Valkyrie Reborn

by Allyson Lindt

  A fuzzy thought flitted in the back of her mind. The only time she’d ever felt this safe was when Starkad used to hold her.

  The notion carried a hint of bitterness, and she shoved it aside in favor of living in the now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  5 Years Ago - Starkad

  After the aborted attempt with the spanking, Kirby fell asleep next to Starkad.

  He was grateful to see her sleep through the night, but the next morning, she was withdrawn. Refusing to make eye contact. Speaking in single-word replies, even when he assured her there was nothing wrong with her reaction.

  She claimed exhaustion at about seven that night, and vanished into her room.

  Starkad didn’t argue. He did settle in on the couch with a book, and one ear turned in her direction.

  After centuries of living in warzones and worse, sleep was more of a luxury for him than a necessity. He didn’t have an issue with holding vigil all night, to ensure she was all right. He’d done it before, and he suspected he’d do it hundreds of times again.

  A few hours passed without incident. Then the sound of a door opening caught his attention.

  He looked up as Kirby padded into the living room. She stopped about a meter back, gaze turned to her feet, and tugged down the hem of a T-shirt that wasn’t quite long enough to hide her panties.

  The shy, demure posture would have been electrifying, if it weren’t so out of character.

  He waited, not wanting to say anything to derail the conversation before it started.

  “I want to try again.” Her voice was so soft, he could have imagined the words.

  Desire coursed through him, bringing his senses to life. “Okay.”

  “But maybe not so scary? Is that an option?” She finally looked up.

  The contrast of this trained assassin looking vulnerable and uncertain was startling. And he almost hated himself that it made him instantly hard. “It is. Anything you need this to be, we’ll figure out how to make it work. Come here.” He added a hint of command to the latter words.

  When she drew within reach, he grabbed her wrist. She tensed as he jerked, tugging her to lie over his knees. She relaxed when her body met his. Her warm weight pressed into him, and his dick strained to get closer.

  He ignored his own need. If there was one thing the last millennium had taught him, it was patience. He drew his fingers lightly up the back of her bare legs.

  She squirmed and gasped.

  Fuck, that was enticing.

  He lifted her shirt, grabbed the elastic of her panties, and tugged up, wedging them in place and exposing her ass. When he slapped the bare skin, the crack echoed through the room.

  She groaned and relaxed further into his legs. “Besides feeling good, how is this supposed to help, again?”

  “The pleasure is part of the point.” Hers and his. He spanked her again. A faint pink spread across each ass cheek. “There are no extra consequences here.” Slap. “There’s only now.” Slap. “And you’re in control of how and when.” Slap.

  “So I can say don’t stop, and you’ll keep going?”

  A groan rose in his chest, and he swallowed it. “As long as it’s safe.”

  “Don’t stop.” Her request was an intoxicating blend of timid and insistent.

  Odin, he was so screwed. Starkad alternated between cheeks. Each time his palm made impact with her skin, she rubbed against him and made a delicious new sound.

  Her giggles faded into muted moans. She was slipping into that space where the endorphins took over.

  Her butt almost glowed red, and her sighs were soft and distant.

  “That’s enough,” he said, half-expecting an argument. He ran a soothing touch over her tender flesh. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss away the sting. To glide his fingers between her legs—

  “Okay.” Her reply was barely a whisper.

  He helped her sit on the cushion next to him. “Do you need anything? Water?”

  “No. I’m good here.” She curled her legs under her and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I can stay here for a while, can’t I?”

  “Always.”

  As Kirby drifted into sleep, she shifted to lay her head on his leg. This was both better and worse than the spanking. She was right here. Finally in his arms. Close. Comfortable. Enticing.

  And she was still so far out of his reach.

  He didn’t know he’d drifted off until he awoke to the clatter of dishes. He was alone on the couch. That explained the smell of coffee that greeted him. He scrubbed some of the sleep from his face and wandered into the kitchen.

  Kirby stood by the stove, fully clothed, making scrambled eggs. “Good morning.” Her wet hair hung loose down her back, leaving damp spots on her T-shirt. She wore a soft smile.

  It had been lifetimes since he saw her look like this. Any doubt he had about last night evaporated. “Morning. There enough of that for me to have some?”

  “I didn’t want yours to get cold before you woke up.” She slid the eggs onto a plate that already had bacon, and held it out. “But you can take this one. I’ll make more.”

  He was getting full sentences out of her and everything. “No, but thank you.” He shook his head. “I’m going to shower.” Because he didn’t know if he was still hard from last night, or hard again from seeing Kirby content, but he needed some privacy to alleviate the pressure.

  A frown whispered across her face.

  “Eat while it’s hot,” Starkad said. “And make sure mine is ready in thirty minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her smile was back, more hesitant but still reaching her eyes.

  This felt dangerous. A nagging voice in the back of his head said he was lying to himself about what was happening. As long as Kirby was safe—not waking up screaming in the middle of the night and not cutting herself—he was willing to swim in denial.

  He locked his bedroom door and shed his clothes as he headed into the bathroom. His semi-erect cock sprung free.

  He stepped into the shower, letting too hot water sear over him. It didn’t burn away the need slicing through his veins. There was no way to ignore the potent memories of last night. Kirby’s weight against his legs. Her smooth ass growing pinker with each slap. Those delicious little groans and sighs she made.

  Starkad fisted his shaft hard and stroked. More images flooded his thoughts. Of their first life together. The two of them, naked on blankets of fur. His glorious Valkyrie, riding him, the firelight glistening on her pale skin.

  His thoughts—his body—weren’t satisfied to linger in the past. Fantasies joined the mix. Of Kirby surrendering herself. Yielding to his touch. The hint of vanilla from her body-wash teasing his senses.

  Him, stripping her down a piece of clothing at a time. Taking his time devouring her body. Sliding inside her tight, slick pussy.

  He came hard, coating his hand, cum washing away in the shower and spiraling down the drain. He didn’t stop stroking until his dick was sore and protesting. The images continued to torment him, though.

  As days turned into weeks then months, the nights Kirby woke up terrified grew less frequent, and she was more outgoing during the day. Spanking turned into a hairbrush, his belt, a wooden spoon... It depended on how playful either of them felt.

  She never stopped trying to hide the scars on her wrists, though. She preferred long-sleeved shirts, and kept her hands tucked away when that wasn’t an option.

  He had a solution for that, too. Her face lit up when he gave her the small box wrapped in plain blue paper. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Open it and find out.”

  She tore the wrapping off, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “Oh.” The delighted gasp escaped when she opened the box. “For me?”

  “Happy... anniversary?” That carried all sorts of assumptions, but it was true. He’d pulled her out of TOM a year ago.

  The twist of her lips implied she didn’t care for the ter
m either. “Birthday? Technically, I was reborn that day.”

  “All right. Happy birthday.”

  She pulled one decorative leather bracer out. “Help me put them on?”

  “Hold out your arms.” He buckled one into place, and then the other.

  KIRBY

  Kirby rolled her arms, examining the new accessories. They made a bold statement, and they covered the scars. Giddiness sparked inside. Starkad was so good to her. She still didn’t know why, but she was grateful.

  “I love them. Thank you.” She threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

  He squeezed back, and she let his warmth flow through her. It was harder than she’d thought possible, to not beg him to fuck her after their sessions. Every inch of her craved his touch. But as long as she could have some sort of contact, she was content.

  She stepped back, studying the gifts. They weren’t practical for anything she’d been trained to do. They were completely decorative, and didn’t really compliment the jeans and T-shirts she preferred. But she loved them regardless.

  She traced her finger over the polished steel loop on one. “What are these for?” Anticipation sped through her, nudging her senses with possibility, but she couldn’t put a name to her desire.

  “They’re an assumption. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “What do they assume?”

  He grasped her fingers and led her to his bedroom.

  Desire thrummed under her skin. Any kind of assumption that landed her here was enough to make her pulse hammer in her ears.

  He guided her to the side of the bed. A bar hung from the ceiling. That was new. A latch was attached to each end.

  “You wanted to take things to a new level.” His deep voice rolled over her. He grasped one of her wrists and attached it to the bar, and then the other.

  It left her arms above her head, and her restrained and helpless. Holy fuck, could he hear how hard her heart hammered against her ribs?

  “Are you good?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She managed through her suddenly dry throat. Nods weren’t allowed when he checked in with her. She had to say the words. In the past, he’d cuffed her. They’d gone back to the blindfold on occasion.

  But this was a new level of intense. The promise of what came next was enough to make her panties damp.

  He moved behind her. “Do you want to try something new?” the heat of his throaty question caressed her neck.

  “Gods, yes.”

  At Starkad’s low chuckle, a whimper slipped out without her permission. He glided a thumb under her waistband, starting at her hip and moving forward, then undid her jeans. He pushed those and her panties to her knees, leaving her exposed and restrained twice over.

  The contact stopped. There was always a pause. He did a delicious job of making her wait. Sometimes it was seconds. Other times, longer. She was never disappointed with the results.

  The sharp whistle of something narrow slicing the air teased her. She clenched her jaw, eager and waiting.

  A deep sting raced through her when the cane struck the fleshiest part of her ass, and she cried out in surprise and pain. Holy hell, she liked that feeling.

  There was a pause, and then another strike. The crack flooded her veins with endorphins, a delicious high of terror and pleasure.

  She lost count after a couple of strikes, happy to slide into her own head. She trusted Starkad to stop when needed, and if she asked sooner, he’d comply.

  When the caning finished, the buzz lingered, stealing her thoughts and letting her float on a cloud. She was only half-aware of Starkad unhooking her from the bar, and making sure she kept her balance while she stepped out of her jeans.

  “Lie on the bed, on your stomach.” His voice was kind but firm.

  She complied without question. The ache was sinking in as the buzz faded. She wouldn’t be sitting much for the next few days, and it would be a couple of weeks before they did something this intense again.

  Kirby was okay with that.

  Wasn’t she?

  Reality crawled back into her thoughts, bringing the past with it. What was she doing? Playing a silly game with a man who was... She didn’t even know. Doubt clawed under her skin and dragged her toward a gaping pit.

  This was stupid. She was stupid. How long did she think this could last? Why couldn’t she deal with her demons on her own?

  “Kirby.” Starkad draped a towel over her butt, and the soft terrycloth bit into the fresh marks. A cool weight rested on top of it all. That would be the ice. He lay next to her, on his side. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing her gaze. “Stay here with me.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  She nodded and focused on his voice. His touch. His kindness.

  The ritual continued through one birthday, and then another. As time bled away, it was easier for Kirby to shove her past into a box at the back of her mind.

  Starkad would leave sometimes, for days or even a week. He said it had to do with his time at TOM. He was vague on details, telling her he wanted her as far from that life as possible.

  Kirby felt her sanity slipping every time she lingered in her memories for too long, so she didn’t push for more.

  It was easy to pretend they had a normal life. That the playing house they did was real. Especially when they went out, and drew both admiring and envious stares and whispers, she could mostly convince herself they were a couple.

  Until her mind screamed back with the reminder they weren’t. There were a few things missing. The verbal commitment. Transparency. Honesty. And the fact that she wanted more—her body craved it—from their sessions.

  She couldn’t be the only one. She’d see how hard he got. Knew that he was jerking off in the shower the morning after.

  As he unhooked her cuffs from the bar one evening, the desire thrumming in her was more intense than ever. Moisture coated the insides of her thighs, and her body pleaded to take this moment to the next level.

  When he told her to get comfortable on the bed, she turned to him instead and grasped his wrist.

  “Kirby?” Warning cut through his question.

  “Fuck me. Please?” She drew his fingers between her legs, to stroke along her slit. “I know I’m not the only one who wants it.”

  “No.” He yanked away and stepped back.

  Humiliation burned inside, hot and violent. “You said I could ask for whatever I needed.” This childish retort slipped out.

  “I said no sex. You promised me.” There was an edge to his tone.

  She couldn’t be the only one who wanted more to happen between them. Pride insisted she push this until she got the answer she wanted. The one that was real. “That was more than two years ago. How are you ignoring this... this intense, white-hot aura that surrounds and engulfs us? How do you not care?”

  He clenched his jaw. She’d pushed too hard. But she couldn’t keep walking this line.

  “If I didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here.” Starkad’s emotion vanished behind a blank mask.

  “Then maybe I’m sorry you care.” She ignored his glare, gathered her clothes, and stalked from the room.

  Walking away didn’t soothe her humiliation at the rejection, but it did kill the horniness. She locked her bedroom door behind her and collapsed on her stomach on her bed.

  Her mind was numb. Her ass was sore. She was an idiot. She’d done it again. Just like with Brit. Misinterpreted what was there.

  At least Starkad hadn’t sold her out to the gods at TOM as vengeance. Maybe that was still coming, but she didn’t think so. Not after all they’d been through.

  Her bracer chafed her wrists. Another reminder of how gullible she was. She fumbled with the buckles until she managed to yank them off, then threw them across the room. They slapped into the closet door and fell harmlessly to the carpet.

  She wouldn’t let this become what it had with Brit, where Kirby made assumptions, and paid the price because of it. Resolution churned inside. For years, she’
d been climbing out of the darkness, and she refused to tumble back in.

  She showered, washing away the shame and desire, and steering clear of the marks on her backside. After she was dry, she tugged on a loose dress, grabbed the bracelets from the carpet, and steeled herself.

  Starkad was in the living room, doing a poor imitation of reading.

  “I’m sorry.” She winced at how weak the apology sounded.

  He looked up, eyebrow raised. A frown flitted across his face when his gaze fell on her hands.

  She crossed the room and set the bracers on the coffee table.

  “These were a gift,” he said.

  “And I appreciate them. And what they stood for.” She reached past all the doubt, to grab the steel that had kept her sane when she was with TOM. “But it’s time for me to move past that with you.”

  “Ruby—”

  “Let me finish.” She didn’t remember when she’d started noticing the nickname, but hearing it now sliced through fresh wounds. “I’ve been a drain on you for years. You’ve done a lot for me, and I haven’t done anything in return.” Freya, this being mature stuff sucked. She didn’t want to be doing this. She wanted to whimper and beg and plead for things to go back to what they had been. To curl up on his lap and be comforted.

  But that was dangerous to her sanity.

  “You don’t need to do anything.”

  “I do need to.” Her voice cracked. “Tell me where you go. What you do. It has to do with taking down TOM, doesn’t it? Tell me what I need to know, to help.”

  Starkad set his book on the coffee table, next to her discarded bracers, and studied her. “You’re out. You never have to go back in.”

  “I’m not out. I can stuff my past aside and pretend it’s not there, but it is. And I can’t be a drain on you for the rest of my life. Please.” As Kirby spoke, she realized how desperate she was to be more. To do more. “Tell me what you’re doing and how I can be a part of it.”

  Starkad sighed, and silence stretched between them. She resisted the urge to count the seconds.

  “They’re called the Followers of Urd,” he finally said.