She groaned as she retrieved her bag from underneath her car. Her teeth chattered. Another hot kiss would warm her up. She shoved the thought aside. She needed to concentrate on staying safe, not making out with giant blonds.
Black spots danced across her vision as she drove. She bypassed her regular safety precautions and just went straight to her front door after parking the car.
She dumped her leather jacket on the chair inside the entry. It made a loud clunk and she paused. She’d put the giant’s phone in her pocket. Nothing she could do about that now, except dump the battery without hitting the off button. It was a weak security measure, but at least the device wouldn’t ping any nearby cell phone towers.
Stumbling into the bathroom, she tugged on her shirt. The fabric stuck to the wound and she clenched her jaw as she peeled away the cotton. The wolverine freak’s claws had swiped four parallel inch-long tracks just above her hip. Her good ol’ Levi’s had stopped them from progressing lower.
The injury flashed angry red and already oozed yellow pus. The claws must have been coated with something to accelerate the rate of infection. At least it didn’t look like she would need stitches. She washed the wound with soap and water. The sting sent out tendrils of icy-hot pain. She had to white-knuckle the rim of the sink to keep from passing out.
When she could stand without support, she opened the faucets of the large claw-foot tub. Lowering her body into the tub, she hissed as the water lapped at her wound. Breathing deeply, she commanded her shoulders and arms to relax.
She should have left Leif to fend for himself. There was too much at stake to get involved in other people’s problems.
The wolverine creatures she’d fought were not like her. She raised her hand and watched the water drip from her skin. As far as she knew, she couldn’t change her fingers into sharp weapons. She’d never seen anything like them in the lab. Had the creature lied to her? Either way, it freaked her out that he knew about the lab and Scott. She needed to be more careful. She couldn’t afford to be discovered now. Not when she’d finally gotten Scott to safety and hopefully a cure.
Leif and his friends were obviously also enhanced. She slicked back her hair and winced. She gingerly probed her scalp with her fingertips. In the alley, it had felt like the creature ripped out chunks of her hair, but she couldn’t find any bald patches.
She pulled herself upright and climbed out of the tub. It was time to get some work done. Her client hadn’t given her a fifty-thousand-dollar down payment for her to linger in the bath. Although the pus had oozed out, her skin still pulsed angry red. She cracked open a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cleaned the injury, and then taped it. She wrapped herself in her favorite blue terry-cloth robe and padded into the living room. Instead of a sofa and a coffee table, a large steel and glass desk occupied the space: central command.
She grabbed her bag from the chair by the front door and extracted the money. The dial on the safe under the desk turned easily as she clicked through the combination. Naya added the new bundle of bills to the stacks inside.
Sitting down, she grimaced when the wound smarted. The mystery chemicals in her blood should be able to heal the injury in a few hours. Another perk of being a freak. Meanwhile, her new client had ordered a complete cybersecurity plan due in two days, including secure email communications, web traffic, and money transfer. He also wanted wireless surveillance cameras throughout his club. Naya hadn’t asked why he needed such an over-the-top system. She didn’t care.
She never did.
All she worried about was whether the customers could pay their invoices. She signed up anyone referred by a previous client, if they cleared Naya’s thorough and slightly illegal screening.
Booting up the computer, she keyed in the passwords to unlock the hard drive. A quick glance at the firewall log told her there had been no attempts to breach the system. She opened the files for Desire’s floor plans.
Three levels of dance floors, hidden nooks, and private rooms required a lot of cameras. The club servers processed several gigabytes of data traffic each day, all of which needed virus and security scanning. This was going to be a lucrative project.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she focused on the work, trying to ignore how the wound throbbed and itched.
Chapter 3
War drums pounded painfully inside Leif’s skull. He slowly cracked open an eyelid and, as light pierced his pupil, the drummers increased their torment. It felt like they were now stomping their feet as well.
He tested his sword arm by lifting it just a fraction. No restriction. His legs too were unbound. The sheets underneath him were soft and clean. All good signs.
Ignoring the drumming in his head, he searched his memories for clues as to what had happened. A vision of a pale face framed by black hair emerged. A woman. He remembered dark indigo eyes and beautiful lips. He’d kissed those lips. Why?
More memories surfaced. He’d been out to feed his berserker behind a nightclub when four of Loki’s creatures cornered him. There was something important to remember. He’d taken photographs with his cell phone, but the details were unclear. The wolverine monsters had charged. He remembered kicking feet. A lithe body dressed in black leather. A flurry of expertly executed chops bashing the creatures’ bodies. After that things were too hazy.
The woman had fought the monsters for him? Why? She wasn’t a Valkyrie. His berserker would have alerted him to another Norse warrior. Something else niggled at the back of his mind, but before he could grasp it, a door hit the wall and heavy boots thundered across the floor. “Are you awake, min kung?”
Leif winced. “Harald.” It hurt to talk.
His second-in-command bowed, touching his forehead to Leif’s knuckles as a sign of deference to his king.
Leif tried to clear his throat so he could say the appropriate greeting, but his mouth and throat were dry as deserts. An arm slipped under his shoulders and gently lifted him up. The cool smooth lip of a drinking glass pressed against his mouth.
“Drink.”
He drank until the glass was empty and heard Harald fill the vessel again. After two more pours¸ Leif found his voice.
“What happened?” Harald liked to speak their native Swedish, but Leif usually kept to English. That way he didn’t forget they were supposed to blend in.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” His second-in-command pulled up a chair but quickly adjusted its position to give Leif’s sword arm free range.
Leif waved his hand to make him continue.
“All I know is that I got a phone call from some female. She told me you had the shit beaten out of you and where you were. I grabbed Ulf and we hauled your tattered ass home.”
He should take issue with Harald’s tone, but left it alone when he noticed the worry in his friend’s voice. “What did she say when you got there?” He lowered his eyelids to ward against the bright light in the room and to hide the memory of the kiss from heating his eyes.
“Nothing. She wasn’t there.”
She’d fled the scene after calling his battle brother? What had happened? It was too complicated. He could only concentrate on one thing for now.
“I felt a pinprick in my neck. I couldn’t access my berserker during the fight. They must have poisoned me.” He frowned. There was something else he was supposed to remember.
“The healer found the small wound when she examined you.” Harald sounded bitter.
“What did they drug me with?”
“Irja is working on it now.”
Irja—their medical officer’s skills were superior. If anybody could identify the poison, it would be her. The thought of Loki’s minions having the power to defeat the Norse warriors’ berserkers chilled Leif to the core. Loki had sent creatures that had tried to poison them before, but the Vikings’ immortal bodies had always purged their toxins without any harmful effects.
Harald succinctly summarized Leif’s thoughts. “Fuck, Leif. Just…fuck.”
Leif silently agreed. It was bad enough Loki had sent monsters who looked like an animal they revered. Now they had to worry about the monstrous wolverines defeating them.
Leif sighed. He had tried many times to tell Odin about the evils of Loki, and still the Wise One wouldn’t take action against him. The runes told clearly of Loki causing Ragnarök, and the half god, half giant was doing everything he could to fulfill the prophecy. According to the ancient sagas, the Norse gods’ enemies would band together and trigger natural disasters of epic proportions, including a huge flood that would drown all gods and humans. There were many interpretations of the final runes. Some said there would be no survivors but one man and one woman. A few predicted Loki as the sole surviving deity. And still Odin wouldn’t—or couldn’t—ban the half god from the Norse gods’ council, which would weaken Loki’s power considerably. Loki got away with a lot because he had once saved the life of Odin’s beloved wife. Or maybe the ruler of Asgard preferred to keep Loki on the council so he could keep an eye on him. As long as Loki belonged to the Norse gods’ ruling body, he had to obey their rules, which included staying in Asgard and not entering the human realm.
The pounding had subsided. Leif opened his eyes again. Harald’s red hair stuck up in tufts all over his head. The beard he was so proud of was uneven and snarled.
“How long was I out?” Leif asked.
“Long enough, my king.”
Leif raised his eyebrows and tried one of his more commanding glares. It backfired. He blinked furiously when pain shot through his brain.
Harald grimaced. “Three days. The first two, we didn’t know if you were going to make it.” Clouds chased across his face and he fiddled with the pitcher in his hand. “I need to check if Irja has isolated the poison.” He rose abruptly and then hesitated. “Why were you alone by the club?”
Leif closed his eyes. “I was just out for a walk.” He could feel Harold’s eyes boring into him, but refused to open his own. He understood Harald’s worry. The man was his friend, but also his stallare. And as the marshal, the second-in-command, it was his duty to make sure that Leif remained fit to rule. If Harald found out how close to the edge his king’s berserker was, it was his duty to report this to Odin.
“Were you there to feberandas?” His friend’s voice was stern.
“I went for a walk.” Leif’s tone matched Harald’s. He opened his eyes. If he couldn’t control his inner warrior, he’d be trapped in permanent battle fury. He didn’t know which was worse, losing the connection with the berserker or losing control. Without the connection to his inner warrior, he felt as if part of him was missing. How would he be able to protect his people now?
The two stared at each other until Harald nodded, turned, and strode out the door.
Leif watched him leave. They had known each other for more than a thousand years. Fought side by side in too many battles to count. Saved each other’s hides in tavern brawls and stickier situations. But sharing their feelings was not something they had ever done. Nor would they.
He sighed and closed his eyes again. The wolverine poison made him weaker than he’d been as a small boy. Maybe sleep would help. Judging from how he felt right now, it would be many days before he was back to regular strength. Flexing a few of his muscles and a brief conversation had tired him out. He let sleep embrace him as visions of ink-blue eyes in an expressive face framed by black hair danced at the edge of his consciousness.
* * *
When Leif woke again, twilight dusted the room in peaceful grays and pinks. The familiar sights of heavy oak furniture and dark burgundy drapes comforted him. This was the longest he’d spent in this bed since they’d built the stronghold. His body felt weak, his mind muddled, but rested. Only at home in the fortress did he ever really relax. Nestled deep among the evergreens in eastern Washington, the dwelling was protected from intruders by an impenetrable forest. And the exposed ancient basalt volcanic rock unique to the region enhanced the powerful magic seeped into the fortress walls. He thanked Freya every day for allowing them to use elven illusions that made their dwelling invisible to humans.
His gaze finally rested on the chair next to his bed. A figure loomed in the shadow. His sword hand automatically flexed until he recognized his visitor. Irja, their healer, sat in the chair, one long leg crossed over the other. She watched him with an inscrutable expression. Her dark eyes, high cheekbones, and translucent skin bore witness to ancestry far from his. Unlike Leif’s blond Anglo-Saxon forefathers, Irja traced her roots to the Saami people, nomadic Laplanders who followed huge herds of domesticated reindeer.
Even though she was six feet tall, she moved her body with an unearthly grace. She was also able to sit absolutely still for hours. He wondered how long she’d been in the chair.
“Min kung,” she said finally, her voice low and melodic, the accent particular to Finish-Swedish. She too followed Harald’s example and touched her forehead to the top of his hand.
“Hur mår du, Irja?”
“A lot better than you, it appears.” Her lips formed a small Mona Lisa smile. “I don’t think you’ve ever rested in this bed for more than a few hours.”
“I was just thinking that I am finally making good use of this beautiful piece of furniture.” He stroked the bedcovers.
Her smile widened and she shook her head, as if he was a little rascal making trouble. “Min kung, I’ve been able to isolate the poison in your bloodstream.”
“I had no doubt you would.”
Irja glanced down at a sheet of paper on her lap. He doubted she needed the reference. More likely, she had every detail of that document memorized.
“The injection you received was extracted from Aconitum napellus.”
“Swedish or English, please.” His head hurt too much to translate Latin.
“Stormhatt or monkshood, sometimes called wolf’s bane.”
Of course she knew the names in both languages. Leif recognized the Swedish name, his father had used the herb to kill sick livestock. The blue flowers were deceptively beautiful.
Like the woman who saved you.
He squelched the voice in his head and instead checked the connection with his berserker. Still nothing but a deep emptiness.
He stared at the ceiling. “There is no cure for this poison.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No,” Irja confirmed. “All we can do is wait for your body to purge the poison.”
“And will it?” Panic increased his heart rate. He willed the vital muscle to slow down.
“Yes,” Irja said. Her confidence in her king unshaken, it seemed.
“How do you know?”
She looked away.
It wasn’t confidence he’d heard in her voice. Wishful thinking? Hope? He swallowed. Odin had promised the Vikings and Valkyries he sent back that it would be very hard to kill them. He hadn’t said it would be impossible. Nobody knew what happened when a warrior of Valhalla actually died, because nobody had seen it happen. “You don’t actually know, do you?”
She hesitated, but then shook her head.
“Shit.”
“Precisely.”
Her terse agreement brought a quick smile to his lips despite the seriousness of the situation. “Why would the poison quiet my warrior spirit?”
Irja raised an eyebrow. “You spoke of this, but I hoped it was your fever talking.”
“The fever has nothing to do with it. When I reach for my berserker, there’s a void.” Leif closed his eyes. Being disconnected from his inner warrior wounded his very essence.
“Min kung, I searched the old healing books for poisons affecting the berserker. I found nothing. Loki’s minions must have found a new way to manipulate the herb. Maybe added some kind of toxin that our bodies are not immune to.”
He sighed. “We have to find an antidote. We cannot allow Loki to weaken us.”
“I’ll have to do some more tests.” Irja stood to leave.
He grabbed her hand and tugged on
it to get her to look at him. “Irja, thank you. You are very valuable to us.”
Dark eyes regarded him solemnly. “Thank you, min kung.” She slid her hand out of his grip and walked out the door.
Before Leif had a chance to mull over his potentially imminent death, he heard Harald grill Irja in the hall. It wasn’t long before the red-haired warrior bustled through the entry.
“What is this crap about no antidote? Of course there is an antidote. All poisons have one.” Leif held up a hand to stop the tirade, but Harald looked away, making a point of not noticing. “The witch just doesn’t want to make one.”
“Don’t call her that.” It pleased Leif that his voice wasn’t as weak as his body.
Harald sank down into the chair Irja had just vacated. “You know I don’t mean it.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t.”
His red-bearded friend shrugged. “She should know better than to take me seriously by now.”
“Irja takes everything very seriously.”
“True that.”
Leif flinched at his friend’s words. The man resisted learning any of the new technology these last centuries had brought. He claimed his fingers were too large for a computer keyboard. And yet, the big brute had not met a slang word or pop-culture phrase he didn’t like.
“What do you want?” Leif’s voice was gruffer than intended, but expunging poison was tiring. He needed more sleep.
“I came to ask if you want us to track down the girl.”
An image of dark blue eyes rose in Leif’s mind, and he realized it had been there all along, just hovering in the background. “Yes, we need to find her. She saved my life.”
A sly smile played at the corners of Harald’s lips. “So, a human woman saved your ass. Never thought I’d see that day coming.”
“Just find her.” Leif sighed.
Harald nodded and then studied his hands.
“What?” Leif finally barked when the man continued his irritating quietness.
“Out of curiosity, how many of the little bastards did she bring down?”
Viking Warrior Rising Page 3
