by L. VanHorn
His hands grip me and turn me toward him, then move to cup my face. “Nor I, ye. We’ll keep our wits about us,” he says.
Turning into his hand, I kiss his palm. He shivers and lets out a little moan that tightens the muscles between my legs. My tongue darts out and licks his skin. As his lips press against mine, my fingers work at the laces of his breeches. They’re still loose and are easy to untie. I push the leather down over his hips. His cock bounces against me. I take it in both of my hands, squeezing as much of the hard shaft as I can.
“Now? Are ye sure?” he asks against my lips. Even as he speaks, one hand goes up under my tunic and grabs a breast. His fingers massage, working their way to my nipple. Wetness spreads between my thighs as he tweaks the hard nub.
I pull my tongue from his mouth back into my own. “Gods yes,” I say.
His hand relinquishes its hold on my breast to slide down my stomach and over the mound of hair at my pelvic bone. A single finger slides between my wet folds, moving slowly up into me until I want to scream with the pleasure of it. But I don’t dare, not knowing there are others out there.
Somehow the danger makes me even more desperate for him. I realize there is no way I’m going off to fight and possibly die without riding him one more time.
Giving me a crooked smile, he bends down and bites one of my breasts through my tunic. He sucks hard at it, nibbling the nipple. Even through the fabric, the sensation is enough to make my vision blur. Again and again his finger plunges into my sheath, reaching as deep as he can. I’m panting out a steady rhythm by the time he withdraws his fingers from me.
Grabbing my hips, he lifts me and braces me against the wall. My legs wrap around him as his cock slides past my wet folds and inside me. I’m so tight I can feel the curves of his cock’s head and each ridge along the length of it. Again I have to bite back against a cry. There is something exciting about having to be quiet.
All thoughts about others melt away as Grím slides out and back into me. His stroke is long and slow, making it wonderfully clear just how big he is. My muscles tighten around his cock. He throws his head back and moans so softly I almost can’t hear it.
I press my lips to his ear. “Harder, faster,” I beg him.
That charming grin spreads wider on his face. Our eyes lock together as he thrusts into me again. He holds my gaze as he pumps again and again. My breath starts to come in ragged gasps. Hands tightening on my butt, he slams into me with a tempo that makes me light headed. Stone bites into my back but I don’t care.
The head of his cock starts to swell inside me at the same time his eyes begin to glaze over. Just the sight of him taking such pleasure in me sets every nerve in my body on fire. My sheath muscles tighten as he starts to push me over the edge.
“Now, Grím, now!” I gasp.
Impossibly, his thrusts become faster, his cock hitting the end of my capacity in a dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure. His seed starts to spill into me as my muscles convulse around his cock. I buck against him as he rides it out, thrusting into me several more times after he cums.
For several long, wonderful moments, we simply embrace, chests heaving together. Lips locking onto mine, Grím shifts his hips and slides out of me. I empty a disappointed sigh into his mouth. Much as I’d love to stay locked together with him though, I know we have to check the ruins.
After cleaning up, donning our armor and weapons, we creep out across the hill. The moist morning air fills my lungs, clearing away the light-headedness left over from the love-making. I’m reluctant to let go of the sensation even though I know it’s for the best. Crouched low, hand on my sword hilt, I tiptoe across the rocky landscape beside Grím. A stone wall and half a crumbled building stand between us and the closest sign of smoke. Grím points at me, then to his eyes, then to the right side of the wall. He then points to himself, his eyes, and the left side of the wall. Nodding, I start toward the right.
Three figures lay beneath half a roof, their prone forms circling a smoldering fire. Their bodies are hidden beneath fur blankets but I can see two of their faces. Though both are covered in bristling blond beards, I can tell neither of them are Steinn. The third man lays facing away from me.
Carefully placing my steps around the loose rock, I move to the north of the structure. Scrubby green bushes offer a slight cover. Peering through them, I get a good look at the third man’s face. It isn’t Steinn.
A sigh slips from me; part relief, part disappointment. Hyper aware of the sun that is beginning to warm my back, I make my way back to Grím’s side. Silently, we move on to where the next curls of smoke climb from the ruins. Two sleeping men this time, and again, neither of them is Steinn. Without a word, we move on.
At the final location all we find is an abandoned, smoldering fire. The impressions in the grass and moss reveal that at least five bodies slept here recently. The muscles lining my spine tighten as if a fat spider has just crept up it. My stomach clenches at the sensation. Hand tightening on my sword hilt, I start to make my way back to Grím. We only separated a few dozen feet to flank the camp but right now it feels like a few hundred. Our eyes lock and his furrowed brow tells me he feels the same thing I do. Something isn’t right here.
My gaze flicks across the hillside. Every half crumbled wall and partial structure seems to harbor menacing shadows.
“Well, well, well. It’s about damn time I was able to get you two together in one place,” says a voice that rakes across my skin like sharp steel.
Blood pumps through my body at a furious rate that brings everything into sharp focus. I turn toward the sound of that voice, teeth bared and grinding.
A broad Viking frame stands just up the hill. Yellow sunlight frames his armor and fur-clad silhouette.
“Steinn,” I hiss, hardly registering what he said.
But Grím has a better grip on his wits than I do. “What do ye mean, ye got us together in one place?” he demands.
Drawing a sword as tall as he is, Steinn takes a few steps closer, moving between Grím and me. The position couldn’t be better, which is why it doesn’t make sense. That feeling of wrongness vibrates through me again, stronger this time. Steel scrapes against leather as I draw my sword.
Small rocks tumble not far behind me. A glance reveals two men at my back, maybe ten feet away. Sunlight glints off the blades of their swords. Turning sideways, I split my focus between them and Steinn. In the time that I glanced back, two men had come up to flank Grím. Good as we both are, I don’t like the odds.
Grating laughter erupts from Steinn. “You two haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” he asks.
I try to take a step closer to Grím but one of Steinn’s men blocks my way, giving me a toothy grin. Anger boils inside me, heating my face. I really don’t like anyone standing between Grím and me. On some level I figure that should bother me, but it doesn’t.
“Figured what out?” I ask. If he wants to make a game of this, I’m fine with that. It may give me a chance to work my way around him or his men. Grím and I stand a better chance if we can fight back to back.
“That when you’re together you open a door between the worlds,” Steinn said, voice thick with derision as if speaking to a daft child.
I glance at Grím. He shrugs and nods. It does explain the landvættr, fenrir, and níðhöggr. Still, I’m hesitant to believe anything out of Steinn’s mouth.
“How? Why?” I demand.
A deep, cackling laugh erupts from Steinn, the sound filled more with disgust than mirth. “Because you’re half-elves. Those from the upper worlds have the ability to open doors when two of them are together,” he says with a roll of his murky brown eyes.
The hair on the back of my neck tries to stand as I realize I can see his eyes because he has moved closer. So much for me being the one to distract him.
From too far away comes Grím’s voice. “I’m goin’ to take a wild stab here and guess ye aren’t a full-blooded human yerself.”
An almo
st begrudging respect gleams in Steinn’s eyes as they cut toward Grím. “Right you are, half-elf. My father was Jǫtunn. Which means this is my world, not yours.”
The lump that forms in my throat nearly chokes my breath off. Jǫtunn from Jǫtunheimr, one of the three earthly worlds. The name literally translates to ‘giant’. Looking the man over, suddenly it all makes sense. The Jǫtun have hated the Alfhiem since Odin and his brothers slew Ymir and the frost giants and created the earthly realms from Ymir’s body. At least, that’s the way my mother had told the legend to me.
The men behind me start to close in. I point my sword at one, giving him a look that should stop any sane man. It works, for now.
“Why open the door, Steinn?” I demand, growing weary of this talk. I long to see blood on my blade, his blood.
His piercing eyes fall upon me. “To let in Loki’s pets and prepare for Ragnarök, you daft wench,” he says.
Something like a growl issues from Grím. I give him a pleading look, and he holds his ground.
“Why did ye kill me parents, her father? Was it just for sport?” Grím asks.
As his eyes dart back to Grím, Steinn’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “Partly, yeah. But mostly because my Lord wanted me to bring you two together, and I knew if you were both hunting me, well then, you were bound to find each other,” he says through a huge, almost maniacal looking grin.
A sound close to a whine comes from one of the men behind me. “Can we take her now, Steinn?” one of the men says.
The other behind me cackles. “Yes, I want to pump that pretty little ass,” he says.
Steinn laughs, eyes on me. “Filthy dogs. They’ll ride anything, even an Alfhiem.” His gaze shifts to one of the men behind me. “Have at it,” he says.
Grím roars in fury and lunges my direction, only to be intercepted by Steinn. Much as I want to leap to his aid, I can’t. Movement at my back forces me to turn.
From above me a sword hilt descends. I duck and dodge sideways. The brute shifts his movement, swinging an elbow in my direction. Dropping low, I easily avoid the blow and slash out with my dagger. The short blade slices through the man’s boots and bites deep into his calf. A feral scream followed by a colorful curse erupts from him. Another blow comes from a second man to my right, this one an actual blade swinging at my shoulder. The blow is slow, though, as if he doesn’t want to do too much damage.
Of course he doesn’t, the bastard. If they thought with their heads instead of their cocks, they might actually be a challenge.
I laugh as I raise my sword and block the blow. “You’re making this too easy,” I say.
With a flick of my wrist, I spin my blade around his and fling it away with enough force to send his sword flying. As his arm is thrown wide from the momentum, I thrust my sword straight into his chest. His leather armor offers little resistance to the razor-sharp point. Turning, I see a hand coming for my shoulder, the other bringing a sword hilt down at me, again. That he can still think of raping me instead of killing me after I’ve gutted his companion speaks volumes about his intelligence.
I step to the side and bury my dagger beneath his armpit. His eyes widen, his mouth drops open. The surprise on his face almost makes me laugh. Before pulling my dagger out, I twist it. Warmth washes over my hand. The moment I pull it free he collapses in a heap.
Steel ringing upon steel draws my attention back to where Grím is. Two warriors lie still near his feet and he’s battling Steinn. From the sweat on Steinn’s brow and the fear in his eyes, it’s obvious who is faring better. A nauseating mixture of elation, relief, and jealousy floods through me.
Stepping over the twitching bodies, I dash toward Grím. My movement draws Steinn’s gaze. Rather than look worried though, a smile creeps over his face. Then his eyes flick past me.
Wings crack the air with enough force to rival the sound of thunder. Wind whips my hair forward, obscuring my view for a precious moment. I drop low, slide to the left, and spin around.
Talons scrape the rock where I had just stood. They are attached to a reptilian foot that is half the size of my body. Silver scales fill the sky.
“Kyra!” Grím screams from somewhere up the hill.
My throat tightens. He can’t afford to allow himself to get distracted right now. “I’m fine!” I yell back.
A cry of pain sets every nerve in my body on edge. My heart starts to beat again, though, when I hear the clash of swords. My attention is pulled away by a serpentine tail the size of a Viking’s torso that’s whipping toward me. Only a moment to crouch and spring up is barely enough, but I manage to sail high enough into the air to clear the beast’s tail. The slick scales skim my booted feet, sending me tumbling.
Steel clangs against stone as my sword goes flying. I roll to my feet, drawing my dagger as I do so. The sight of the monster before me nearly makes me drop my horribly inadequate blade. Massive bat-like wings extend out from a body that is easily thirty feet from hindquarters to head. Horns curve back from a head held high with an almost regal air. Talons the size of my dagger adorn its four feet and fangs twice as long fill its elongated snout. Long jaws open wide, revealing row upon row of those horrible fangs.
It looks like a mountain of silver scales that is about to swallow me whole. No matter how hard I will it, my body refuses to move. The fear this thing instills in me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Jaws opening wider, it reaches for me. Halfway to me, it stops, huge slanted eyes opening wide. A scream issues forth from it that causes a sharp pain in both my ears, then leaves them ringing.
Lips curling up, eyes narrowing, it spins away. My wits return to me in a rush as I realize what distracted it.
“Grím! Run!” I say.
Dagger thrusting out before me, I leap for the níðhöggr’s belly. The scales are softer than they look. My blade plunges hilt deep into them, somewhere just between its front legs. But the beast is in mid-stride and as its tree trunk sized leg comes across, it slams into me. For a moment I’m weightless. Then I slam into the rocky ground with such force that my teeth clack together and pain explodes through my leg as something in it snaps.
Wounded and weaponless, I can only watch as the níðhöggr turns toward Grím. He stands at the beast’s flank, trying to yank his sword free. Buried hilt deep as it is, there is no way it’s going to come out. That long neck snaps around with the speed of a whip, and its jaws close around Grím’s mid-section.
A scream tears from me, leaving my throat bloody in its wake. Sunlight gleams off of a blade lying between me and the níðhöggr. The leather hilt of my sword beckons from no more than ten feet away. Swallowing my pain, I drag myself across the distance.
When my hands close around the hilt, they’re shaking so hard I can barely grip it. Hearing Grím’s pain-filled cry gives me a strength I hadn’t known I possessed. Using my sword as a crutch, I stand and hobble my way to the níðhöggr. Even with the support of the sword every step is agony as the bones in my leg shift and cut into me. After an eternity I’m finally standing beside it. Balancing on my good leg, I raise my sword high. Every ounce of fury and pain within me adds speed to the swing. The blade cleaves deep into the beast’s neck until its spine slows the momentum.
The níðhöggr releases Grím as it screams. Scales flash and suddenly I’m on the ground again, an impossible weight on my chest.
“No, no, no,” Grím chants in a thick voice from somewhere nearby.
A dull pain, more of a pressure really, starts to spread out from my chest. I can’t sit up, or even roll over. Grím’s handsome face, wrinkled with worry, appears above me. The amount of blood soaking his upper body nearly stops my heart. Two gaping holes mar his leather armor, one showing the glistening innards of his stomach, the other showing red and blue things I can’t identify.
For some reason it takes two tries before I can speak. “Oh no, Grím, you’re hurt so bad.”
Tears burn my eyes and roll down to leave scorching trails on my cheeks. I reach for him
, trying to sit up again, but I can’t. My hand brushes his cheek. One hand holding his guts in, he falls to his knees beside me. Instead of reaching for my hand, his other hand reaches for my chest. I manage to lift my head and look down at myself.
The níðhöggr’s clawed foreleg lays across me, covering my entire chest. It’s dagger-like talons are buried in me. Even seeing it doesn’t make it hurt, and that worries me a little. But I’m more worried about Grím and whether or not he’s still in danger.
My eyes flick around, making me dizzy and revealing nothing. “What about Steinn?”
“The coward ran when the níðhöggr showed up. But I doubt he’ll make it far. I chopped off ‘is right arm,” he says with the shadow of a grin.
My lips pull up into a smile. “He’s done for sure. But what about Loki’s plan?” I ask, having to force each word out.
Eyes straying beyond me, Grím almost smiles. “Its foiled. The beast is slain,” he says.
His eyes slide closed and tears leak from them. My hand slips to his shoulder and I grip it as tight as I can. Though I try to shake him, I’m haven’t the strength to do it properly.
“Grím, don’t leave me, Grím!” I cry.
His eyes flutter open, bathing me with their blue brilliance. Within them shines devotion the likes of which I never imagined a person would aim at me.
“Never,” he says.
Shoulders slumping, he leans forward, nearly falling on me. As well as I can, I pull him down beside me, helping to guide him as he collapses. My arm snakes around him. His head lies next to mine.
Swallowing the thick, coppery liquid in my mouth, I tell him, “If we get separated, I will find you. Nothing and no one in any of the nine worlds will keep me from you.”
Soft as a butterfly, his lips brush my neck. “Nor I from ye. I will find ye, I will always find ye…” His voice trails off, followed by a long, shuddering breath. Focusing all the miniscule strength left in my body, I force my head to turn toward him. Burying my face in his short, dark blond locks, I kiss his head.
