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

by Angel Lawson

  She stares at me, daring, annoyed, about to explode.

  “I’m not talking about sex, I’m talking about discipline.”

  She opens her mouth to say something cruel, I see it on her tongue, but I’m ready to stop playing games.

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  “You’re making time.” I thread my fingers with hers and before she can resist, guide her inside my rooms, shutting the door with a click.

  “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work,” she crosses her arms over her chest. I continue walking toward the painting on the far wall.

  “What am I trying to do?”

  “Use all your meditation, mumbo-jumbo, peace and tranquility bullshit on me.”

  Gods, she’s paranoid. Not that she doesn’t have the right to be, but it’s not a good mindset for battle. Victorine has one motive—and that’s to throw Hildi off balance, and the rest of us with her.

  I stop in front of the painting; it’s of a Japanese garden with a small hut in the middle. There are no flowers in this garden—just green. A small stone path leads from the edge of the painting toward the small house with many opaque windows. A stone basin sits outside the door.

  I turn to find Hildi standing next to me, also looking at the painting. The lines on her forehead have smoothed, her breathing slightly settled.

  “What is that?” she asks.

  “Home.”

  I hold out my hand.

  “Do you not trust me?”

  The flicker in her eye tells a mixed story. Yes, she does, but she’s also wary. She stares at my hand for a long moment, but then takes it.

  Emotion rushes though me, bright like a light.

  I grip her, holding tight, and step through the painting, taking her with me.

  29

  Hildi

  The first thing I notice is the air—warm and humid—different from the atmosphere of the Academy. The second is sunlight warming my face. The most startling is my change in wardrobe. I knew these were enchanted portals, but I didn’t know they could alter our appearances. Miya’s wearing a dark silk robe, hanging loose, over a gray top. A thick skirt hangs from his hips, with a formal-looking tie at the waist. I look down and see that my robe is a pale green, with a deep purple band at the waist. My hair has been swept up in a knot behind my head. Sandals are on our feet.

  He inhales deeply, like he’s taking the first breath in a long time.

  “Is this really your home?” I ask, looking ahead at the small hut.

  “No, not specifically. It’s a chashitsu, a teahouse. In my endless lifetime, it’s the one thing that doesn’t change. Not in centuries. They’re always the same, from the garden to the structure, to the nourishment provided inside.”

  There’s a softness to his voice I’ve never heard, and I can’t help but notice how tightly his fingers grip mine. Like he’s truly worried I’ll take off.

  “Show me,” I tell him.

  He smiles and directs me to the basin, instructing me to wash my hands. He dips a ladle in the deep, clear pool of water and then pours it over my hands. He does the same and then he takes the lead, and I follow him up the wooden steps and into the small, airy chashitsu. We remove our sandals and enter, passing through a small alcove. He slides the door shut, closing us in.

  The single room is sparsely decorated, but every object seems to have meaning. Miya speaks in a low, reverent tone, pointing out the scrolls decorated with flowers, small, smooth vases, and candles lighting the room. A small fire pit sits in the middle of the room. There are thick mats on the floor and he urges me to kneel, and he vanishes in another sliding door across the way. Already I feel calmer, like the air here is cleaner, doused with something purifying.

  It’s only a few moments before Miya walks back in the room carrying a tray in his hands. He walks toward me, settles on his knees, and lays the tray on the floor. First, he sets a bowl between us and gestures for me to take one of the round balls inside.

  I pop it in my mouth, tasting the sweetness on my tongue.

  He proceeds to make the tea, using scalding water to fill a bowl large enough to fit in two hands. The process is slow and in excruciating detail. I watch in fascination as he uses the whisk and shifts the bowl in various direction. It all happens in the warmth of the tiny space, our knees close, our breaths mingling. As he goes through the ritual, I feel the tension easing in my neck and shoulders. The anger and violation I’d felt before walking through the painting lifts, dissipating like the steam wafting from the tea.

  Miya’s expression is calm, peaceful. His lips purse as he concentrates. I study the sharp slant of his cheekbones, the flat tip of his chin. He’s not a warrior in these walls, the killer’s edge is gone, and the person I look at is a man of deep history.

  He finishes his preparation and holds out the bowl, shifting it in various directions, before offering it to me.

  I take the glazed ceramic bowl in my hands and it heats my fingers. He watches me closely, with deep emotion in his eyes, as I tip the bowl back and take a sip. The liquid warms my entire body, down to my toes.

  I have no idea how long we’re in the teahouse—how long we’ve left the world outside—but Miya stands and bows. I do the same. His fingers reach out and graze down my cheek, and his dark eyes peer into my soul.

  “Better?” he asks, always worried about my well-being.

  “Yes, thank you, for allowing me to experience this with you.”

  He smiles, it’s slightly bashful, a side of the man I’ve never seen. His eyes drop to my mouth, almost in question. I lift my chin in reply, relieved when he steps closer and slips a hand behind my neck. The brush of his lips is gentle, the feel of his mouth, tranquil. The lick of his tongue, transcendent. My body swells with emotion, connection, purpose. We pull apart and I see the heat in his eyes, but it’s tempered. He’s good. So good.

  There’s no mistaking what he’s trying to teach me. Slow down. Keep my emotions in check. Follow the process. Nourish my mind and body.

  It’s a gift—he’s a gift, one that I want to unwrap slowly, like a cherished gift, when he’s ready and I’m ready.

  Then we’ll tip the scales.

  30

  Hildi

  Something strange happens following the ransacking of our room. In the hallways it’s subtle, guarded, but after being on the other side of snide, hostile looks for weeks, I can sense it.

  “Did you see that?” I ask Luke after passing a group of students.

  “See what?”

  “That guy, in the middle, Radcliffe? Every time I pass him, he spits on the ground. Like right in front of my toes.”

  His nose wrinkles in distaste. “So?”

  “So today, he didn’t. He just walked by and did nothing.”

  We take the stairway that leads toward the training room. Luke is my unwanted chaperone, something the guys thought up. They claim they’re worried about the key, not me. I can take care of myself, but since I’m the only one that knows where it’s located I need to be protected as well.

  We get to the banner and place our hands on the wall, an instant later we’re in the training room. I’m struck by the scent of sweat and exertion, but that’s not all…that’s the other change since the ransacking.

  The room is packed.

  It turns out, people do not like the idea of the administration going through students' rooms and invading their personal space. Suddenly, I went from being a pariah, only worthy of cleaning toilets and serving food, to someone sympathetic. Elizabeth, the innocent bystander, is almost a hero.

  This led to students revealing themselves as unaligned with Victorine and Roland. People who had been too scared to step up. Students that have been angry and keeping their mouths shut.

  And we opened our arms and training room for them to find a safe place to land.

  If they pass the tests.

  Each person goes through a rigorous process with the Immortals. First, they have to get approval
from Agis, who uses his innate ability to read lies to weed out anyone unsure. Then they go through a round of hand-to-hand combat with Armin, weapons use with Miya, and strategy with Rupert.

  Only then do the Immortals converge, discussing each person that wants to join. It isn’t easy, and they must show their allegiance. If accepted, Miya places a mark on their shoulders, one that will burn if they attempt to betray us.

  If they aren’t accepted? Rupert utters a spell from an ancient text he uncovered that muddles the mind—erasing everything they learned about us.

  It’s manipulative and immoral, both things required during a battle this important. Luke wanders over to the weapon wall—he’s obsessed, each day trying something new. I scan the room and see Elizabeth going through some books with Rupert, she’s better at the intelligence side of warfare, and Darius and Agis sparring in the ring. There’s a group surrounding them, both learning and watching. The mood is positive, and I exhale, feeling a strange sense of stability.

  “Hey,” Armin says, walking over. His chest looks fantastic in a gray, tight-fitting T-shirt. “Get here okay?”

  I’d be offended if it wasn’t so cute. “Are you really worried about me walking from my room?”

  “I’m worried about you all the time,” he confesses.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can, but every leader has a target on their backs and it’s our job to keep you safe. You wanted the role, Hildi, it comes with protection. Something we should have been doing a better job of all along.”

  He’s sexy like this, the little lines on his face deep-set and sincere. Guilt and worry are familiar to him. Now it hangs like a chain around his neck, and consequently, mine. I understand what he’s saying. I feel the weight of our alliance more, too.

  “Things have been calmer since they ransacked the room. No chores, no punishments, no demeaning tasks…maybe they think I don’t have it anymore.”

  His lips form a thin line. “They’re probably just regrouping.”

  “Well,” I say, nodding across the room at the students, “so are we.”

  At that moment, cheers erupt around the fighting ring and Agis stands over Darius. The God of Death is unlikely to be defeated, regardless of his opponent’s abilities. Darius could transform into a wisp of smoke, and Agis would still get him in a choke hold. I watch as he stretches out an arm, offering to help the shifter off the ground. A few minutes later, Agis walks over, sweat glistening off his chest. I have a strange sense of déjà vu looking at him bare-chested. I glance away, down at his hands, and my body heats inexplicably. If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that Agis’ hands have not been on me.

  From across the room, Rupert's eyes drag up from whatever he’s studying and pins me a hard look. Armin shifts on his feet. Shit. Can they feel that? The heat rolling down my skin? Do they just sense my arousal, or does it make them horny, too?

  This bond? It’s complicated.

  I take a deep breath and exhale. Agis doesn’t seem remotely affected.

  “Although there are a few good fighters in the group,” he says, “I’m worried about any of them going up against Victorine and her monsters. They’re just green. They do okay in the ring, but in a real-life situation, things will get tricky.”

  We all look over at Luke, who has entered the ring with Darius. They both look so young.

  “They’re smart, too,” Rupert says as he walks over. “The royals sent their best and brightest. Too bad so many are poised to die.”

  “Way to be a downer, Ru,” I say.

  “He speaks the truth,” Armin agrees. “Coming to the Academy is almost as bad as going to a death camp. Few will come out alive, regardless of what side they choose.”

  I hate this negativity. I hate the fact the guys feel like they’re on the losing side. It’s probably the passivity. They were created for battle—not sitting on the sidelines. There needs to be hope, like what I feel when I’m connected to Rupert and Armin on a physical level. Or like what Miya showed me in the tea garden. There’s a way past the negativity.

  I look across the room at Elizabeth, then at Darius and Luke. They deserve better.

  And I think I have an idea of how I can do it.

  Word passes around in a whisper, muttered from ally to ally. No one knows the true destination. The keys are how to find the entry point—not through a lock—but by warming when they reach the painting in the hall.

  I get Elizabeth to help me—it’s clear she needs something fun to focus on. Together we pick out our outfits—again I slide into leather, this time a skirt—my roommate in a shimmery dress. We’re perfect opposites.

  “This is perfect,” she says as we walk through the portal. “How did you find this place?”

  “The Academy holds a lot of secrets,” I say. “Including some of mine. I thought this would be a good place to build a little camaraderie.”

  The tavern looks the same as last time, smells the same too, a little musty and damp. I walk over to the bar, placing a bag on the counter. “This should cover it.”

  The bartender pulls the string and looks inside. A small smile tugs at his lips. “Seems sufficient.”

  He hands me a bottle and two glasses. I carry it over to my roommate and hand her one, filling it with warm, brown liquid. “Thank you for being such a good roommate and putting up with all my bullshit. There’s a lot.”

  “As much as you think this is about you, Hildi, it’s not. We’re in this together. I made my decision a long time ago.”

  I hold up the bottle and clink it with her glass. I take my drink straight from the bottle, feeling the warmth in my belly.

  The first people through the doorway are students, each with a look of wonder and excitement as they cross through to the tavern.

  “What is this?” Luke asks when he comes through the painting. His eyes widen as he takes in the whole room.

  “An opportunity to forge bonds and get to know one another better. I also thought maybe we could use a reprieve from fighting and challenges and the administration.”

  “Do you think they’ll notice we’re all missing.”

  “If they’re doing their job.” I look toward the door. More students are filing in—all familiar faces from the training room. “It was a risk coming here—but that’s true for joining any alliance.” I study Luke. “Do you have any regrets?”

  “Not one.”

  I hand him the second glass that I’m still carrying and fill it to the top.

  “Have a good time, Luke, and try to stay out of trouble.”

  He grins and tips the drink back, already looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him in days.

  The painting shimmers and four big men enter, instantly making the tavern look smaller. Luke jabs me with an elbow. “I think you’re the one that needs the warning to stay out of trouble.”

  The familiar warm flush heats my skin. It happens every time I’m near or really, just think of the Immortals. The bond with Rupert and Armin is strong, the one with Miya grows every day. And Agis? I want to say we’re making advancements, but it’s not true. He’s a hold out—disbelieving. Yet every time I see him my lower belly tightens, and I get the feeling there’s something more.

  “What’s going on here?” Armin says, resting his hand on my hip. “We got your message.”

  “Clearly so did a bunch of other people,” Agis says, warily looking around.

  “Because it’s a party,” I say. “And we’re more than just five or six people now. We have a whole group—people we need to get to know, learn to trust, and also how to do more than just fight with. Go get a drink. Talk to someone new. Let down your guard.”

  That last one would be the hardest.

  “I’m definitely in for a drink,” Agis says, definitely not convinced.

  Armin kisses my temple and nods at Rupert to join him at the bar.

  Miya steps forward. “This is very wise of you.”

  “Thank you.”

>   “It’ll take more than one night to build these bonds.”

  “I’m just hoping it will kick things off.”

  “It will.” We both look over at the bar where the guys have squeezed in. Rupert talks to Elizabeth and Armin to Darius. Luke, who has the most contentious relationship with Agis due to their fight in the ring, approaches the hulking Immortal. A few moments later, they seem deep in discussion. If hand gestures are any indication, it has to be about weapons.

  “The gods knew what they were doing when they put you in our path, Hildi Axel.”

  I feel his hand on the small of my back. A gentle, reserved touch. A thrill runs up my spine. He walks past me toward the others, ready for a drink. His word echo in my ears. He’s right, of course, but the gods didn’t just put me in their path, they were put in mine. Every day that passes, every touch, every moment that transpires between me and the Immortals proves that something bigger is at play.

  31

  Miya

  “The night was harsh, filled with snow, sleet, and hail. That didn’t stop us from scaling the sheer cliff of the mountainside. We started that day with ten-thousand soldiers, by nightfall we were down to a thousand. We kept climbing, knowing facing the wrath of Camulus was worse than the battle ahead…”

  From a darkened back corner of the bar, partially hidden behind a thick curtain, I listen to Agis’ retelling of the battle we had on a lower realm so many years ago I can’t even recall. It sounds fantastical—exaggerated—but even today I can feel my frozen fingertips and that hard stone beneath my nails. These kids—and they are most certainly kids—listen to every word like it’s gospel. They should.

  “What happened when you got to the top?” Luke asks.

  “We claimed higher ground and waited, thinking for sure we had the upper hand.”

  “You didn’t?”