Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  “You can see me?” Her voice was huskier than he thought it would be. God, he liked it.

  He swallowed and nodded. “Am I not supposed to see you making a track in the lawn?”

  She cringed and looked down at the bent grass. “Sorry.” She bit her lip, glancing up at him again. “You can really see me?”

  “Yeah.” He sounded a hell of a lot grumpier than he meant to. He wasn’t used to talking to women. Well, he wasn’t used to talking, period. Except in group. That was about the only time he talked, but he preferred listening to others, trying to show his support about not being able to breathe in confined spaces, about not being able to think clearly in crowds of people, about freaking out when hearing a car backfire.

  “Again, am I not supposed to see you?”

  Adala glanced around her person. “I...I put an invisible shield around myself.”

  He took a step back at that, holding onto the door’s jamb for strength. “You can do that?”

  She nodded. “And it usually works. But you can see me.”

  He swallowed. “I can see you.”

  She bit her lip, an adorable habit he wished he could see closer. “So, you probably saw me pacing around back here, huh?”

  He nodded.

  “I looked like a loon.”

  He smiled, the upward tug on his lips genuine and it felt good. “Nah.”

  “Yes.” Her thin, feminine brows furrowed.

  They stood about twenty paces away from each other, and he didn’t know why but he felt like if he stepped into the yard, she’d disappear, like the way she’d just suddenly appeared in the backyard with a poof of sparkles. Yeah, this was crazy. But it was his crazy now.

  “So...you want to come inside? I’m burning dinner.”

  “You’re cooking something?”

  “Probably burning something at this rate.”

  “You need help?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. And, ah, you want to eat with me?” This was so odd, asking a Valkyrie to dinner. Spaghetti because he didn’t know how to make much else. He hadn’t been expecting her. Well, yeah, he had. But he figured the Norns, those little teenagers, would call him first to let him know Adala was on her way. But, nope, she just poofed into the backyard.

  The Valkyrie placed a hand on her stomach. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “You hungry? Do you eat?”

  She smiled and his heart lurched to a stop. Jesus, she was gorgeous when she grinned. So beautiful it hurt to look at her. His lungs burned like when he ran flat out for more than thirty seconds. His heart raced, an ache with every beat. That ache spread through his limbs, not sure if he felt too powerful or too weak. Not sure if he wanted to sit down or run to her and pick her up.

  “Yes, I eat.”

  “So you should be hungry.”

  “I am hungry.”

  He backed up again, tired of hollering over the backyard. “I got enough for you and me and whoever else might pop in.”

  She glanced around. “Are you expecting someone else?”

  “Nope.” He turned and hoped she would follow him into the house.

  He’d been raised in Ohio, rural Ohio. When he was ten, he’d found a baby deer. His mother warned him to stay away from the little wild thing, telling him not to get his scent on the fawn, otherwise the mother might abandon him. But Aaron guessed the little deer was already an orphan and took a chance by feeding it when his mother had been busy at work. That summer was one of the best of his life, taking care of the deer, raising it.

  And he felt like he had to treat Adala much the same way, giving her room to make up her mind, giving her space to calm down and learn to trust him. Bucky, the deer, had been in his life for six years, every summer visiting. Then he’d vanished.

  Aaron didn’t want Adala to vanish. He didn’t know what it was about the Valkyrie but he felt like he needed her near, needed her so close he could smell her, feel her body’s heat. Yeah, the Norns had warned him he couldn’t touch Adala and vice versa. But he just needed her close. That was all.

  And he needed to figure out why he felt the way he did about her, like he knew her. It wasn’t just that he’d dreamed about her. Now that she was here, he felt it even stronger. He knew her. Somehow. Maybe if he got to the bottom of why he felt the way he did, then he could let her go.

  After all, he didn’t have a place in his life for a woman, er, whatever the hell she was. He had no job, which he really needed to work on. But it was hell thinking about being in a confined place. Except at the VA and in Luke’s house. The house, which Luke had let him stay in indefinitely, was big— big enough to breathe in. And what kind of woman, especially a Valkyrie female, would want a guy who had panic attacks? So, yeah, there was no room for anyone in his life.

  He stirred the marinara sauce, glad he’d set the burner low enough it hadn’t burnt, when Adala timidly walked through the sliding glass door.

  “Do you want me to shut the door thingy?”

  He nodded and glanced at her. Bad idea. Really bad idea. She was a lot closer. He could see the golden skin of her arms and legs. It should have turned him off that she looked like she was in a superhero movie. It really should’ve. But he swallowed and had to force his gaze from her.

  “What...what are you making?” Her voice wasn’t as husky as when he’d first talked to her. She sounded unsure of herself, scared.

  He knew about being scared and knew enough to think of ways to calm her. She might be a Valkyrie, but he was a human, and he wasn’t sure if a Valkyrie had run-ins with humans. He wasn’t sure of anything except he understood her, knew exactly what she was feeling. And how to reassure her.

  “Spaghetti. You like spaghetti?” He glanced at her again and couldn’t help but notice how much skin she was showing, the lines of her arms and legs, how he’d like to touch those long lines.

  She glanced at him, her eyes still wide, still looking half-spooked, but she nodded. “I haven’t had it since...well, a long time.”

  “How long?”

  She bit her lip. “I think about forty years or so.”

  He thought she might say a few months or maybe even a few years. But forty?

  He coughed. “Jesus, really?” He cringed. “Sorry ’bout the swearing. You’re probably really tight with...God or gods or...this is so hard to wrap my head around.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “And I don’t know Jesus on any personal level. I’m not a god or anything.” She laughed but covered it quickly. “Skuld said you wanted to ask me some questions?”

  “Skuld?” He narrowed his eyes and then glanced at the marinara sauce. The boiling water needed the noodles now or never.

  “She’s the purple-haired Norn. You know what a Norn is?”

  He dropped the fresh pasta into the water, careful not to make a splash. “They talked to me after...after this morning.” He turned to her, replaying the events that were becoming a tad fuzzy and feeling out of reach. “God, I think I shot you.”

  He had, he finally remembered. Yeah, this morning had been as weird as war. The fog of war, it was called, giving him a temporary amnesia, forgetting that in his haste to protect Luke, he’d accidentally shot her. She’d barely hissed or screamed, and there’d been so much activity after the shot that he’d forgotten he’d done it, which made him feel like shit. Then again, right after the shot, the Norns had escorted him home and had that talk with him about what a dís was and that Adala was a Valkyrie.

  She shook her head. “Just a little. And it’s understandable why.”

  He laughed. “This is so weird. You’re so understanding that I shot you.”

  She smiled. It was real and rooted him down to his toes. “Well, you were protecting Luke. It’s...it was a crazy morning.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. I, um, healed within a few seconds.”

  “Where’d I get you?”

  “In the thigh.”

  He glanced down, but that was not the right thing to d
o. In her little Valkyrie outfit, she exhibited a lot of leg. Beautiful, long, lean leg. Not a scratch on it too. All that golden skin, so perfect it emitted a shine.

  It took everything in him to glance back at the pasta that was sure to be al dente any second.

  “I’m”—he had to clear his throat, too deep and hoarse for polite conversation—“I’m real sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” She smiled again, disarming him, making him feel slightly dizzy.

  “You hungry? You already said you’re hungry.” He shook his head. “I think it’s ready.”

  “What can I do to help?” She took another step closer, the scent of lilac and grass, of spring, surrounding him, making him remember when his mom had been alive and how she’d made him laugh when she’d taken him down to the river to play as a kid, making him remember the times when he’d laughed with friends in college, even boot camp. Something about Adala brought about a nostalgia that made him want to sit in the sun and forget about all his worries. To sit in the sun with her.

  He jerked back into his body, into his senses, smacking into the marinara sauce with the wooden spoon, the red liquid airborne. It wasn’t much, but it splattered against her shining golden skin. She flinched and hissed and might have mumbled, “Flinging flanging...”

  He grabbed the kitchen towel and reached for her, but she screeched and jumped away like he was going to burn her more than the sauce.

  “You can’t touch me.” Her voice was panicked and high.

  “I forgot.”

  “You know?”

  “Yeah...the Norns. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure if he was more sorry that he couldn’t touch her or for burning her or that the Norns had told him she’d kill him if she ever touched him. He wasn’t sure of anything.

  Slowly, he handed her the towel. “I’m sorry. I’d like to say I’m not a klutz in the kitchen, but I am.”

  She wiped at the few splotches of red on one arm and a leg. “That’s okay.”

  “Jesus, in one day you’ve been shot and burnt by me.” He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing as he watched the angry red dots of skin turn back to glowing flesh. “Oh, wow.”

  “It’s okay.” She wiped a little more at one of her legs. “See? I’m all better now.”

  He straightened looking down at her. She was tall, only about four inches shorter than him, and he liked that. Way too much.

  “Yeah, but I never want to hurt you.”

  She tilted her head like she’d never heard anyone speak those words together and wasn’t sure what they meant. She looked confused and a dark edge of panic raced through her eyes.

  He stepped back, giving her space. “I’m really sorry. Jesus, I’m making the worst first impression.”

  “No.” She looked down at the creamy kitchen tiles. “I’m probably making you nervous.” She softly laughed. “I forgot I’m wearing this.” Glancing up, she touched the leather and brass armor snug around her thin hips. “I look like a loon. I act like a loon—”

  “No.”

  “It’s no wonder you...I’m making you nervous, aren’t I?”

  He shook his head. His nerves weren’t from her outfit, although they should have been. And he wasn’t acting like a teenager, all jerky movements and clumsy, because she was a Valkyrie with a longsword strapped to her back. Those things should have freaked him the hell out.

  But it was her—her scent, her voice, her hazel eyes that held so much fear yet seemed to see straight into him that had him acting fidgety.

  He sucked in a breath. “You want a change of clothes?”

  She blinked, a delicate pink blooming in her cheeks, neck, the small portion of her chest he could see.

  He took another step back and looked at the sauce, flinching when he saw the noodles and took them off the burner. Glad to be busy doing something as he drained the pasta, he said, “I mean, I have sweats you could borrow, get comfortable in.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment, but finally whispered, “That’s very nice of you. I’d like that.”

  “I’ll, ah, get dinner ready while you change.” He glanced up. “Oh, I should probably show you where my clothes are.” He silently chuckled, feeling ridiculous, and yet something about this moment was oddly mesmerizing. Well, yeah. He was talking to a woman who called herself a Valkyrie. And he believed her. Shit.

  He made sure the food wouldn’t burn and almost touched her, the small of her back, to show her his room, caught himself, cringed, and pushed past her. “This way.”

  “Okay.”

  He walked up the stairs, feeling her presence behind him, smelling her. “Have we met before?”

  On the landing, he turned and watched her slowly ascend.

  She sighed on the step under him, holding onto the banister. “Kind of.” She flinched slightly. “I...I was with you at the small village, about ten klicks from Marjah.”

  He held his breath, watching her. She wouldn’t look at him, but he wanted her to because he wondered if the power of her hazel eyes would stop the pressure he always felt whenever anyone mentioned that village. He wanted her to take it away, the squeezing of his lungs, forcing his throat to tighten and close. His heart pumped in agony.

  He didn’t want to talk about Marjah. Didn’t talk about it in group. But the fucking ironic thing was everyone knew about it. Thanks to military technology, there were cameras everywhere, especially on the helicopters that came in and took his wounded away. Those men who later died. But the cameras captured everything and someone had taken the feed to the news, where, for about two weeks, he’d made the headlines, especially when he’d gotten the medal of honor.

  He shook his head. “No. That’s not it.” His voice was more forceful than he meant it to be. “I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”

  She blinked. “That was the first time I saw you.”

  “You can make yourself invisible?”

  She nodded.

  “Do it. I want to see you—”

  “I am.”

  He straightened and backed away from the stairs, finally allowing her to stand in front of him. But she still held onto the banister, as if ready to turn and run from him.

  “But I can see you.”

  “I don’t know why, but, yes, you can. Usually, only small children or the dying should be able to see me right now.”

  He clutched at his heart. “Jesus, I’m dying.”

  She reached out but was careful not to touch him. “No, I can sense sickness. But you’re very healthy.” She smiled reassuringly.

  “You can sense that?” His voice cracked.

  She straightened and took a little step away. “That...that’s really weird and creepy, right? Invasive. I’m sorry.”

  He found himself with a smile. Again. “So, ah, if someone were to see us, I’d look like I was talking to myself?”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  “And I’m healthy, huh?”

  She nodded again.

  “Well, I got that going for me.”

  She perked up. “Yes, I can tell from your oxygen intake that you’re quite healthy. Your blood is clean and pure.” She cringed. “That doesn’t sound very human-ish to say. I’m creeping you out, aren’t I?”

  He swallowed, liking her eyes, how they sparkled and then avoided looking at him after she’d said his blood was clean and pure. “No.” He shook his head. “I like being told I’m healthy.”

  She laughed. “You’re being nice to me. Thank you for that. But I’m a freak.”

  “Ain’t we all, honey.” He turned, not sure where the term of endearment came from, slogging toward the room he’d made his own.

  He rooted around in an open suitcase, finding some black pajama pants and a University of Oregon T-shirt. Turning, he held out the clothes. “This okay?”

  She nodded and carefully extracted the garments, not coming close to his extended hand. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll, ah, like I already said, finish making dinner. We’ll talk.”


  She nodded, her head bowed, looking at his clothes as he walked away.

  Turning in the open doorway, he said, “I’m not good at talking about...what happened in Afghanistan.”

  She nodded, still not looking at him.

  “I’m not good at talking.”

  She nodded once again. “I’m not that great at it either. I mean, once I get to know a person, I talk too much. Way too much. But I’m awkward and weird before that. Not that talking too much isn’t awkward and weird.” She bit her lip and rolled her eyes at herself.

  He chuckled, liking her, which should have shocked him down to his bones. But it didn’t. It’s like he knew he would feel this way. Like he needed to feel this way. So he did the brave thing and said, “But I want to talk to you.”

  She glanced up, her hazel eyes sparkling, shining out for him like a beacon. “I...Yes, that’d be nice.”

  “I just...I feel like I know you.”

  She flinched, and he knew she was thinking of Marjah. But he wasn’t.

  He held a hand out, palm up. “Not from there. I feel like...this is going to sound ridiculous, but is there such a thing as past lives?”

  She shrugged. “I just touch people to take them to the afterlife. I’m not sure what actually happens in the afterlife. We tell each other that the people we touch go to the Valhalla of their choosing, but I’m not sure, to be honest.”

  He sucked in a breath. “That was a hell of a lot of information.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He took a step inside the room again. “No. I’m sorry. I just...see what I mean about not being good at talking? I meant that, ah, hell. I don’t know what I meant. But earlier, I meant I feel like I know you.” He licked his lips, realizing he was breathing fine. He could hardly process what was happening but he was breathing. No panic attack. “Or maybe,” he cleared his voice, “I feel like I should get to know you.”

  At that he gave her privacy, closing the door behind him, wondering why he was being so open and honest with her, wondering why he was breathing just fine after someone mentioned Marjah, wondering why he wanted to touch her even though he believed he’d die.