Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set

by Tanya Anne Crosby

He flinched when she touched his back but did not turn around. And did not speak for a moment.

  Then the words started to come, haltingly.

  “My first wife, Karolina”—his voice was strained, as if he had not said the name aloud in many years—”died in childbirth and our son with her, after we had been together a year. My second wife, Maeve...” He tilted his head back, looking up at the night sky. “Died after we had been together more than fifty years. But in all that time, she never conceived.”

  Closing her eyes, Avril rested her forehead against his back. “Hauk, I am so sorry,” she whispered.

  She felt him shrug. “It happens to some couples. Large families are rare here. Most have only two or three children, which is mayhap for the best.”

  “That is not what I meant. I am sorry that you lost them.” She lifted her head. “I am surprised that you would marry again, after you lost your first wife.”

  He turned to look down at her.

  And a moment of understanding passed between them, too deep for words.

  “We are not gods, Avril,” he said softly. “Only men. Men who live and work and laugh... and want.” His voice roughened. “And need.”

  She blinked hard against the tears that blurred her vision. And dream. Hauk had dreamed, like any ordinary man. Dreams that had never come true. He had longed for a family—and instead had been left alone, to carry inside him all the sorrow and loss of many lifetimes.

  She did not know how he could bear it.

  “I had not planned to take another bride.” He touched her cheek, grazing his thumb along her jaw. “Ever.”

  For one moment, a single heartbeat, she tried to resist the tenderness in his eyes, to keep denying this feeling she had been fighting against so hard.

  Then she leaned into him, sliding her arms around him, unable to stay within the safe boundary she had drawn around her heart. Not when everything within her wanted to hold him and comfort him.

  Slowly, his arms circled her and drew her in close.

  She pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat. “No wonder everyone has been besieging us with gifts,” she whispered with a pained smile. “They did not expect you to marry again.”

  He stroked her back, his hands warm through the linen of her tunic. “I have been resisting my uncle’s prodding on the matter for most of the past century.”

  “Your uncle? The man from the council of elders, the one who looks like you?” she guessed. “I thought he was your brother.”

  “Nay, he is my uncle, Erik. My grandfather, Hakon Valbrand, was the leader of the group of explorers who discovered Asgard. Before he died, he had two sons—the eldest, my father, who was vokter before me, and Erik. They were part of the first generation of innfodt. The fourteen men who survived from that generation make up our council of elders.”

  “And the others,” she asked hesitantly, “the ones who did not survive—”

  “Were the ones who could not accept being made captive here. Could not accept what they were. What Asgard had made them. They persisted in trying to find some way to be free.” He paused. “None were successful.”

  Her heart beat painfully hard in her chest. “And your father was one of them?” she asked gently.

  He nodded.

  She shut her eyes. “How old were you?”

  “Eight.” His chest rose and fell shallowly beneath her cheek.

  She did not ask any more, simply holding him as he had held her before, sensing that he had already told her far more than he had told anyone in a long time.

  But after a moment, he continued, unbidden.

  “He loved my mother so deeply that he could not bear to lose her. He thought if he could discover Asgard’s secret, find a way to give her the gift of being innfodt...” He exhaled sharply. “He thought he had succeeded. I do not know how. I was too young to understand. I only knew that the experiment killed her. And my father felt such remorse, he sailed away from the island, taking her body with him... and stayed away longer than six days, apurpose.”

  “Oh, Hauk.” Avril felt his grief knife through her, could only imagine how hurt and confused and angry a young boy of eight would have been, left behind. Left alone.

  “My uncle Erik was so furious, he burned my father’s notes, his books, destroyed everything he had used in those accursed experiments.” Hauk unwrapped himself from her embrace and turned away, toward the cove. “For years I hated my father for what he had done. It was not until much later...” He hung his head, looking down at the dark waves that washed across the shore. “That I understood him.”

  “After you lost Karolina,” Avril said softly.

  “Aye.” His tone became harsh. “My uncle was determined that I not make my father’s mistake. He raised me to accept my place here and devote myself to training to be vokter. And I did—until I lost my wife and son. Then I neglected my duty, indulged in drink and danger and whatever willing women I could find and whatever reason I could find to open my eyes in the morn. That was when I...”

  He turned toward her again, a look of unspeakable pain shadowing his features.

  “When I understood why my father did what he did.” His voice choked out for a moment. “Because everything and everyone around us, even those we bring here and care for and protect, dies. While no matter what we do, we go on.” He shook his head. “Unchanged.”

  Alone, Avril thought. Even after he had taken the risk of loving again, married a second time, he had been left alone. But no pleasure, no drink, no risk could fill that part of his soul that ached for what he had lost. For what had lasted so briefly and been so sweet.

  For love.

  She walked over to him, silently, and took his hand in hers.

  He drew her close, with a low sound of pain. “I did not want another wife, Avril. Do you not understand—”

  “I understand,” she said brokenly, even as she tilted her face up to his.

  “I had accepted that I would always be alone.” His hands tangled in her hair. “That I was meant to be alone.” His blue eyes burned with intensity. “Forever.”

  As he said the last word, he shut his eyes—but not before she caught the glimmer of dampness there.

  It made the last of her defenses against him, this strong, impossible Norseman with a warrior’s courage and a gentle soul, crumble and vanish.

  Lifting her hands to his face, she cupped his stubbled cheeks in her palms. “Hauk...” She could not find words to express the feelings that overwhelmed her.

  Instead, she drew him down to her and kissed him. Told him without speaking that he was not alone. That she was here with him, that she wanted to be with him.

  Because she cared for him, deeply.

  His mouth was warm against hers, the kiss slow and soft and infinite. But she could feel his muscles going taut, as if he were fighting an inner battle—some deep place in him determined to remain alone and apart, unwilling to accept the caring she offered.

  But she was unwilling to retreat, and only offered more.

  Threading her fingers into his hair, she drew him closer. Allowed all the tenderness she felt to show in her touch, her kiss. Offered him all of herself, body and heart and soul.

  She could not think anymore, not about the impossible differences between his world and hers, or the past or the future or any time but now. Any place but here. Here, where they were together in this secluded haven, cloaked by the night and surrounded by the sounds of the waves and the water falling from the cliffs.

  The heat that had flared between them from the moment they met shimmered and caught fire.

  And something within him seemed to give way, like a defensive palisade that had finally burned to ashes.

  A groan escaped him, a sound filled with torment and longing, and he responded to her, fiercely. One of his hands fisted in her hair, his mouth slanting over hers, his tongue thrusting deep. His other arm fastened around her, hard as iron. Avril moaned at the raw power of his hunger f
or her. Desire, lightning-hot, scattered her senses and struck sparks through her body. The world spun dizzily. She clutched at his hard-muscled arms.

  Their kiss became an urgent mating of lips and tongues, breath and longing. Scorching. Impatient. She melded her body to his, could not get close enough. His rigid length pressed against her and she arched into him with a low sound of need, her voice echoed by his. Heat curled in her belly. His hold on her shifted.

  In the next instant, she was on her back in the sand.

  They did not even attempt to reach the blanket near the fire and she did not care. His hands yanked at the belt she wore, tore at her clothing, sliding beneath fabric to seek naked skin. The flat muscles of his abdomen flinched against her palms as she pushed his leggings down past his hips. He pulled off her loose-fitting garments, threw them aside. Bared her to his gaze, to his touch.

  She could feel the sand, rough and warm against the naked curve of her back and her bottom—then her lips parted on a gasp as his mouth covered her breast.

  He suckled her, velvet heat against the aching crown, his teeth grazing her nipple. His other hand reached to claim the softness between her thighs, slipping into her wetness, and her head tilted back on a wordless cry. His thumb and fingers captured the sensitive nub hidden within her curls, stroking her with that delicious, unspeakably perfect touch. Shards of pleasure glittered through her, bright and hot. Her hands tangled in his golden hair, pressing him closer. She wanted more, needed all of him. Needed to yield herself to him, to know what it was to be utterly his.

  “Now,” she cried. “Hauk, now.”

  He ignored her husky command and pulled free of her touch to nip a quick, hungry path down her ribs, her belly, turning her words into a low moan. He matched the sound an instant later when his fingers parted her damp folds and he inhaled her scent. His tongue flicked over that swollen bud and she writhed beneath him.

  Then he held her down against the sand and took her with his mouth.

  A shock of excitement raced through her, sensations beyond any she had known. He tasted her, ravished her. Sampled her depths with quick strokes of his tongue. Tugged at that delicate bud with his lips.

  Then he drew the hard nub of sensitive flesh into his mouth and suckled her.

  She cried out, her fingers digging deep furrows in the sand, her body lashed by pleasure. It cut through her in sharp waves as he continued the sweet torture. Liquid heat flowed from her core and he groaned his approval.

  The crest of each wave swept her higher, higher still, until she could bear no more. She was poised at the very edge of release when he suddenly moved, covering her body with his.

  Their gazes met, burning. He fitted the broad head of his shaft against her wetness.

  Then he pushed forward and entered her—and all the waves broke at once, shattering in a rain of fire and light. She moaned his name over and over as ecstasy cascaded through her. Soaring, she felt silky pressure and hot fullness as he claimed her as his own. Filled her in a single stroke until they were utterly joined, one. Together.

  She could feel her inner muscles clenching tight around him, the last of her climax washing over her. A string of Norse words tore from his throat. He balanced his weight on his forearms, pressing his cheek against hers, his breathing ragged. She scarcely had time to adjust to the impossibly sweet sensation of having him inside her before he began to move, withdrawing nearly all the way before thrusting deep.

  He reached for her hands, wove his fingers through hers, pressed them into the sand on either side of her head. He kissed the hollow of her throat, her jaw, speaking feverish words she could not understand. Then he covered her mouth in a potent kiss, his tongue hot velvet against hers. He joined the two of them in every way possible, and took her hard and fast.

  Groaning, she lifted her hips. Aye, like this. She wanted him exactly like this. Fierce and powerful and undeniable. She matched his rhythm, aware of every detail—the masculine strength of his body as he moved, the gritty texture of the sand beneath her, the ocean wind against her heated skin, the satiny steel of him embedded in her depths. He made her feel alive and complete. Lost. Found.

  Each sensation burned into the next, each moment into the next, until she lost all sense of time, until there was no more yesterday, no tomorrow. Only the two of them, moving together in that ancient dance in the darkness, beneath the moon and stars. Two made one, racing toward the highest crest, together.

  He sent her soaring again into bliss, and this time joined her there, his hands clasping hers, his muscled body shuddering as he spilled himself deep inside her with a hoarse shout.

  The force of it left them both breathless, shaking. His body went slack, his weight pressing her down into the earth, his heart pounding against hers. She stroked his sweat-sheened back, held him close, brushed kisses over his stubbled cheek.

  And suddenly she had to shut her eyes to hold back tears.

  Not tears of regret. Nay, no regrets. She had wanted this, every moment of it. One night for them and them alone. One reckless, glorious memory to hold in her heart forever.

  The tears brimming behind her lashes came from a searing sense of loss.

  Because she knew she could not stay with him.

  She had to leave Asgard. Had to return home as soon as possible. Had to leave him here... alone.

  And it did not matter that she loved him.

  Chapter 19

  If they did not get out of the water soon, Hauk thought with a drowsy smile, they would get no sleep at all this night.

  The fire had burned low and needed tending. And they should put their clothes on. If they could find their clothes. Which might be difficult in the darkness.

  Mayhap, he decided, that could wait until dawn.

  At the moment, neither of them seemed eager to leave their comfortable position—sitting together in the shallow pool, Hauk’s back against the smooth, stone edge, Avril curled in his lap, the warm water rippling around his ribcage.

  She rested her cheek against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin, while he lazily ran his fingers through her wet hair. He felt... content. Calmed. And to his surprise, not even mildly alarmed by the fact that making love to her had utterly unraveled him.

  He was accustomed to being in command of himself. Always. But tonight, with her... gods above, he had never felt anything so raw and overpowering: his control gone, his logic stripped away by the urgency to become part of her, words tumbling from his lips—unguarded words about how much he needed her, all that he felt for her. He was not even certain whether he had been speaking his language or hers.

  Even afterward, when they lay tangled together, spent, it had taken several long minutes for any shred of his reason to return—for him to realize that being pinned beneath him on the ground was not the most comfortable position for her.

  When he had imagined what their first time would be like—and he had imagined it often—this was not the way he had intended it to happen.

  Levering his weight off of her, he had murmured an apology and dusted a kiss over her nose. Then he had scooped her into his arms and carried her to the waterfall, intending to wash away the sand that had found its way into her hair... not to mention other, more sensitive places.

  But his gallant intentions had not lasted long. The sight of her standing with him in the waterfall—all wet, sleek curves in the moonlight, her lips swollen from his kisses, her emerald eyes gazing up at him with the same passion and tenderness he felt for her—had unraveled him all over again. Gentle touches had led to hungry kisses.

  And their second time had been as sudden and quick as their first. He had lifted her above him, she had wrapped her slender legs around his hips... and he had lowered her until she sheathed his hard length in her silky heat. With his arms fastened around her, her hands grasping his shoulders, she had shifted her hips, rocking against him. So tight, so perfect, her wetness an erotic contrast to the cascade flowing over them.

  She burned with
sensual fire, mesmerized him with the way she reveled in this side of herself—daring and bold, yet infinitely delicate and feminine at the same time. Every moment with her, every sensation only sharpened his need for more. The satin feel of her skin. The taste of her tongue against his. The soft curves of her body. The husky sounds she made when he was deep inside her. She took all of him, gave all of herself, so strong... and so loving.

  When she had arched above him and cried out her release, blazing in the moonlight like a goddess, she had sent him over the edge into a fiery rush of pleasure. And the only thought in his mind was her name, his voice rough with emotion as he said it.

  Trembling, she had slipped down into his embrace, kissing him, stumbling backward with him. Two steps and a noisy splash, and they had landed where they now sat: still in the pool, still wrapped in each other’s arms.

  And still not saying a word about what had just happened between them... twice.

  Nestled in his lap, Avril simply rested her head against his chest while he—finally—washed the last grains of sand out of her hair.

  Her eyes were languid, her lashes drifting low. Her fingertips traced over his skin, following rivulets of water that trickled down from his hair and beard.

  But her expression was pensive, almost melancholy.

  It brought a thick, hot feeling to Hauk’s throat. He did not need words to understand what she was thinking.

  This night would not change things between them. He knew that. Knew her well enough by now to realize that she could never give up her plans to escape Asgard... to leave him.

  No matter what they felt for each other.

  At the moment, however, he was no more eager than she was to raise the difficult subject of their future. There was no need to talk about it tonight.

  Not tonight.

  He combed out a tangle in her long hair with his fingers. “We left some most interesting marks on the beach over there.”

  He succeeded in bringing a smile to her lips.

  When she spoke, her voice sounded drowsy and unrepentant. “We will have to tidy up before we leave in the morn.”