Valkyrie's Claim: Paranormal Romance (Academy of the Immortals Book 2)

by Angel Lawson

  I bite back a retort and turn on my heel, headed for the door. Just before I get there, he adds, “All of this can stop whenever you want it to, you know that, right?”

  I pause, my fingers on the doorknob. Without facing him, I say, “I’m not handing over the key.”

  “As long as you understand your options.”

  An image flashes in my mind. It’s fast and furious and begins with me running across the room, leaping over the desk and wrapping my hands around Roland’s throat.

  Not yet.

  The Immortals aren’t ready. I’m not ready.

  I open the door and walk through, slamming it behind me. I’m not afraid of a little punishment, but I am afraid of those two starting the apocalypse.

  12

  Hildi

  The knock comes early, and loud, waking both me and Elizabeth.

  “What’s that?” she asks, rubbing her eyes. It’s still dark outside.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s for me.”

  I toss back the covers and climb out of bed. In the hall is a student, looking nervous. He hands me a folded sheet of paper.

  “Report to the maid’s quarters. Ten minutes.”

  I shut the door and stare at the paper.

  “What does it say?”

  I crumple the paper and toss it on the floor. “That I’m supposed to go to the maid’s quarters. I don’t even know where that is.”

  “Second floor, near the medieval history room.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I pay attention to something other than hot Immortals.” She burrows underneath the covers. “I’d wear something comfortable.”

  I narrow my eyes at my roommate. “Have you ever been in trouble before?”

  She bats her eye lashes innocently. “Nope, but I’d just be prepared for anything. The Immortals are right. Victorine is terrible.”

  I tug on what I hope is a suitable outfit, along with the boots I like to wear during training. Three minutes have passed. It’s so early, everyone in school is still asleep. I braid my hair on my way down the long staircase and pick up speed to get to the hallway where medieval history is held. I glance in the room and on the board is a design of a wheel with spokes sticking out.

  Turning the corner, I see the open door to a storage closet.

  “Hello?” I call, tapping on the door.

  A slight, willowy woman looks up from a cleaning cart. It’s filled with supplies; bottles of cleaners, towels, toilet paper, sponges, and brushes.

  “I was sent down here,” I say, realizing there are other women in the room. They have the same body shape and round faces. They wear the same outfit, a black skirt and blouse. All watch me warily. “For punishment.”

  One of the women jerks her thumb toward a shelf. “Grab a uniform and start filling your cart. We roll out of here in five minutes.”

  I don’t see where I’m supposed to change. In fact, the toilet is out in the open and I see a stack of beds lining the wall. Six. I count the women. Twelve. Do they all live in here? I’ve never thought about the people that worked at the Academy before. I honestly thought this place was fueled on magic or the will of the gods. The shame I feel as I undress isn’t about being exposed. It’s about not realizing who all lives in this place and what they do for us.

  “Here’s your assignment,” the woman who told me to change says as I button my shirt. I’m three feet taller than the women that live in these tiny quarters and it makes the outfit three times too small. It’s not supposed to be sexy. It’s basic and plain. Unfortunately, when I bend over, anyone nearby will see my ass.

  She holds out a sheet that lists what needs to be done in each one. Take out the trash, make the beds, clean the bathrooms… All of that is bad enough but it’s not until I see the room numbers that I pause.

  “These are the dormitory.”

  “Yes.”

  “The top floor.”

  “Yes,” she starts pushing her cart out the door. The others follow. “The suites.”

  I’m well aware of who lives in the suites. Marielle for one. Luke is another. And down the hall from both of them is Marshal.

  This isn’t about making me pay for skipping the challenge.

  It’s about humiliating me in front of my allies and enemies.

  “So what? I’m supposed to just clean up after these people?”

  “You do what’s on the list and anything else they ask you to do,” she says. “And you do it quietly, with zero attitude and as fast as possible.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” I ask, feeling the familiar wave of defiance roll up my spine. I’ve never been great at following directions.

  All of the woman pause, their carts stopping in unison. The woman that’s been speaking to me this whole time looks up at me. “I don’t know what you did to get sent down here, but trust me when I tell you that it’s important you do your job as you’ve been told. We’re judged as a whole. If one of us screws up, the rest of us are accountable.”

  “What?” I frown. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “We aren’t seen as individuals. We’re seen as a unit.”

  I search the faces of the others and they all hold my eye, confirming what she’s said.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. “Who are you?”

  “Names don’t matter, but our people, we come from a realm called Alante that provides servants to the royals.”

  I don’t like the fact she said names don’t matter, but I sense the nervousness in the women around me. “Fine. I’ll do my job and not cause any trouble.”

  She nods. “Thank you. Usually, the students ignore us. Maybe they’ll ignore you, too.”

  I grip the handle on my cart, pushing it ahead of me, knowing for certain there’s no way in hell Victorine will allow that to happen.

  I dump the trash.

  I scrub the toilets.

  I wipe down the countertops.

  At first, no one says a word, at least not to me. I see their mouths move. The whispers. And everyone watches me closely.

  In response, I bite my tongue.

  For the women of Alante. I can do one day of this while they suffer through a lifetime.

  I push the cart down the hall and tap on the next door. “Housekeeping,” I call, knowing most of the students are now at breakfast. I have a key that allows me entry to all the rooms, which makes me think that if someone accuses an Alante of stealing, they’re screwed.

  I step inside and scan the room. The bed is messy and unmade. Expensive shoes are overturned by the closet. Whoever lives here is gone. I reach for the trashcan by the door and toss the contents in the larger can attached to the cart.

  I walk to the bed and straighten the sheets. There’s a note on the list that says when sheets should be changed. This one has another day.

  I bend over and spread my hands over the comforter as my eyes fall on a framed photograph by the bed. It’s of a woman with long blonde hair—she’s older—but not old. Thirties, maybe. She smiles at the camera, her belly full. Her hand rests gently on the top.

  “Well, isn’t this a welcome sight.”

  I look over my shoulder and see Luke standing in the bathroom doorway. His shirt is partially buttoned, revealing his very toned upper body. His pants hang perfectly over his hips and he holds a toothbrush near his twisted, smirking lips. He’s way too perfect for a kid.

  A kid.

  Jailbait, for real.

  I straighten, very aware of how short this skirt is.

  “I’m almost done.”

  “Don’t rush on my account,” he says, disappearing into the bathroom and walking back out without the toothbrush. His long fingers move to the buttons on his shirt, fastening them one by one. “What’s going on with all of this, anyway?”

  “Punishment for missing the challenge last night.” I grab a few empty soda cans and trash spread around the room. “Apparently, humiliation is one of Victorine’s favorites.”

  “And you didn
’t tell her to fuck off?”

  I laugh. Luke knows me better than I thought.

  “Can’t. She’s got me on this one.” I look around the room, my gaze landing on the photograph again. “She’s pretty.”

  Luke’s jaw tenses. “She was. That’s my mom. Pop sent her away when I was eight.”

  “Where?”

  He shrugs. “Who knows. He was worried about her influence—you know, that pesky little humanity I carry in my genes.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Parents always are, right?” He shoves his foot into his shoes.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  He frowns. “Why not?”

  “I don’t have parents. Valkyries are born to serve Freya and Odin.”

  “So they’re kind of like your parents?”

  “Yeah,” I say, feeling like all of that was a long time ago and very, very far away from this world. “I guess so.”

  I walk to the door.

  “Hildi,” he says. I turn back. “Don’t let that bitch drag you down. You know that’s what this is all about. Getting under your skin and making you second-guess yourself. It’s a bold strategy, but it also reveals something about her, too.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, curious to hear.

  “That’s she’s afraid.”

  13

  Marshal

  I wake to the sound of chanting outside my suite. It’s godsforsaken early, and my head pounds from the drinks I had the night before. My living room is a mess, I’d had a few people over post-challenge. Once the adrenaline wears off, it’s a good time to see what the other students at the Academy are thinking about the violence they’d witnessed in the cage fights.

  Mostly they’re scared.

  A few are disturbingly turned on.

  One or two seem thoughtful about it, like Darius. I’m keeping an eye on him.

  I’m not sure when everyone left, but I recall tossing them out; particularly a shapely redhead that seemed intent on staying the night. I do recall kicking her out, then stripping off my clothes, and crashing on the couch.

  I slide off the couch, bottles crashing to the floor.

  “Bloody hell,” I mutter, kicking them out of the way. I catch a glimpse of myself in a long mirror hanging behind the couch. My body is long and lean. Muscular. A deep V cuts my hips, just above the black shorts I’m wearing. I do stop and grab the robe hanging behind the door. It’s not about modesty, but presentation. Presentation, at all times, is key.

  Even if you’re still tipsy from the night before.

  I slip my arms into the sleeves, but not tying the belt. I swing open the door and call out, “What the fuck is going on out here?”

  A cluster of students is in the middle of the open space just outside my door. They part enough for me to get a glimpse of what’s happening. There’s a person on the floor, wearing the black uniform of the cleaning staff. She’s on her hands and knees, backside facing me. I see the smooth curve of skin and sliver of lacy black panties under her skirt.

  Marielle stands over the maid, foot on her back. Her eyes sparkle cruelly.

  “She made a mess and needs to clean it up.” She bends over, pushing the maid to the floor. “Maybe if you use your tongue, it’ll come up faster.”

  Everyone laughs, and the sound rattles around my head, making my skull feel like it’s about to split in two. One of the guys makes a thrusting motion toward her ass.

  Fuck. No.

  “If you want to fuck with the help, have at it, but could you do it a little quieter? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

  The maid’s head lifts and I see the shimmer of white blonde hair, and the profile I know as well as my own. My eyes flick to Marielle’s, who gives me a knowing smile.

  “Are you done with her?”

  “Almost. I still see a few more shards.”

  “Shards?” I ask.

  “She broke a glass.”

  I sniff the air and catch the tangy scent of blood. I push through the crowd and see Hildi’s hands—her fingers cut and bloody. She glances up at me. Her eyes are ice blue and her jaw tight and set.

  “Seriously? You realize that my entire suite needs cleaning, and the last fucking thing I need is for her bloody fingerprints to ruin my satin sheets.” I bend down and grab Hildi by the collar, wrenching her off the floor.

  She jerks up, fingers raw and bloody. I clench my jaw and glare at Marielle. “I suggest you figure out a way to clean up that blood.”

  “It’s her job.”

  Seething rage rattles inside of me.

  “Her job is to clean up the messes we made. Not the messes you force on her. Godsdammed fools,” I mutter, spinning on my heel. I push Hildi toward my room, and she stumbles over her feet.

  I grab her by the arm and drag her into my room.

  “Go clean up. There’s a lot of work to be done.”

  14

  Hildi

  He slams the door, shutting out the vultures in the hall. I can’t look at him. I’ve never, not in my entire life, been so humiliated, so degraded.

  I glance to the side and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. In a few hours, I’ve lost myself. I look nothing like the strong, empowered, sexy warrior I know myself to be. My shoulders slump. Blood drips from my fingertips. I spot Marshal behind me, jaw so tense it may snap in two. I turn away, horrified that of all people, he’s seen me like this.

  “You’re making a mess on my floors,” he says quietly. I hear his footsteps on the hardwoods as he walks over and touches my shoulder. Something inside me cracks, unleashes, and I spin, my hand already outstretched, careening towards his face. He catches my wrist, slippery with blood, and shining green eyes meet mine.

  I don’t say a word. I can’t.

  We stand inches apart and I stare at his bare chest, at the planes of muscle and the scattering of hair that builds as it travels downward. He’s caught me at my weakest. My most humiliated, and if he ever wants to get the upper hand, here’s his chance.

  Marshal shrugs off his rob, and I close my eyes, still caught in his grip. I feel the flutter of soft cotton graze my legs, then unexpectedly wrap around my sore fingertips.

  “We need to get these cleaned up.”

  I blink at the softness in his voice. “What?”

  “Your fingers. Gods, they’re butchered. What the fuck happened out there?”

  I look up, taking in his face, processing the pained expression. “I was cleaning. Marielle walked out and dropped a glass right in front of me and…”

  “First, why were you cleaning?” He takes in my uniform. “Spying?”

  “Punishment. From Victorine for not going to the challenge yesterday.”

  His jaw tics.

  “So she made you clean rooms.” He chuckles darkly. “Classic Victorine. Degrading and efficient.”

  He unwraps the robe, now soaked with blood, to see if the bleeding has stopped. He gestures to the couch. “Sit. I’ve got some supplies in my bathroom.”

  I move to the couch, stepping over discarded bottles of alcohol and stubbed out cigarettes. The room is a mess. Marshal has clearly continued to celebrate Roland’s appointment. I sit anyway, tired from being on my feet all morning.

  He returns a moment later, tugging a shirt over his head with one hand and carrying a small box in the other. He rests the box on the coffee table and straightens his shirt. He’s still only in a tight pair of shorts, which are eye level as he rummages through the box. Once he’s picked out a few bandages and a pot of ointment, he brushes off the table and sits across from me. I don’t fight him when he takes both of my hands and rests them in his lap.

  “Is there a reason you didn’t tell Marielle to fuck off?”

  “Yes.” I watch his long fingers pluck a cotton ball off the table and douse it in clear alcohol. He dabs it over the painful, sharp cuts.

  “Care to expand?”

  I wince in pain and he pauses, looking at me with cautious eyes. I exhale, and h
e continues. “Let’s just say that my disobedience would have caused problems for other, innocent people.”

  That answer, and the cleanliness of my wounds, seems to satisfy him. He picks up the ointment and carefully coats my fingertips. The salve is warm, heating my fingertips. It clearly has healing properties. “I’m assuming Victorine held something else over you, too.”

  “Are you fishing for details?”

  He pauses, locking eyes. “I’m trying to figure out exactly why the bad ass Valkyrie that takes zero shit from anyone was bent over, with her ass hanging out, picking up glass dropped by an inconsequential vampire?”

  “I cleaned toilets, too.”

  He mutters a curse under his breath.

  “She gave me a choice,” I admit, not sure why I’m telling him. Also, sure that I’ll regret it. “I can give her the key, and she’ll stop the challenges.”

  “I’m assuming you said no.”

  “I said no.”

  “Which means the punishments will continue.”

  “I’m seeing more toilets in my future.”

  He gently wraps my fingers, one by one, in bandages. “It’ll get worse.”

  “I can take it.”

  My fingers are cleaned and wrapped, but he hasn’t released my hand. We just sit across from one another for a long, strange heartbeat.

  “Marshal,” I say, wanting to ask him to come back to our side. Give him the opportunity. Maybe he knows he was wrong. That this was all a ruse. It’s impossible to know with him.

  He lifts my hand, gently kisses my fingertips, then stands.

  “I’m going to take a shower.” He glances around the room. “I expect all of this cleaned and tidied when I get out. Then you can start on the bath. I expect it to sparkle.” My jaw drops, watching him stroll across the room. “And don’t forget the sheets. They’re filthy.”

  He walks into his bedroom and slams the door.

  Once again, I let my guard down around this bastard and once again, he proved me a fool.