Master of Miasma (The Valhalla Series)

by Poppet

  “But I deserve you, right now.”

  His emphasis judders my head in his hold, his treatise sealed with one more butterfly kiss, “You make me crazy but I vow to keep my insanity in check long enough to fill your broken heart with the jewels of love. That starts with respecting you, wooing you, biding time so that when we lock our desires together we transform, forever changed by it. You are more than sexual satisfaction, gratification is fleeting and leaves in its wake hunger so fierce nothing can placate it. When I fill you Emma, you'll never know hunger again.”

  His candor bleaches my soul so pale I'm dizzy. This blizzard of attraction bleeding with the nicks of valor is enough to exhaust me.

  I want to argue so much but he mutes my thoughts when he says, “I watched you cry for a prick who fucked you around in more ways than one. I watched you degrade your soul for acceptance.” Fond bright eyes stoop with his lowering face to impale my gaze with their blackened sharp focus, “I am not him. You are not that woman I watched for months. You are a Raven initiate and by Odin you will learn to accept the respect which is your birthright.”

  He shows me his palm, the incandescence dulled back to black, pointing into the center of it so I feel the applied pressure deep inside my body via the occult contract of a handshake, “This is your space. This is you and I will not desecrate this sanctuary for the sake of momentary indulgence.”

  Sitting back just as suddenly he scours me with his gaze, desire evident, appreciation clear and blatant. “You are ER, baby. Pure ER. Those legs... fuck Em... you're... I just want to...”

  Eyelids droop when he looks at my nipples, hiding whatever is hidden in their supernal depths.

  “E.R?”

  My voice sounds alien, too calm to match the massacre of the emotions weeping into my robbed muscles.

  “Erection Resurrection. E.R. You're enough to resuscitate a chaste monk out of the cloth.”

  It's such a darling thing to say I am doused in instant shame. I am so.... out of control. I'm never out of control. Ever.

  He kisses me, the way you do when you say goodbye; it's reserved. “You are precious and we don't rape precious, we guard it even when it tempts fate to fall into an abyss of sensation. Now shower, I'm going to rustle up food because if I won't have your nipple in my mouth and get to taste the juice of your passion heating my tongue I need a damn decent distraction in its stead.”

  He stands, swiftly exiting the bathroom, abandoning me to a hundred retorts at how he just made his hunger sound like my fault when I didn't instigate a damn thing.

  “You kissed me first asshole!”

  Slumping against the shower wall I am shaken, bereft as if he gouged out my soul and left with it imprinted inside his palm when he pointed a finger into it.

  He's left me feeling incomplete in the one place inside my soul where I hid what was left of my hope.

  Turning into the spray I let it meld with my tears, dissatisfied and experiencing rejection regardless of his speech.

  I divulged desperation, a force woken when I first heard him caress my name in the darkness of the den at the home of the F.F. I need him to be whole. Now more than ever. He's raided my aura with subtle exploration and I know the only way to return to a semblance of who I was before is to get it back. The only way to get it back is to do what he refuses, what he denies me.

  Annoyance festers and I poke the middle of the triangle on my palm, prodding repeatedly. Licking it in harsh slurps so that wherever he is he'll know I'm furious and demanding.

  I hope he's bellowing gruff orgasms in a room full of witnesses.

  The energy answer bombs my womb, scarring my vaginal walls with the ferocity and heat of an orgasm so fierce I almost black out.

  Lying weakened and shaking on the floor of the shower, my soul bleeds away, viscously washed down the plug, inconsequential when ineptitude becomes my mantra.

  I'm nothing without him, I'm left without substance. He's superior in every way and the thought trickles mutilated will out of my scratchy eyes.

  It wasn't what I needed, I don't need the orgasm Mac, what I needed was you validating me as the special entity you proclaim I am.

  Chapter 15

  Emma:

  Roused from my trance I'm lifted out of the shower, the water stilled, my arms pushed into toweling, the black gown secured snug to my waist, taken to his bed, laid out on it with a stern face staring over mine, arms braced in bulging tension either side of me. He's pulled jeans on I note.

  “You need more læraðr. This self-pity is unnatural and poison to you.”

  Sullen, I simply stare back. I'm in no mood to diagnose the depths of my failings.

  Exasperation flitters briefly before the jötunn removes his threatening incarceration from my sides to make the all too familiar sounds of gold juice being poured.

  “Come on Em, sit up and drink.”

  Whatever.

  Grumpy, seething, I do as he orders, taking the drink in the same sized quartz tulip he uses. I have to use both hands.

  How do I know this isn't some kind of mind altering drug they use to make victims complacent?

  It's still a powerful potion, immediately injecting fever into lame muscles, rekindling the fire in my soul, imbuing my courage with the strength to meet his accusing gaze with my own.

  He smiles, knowingly. Patting my leg he reseats himself for more comfort, slipping a hand behind his back, “I have a gift for you.”

  Arching both eyebrows I petulantly remain silent, unwilling to see how flexible my principles are, or exposing them for his perverse amusement again.

  What an ego trip it must be to be so strong and invincible. Tall, graceful, sexy, good looking, he's got it all. Women must make complete idiots of themselves around him. I'm just one more arrow on the chain of humiliation.

  Glowering now I watch as he presents me with an amber hued crystal full of jagged edges. It's big enough to fill his hands.

  “That's like your bedside lamp,” I comment, wondering why he's giving me a stupid night light.

  “It's a love crystal, Emma.” Resting it precariously in his left palm he uses the right to rub my leg in patronizing affection, “Elskling you need proof. Words aren't enough for you. I'm not going to fuck you to prove your worth because degrading the weak isn't my M.O.... this is.”

  He holds the crystal up between us. It's a rock really, a big see through rock. “It's activated by love. The crystal will glow until that love ceases. You need tangible proof I mean what I say, well here it is... I love you.”

  As Macala says the words the crystal balanced on his valhalla sigil begins to shine with such brilliance I have to narrow my eyelids to filter out the glare.

  “Take it, it's yours. It's a promise from me to you. When you doubt my words all you need do is check your love crystal and you'll know what's hidden in the depths of my spirit. Only love activates these stones, without love it cannot glow, and as long as I am bound by my emotional attachment to you this baby will light up your darkest corners of doubt.”

  And just like that the walls of pride come smashing down. I'm either horrifically easy to manipulate or I'm crushing badly for this romantic sap.

  I can't take it because I'm still employing both hands for my supernatural imbibing. Moisture prickles my corneas and I search his lensed eyes, peering into the shroud of black ringed in the orange inferno of the mighty, “You love me?”

  His Adam's apple dips and bobs, nodding in his stead as honesty forces tension into the atmosphere, “Yes.”

  It's curt, tight, awkward.

  “For real?” I pry, sitting up properly to relinquish my drink to the shelf on the bedside table, curiously placing my hands on the crystal still between his.

  The illumination increases to such a degree I have to look away, now sun blind in the natural dimness of the cave.

  “And you love me.” Mac sounds half surprised and partially delighted by his statement.

  “Yeah?” I snap, looking back at him. �
�How would you know?”

  “The love crystal quadrupled luminosity when you touched it. Bonding with us both, it's now radiating with the love in two hearts locked by the same goal. It betrays your secrets better than the Book.” Settling the stone down on the bed he reclaims the hold on my leg, squeezing it until the sensation is uncomfortable. “How can you love me? I've had months to fall in love with you but you've only just met me.”

  I shrug, my temerity blanched after the recent rejection, I am unwilling to incriminate myself further by giving such new and vibrant emotion voice.

  “Em,” he whispers intimately, stooping his height to examine my eyes, “it's because I love you that I didn't … you know.”

  “No Mac, I don't know. It was obvious to me that we were both naked and willing, and you just snapped the umbilical cord because of your stupid pride and adherence to archaic perceptions of right and wrong.”

  “You're stung.” It's a shocked inhalation as he sits upright and squares his shoulders, only serving to make him even more irresistible.

  His naked chest is fucking glorious and it felt so good resting my head on it to listen to his heart. It's an aphrodisiac which enslaved me the second he lulled me to sleep in his arms when he stole through the forest. It's home. The mental confession scares me because I loathe needing anyone.

  But I need you, properly, without reservation. I'm stuck in hinterlands until I'm anchored in stability, and you're not offering a shred of stability.

  Analytical reasoning lifts a cobra hood over our precious moment to sway in vindictive jealousy. “Who gave you your crystal?”

  Am I a fucking consolation prize in this equation?

  “My mother.”

  Oh! Shame comes back strong to paint my cheeks in betraying heat.

  Chuckling under his breath he leans over, crushing me in a bear hug and kissing the top of my head, “Little angel you are a wreck. If I'd known respecting you would leave you so unstable I'd have screwed your bones into the bathroom floor and just put you out of the misery you're determined to suffer in.”

  “Too little too late,” I grumble. “Friend or foe, pick one.”

  Releasing me he stands, staring down at me looking utterly flabbergasted. “How can you even ask that?”

  “You took me from my life, brought me here, subjected me to ludicrous dogma, cocktease me within an inch of my life... what exactly is your agenda? My mind can't take anymore fucking!”

  Pouncing off the bed I stomp right up to the unnaturally tall man and blast both hands into his chest with all the ire I can muster, “I'm not a conquest! I'm not a game! I've had enough!”

  Storm calm he snares my hands against his torso, pressing them with such harshness I fear my bones are being flattened. It's electric, the tension, as if lightning is about to strike out of the shadows.

  The shadows! Ohmigod.

  They're racing at us, billowing atramentous miasma to obscure the cavern in midnight fog, locking us in the eye of his silently violent anger.

  “Mac?” I panic, ineffectually trying to snatch my hands back, watching the shadows deaden to such an evil black it's scaring the toenails off me.

  They swirl, opening a channel to a lone rock shining through the dark apparitions, glimmering hope and haven in a declaration so silent he's shouting it at me in a vacuum.

  The crystal throbs brightly, announcing his heartfelt emotion - love. He put his heart on the line, buried pride, and I freaked out like a typical bitch.

  We have nothing but emotion guiding our way. Logic is faulty, hearts are truth.

  “We belong to the light, Emma. We belong to the dark. I'm sorry I hurt you but I swear on my honor that I am noble in my intentions. I'm not a human wanker. I'm not going to fuck you at the first available opportunity, and if that's all you think you deserve then feel free to go back to the society you pretended to shun. Maybe I misjudged your devotion to the Fallen Fraternity. You gave me false hope.”

  The char grilled mist descends, blocking my vision of everything in choking black, my hands released, my senses dulled with the pain in his tone and the chastising guilt swallowing me as surely as the mist-ery.

  He's gone.

  I'm alone in his piceous tempest, I pushed too hard, I snapped, I'm... I need therapy is what I need. I've got issues and I need a man who is willing to be normal, not take the little normal I have and upend it to see how much of me falls out.

  Closing my eyes, gripping my triangle to my heart, I wish with all my might for sanity, for reprieve, for mercy, for forgiveness.

  “Emma!” It's so close and loud I jump, squealing.

  Flicking my eyes open, looking all around, I can't see a damn thing because the black fog is whiter than bright, impenetrable and thick, cloying and multiplying cloud faster than cotton candy.

  “What the hell is going on!” I screech in alarm.

  I reach through the powdery brume, smacking something solid.

  A hand clutches mine, lifting to lips, kissing my fingers, the valhalla triangle belonging to the hand pulsating through the milky cloud, bleeding red through it.

  Stepping right up to me so I can see him, he crouches to my level, looking at me eye to eye with our noses touching, “You did this. I should have known.”

  “Very funny Mac! Now make it go away.”

  “I can't, your power did this, not mine. You must dismiss the ether, not me.”

  “Dismiss the ether? Har har, very funny. For the record this is scaring the heck out of me so quit bullying!”

  His sigh disturbs and agitates the wafting brilliance dancing condensation between us, adhering to his black eyelashes with specks of white.

  “Whatever you did, do it again, just wishing it would vanish. Release your hold and free it,” he instructs patiently.

  Frustrated and more than a little overwhelmed I shout at the choking oppression, “Go away!”

  It gyrates in such frenzy I'm losing orientation.

  “Give me your left hand,” orders the man I can't see, yet again.

  Waving my hand in his vague direction it's caught, our palms locked together, the furnace of his sigil burning into mine, bubbling my blood, screaming lust out of my lungs, hoarsely grating pain in molten agony, and I'm on my knees, prostrate and broken by the man with all the fucking power.

  This repetition is getting old.

  I'm electrocuted, my body spasming in vicious bone jarring shakes. Knocking my forehead on the floor I curl into myself, shattered, sobbing. My hand is released.

  I can't... do... this... any... longer.

  I can't.

  Wailing my anguish I scream hysterically when he tries to touch me, folding in so tightly to my knees I block the oxygen flow to my head.

  It makes the pain stop. My blood throbs. My ears pound. Apoplexy licks my neck and stomps my awareness into the dust coating my lips.

  Chapter 16

  Emma:

  Humming pisses on my sanity and I snap my eyes open to tell Mac to go back to hell when the hoary man watching me clams my mouth shut and bombs my world with panic.

  Inclining his head at me his long silver hair falls forward, his face surprisingly gentle, his eyes two glowing orbs of magnificence. I'm ready to have another aneurism.

  “I am Kake, and you are Emma.”

  It's a statement.

  Or maybe it was a rhetorical question... or–

  “You need space away from Macala, he is pressing all the wrong stimulants in your body, so for now you will be in my care,” he continues.

  “Uhm...” my voice is a hiss, rasping in devilish atrophy.

  “Do not speak, you screamed loud enough to bring this mountain down. We all heard you bellowing hysterically for him not to touch you, and you have my word that I will personally ensure he does no such thing.”

  He gestures to the tall glass of water next to my chair.

  Darting my paranoid focus back and forth I decide to not watch him and grab the water. Lord knows I'm thirstier than Moj
ave soil.

  “I am the chief of the Raven clan. Macala is my grandson and third in command. I apologize for his lack of compassion, I thought he was up to the task.”

  “What task?” I manage to scrape through my raw throat.

  Surveying me from my naked feet to the puffy black gown Mac wrapped me in, I'm suddenly aware that I must look a complete mess.

  “Opening your mind to the truth. Your father was Lars, his dormant genes within you are now wakened with the libation of Valhalla. But today you exhibited the antithesis of a Raven. You exposed your owl heritage, Emma. What most folks forget about Skadi is that she was both commander of the dark and owner of the light. You do not command shadows, you do not call darkness down to shroud you, instead you call on the clouds of Asgard. You are a white shadow, destined for the land of eternal sun, where white shadows command and protect.”

  “Tell me about my father,” I insist, really not giving a flying fart about the rest of their mythology.

  “It is not mythology, Emma. Look at my eyes, I see everything. Speak out of turn again and I will escort you to the door and out of my hospitality. Show me the respect as the one man who can turn your night into everlasting hell, or turn your day into light so bright it'll burn the eyes out of your head. Don't disrespect my heritage because of your ignorance.”

  Jeez!

  “Right, thanks for the drink. Where's the way out?”

  He laughs at me. It's so hearty and exuberant it's messing with my stubborn shield.

  “Aaah, now I see Macala's challenge. Good for you Emma.”

  “Whatever,” I grumble, already standing, looking for the exit.

  “Emma, sit down.”

  And just like that my legs fold and plop me right back in the chair I was in. “Hey!”

  “Stop being a fool. You are willing to challenge me? Are you sure?”

  “Burn my eyes out, what the fuck do I care? I'm not afraid of you or your magic!”