll each write down what we know about Lucas and Hjalmar, and then I'll hand those to Professor Tape for safekeeping."
"Trust she? Good woman?" Asger asked. His sentences were getting longer; he seemed to be picking up the confidence to try out more of his English vocabulary.
"Yes, I trust her with my life," the Archivist said, his voice solemn. "She saved my life once, and I doubt she would endanger it now." He handed us both a piece of paper and a pen. Asger looked at both in confusion, but then, after watching me starting to write, he took the pen and put it to paper. And ripped it into shreds. He'd clearly never used a pen before and was using far too much force.
I took his hand and showed him how to hold the pen, how to gently glide it over the paper. His skin was rough, showing years of hard labour as a smith, but despite the size of his hands, he gripped the pen with a strange gentleness.
This time, he managed to scribble some runes. The Younger Futhark, I noticed. Hjalmar would be proud of me. Although, maybe not. I'd been terrible at understanding anything the Vikings had said in Old Norse back in the past, even though I'd memorised over two hundred words already. I needed to work on my pronunciation, clearly it had been entirely different from how the words were actually said.
I left Asger to it and wrote my own statement. Most of what I knew was second hand, but I had seen Lucas alive, I had seen that he was missing an arm. I wrote down as much as I could think of, then signed it with a flourish before handing it to the Archivist.
Once Asger had finished - his paper looked a mess but maybe someone would be able to make sense of it - the Archivist put all three in an envelope and sealed it.
"We're going to port to the Headmistress's office," the Archivist announced. "I don't want either of you to be seen, it would raise too many questions and we don't have time to explain. It's a miracle that I was able to arrange an immediate meeting with Priscilla Priest in the first place, so we really don't want to keep her waiting."
He'd put on a large time bracer which covered most of his snake tattoo.
"Can you port two people at a time?" I asked curiously. "I thought it was only one at a time."
"It's possible for short distances," he explained while entering coordinates via the holographic keyboard now hovering above his arm. "But we're going to need to borrow an additional bracelet for travelling to our meeting. Berlin isn't exactly next door."
"Berlin?" Asger asked in confusion.
"Germany," I explained, but that didn't seem to mean anything to him either. "A large city in another country."<
br />
"City," he said with a grin, proud that he understood that word. I smiled at him, wanting to ruffle his hair and cuddle him like a massive, adorable teddy bear. Then I reminded myself that he was a fearsome Viking with hands large enough to squash my skull, and decided not to.
The Archivist stretched out his arm. "Hold on tight, although this will feel like a walk in the park compared to the journey you did earlier today."
Gingerly, I put my hand on his arm. Not because I was concerned about the porting, but because I was worried about what touching him might do to me. He met my eyes and winked. That bastard. He probably knew how uncomfortable this was making me.
Asger put his hand on mine and then we were off, drenched in sunlight, bathed in warmth, before tumbling back into reality. That had been my shortest travel so far. When I'd first come to the Academy, the porting from New London to here had taken a few minutes, although it was hard to tell since time seemed to lose all meaning while flying through space. Reaching the Headmistress's office had taken mere seconds.
We were in a small waiting room adjacent to Professor Tape's actual office.
"Let me handle this," the Archivist said, and before I could react or argue, he walked into the office and closed the door behind him.
Asger looked at me and shrugged. "Strange man."
I laughed. "Yes, you could say that. He's a very strange man."
Just when I'd decided to sit down on one of the uncomfortable looking chairs, the Archivist returned, closing the door before I could get a glimpse of the Headmistress.
"All done, she's put our statements in the safe," he reported, already typing in new coordinates into his bracer. When he's done, he hands Asger a smaller bracelet and the Viking expertly snaps it around his wrist.
"What about me?" I ask.
The Archivist smirks at me. "You travel with me."
He's at my side in an instant, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. His scent is familiar; thanks to his shower gel I smell the same. I don't know what to do. Push him away, tell him that I don't want to be hugged like that? Or lean into his body, enjoy the moment?
Luckily, I don't have to decide. He presses a button and bright light embraces us.
ᚴᛅᛒᛁᛏᚢᛚᛁ 5
When the Archivist mentioned Berlin, I was thinking of the Brandenburg Gate, the rebuilt City Palace, the Reichstag. Instead, we were in a park, surrounded by trees, flower beds and a couple of fountains that had seen better days. This didn't feel like a city at all. There were no people anywhere close, just a few lone souls milling far in the distance.
The Archivist tapped around on his bracer. "It's the right location," he confirmed. "Maybe we're early."
Suddenly, someone appeared out of thin air right in front of us. Asger was in front of me before I could even blink, ready to defend me. Oh, my sweet Viking.
"No, you're late."
A broad man in a tailored black suit was examining us, probably evaluating how much of a threat we were. His eyes lingered on Asger for a moment, then he lifted his wrist to his mouth.
"All clear, they're unarmed."
Did he have some kind of x-ray vision to know that?
With a flash of light, three more people ported to our little group. Two men with exactly the same suits, flanking a woman. That had to be Pricilla Priest. She was a short woman, maybe an inch or two above five foot. Her grey hair was styled in an elegant bun, topped with a pearl comb. There were more pearls around her neck and her wrists. It looked like she'd even turned her porting bracelet into an homage to pearls. Her face was caked in a thick layer of makeup, not the flattering kind. It actually made her seem older. Her body was wrapped in a pink coat that hid most of her figure. She looked ready for winter, even though it was barely late spring.
She turned to the Archivist. "You're the one who wanted to meet?"
He nodded.
“What’s so important that I had to leave my house? Be quick, I have Sheikh Ali come over for tea in half an hour.”
The Archivist’s eyes flicked to the three men surrounding Pricilla. “I don’t think you’ll want anyone to hear what I have to say.”
“Ma’am,” one of her guards warned, but she waved him off.
“Alright, but be aware, I don’t suffer fools lightly. If this isn’t worth my time, I might shorten your own time considerably.”
The Archivist bowed his head, although I could see the tension in him rise. “Understood.”
“If my men leave, your big guy here has to go with them. The girl can stay.”
Asger opened his mouth to protest, but I squeezed his hand. “We’ll be fine,” I whispered. “Don’t worry.”
He muttered something in Old Norse, but then walked away, following the three men in suits.
I really hoped that we were doing the right thing here. It was risky and could end in tears and death. Still, it was the only option we had. I couldn’t let Hjalmar stay in prison, punished for something he didn’t do. At the same time, I didn’t want to have Lucas’s death on my conscience either. Negotiating with this woman was a necessary evil.
Once the men were out of earshot, the Archivist cleared his throat. “We have some information on your stepson.”
Wow. I would have started with some small talk, check out her mood and then decide how best to broach the subject. Instead, he’d just jumped right into it.
She laughed, but her eyes were cold and calculating. “Lucas? He’s dead. There was a funeral, such a lovely ceremony, or so I’ve heard. Sadly, I couldn’t make it there myself, such a busy schedule, you know?”
I wanted to wipe that smile off her face. How dare she laugh about Lucas’s supposed death.
Taking a page out of the Archivist’s book, I hit her with the truth. “He’s still alive.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “No, you’re mistaken. He was killed on a time travel mission. His teacher was only able to bring back part of his body, the rest was taken by savages.”
“That teacher is currently in prison, waiting to be trialled for murder,” the Archivist explained, taking over from me. “But what if he were to tell the judges the truth? That Lucas is still alive?”
“He can’t be alive,” Priscilla spluttered. “He would have returned by now to claim his inheritance.”
I couldn’t help but tsk. “You don’t seem to know your stepson at all. He’s not interested in the money, all he wants is to live his life, preferably alive.”
Her gaze turned poisonous. “You have no proof. I’m not going to believe two random people who I don’t know anything about. You might just be here to blackmail me. Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first.”
I smiled and pulled a piece of paper from my pocket; the shopping list Lucas had written. “Do you recognise your stepson’s handwriting?”
She snatched the paper from my hand and stared at it. A slight tremor shook her hand as she studied it. When she finally handed it back to me, her expression was guarded.
“You want him killed? The teacher?”
“No, we want him released from prison,” I said quickly before she got the wrong idea.
She chuckled. “And what would give you the idea that I could do that?”
“You’re one of the richest women in the world. I’m sure you have your ways,” I shot back.
“The richest, actually,” she corrected. “But tell me, what would make me want to invest into getting him out of prison? It would be much easier to simply have him removed from the equation.”
I tried very hard not to glare at her and kick her in the private parts.
“Because if he dies, if any of us die, proof that he is alive will be sent not only to the authorities, but also to the press,” the Archivist said. “There will be inquests, investigations, lots of problems for you. I doubt you’ll be able to silence them all, even with all your money.”
“You’re playing a risky game,” Priscilla hissed, no longer pretending to be polite. “And what is giving me the guar
antee that Lucas won’t simply turn up in a year’s time, alive and well?”
“We will be able to provide you with a written statement from Lucas, signed by witnesses, stating that he relinquishes all claims to his inheritance, and that he will stay dead.”
“Until your death,” I quickly added, hoping that this might give Lucas the chance of returning to the present, if he ever chose to do so.
The woman met my eyes and we stared at each other. I was having a hard time not to blink, but I wasn’t going to be the one to back down.
“Until my natural death,” she corrected, not taking her eyes off me.
“Deal.”
She sighed. “I assume you want that man out of jail immediately?”
I flashed her a smile. “You assume correctly.”
WHEN WE RETURNED TO the Archive, Heather was there waiting for us, clutching the statement Lucas had written.
“He’s so relieved that this might soon be over, even if he won’t be able to return back home. I think he’s still secretly been scared that someone might find and kill him.”
The Archivist took the statement and read through it, a smile beginning to curve on his lips. “That’s exactly what we needed. I shall send Priscilla Priest a virtual copy of it for now and then bring the original with us when she tells us where to meet her and Hjalmar.”
Heather’s eyes flashed with happiness, her expression brightening as if the sun had suddenly appeared down here in the basement. “You made it? She’s getting him out of there?”
I nodded. “She said it might take a few hours, but he’ll be back with us by the end of the day. For now, all we can do is wait.” I cleared my throat, a little uncomfortable about the thoughts running through my mind. “Do you think he’ll be able to stay here? Or is it better if he lays low in Viking times for a while?”
Heather gave me a sympathetic smile. “Let’s not sharpen our axes prematurely. I doubt he’s going to let us make a decision for him. Hjalmar has always done what he wants, and this isn’t going to change now.”
Defending Her Vikings Page 3
