The Viking Queen's Men

by Holley Trent

  Nan laughed softly. “That was one of Ótama’s gifts. You should trust it.”

  The comparison to her forebear filled Tess with peace, but it was short-lived. The noise in her head was too loud. “All I can do is try.”

  “I’m going to go fetch Mr. Gilisson and take my leave for the evening.”

  Tess grabbed her grandmother’s arm before she could turn away. “Wait, you’re just going to bring him here and leave him? No chaperone?”

  Nan shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. This is to be worked out between you, Mr. Lang, and Mr. Gilisson. I doubt they’ll come to blows, sweetheart. Not in front of you, at least. It’d be unseemly because you’re supposed to be protected from violence.”

  Tess snorted.

  Nan sighed. “At least pretend to let your entourage fight your battles. That’s all I ask. Your mother would have wilted at the thought of getting into the thick of things.”

  “Is that a judgment?”

  “No.” This time, when Nan pulled away, Tess let her. “You’re very different from your mother, but there’s no doubt who you come from.”

  Tess let her grandmother’s words settle in pieces into her brain while watching her skirt swish as she retreated toward the double doors.

  Tess sat on the foot of the bed again, and twined her fingers.

  She’d been in Norseton for less than a month, and couldn’t really be expected to understand the ways of the people, but so many of the Afótama customs seemed contradictory. They were descended from Vikings, but because females tended to be the stronger psychics, the women ruled the clan. If Tess was meant to govern, why couldn’t she veto the challenger right off the bat? Why did he get the final say?

  Heavy footsteps became louder as someone made their way up the stairs just beyond the doors. Harvey loped toward the door, and Tess stood.

  “Wait here with me,” she said, and he stopped.

  He looked from the door, to Tess, and swallowed.

  “Please.”

  He nodded, and joined her near the bed. When she sat, with her foot tapping involuntarily and hands shaking, he sat, too, and pressed a hand to her knee. “I won’t let anything happen to you that you don’t want,” he said.

  The words barely registered, because when the man who was apparently Mr. Gilisson bowed in the doorway, he drew all the air out of the room with his presence.

  At least, it seemed that way to Tess.

  Fuck.

  To say she was confused would have been like saying an ice cube sank the Titanic. With him in view, she didn’t feel chagrined about his challenge. It seemed…appropriate.

  He straightened, slowly, keeping his mismatched eyes locked on Tess. “May I come in?”

  Suddenly, Tess had a very good idea of what scary-beautiful meant. It was standing in front of her. This guy was big—not only tall, but also broad at the shoulders. How the hell had she missed him in the soiree? He couldn’t have been there. He wasn’t wearing a tux, but a pair of well-loved blue jeans and a black shirt under a leather jacket. He looked like he could command a Viking longship as easily as a motorcycle club. And she knew a little something about motorcycle clubs. She’d hidden out in one during the year she was nineteen.

  “Tess?” Harvey gave her knee a squeeze and she turned to him.

  “Yes?”

  “He asked to come in. I think you know what the answer would be if it were up to me.”

  Of course he can come in. Why is he still standing there in the doorway like…

  Oh.

  “Come in and close the doors,” she said, sounding authoritative, but certainly not feeling it.

  Mr. Gilisson nodded, shut the doors quietly, and turned to her. “Contessa, I challenge anyone who would claims your hand. I invoke the right to declare hólmganga.”

  When he started across the sisal rug, Harvey stood, raring for a fight, but Tess grabbed him by the waistband and pulled him back.

  Mr. Gilisson stopped in front of her and dropped onto one knee. He reached for her hand, and she gave it, just like that.

  She didn’t know how, but he honed in on a little birthmark on her wrist right beneath the palm and massaged it.

  “Of course it’s there,” he said. “I know almost everything about you.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Harvey snapped. “Everything about her has been laid bare for everyone who wanted to know. She’ll never have a moment’s privacy ever again.”

  Mr. Gilisson ignored him and locked that odd stare on her. One blue eye, and one eye that was half blue and half brown. A beautiful deformity. “Contessa,” he said, and turned her hand over. “I’m Oliver. Your Ollie.”

  “Ollie?” Should she have known that name? She checked in with her gut, and it told her nothing. She was on her own with this.

  He put his lips over that faint birthmark then took her hand in both of his. It was a romantic gesture with him down on his knee like he was.

  “Yes, Contessa. I’ve been dreaming of you almost every night for six years. Until a week ago, I didn’t think you were real.”

  Her mind was blissfully quiet for once, so she couldn’t blame the chatter on the Afótama web for her inability to formulate a quick response.

  Six years of dreams?

  Who the hell was this guy?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ollie’s would-be beloved sat in a state of stunned horror. Those tawny eyes went wide and lips parted wordlessly.

  “Dreaming of me?” Tess’s words jostled him from his thoughts, and all he could do was nod like an idiot.

  She was so fucking beautiful. Prior to that moment, she’d had a masterful poker face. He hadn’t been able to glean a goddamned thing off her thoughts. No words, no emotions. She was locked down tight, and that scared him. There weren’t too many Afótama, female or not, who could do that. Muriel was the only other person he’d encountered who could, and he’d made a habit of giving the former queen a wide berth whenever they threatened to cross paths.

  “Yes,” he said. “In living color, baby.”

  “Don’t get too familiar,” the man in the tux said, and Ollie wanted to pop him a good one. Just a little black eye to decorate that too-pretty face. No big deal. He refused to give up Tess’s hands to do it, though.

  Gentleman. Be a gentleman.

  “It’s all right, Harvey,” she said, but looked at Ollie. “I’d like to hear what he has to say. I don’t think he wants to be here.”

  She was a smart one. Gods, how refreshing.

  “I don’t want to be here,” he said. “I don’t want to be your consort. I don’t care about that. I want to take you home, because you’re mine.”

  Her eyebrows darted up and cheeks flooded bright red. She didn’t grab her hand back, though.

  That’s a good sign, right?

  “Y-yours?”

  “Happens every now and then. We all have someone who’s good for us, though most of us settle for whoever’s close.” He cut his gaze to the asshole in the tux and then back to Contessa. “When I was a kid, my mother told me that sometimes folks like us put out psychic feelers for our mates and they may come to us in our dreams. I didn’t remember that until I rode out here. It was a long ride, and I had a lot of time to think.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Have you dreamed about me? Even once?”

  “I—”

  She didn’t manage to get out whatever she was going to say, because that asshole in the tux reached for her knee and squeezed it. “You don’t need to indulge his curiosity, Tess.”

  Tess, he’d called her. Tess. Obviously, Ollie wasn’t the only one getting familiar.

  Ollie let go of her hand and balled his into loose fists at his sides. He locked a cold stare on the asshole in the tux, hoping to convey a threat with his gaze. “Back off unless you want to see me become uncivil.”

  Asshole in the tux narrowed his eyes. “Go ahead, Paul Bunyan. Show her your true colors.”

  It pained Ollie to concede it, but the guy had a point. He wasn’t going
to fight like an alpha wolf over a preferred mate. All he had to do was prove the gods favored their match. It wasn’t like it would be an inconvenience. Once he got her clothes off and his hands on her body, she’d know what he already did.

  He took a deep breath, let it out, then reached for her hand again.

  She gave it to him readily.

  “I don’t want to make demands of you, but you should know you have options. I just want to make sure you know what they are. That’s all I ask.”

  “You’re asking a lot. Maybe it doesn’t seem that way to you, but perhaps you didn’t hear. I didn’t grow up in this place.”

  He chuckled. “Neither did I. I’m practically an outcast. I’m surprised they let me in the gates.”

  “What would an outcast want with me?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard rumblings about the splinter groups and how they continuously seek to undermine the peace here. Maybe they’re the ones who kidnapped me twenty-something years ago.”

  He would have pulled what little bit of hair he had if he were willing to let go of her hand. Obviously, that fifteen hours on his bike plus the few hours he’d stopped for food and rest hadn’t been long enough to think through all the ramifications of him claiming her.

  He chose his words carefully. “I know that happens far more often than you should be comfortable with, but I can promise you it’s not my group. We don’t make trouble, because we don’t like the attention. Stirring up the suspicions of the Afótama doesn’t serve our purposes.”

  “That doesn’t reassure me, Mr. Gilisson.”

  He cringed. So formal. “Call me Ollie.”

  She turned to the asshole in the tux whose gaze was locked on Ollie. His expression was pulled in some inscrutable configuration Ollie wouldn’t have been able to make heads or tails of if it weren’t for the fact Ollie could glean bits and pieces of his thoughts.

  This guy didn’t trust him. He was angry with Ollie for the disruption. He probably believed Contessa needed a familiar face and a forgiving friend in her ranks, not a stranger.

  He had to know her from before—he must have been one of the missing ones, too.

  Ollie hated to do it, but he’d have to make the guy understand that Tess didn’t need mild-mannered betas in her entourage. She needed a man who’d tell it to her straight.

  “Fine. Ollie,” she said. “Your presence here came as a surprise to all of us, so you’ll have to tell us what you expect to happen.”

  He knew what was going to happen. They’d psychically tether to each other and fill in each other’s gaps. They’d be better than what they were when they started and completely tapped in to each other’s emotional wellbeing. It was inevitable, because he’d had the dreams and she was promised to him. It wasn’t a question of what, but a question of when.

  “All I ask is that we try to connect and see what happens. You can try it with your friend here, too. I do believe you’ll find one of us to be more compatible than the other, and the man who falls short should do the decent thing and back off.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it without having said a word. Looking to her friend, she squeezed Ollie’s hand tight. “Are you okay with that arrangement, Harvey?”

  Harvey’s nostrils flared and eyes flashed dark. His Adam’s apple bobbed twice before he responded. “I won’t buck tradition, but it’s not up to me. The better question would be if you’re comfortable with it.”

  She turned back to Ollie, and her cautious expression gave way to something softer. Anticipatory, even.

  Her hungry gaze flitted down his body to where his thighs joined before quickly darting back up to his eyes.

  Ah. He had to stifle the chuckle building in his throat. It seemed his girl was an opportunist, which suited him just fine. She’d been causing him a great deal of physical distress during the past several years, so it made sense she be the one to cure the ailment.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m comfortable.”

  Harvey stood and straightened his jacket, eyeing neither Contessa nor Ollie. “If you believe I’m just going to back off, you’ve got another think coming. I’ll give you an hour to figure out you’re all wrong for each other, and I’ll be back.” He started toward the door.

  “No need to hurry,” she said.

  Harvey stopped and turned, shock pulling at his features.

  “I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

  “Tess…”

  “Harvey, it’s been a long day.” Her voice was nearly a whisper, and she stared down at her feet. How odd that she would worry about offending him instead of the other way around.

  His jaw ground side to side a few beats, then he nodded curtly and walked away. He slammed the doors behind him, and Tess blew out a long sigh.

  “I hope I’m not making a mistake,” she said. Now she did let go of Ollie’s hands and immediately began fidgeting with the end of her braid. “He’s been the only friend I’ve had for so long. I thought he was my mate, and I still think that, but…”

  Ollie stood and followed in Harvey’s footsteps to the doors. He didn’t leave through them, however, but locked them. He didn’t turn back to her until his teeth had ceased their grinding. That guy was her mate? No way. Not even a little bit. “My being here is no mistake.”

  He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby armchair.

  “The longer you’re around us, your people, you’ll begin to acquire a knack for trusting the folks who deserve it.”

  She pressed a finger inside her plait and began working it free. “Do you deserve it, Mr. Gil—Ollie?”

  “I do.” He managed to heel off his harness boots without looking away from her. Watching her uncoil that braid mesmerized him like string to a cat. In his dreams, her dark curls were always untamed and made her seem much younger than she was.

  Actually…

  “Contessa, excuse me for being blunt, but how old are you?” If she were one of the last ones abducted, she couldn’t have been much more than twenty. Twenty was an age he had no desire to relive—not even through her.

  The fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened as her smile broadened. “Didn’t do your research?”

  At least one of them was finding the scenario amusing. “I didn’t care at the time. I just hopped on my bike and came.”

  Her eyebrows arched up teasingly, and she pressed her fingers to the crown of her head and mussed her hair. Her curls sprang out, much flatter than he knew they should have been, but at least she looked more like the woman he knew…or thought he knew.

  “I’m legal.” She walked up to him, grinning, and turned her back. She moved her hair to the side and pointed to the zipper at the top of her dress. “Can you help me out of this thing? I swear, there must be sandpaper in the lining.”

  He grabbed the zipper pull, but didn’t work it down just yet. “You have to give me something a little better than legal. I’m going to see forty in a couple of years.” And he had a son who was nearly eighteen.

  She sighed. “If I tell you, will you help me with the zipper? I really am suffering here.”

  “Depends on what you tell me.” Fated mate or not, he wasn’t taking home a baby. No way. He’d put his boots and jacket back on, and would fetch her in a few years when she was done incubating.

  “Everyone else here bends over backward to give me what I want, so of course, I would have to be locked in a room with the one man in a five-mile radius who’d give me a hard time.”

  Oh, she hadn’t seen a hard time yet. She’d be seeing what that meant all night assuming whatever number passed her lips was sufficiently high. He’d have that zipper down so fast that the plastic teeth would melt.

  “I’m twenty-eight.”

  “Thank fuck.” He worked the long zipper down far enough past her hips that he regretted it, because all of a sudden he lost blood pressure in the head that mattered more.

  If those counted as panties, she needed to return them and get her money back.

 
And then the blood returned to his head and pounded in his ears. She’d worn those things knowing someone—Harvey—would see them.

  Obviously, Harvey needed killing. Ollie had just the right axe for it. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on point of view, it was in Fallon.

  “Ollie.”

  He looked down to find Contessa tapping his chest and giving him a bemused look.

  Damn, she was tinier than he’d thought. Or maybe he was just that big. Sometimes he lost perspective. She barely cleared his chest.

  “You kind of zoned out there for a moment. Did you hear what I said?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I got distracted by your underwear.”

  She shrugged. “I usually don’t wear any, but I wanted to make the dry cleaner’s job a little easier.”

  “That supposed to be comforting?”

  Satan could have taken smiling lessons from her, because her smile said without question that she was up to no fucking good.

  “I’m going to go wash off this slap of makeup and slip out of this dress. Be right back. Make yourself comfortable. There’s a bottle of whiskey in the nightstand and a couple of glasses. Pour me some?”

  “Whiskey?”

  “It’s been a rough few weeks. Long learning curve for a woman like me. I’m still not certain I’m the right lady for the job.” She shook her head and slipped into the en suite bathroom, leaving the door open.

  “You belong here, honey.” You belong with me. He sat on the edge of the bed near the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. He retrieved the whiskey, chuckling. She had amassed quite a collection during her short tenure. The drawer was a veritable treasure trove of odds and ends. A handful of matchbooks—some from roadside haunts he recognized—a knife, a small photo album, and more tubes of lip balm than one woman should own in a lifetime. What tickled him the most, however, was the pile of kid’s meal toys. Mostly action figures and racecars.

  She turned off the bathroom light and came out drying her face on a hand towel. Beautiful woman. She didn’t need the makeup, anyway…but she did need to put some clothes on or he would have her face down and ass-up in about fifteen seconds.