Dreams of a Dark Warrior iad-11

by Kresley Cole

  Having a Valkyrie for his mate had done nothing to curb his arrogance. He behaved like an immortal already—even more arrogant and lordly—thrilling her. “Wóden will look upon me with favor,” he’d told her. “No male could treasure his daughter more than I do you.”

  ’Twas simple enough. Regin desired him above all males and knew she always would, which meant two decades was far too short—

  He stumbled through the door.

  She gave a cry, leaping to her feet. “Thank gods, you’ve returned! Where have you …” She trailed off at the wild look on his face. “Aidan?”

  His eyes ablaze, he dropped his bloody ax, then ripped off his sword belt and crimson-stained tunic. His tattooed chest heaved as he stalked toward her, his expression warning her to take a step back. Then another.

  “Aidan, say something.”

  “They tried to keep me from you.” He backed her into the table, cornering her, predatory.

  “Who? The vampires?”

  “No one keeps me from you. Not immortals, not men, not a god. Nothing can keep me from you.”

  “Aidan, wh-what are you doing? You’re on the very edge. You must calm yourself.”

  “My life passed before me, Reginleit. I’d rushed to battle because I want you forever—only to fall without a single night inside you? The idea sent me into a frenzy!”

  She’d never seen him this far gone when not fighting. They both worked to keep him from reaching his berserkrage, knowing he’d lose control to the beast within.

  The beast that roared inside him to claim its mate.

  “I left a wake of death to return to you”—his hand shot out to cup her nape, yanking her close—“to make you mine in all ways.” He dipped his head to nip her breast, making her gasp. “Tonight I’ll ride your little body till you scream with pleasure.”

  “Have you fever? Are you maddened?” She shoved him away, but again, he stalked closer. “You know why we can’t!”

  “We can! You are mine to claim. Ohalla is mine to take! I demand it all—mine by right.”

  “This is the berserkrage speaking … speaking nonsense. Think about what you are saying! We’ve set our course, and we will be steadfast.”

  Regin knew that the hotter his rage, the faster and stronger he’d be. If she didn’t make it out of here with a burst of speed, all would be lost. She feinted left, then ducked to the right, sprinting past him—

  He caught her dress, snatching her back.

  “Aidan, nay!”

  He seized her in the cage of his arms, carrying her to their bed, dragging her down with him. “’Tis unnatural to deny this fated need. You know this—you feel it too!”

  Before she could escape, his hands fisted in the front of her dress. With a roar, he rent the material clean from her body, his smoldering gaze raking over her breasts and lower to her sex.

  He was going into that mindless state, his muscles bulging even more. “You wanted me to claim you before. Is that no longer true?”

  “Of course I want you to, but not yet!”

  He tore off his boots and breeches, rising up above her. His mighty shaft swelled with lust, moisture beading the proud crown.

  Raw male. Against her will, the flesh between her legs dampened, her breasts growing heavy.

  Whenever the spirit of the bear quickened inside him, she responded—as if he’d imparted some of his beast, imprinted it upon her.

  Because once it rose, she grew desperate to answer its call.

  Now she fought the growing need. “Nay! Do not do this!” She pummeled his chest, but when he was like this, she was no match for his strength. He caught her wrists, easily pinning them over her head.

  “Aidan, I-I am pleading, just wait—” The words caught in her throat when he dipped his head to one of her breasts, his lips closing over her nipple.

  As he sucked, his finger slid into her core. “Wet for me,” he growled around the peak. A second finger delved as he moved his hot mouth to her other breast, suckling with greedy lips, his tongue swirling.

  Her nipples were damp and throbbing, her sex quivering to his touch. “Aidan!”

  “You’re ready, nigh coming.” But he slipped his fingers from her. She whimpered, undulating for them.

  With her arms still captured over her head, he covered her body with his own. “You are mine, Reginleit!” He rocked his hips between her thighs.

  She felt his thick manhood pulsing, seeking …

  And gods help her, she tilted her hips so it could surge home.

  “Mine!” he roared.

  “’Tis done now, brightling,” Aidan said, his voice hoarse from his bellows of pleasure, his body warm and relaxed over her. “No going back.” He put his forehead to hers.

  She could hardly stem her tears. Over the last few hours, she’d experienced more ecstasy than she’d ever imagined. But now sand in the hourglass had begun to flow. Only so much remained. “Do you have regrets, warlord?”

  “That I was not doing this every hour for the last several months.”

  Somehow she forced herself to smile. “You had better make this the best twenty years of my life.”

  “You think I’ve given up on eternity with you?” He stood, rising before her, naked, big and bold. So beautiful she wanted to weep. “If you knew my feats, the clashes I won to escape those vampires. Don’t you understand? Nothing can keep me from you! Nothing could touch me. With you as my woman, I feel immortal already.”

  And gods, he looked it.

  “Wóden should be honored to have me as a son.”

  “Aidan!”

  “Will he deny me when I win a thousand battles bearing his mark?” He pounded his tattooed chest. “I will win the entire world in his name if I have to!”

  The power of this warlord’s body. The strength of his will. The might of his sword …

  He was so confident that even she began to believe it. If they were together, why couldn’t they do any-thing?

  He rejoined her, covering her once more. “And you will wait for me. I do not ask this of you. I demand it.” His lips descended on hers, his rough kiss brooking no refusal.

  As she arched up to him, she knew she would wait forever. Something about this male had always drawn her, captivated her. She couldn’t explain it, but she was through fighting it. Love or not—this was her man and always would be. …

  More hours of blissful coupling followed, more unimaginable pleasure.

  And afterward, as she began drifting to sleep with their bodies still joined, he cradled her face with his callused palms, brushing kisses over her forehead, her cheeks. “I promise you eternity, Reginleit. And each day I will love you more than the one before—”

  Suddenly pain stabbed in her torso like fire. “Aidan!” A blade had sunk into her? How? In a panic, she pushed up against him. Blood poured as she disentangled them.

  “Reginleit?” he bit out in confusion. A sword tip jutted from his chest.

  “Aidan!” she shrieked. “Ah, gods, no!”

  A vampire loomed behind him; the assassin had traced into their home and stabbed Aidan from behind.

  The vampire wrenched the sword free, raising it to finish Regin as well. “For the lives you took yesterday, berserker! For your wars … now you and your woman die!” He swung; Aidan shielded her with his body, taking the blow across his back.

  Just as the vampire readied to strike once more, Brandr burst inside, cleaving through its neck with his ax. The vampire collapsed.

  Brandr cast one look at Aidan and fell to his knees. “Nay, Aidan,” he rasped. “The fiend must have followed you back.”

  Still struggling to protect her, Aidan rolled onto his lacerated back, reaching for his sword.

  Brandr hastened to hand it to him, but said, “There are no more, my friend. R-rest easy.”

  When Aidan turned his head to her, shock threatened to engulf her. Even as she numbly curled up beside him, in her mind she was still shrieking, still hungering to slaughter the thing tha
t had done this.

  Aidan’s mighty chest labored for breath. “Brandr will earn ohalla and watch over you.” He faced his friend. “Vow it.”

  His voice ragged, Brandr said, “I vow it.”

  Seeming relieved, Aidan turned back to her. “I love you, Reginleit.”

  She swallowed back a sob. This cannot be happening. “I-I love you, too.”

  “Nay. Your heart is … still your own.” He raised a bloody hand to her face, and she knew he’d lost sight in his eyes. “I but needed more time.”

  She seized his hand in both of hers, squeezing hard. “Then take it, warlord. Take more time—you fight for us! You heal so quickly, you can recover from this!”

  But his lids slid shut, his breaths rattling. Brandr roared with grief.

  “Aidan, come back to me.” She wept over him, tears spilling onto his skin. “Come back to me, come back to me!”

  Just before his breaths ceased, he vowed, “Somehow, love … I will find you.”

  * * *

  And Aidan did.

  Yearning for Regin endlessly, he was reborn again and again for the next thousand years, re-embodied in different guises and lives, with no memory of his past. Yet each borrowed lifetime ended more tragically than the last.

  A pair of lovers—bound and cursed by fate.

  Some say ’tis Wóden who punishes Aidan for his hubris, dooming him to perish just when he’s found Reginleit and remembers his love for her.

  Some say Aidan’s indomitable will proves so strong that, at times, he can escape the Reaper’s gaol; but no man can elude that dark scythe forever.

  Others say that the Valkyrie’s kiss was so sweet that it enchanted the mortal, who finds her through eternity by following a mad longing within his heart.

  Whatever may be the case, to this day, Reginleit awaits.

  To this day, Aidan returns. …

  “Check yourself before you wreck yourself?”

  If I hear that one more *$#&%@! time…

  —Regin the Radiant, Valkyrie,

  prankster, modern-day swordswoman

  The only good immortal is a dead immortal.

  —Declan Chase, magister of the Order

  ONE

  Outside of New Orleans

  Present day

  Declan Chase eased his Humvee down a winding bayou drive leading to Val Hall, the estate where a notorious coven of Valkyrie lived.

  My target will be within.

  Regin the Radiant.

  Though his head was splitting from lack of sleep and his usual tension plagued him, he felt a measure of excitement about his mission. Ever since he’d received her dossier two weeks ago, Declan had been impatient to seize this female.

  Perhaps because no other magister had ever captured a Valkyrie?

  Yet he reminded himself that tonight’s target would be merely another capture, yet another prisoner he delivered to the Order—the mortal army to which he’d pledged his life.

  When he spied lightning in the distance, he pulled off into the thick brush, deep enough to conceal his truck. After turning off the ignition, he readied for the night with a swift efficiency born of years of combat.

  He strapped his sword to his side, then checked the pistols in his dual holster and the extra cartridges in his dark flak jacket. More cartridges filled the pockets of his camo pants. He was well aware that a gun couldn’t kill an immortal, but an armor-piercing round between the eyes at close range could bring one to the ground.

  He opened a briefcase filled with sensitive electronics, retrieving a minuscule GPS beacon/listening device. After carefully stowing the bug in another pocket, he tested his radio earpiece.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, the bayou heat was intense, assailing the truck’s cab. With the jacket, his customary gloves and high-necked shirt, he began to sweat. Drops of perspiration trickled down his chest, over the countless scars covering his torso.

  His never-ending reminders of a time spent in hell. …

  Tamping down those memories, he focused on the mission. Tonight’s was one of only two remaining. Then he could return to his island, to his sanctum. To my medicine …

  With that thought in mind, he stepped out into the humid air, then began jogging along the dirt driveway.

  Under a canopy of oaks, he ran through muddy ruts until he reached the estate’s opened entranceway: a pair of battered stone columns, each with a rusted gate clinging by a hinge.

  He turned a corner and slowed, taken aback by the sight before him.

  The Valkyrie’s antebellum mansion was draped in a dense fog that didn’t stir, not even with the breeze. Lightning struck all around the building; the grounds bristled with metal lightning rods. Spectral wraiths flew around the manor, defend-ing it against intruders.

  An incongruous row of luxury cars lined the drive. Inside, loud music boomed and raucous women’s laughter sounded. Intermittent Valkyrie shrieks pierced the night.

  So this was where Regin the Radiant lived.

  Though the Order possessed much information about other species of immortals—such as the vampires and demons—they had acquired only basic facts about her kind.

  Valkyrie had little need for sleep and didn’t eat or drink, instead taking nourishment from some unknown mystical source. Though they varied in looks and abilities, they all possessed superhuman strength, speed, and regenerative powers.

  Declan knew of only one way to destroy her kind: beheading.

  The Order had garnered a few specific details about Regin. History: Thought to be over one millennium in age. Description: Five foot three, slight build with small claws and fangs. Pointed ears. Waist-length blond hair and amber eyes.

  But her most notable feature was her skin. She’d been named the Radiant One because she purportedly had skin that glowed.

  The file had contained no clear photos of her. The exposure would show only a bright light where she was supposed to be.

  Glowing skin. Another freak of nature. Yet she went out freely among civilians.

  She customarily wore two short swords crisscrossed over her back—even in public—and was rumored to be an exceptional swordswoman.

  That skill wouldn’t save her tonight.

  If Declan had been put in charge of this immortal’s capture, then she was a priority to the Order. He’d never failed to bring in a target. He had backup troops awaiting in the city, ready to mobilize in an instant.

  Initially, he’d considered storming this place, inflicting as much damage and destruction as possible. But there were other Valkyrie inside, and though their species was uniformly female, they were among the strongest and most vicious in the Lore.

  Regin might be slight, but she could likely lift a car by herself.

  To bring in a team would risk his soldiers’ lives unnecessarily, and he’d already lost men at a recent capture. A powerful, older vampire had put up a fight as few others ever had.

  Plus, Declan had no idea how to battle those wraiths guarding the house. No, he’d wait until Regin the Radiant was separated from her kindred. Then he’d strike.

  He approached the row of cars, pulling the bug from his jacket. Determining which one was hers proved simple enough. The RegRad license plate on a red Aston Martin was a dead giveaway.

  The field notes in his dossier had described her as ostentatious, prone to flaunting her uniqueness in public. No wonder she’d been targeted. One of the Order’s objectives was to prevent civilians from ever discovering the deathless beings living in their midst.

  He eased open the door and affixed the bug under the driver’s side headrest. After testing the sound with his earpiece, he gingerly shut the door and turned to leave—

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a light, turned to it.

  Through one of the mansion’s front windows, he spotted her, or at least the radiance she emanated.

  She does truly glow. …

  He silently moved in, camouflaged behind a tree about two hundred feet from the front
porch. He couldn’t see her face, but from the back, her figure was curvaceous. She wore a pair of indecently low-cut hip-hugger jeans and a cropped red T-shirt that revealed her midriff.

  Indeed, two swords in black leather sheaths crisscrossed her back.

  Her blond hair cascaded all the way to her waist, except where it was braided into haphazard plaits that jutted out all over the top and sides of her head.

  Declan suspected she would be as attractive from the front; Lorean females often were. He detested all immortals but especially the females. They used their seductive looks as a weapon, a tool to rob mortal men of their senses.

  They will separate you from your purpose, lure you to your doom. How many times had his superior told him that?

  A row of bushes between him and the house rustled. Another enemy lying in wait? The Valkyrie had plenty of adversaries. And they had no idea danger lurked so close—

  The front doors burst open; a woman stormed outside.

  Regin.

  He released a sharp breath.

  Those wild braids held her hair back from her face, revealing all her delicate features. Her cheekbones were high and defined, her nose pert. Blond brows drew together over her vivid amber eyes, and her full lips were parted.

  She radiated a pure golden light.

  A feeling of recognition swept over him. At once, the near crippling tension he’d endured for decades began to ebb. Why? How?

  She wasn’t the first unearthly beauty they’d tracked—the Order’s island compound was filled with them—so he would’ve thought himself prepared for her comeliness. But he feared she might be the most beautiful.

  At least to me.

  “Make a hole, bitches!” she yelled to the wraiths, tossing one of them … a braid of hair? When the red-robed beings parted, she strode down the steps, her thick-heeled boots clicking.

  Out on the lawn, she stopped and cocked her head, drawing those swords with a lethal grace. One of her pointed ears was visible and clearly twitching as she scanned the night. She would see Declan … would sense him.

  He was about to slip back when the bushes nearby rustled once more.