by Susan Harris
Donnie clasped a hand on Ricky’s shoulder. “Anytime buddy, day or night.”
Ricky rubbed the back of his neck, quickly leaving the gym. All that remained was Caitlyn, Donnie, and a cavern of silence between them.
“He’s got a tough road ahead of him.”
Caitlyn nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “He has a lot of help. The child is something else.”
She stepped around Donnie, who stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Donnie growled low in his throat. “Don’t ‘nothing’ me, Cait. Not anymore. Please stop shutting me out.”
Caitlyn rubbed her arms, more for something to do than any chill she might feel. When she kept her mouth shut, Donnie wrapped his arms around her, and she went to him.
“Whatever it is, Cait, that’s bothering you, we can deal with it. You and me. It’s ride or die, remember.”
“We are not Dom and Letty, Donnie.”
“Nah, I’m much better looking than Vin Diesel. But maybe I need to shave my head again, because bald is sexy.”
Caitlyn slid her hand up to drag her fingers across his scalp, pulling a groan from her man. It puzzled her, this delight inside that she could exact this response from him. It felt wrong, almost shameful. Caitlyn ran her nails through the blond, trimmed hair, slightly scraping the scalp.
“Damn, Cait, do that again.”
When she complied, Donnie pressed closer against her body.
“I like your hair like this, please don’t cut it.”
Donnie cupped her face and winked. “Your wish is my command.”
He kissed her then, a quick press of lips before he stepped back, wrapping his arms around her waist. “You gonna tell me what had you running from bed this evening?”
She considered telling him she was fine, but she refused to lie to him.
“I have been having nightmares and did not want to disturb you.”
“Christ, Cait, shit like that wouldn’t disturb me.”
“I am not used to being so open with anyone… I am used to dealing with things on my own.”
Donnie sank to the ground and dragged her down, so she had no choice but to go with him, sitting astride his lap. Hands folded in her lap, Caitlyn looked at the ground until Donnie lifted her chin with his finger, the intensity of those blue eyes drawing a sigh from her.
“Tell me about your dreams, Cait.”
Placing a hand on his chest, Caitlyn spoke her fears aloud, giving them power over her, or so she felt. “I dreamt of the warehouse, and of Cain taking your head in the home we were making our own. In my dream, he told me that Kenzie was dead, and then he took you from me.”
“Cain’s dead,” Donnie assured her in low tone, clipped with a possessive edge that did not calm her mind. “Cain is dead and we are not. He cannot hurt you anymore, Cait. You are free.”
Caitlyn shook her head. “I do not feel free. In my dream, do you know what he told me? ‘As long as you dream of me… as long as you remember me, my Caitlyn, I will always be alive to you. You keep me alive, my love.’ There is power in dreams, Donnie, for they show us what truly matters to us. Is it wrong of me to feel so numb, so incomplete, because my very reason for existing is gone, and I am struggling to find my purpose?”
Donnie slipped his hands onto her ribs, the pads of his thumbs grazing the underside of her breast. “No. but your sole purpose in life was not to kill Cain. Your calling is defending those who cannot defend themselves. It’s bringing to justice those who would hurt the innocent. It’s being part of this big, dysfunctional family, Cait. I have no control over your dreams, or over you. But, baby, maybe you need to talk to someone about what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours. Someone impartial who isn’t me, or Derek, because I know those midnight strolls you two go on are more like therapy sessions anyways.”
Caitlyn, under no circumstances, wanted to tell a stranger her life story and be judged. Scrambling out of Donnie’s lap, she stood and made for the door, pausing when Donnie clasped a hand on the back of her neck in a pure sign of possession.
“Remove your hand.” The words bit out, sounding cold and disconnected, and Donnie did as was asked of him.
“I’m not really sure how I became the bad guy in all of this, Cait, but shutting me out hurts me. Like physically. Every single time you flinch when I touch you makes me want to punch a wall. I can feel you, icy cold, through the mate bond, and all I want to do is help.”
Folding her arms over her chest, Caitlyn wanted to hurt him, make him leave, because he did not deserve this… this shattered version of a person.
“If this is all about sex to you, then I’m afraid I cannot help you with that.”
Donnie growled, a feral sound that made the hairs on her arm rise to attention. His entire body shook with rage, and Caitlyn knew she had gone too far.
Good. He might realize now that I can never be what he needs.
A stony calm washed over his handsome face as the thought slipped through the mating bond, and he understood that she was, in essence, trying to piss him off.
“I know what you’re doing, Caitlyn Hardi. I fucking see you. If all I wanted were a few quick fucks, then I would just go out and get them. This thing between us is about much more than sex and you know it.”
A throat cleared behind them, and Ricky had the good sense to look uncomfortable. “Sorry to interrupt, but we caught a case. I have Zach, so I can’t go. Sarge wants to know if you two can head up to check out the body. I’ll tell him that’s a no…?”
Caitlyn faced away from Donnie. “You go with Donnie, Ricky. I will stay with Zach and make sure he is taken care of.”
Ricky’s brow rose. “You sure?”
“Certainly.”
Striding from the room, Caitlyn leaned against the wall outside, ignoring the mumbled conversation that was taking place in the room. She hated herself for not being able to tell Donnie that every single time she considered some enemy may come for him to get back at her, it almost caused her to become undone. Perhaps she could find a way to break the mating bond.
Maybe it was time for her to start over afresh… somewhere new.
Erika
Complete and utter chaos lay at Erika’s feet as she surveyed the battle of death that played out before her. There to reap the souls of the brave, the hum of battle sent little shivers of pleasure along her skin, the urge to wade into the fight and lay waste to the unworthy more a compulsion than a necessity. Casting her gaze outward, she was invisible to the combatants around her.
The Battle of Clontarf, where the High King of Ireland, Brian Boru, fought against the warriors of the Viking-Irish alliance, which roughly consisted of Sigtrygg Silkbeard, King of Dublin, Máel Mórda mac Murchada, King of Leinster, and a Viking contingent led by Sigurd of Orkney and Brodir of Mann, had been waged from sunrise until sunset.
The body count was immense. Erika estimated that close to ten thousand men were slain on this day. Their souls called out to her, begging to be carried off to Valhalla or escorted to Fólkvangr.
Having spent the day carrying souls to their final destinations, dusk began to settle over the coast. The Viking ships that had lingered on the fringes were now retreating, the battle over and the victors emerging. Though the High King of Ireland’s side had been successful, Erika knew that Boru’s son had been slain, along with his grandson. On the other side of the battle, Leinster king Máel Mórda and Viking leaders Sigurd and Brodir had also been slain, their souls fine additions to the army of Valhalla.
Surely, when most of those who had called these people to arms had been killed, did it really matter who had been victorious on this day?
Erika stepped over a corpse, unsure of which side the slain man had fought for, and made her way to the warrior who called out to her the most.
Brian Boru lay on the ground, his beard a shade of grey time leached of color, his face wrinkled with age, and his body that of a
man who had fought many a war. His final sun had set. He would make a fine warrior to command. For now, he would join the ranks of the Valkyrie’s army and help win the war that Odin had forced upon them.
The High King of Ireland opened his eyes to peer up at her, as Erika allowed him to see her face. He imagined what the Irishman saw; a woman of strength and power, a sword grasped in her hand, a shield attached to her hip.
“Be at ease, Brian Bóruma mac Cennétig,” Erika said, speaking to the king in his native tongue. “Death has come to claim you, and I am here to deliver your soul.”
“Are you an angel?”
Erika laughed at the king’s words. “For certain, I am no angel. I have come to take you to Valhalla, where you will be blessed to join my queen’s army.”
The man coughed out a laugh, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. “I am a king, I bow to no foreign queen or gods.”
Erika saw it in his eyes, felt the truth as he spoke it. This king would not get on bended knee and show Ever the respect she deserved, what Erika demanded of her soldiers.
Erika dropped to her knees, right there on the blood soaked bogside, the muck drenching her skin. Sheathing her sword into the holster at her back, Erika leaned down so that her lips were a breath away from the king’s ear, a small smile playing on her lips as she said, “Fear not death, for the hour of your doom is set and none may escape it.”
Lowering her voice to a mere whisper, Erika continued, “Hel, great goddess, daughter of Loki, she who guards the spirits of the dead. Take my offering, he who fought bravely, but chose unwisely. Take him as my offering, one warrior to another. For this man is not worthy to walk the shores of Valhalla, or grace the beauty of Fólkvangr. Take this son of Ireland, Brian Bóruma mac Cennétig to Hel.”
The High King of Ireland inhaled sharply, and then his chest rose no more as Erika shoved off the ground and waded through the mangled bodies. Catching sight of Ever, Erika jogged forward, coming to stand by the future queen who dared to name a small Valkyrie girl as her general.
“I did not realize that you and the goddess of Death were such good friends,” Ever said with a chuckle.
“I send her the unworthy sometimes, so that when my time comes, I will not be sent to Hel.”
“Death is not foolish enough to come for you, Erika. It is too afraid of you to even dare.”
Now it was Erika’s turn to chortle, nudging Ever with her shoulder. When Ever returned a small smile, Erika asked what was troubling her. Ever said nought for a time, then she began to walk toward the shoreline, where some of her sisters were claiming the souls of the fallen.
“Odin states that he wishes to reclaim control over Valhalla. That he needs the army to stand against those who would smite him.”
Erika clenched and unclenched her fists. “The Valkyrie will not follow Odin. We are loyal to you and only to you. And if any of them decide to waver, I have no problems in persuading them otherwise.”
Ever put a hand on her shoulder, sending a shiver down Erika’s spine. She had perfected the ability to not allow her emotions to show on her face.
“And then it will end only when blood is spilled, and not from you, Erika.”
“Fools need to have their blood spilled if they follow Odin.”
Ever squeezed her shoulder, and Erika could feel her cheeks heat.
“At least I know I always have you at my back, Erika.”
“In this lifetime and the next.”
Ever removed her hand, and Erika felt the loss of her touch, cursing herself for these feelings that had welled inside of her without her consent. The only other being that made her feel this way was Ever’s adopted brother of sorts, Loki, the Trickster god. And that made Erika believe that she was screwed up on the inside, having feelings for the woman who was her best friend and for the man who could never be hers.
Erika opened her eyes in the dark, a sliver of light creeping in through the curtains. She had awoken because of the dream, and because she was acutely aware that she was no longer alone in the room. Having tossed and turned for most of the night, she remained calm. Her senses reached out and halted on a familiar aura.
“Don’t you know it’s creepy to watch someone sleep?”
“You look so peaceful when you sleep, General. Almost feminine”
Erika snorted. “I think the word you were looking for was ferocious, not feminine.”
“That too.”
Slipping her legs out of the bed, Erika turned on the bedside lamp, and Loki came into her field of vision. Dressed simply in a pair of ripped jeans and a plain black tee, he sat with his arms clasped in his lap, his hair shorter than he usually liked to appear in, one knee resting on top of the other. He looked the epitome of sexual seduction. Tall, dark and handsome were words insignificant to describe him, but the god was a cocky bastard who had women, and men, lusting after him. Erika would be damned if she was going to be one of the groupies that fawned over him.
A smug satisfaction rushed through her as Loki’s eyes roamed over her bare legs. The tee she had thrown on before trying to get a few hours kip was barely long enough to cover her backside. Erika stretched the tired muscles in her neck before rising and striding over to sit on the chair opposite Loki.
Lifting her legs, she placed her feet on the arm of Loki’s chair. Between one breath and the next, Loki had dropped his leg, propped her legs onto his lap, and began to rub the soles of her feet with those sinfully good hands of his. It took every ounce of willpower not to moan at the intense pleasure that tingled from her toes, right up to her brain, which almost went to mush.
“You’ll get yourself killed if you continue down this path, General.”
“Well whatever doesn’t kill me had better start running. They won’t get a second chance.”
Loki sighed, yet continued to massage her tired feet. “Freya has sent you on this mission to keep you distracted, stop you from racing off to find Ever, or going to find Odin before Ever can break the curse.” Loki lifted his eyes to meet hers, his lips tugging up into a sly grin. “But, I have more interesting ways to distract you, Erika.”
The way Loki said her name made her want to slither into his lap and indulge her wildest fantasies. However, since Erika held on to some of her common sense, she tried to disguise her thoughts with sarcasm.
“That has got to be the lamest pickup line in existence.”
With a grin so wide that Erika could see his perfectly white teeth, Loki shrugged. “Don’t worry, that’s only plan A.”
Lifting her eyebrows in suspicion, she took the bait and asked, “What’s plan B?”
Pressing his thumb hard against the underside of her foot, Loki continued. “To take you hostage. I’ve had many a fantasy where I get to tie you up, General.”
Loki snaked his hand up to rub her calf, and Erika couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her lips. If he kept working those magic hands, she’d be begging him to bring them up a little higher.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” Loki queried, his hand still massaging her calf.
“Ya, I was about fifteen, and you’d been off sowing your wild oats and being a manwhore.”
Loki chuckled. “You gave me so much sass that I did not know what to do with myself. There you were, this beautiful young woman, a warrior, and you did not fall at my feet like most do.”
Erika slouched lower into her seat, allowing Loki to roam his hand over her knee. “As I recall it, you showed up in Valhalla to see Ever and expected me to bow down to you.”
“I knew, even then, that I had to have you.”
Erika snorted, closed her eyes, and let the memory play out in her mind.
It had been a long day of training and all Erika wanted to do was to sneak off to have a long soak in the hot spring she had found on the far side of Valhalla. Her other sisters had already traipsed back to their huts, but Ever had remained on the training sands, trying to perfect a combination of moves that she had a little trouble with. A
s her general, Erika had sworn to watch over Ever until the blood failed to flow in her veins.
Ever slashed out with her sword, her feet stumbling slightly as Erika cringed, suddenly coming to attention when a dark mysterious stranger appeared in the sands behind her. Erika lunged forward, reaching for the short daggers on her hip. She barrelled into the stranger, a dagger to his throat, and was puzzled when the man smiled. Her heart pounded.
Erika took stock of him, this man that lay beneath her in the sand, her thighs pressed on either side of his shoulders, her blade at his throat. Power, pure and unbridled, coiled inside him, called out to her in the most intimate of ways. Most men would scowl if you said that they were beautiful, not handsome, yet from the smug smile on his face, this man who snuck up on her queen made Erika think that he would not mind being called beautiful.
His face was all sharp angles and high cheekbones, and his skin was fair, a stark contrast to the rivets of black hair that hung loose. Splayed in the sand, Erika fought against the urge to stroke his hair, to see if it felt as soft as it looked. His lips looked sinfully full, yet she was beginning to think her hormones were overreacting to the first good-looking man she’d laid eyes on in months.
Ever, having realized what had happened while she’d been distracted, clasped a hand over her mouth and laughed, leaving Erika to snarl back at her best friend and queen.
“I do not think it is funny to have someone unknown sneak up on you, Ever.”
Glancing back at the gorgeous man beneath her, Erika eased up, yanking back her blade and rolling away from the stranger. The man rose without much effort, as she took in his clothing. He wore the finest of Asgardian leathers, black with a slight stripe of green on the sleeves. His long coat, which he dusted free of sand, was out of place here in Valhalla. The cropped top and short skirt she wore seemed insignificant compared to this man’s finery. Her heart almost stopped when she spied the emblem of the royal house of Odin embossed on the chest.
