Taming the Alpha

by Mandy M. Roth

  His sandals were the only items he wore that didn’t look brand new. They were worn through, as if he’d walked a thousand miles in them.

  “Allfather.” Rig touched his brow with his fingers and bowed his head.

  “Oh, please, Rig. This isn’t a formal gathering.” He gave a little wave of his fingers at her. “It’s nice to meet you in person at last, Shyla. Muninn has told me all about you. I’m Odin.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Hello.” Shyla faltered, sagging back against the wall.

  “If your warriors marks bother you so much, why don’t you ask Rig to make them disappear forever? Like the one he erased from your hand.”

  Rig snarled. “This isn’t about that—”

  “Why not let her decide, Watchman?” Odin’s silver eyes flashed a warning.

  Shyla didn’t understand what was passing between the two, but she did understand one thing. “You can make these go away?”

  Rig’s shoulders fell. “It’s not so simple.”

  “Be careful,” Odin’s voice was soft but there was an undercurrent of something dangerous lurking.

  “There is a price,” Rig reminded her. “There is always a price. You may not want to pay it. I don’t want you to pay it.”

  Shyla was taken aback. “So tell me what I have to pay!”

  “I can’t!” Rig pointed at Odin. “He and his ilk won’t let me.”

  Odin let out a tired sigh. “We have rules to follow, too, Watchman.”

  “Damn your rules.” Rig’s fists clenched and unclenched, as if he longed to strangle the old man.

  Odin caught Shyla’s gaze, held it. “As if the return of your beauty weren’t enough—”

  “She is beautiful with her scars!” Rig interjected.

  His words thrilled her. She couldn’t deny that. But they were, after all, just words.

  “You could save the lives of millions with your choice,” Odin pointed out. “Or doom them. What price is too high to pay for the chance to save so many?”

  Shyla reeled. “I don’t know.”

  Odin turned to Rig. “Take her to the Lund in the Park. Let her blót take place there, if she is not too selfish to join our cause. You have all that you need?”

  Rig put his hand to the chain around his neck. “You know I do.”

  “Then there is no time to waste.”

  Odin disappeared in a roar of wind, leaving behind the black crow’s feather, which floated down to the ground in his wake.

  “What was that?” She snapped. “Lund? Blót? Can’t you guys speak English? And the shit he said about my scars—is that true? Can you make them disappear?”

  Rig’s cheek twitched. “A Lund is a Sacred Grove. There is a tiny group of trees in Central Park that will serve.” Rig took her arm and steered her without glancing at her. “A blót is the ritual that must be performed to make you one of us.”

  She dug in her heels, not liking the sound of that. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “You want your so called ‘flaws’ gone don’t you?” He snarled, dragging her now. “You want to be perfect.”

  Shyla face suffused with heat. “It’s not about being perfect,” she cried. “It’s not a vanity thing.”

  “Then man up, Roth. Let it go.”

  “Fuck you.” She snapped, yanking her arm free. “Fuck you and your flawless face. You don’t know what this is like! How it feels to look in the mirror and be reminded that you let your friend die. To never be able to walk through a crowded room with your head held high and not hear pitying whispers—it’s awful!”

  “I am not mortal. I can never be mortal.” He enunciated each word carefully, glaring down at her. “If you choose this, you will never have that luxury again. Think about that.”

  “Is that all that happens? I stop being mortal.”

  He growled. “No.”

  “Then what price do I have to pay?” She demanded to know.

  “A steep one.”

  “Is the whole world really in danger?”

  “Yes.” He answered.

  Rig turned and led them across a busy intersection. Shyla had no choice but to follow or be left behind.

  The park wasn’t far. She could see the greenery now. The pace he set was brutal, but she didn’t complain. Her mind was furiously working. Yes or no? What’s the right choice here?

  “So no matter what I decide to do, this Ragnarok is going to happen. And by the way, I’m not an idiot; I’ve read a lot. I know Ragnarok is the end of the world.”

  “Ragnarok doesn’t mean the end of the world,” Rig said. “It’s a battle that will bring about great changes, that’s all.”

  “But it could be bad.”

  “It could also be good.” He countered.

  “Depending on what I choose?”

  “Depending on a lot of factors.” Rig let out a long, pent up breath as they entered the park. “I don’t want to do this, Shyla. But I will, if it’s what you want. I like you. I’ve liked you from the start—it’s true,” he said when she scoffed. “I want you. It doesn’t take much to see why you’re a woman worthy of the gods’ notice. You’re stubborn and brave, clever and quick. But you’re all of that on your own—you don’t need their help in being anything more than what you already are.”

  They fell silent, walking deeper into the park, into the trees. She thought on what he said, something sticking with her. I don’t want to do this, he’d said. What didn’t he want to do? Wasn’t this her ordeal?

  She couldn’t bring herself to ask her questions; afraid he might not answer them. Afraid that he might.

  They came upon a small group of trees, different from those around them, it was foreboding. In the center stood a large, gnarled ancient Ash. Its roots were large, peeking up from the loamy soil. The shadows here were deep and silence reigned. This grove was separate from the land around it, distanced by some magic that was far older than the modern city that had sprung up on its borders.

  This, then, was the Lund. The Sacred Grove.

  Rig took her hand in his. His gaze caught hers. “The gods set me on a journey to find you three years ago.” There was a formality in the way he spoke.

  She gaped. “What?”

  “They had seen you prior, but they chose you at the cracking of the world. The Jörmungandr, the Great Serpent, caused the rift that took your friend’s life. The gods witnessed your bravery then and knew you for the warrior you are.”

  Shyla pulled at her hand, but Rig would not relinquish it. “The gods mended the rift, healed the earth, but not before you took your proof—your injuries and your articles—out into the world. You sounded the alarm, warned the people of what was coming. Few listened, but there are those who believed. Those people will be drawn to your side when you call. We will need them and many others in the battle to come.”

  He leaned down, put his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. “Will you be our champion?” His voice cracked on the last word, as if it pained him. “Will you take up the Spear, be our Valkyrie Queen and one day lead Odin’s army in the Final Battle?”

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. It appeared he’d said all he had to say. He let go of her hand and took a step back, waiting.

  Shyla thought, fast. It had been a crazy couple of days, no doubt. But could she handle more?

  Could she really go back to her boring life?

  Muninn woke up, her grip burning in Shyla’s shoulders. The afternoon sun was lowering over the horizon above the cover of the branches.

  “You don’t have much time. Make your choice,” Rig urged. “Yes or no?”

  She searched Rig’s face. “You said you liked me.”

  “I do.”

  “I think I like you too.” God, I feel like such an idiot.

  He frowned, worry in his eyes. “Don’t let that cloud your thinking or sway your decision. You don’t even know me.”

  Shyla scoffed. “I know. Still, it’s something to start with, right? I won’t be alone in this.�
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  “Don’t.”

  “You’ll be with me.”

  “No, angel—”

  “I will be your Valkyrie Queen,” She said before he could finish his objection.

  “Death is our refuge,” he muttered bitterly.

  Quicker than she could think to scream, Rig drew his sword and stabbed her through the heart.

  ***

  Shyla blinked and found herself in an ornate room furnished with gold, amber, and bronze. The walls were heavy with crimson and woad blue textiles and the sun filtered in from gaps in the heavy timbers overhead, in rainbow prisms of light.

  “I thought you’d end up here, but I never imagined how you’d come to be here or why.”

  She spun around to find Rig leaning against a thick, golden beam. He was dressed in an animal hide loincloth and his hair was longer, thicker. His voice was deeper too. “Rig?” She asked tentatively.

  He gave her a mischievous look. “That’s a little complicated, angel. The answer is yes and no. Here on the borders of Valhalla, in my castle, I am called Heimdallr. I am Guardian of the Bifrost, the ways between worlds, and the keeper of the Horn that will sound at the end of all days. I am the Shining God, the Watchman—”

  “You’re a showoff, Rig,” she snapped. “And you stabbed me! In the heart!”

  His expression turned somber. “I told you there was a price to pay.” He prowled closer. “And it’s not even near being paid yet.”

  She eyed him. “There’s more?”

  He nodded. “Oh yes.” He reached for her, spun her around and buried his face in her hair, breathing deep. “But we have some time. Not a lot, but some.”

  His hands were up under her jacket, her shirt. They were squeezing her breasts through her bra and that fast she was putty in his hands, panting, and pressing her hips back against his loins.

  He was hard, rigid against her backside.

  “Let me love you,” he rasped. “Let me slide inside your heat one last time.”

  One last time? Hell, she’d let him do it as many times as he wanted, so long as he touched her like this. He was acting like this was goodbye.

  Shyla moaned and moved against him so that there could be no doubt as to her enthusiasm. Rig tugged at her clothes and soon she was standing topless in front of him. She tried to turn and face him but he wouldn’t let her. He pressed kisses to the back of her neck, nuzzling and nipping her, scraping her delicately with his stubble.

  He plucked her nipples with his fingers and led her, nudging her across the room to a divan that was piled with thick, soft furs.

  Rig peeled her jeans off and pushed her down onto the furs. Her breasts and belly rubbed into the softness, heightening her arousal. He pressed his chest to her back, as if imprinting himself on her. His palms stroked every inch of her exposed flesh, especially savoring the curves of her bottom.

  He bunched several furs up under her pelvis, tilting her rear up high. He tested her with his fingers, finding her slippery. He groaned, pleased and slid two fingers into her.

  Shyla arched back into his touch, aiming her cries into the furs, muffling them. No one could make her feel so hot, so fast as Rig. His fingers moved inside her, curving just right, and she almost came up off the divan, screaming his name.

  He licked her shoulder, nibbled her ear. “You’re the most responsive woman I’ve ever known. I could do this forever. But, alas…” He sighed.

  The round, thick slide of his cock into her sheath made her cry out anew. He entered her on a long, slow slide that went on forever. The deeper he reached, the more she wanted and the more he gave. He put his arms on either side of her, his hands stroking her hair and face. His lips whispered over her skin.

  He rode her, gently at first, then harder. The grunts and moans of their lovemaking filled the room, the scent their bodies made a unique perfume that intoxicated them, edging them ever closer to release.

  Rig slid her over the furs, let the texture tease and torment her. His fingers found their way to where their bodies were joined and worked their magic. Shyla gasped for air and tasted him with every breath.

  “This is all I ever wanted,” he said, so low she almost didn’t hear.

  Soon words were beyond them, their bodies said all they couldn’t. She met him thrust for thrust. They tried to prolong the ecstasy, but it was an effort in futility. The crashing tide flooded over her and Shyla drowned in it. Rig followed her, filling her with his pleasure, the cries of his delight echoing in her ears.

  He held her so tight…

  “Shyla, it’s time for you to go.”

  But she didn’t want to go. Not if it meant leaving this behind.

  Is that the price? Giving up Rig?

  No. No way. If that’s the cost, then the price is too steep.

  I don’t choose this! I don’t choose it!

  On the heels of that thought, the golden room disappeared.

  A storm of rainbows roared through her head.

  The gods had come calling. So Shyla decided to make a bargain with them. If they wanted her badly enough, they’d pay her price, damn it.

  Epilogue

  Shyla blinked and gasped around a mouth full of bittersweet water. The great tree in the middle of the Lund swam into focus and she sat up. Her clothes were back on and the front of her shirt was wet and sticky with blood.

  Out of long habit, she took off her camera lest it get ruined by the mess, though she wondered if it could ever be damaged by such ordinary means anymore.

  Rig was there in front of her—the GQ hair and clothes version of him, anyway—and he was eying her warily.

  She scowled at him.

  He bowed his head. His hair looked blue in the twilight. “My Queen.”

  “You are such a weirdo,” she said and gathered him close in desperate embrace.

  Rig started. He could feel Shyla’s heart beating against his. He didn’t understand it. She was a Valkyrie now. She should have no heart beat.

  She was supposed to be a savage creature of rage and retribution. She should hate him, revile him and thirst for his blood after what he’d done to her.

  Yet here she was, hugging him as if she hadn’t seen him in ages, when they both still reeked of cosmic sex play.

  She pulled out of his arms—though he didn’t want to let go—and winced, looking down at her ruined clothes. “There’s no wound.”

  He shook his head. “You can thank the Water from the Well of Urd. I brought it to revive you—it healed you completely.”

  A bittersweet smile curved her lips and she touched her face. “Not completely.”

  He frowned.

  “My scars are still here.”

  So they were. “I don’t understand,” Rig said, frowning. “Odin promised you—”

  “I made him change his terms.”

  Rig felt as if he’d been sucker punched. “You did what?”

  “I had a meeting with the big guy and his dad, some dude named Hermod and a few other people I can’t remember. I decided the scars weren’t so bad. I’d rather keep them than give up my heart. That’s just crazy.”

  “But Valkyries can’t have hearts. They can’t be trusted to feel empathy or love. They might show mercy when mercy should not be granted—”

  “Yeah, yeah, stow it Watchman,” Shyla quipped. “I heard all the arguments and then some. I convinced the gods that a Valkyrie Queen needs her heart to choose the best fighters for this Ragnarok.” She sighed and took his face in her hand. “Look, they found me when I was fighting for a friend—that’s not heartless. The other Valkyries can be brutal and fueled by nothing but bloodlust and rage, but I need to feel hope and friendship and love in order to make sound decisions. It’s just how I roll.”

  “How about like? As in, you think you like me?” He asked, voice soft. “Did that have anything to do with your argument?”

  Shyla’s cheeked turned a rosy shade of peach, but she rolled her eyes to bluff through her shyness. “Maybe. You are spectacular
ly good in bed and I’d hate to miss out on that because I’m too busy being a raging cow.”

  “You have no idea what I’m like in bed. We’ve never made it to bed,” He teased.

  Shyla’s blush deepened. “Well, maybe we can find one. After I wash this blood off.”

  For the first time in decades, Rig knew an excitement that had nothing to do with battle or food or even sex. He was excited to spend more time getting to know this woman. This Valkyrie.

  Have faith in us Watchman. There is a plan. There always was. You out of all of us should have seen that.

  Rig ignored Odin’s voice in his head, took Shyla’s hand in his and left with her to seek out their next adventure. Together.

  The End

  About the Author

  Sherri L. King is the bestselling author of The Horde Wars series and Sterling Files series. The book Legendary Choice is to be continued with Legendary Touch (Coming Soon).

  www.sherrilking.com

  The Bet

  by Kennedy Kovit

  Blazing Hearts Series

  Tyson is a man with a dark past and he isn’t much on wagers. But when his best friend bets him that he can’t romance the pants off their boss’s daughter, he can’t resist. See, he’s had the hots for Ms. Lexie Garnes for years, but she was too young to act on it. Now that she’s a college graduate, and more than legal, he’s all in. Tyson can’t hide his feelings for Lexie any longer. With a bet on the table, he has no choice but to man up and find a way for her to accept him and his kinky bedroom tastes.

  Lexie is glad to be back down south. Her time away did her good but made her miss home. Middlefield may lack excitement, but it has something Boston never did—Tyson Morrows. Her father’s ranch foreman is sexier than ever and suddenly seems to have eyes for her. Is this too good to be true? Will his commanding hands in the bedroom prove to be too much for her and what will happen when she learns he only made his move because of a bet?

  Chapter One