Viking Wolf

by Angelique Armae

  Big mistake.

  Leila was half-way out of her chair, stretching across the table, her graceful fingers reaching for the wingless fairy. The sight of her curvy body on full display, made his temperature rise. Gray corduroys never looked so good.

  He swallowed.

  Then brought his gaze back to the stove. Kitchen appliances held no sex appeal whatsoever. Thank the gods.

  “I knew I wasn’t wolf before then,” Leila said. “But I wasn’t aware of the sin-eater until I woke one night, in the middle of extracting darkness from a cursed doll my father bought at a yard sale. It started in my sleep.”

  Visions of horror filled his mind, made him think of the evil that riddled his uncle’s camp. He would have given his best battle-axe to have had a sin-eater around back then. “That could not have been easy to accept. Even I could not handle such an onslaught of energy. And I am Viking.”

  “You also have nightmares from sleeping under sugar-plum fairies.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you making fun of me?”

  She smiled. A beautiful, innocent little smirk that went straight to his core.

  His wolf’s soul shifted in his heart.

  A twitch assaulted his right arm.

  Damn his beast. The animal was not going to make this easy on him, was it?

  His right hand fisted and rammed itself into his left palm.

  For the love of Odin. He needed to keep his hands occupied so he wouldn’t be standing here looking the fool in front of Leila. If his wolf wanted to play, then he’d give him something to toy with.

  From the glass pitcher filled with cooking utensils sitting on the counter next to the stove, he grabbed two rubber spatulas for flipping food. Try to fidget now, wolf.

  He turned and eyed Leila, prayed he looked as if he was acting normal.

  She gave him a curious stare.

  Damn.

  He could only imagine what the woman was thinking.

  “If the eggs are going to be that much trouble,” she said, her tone a bit impish. “I can have cereal.”

  He put down one of the spatulas. “I am Viking. I can manage eggs.”

  “Right-o, man.”

  “If you think you can do better…”

  “Oh, I know I can.” She pushed back her chair and was out of the seat in a flash.

  “What about the fairy wing?”

  She cocked her head to one side, a playful look showing in her deep brown eyes. “I’ve suddenly decided you should fix it since you broke it. But I’ll show you how, like I’m going to show you how to cook an egg.”

  “I did not break the fairy. She went after my head.”

  “A toy doesn’t go after anything.”

  “We’re trapped in a living, breathing, castle, and you think its toys are innocent?”

  Leila snatched the spatula out of his right hand.

  She swatted him with it.

  “You should never do that to a Viking.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Vikings are fierce. We are strong men reared on the battlefield. We fight back. I’ve been fighting back for a thousand years, so I have some experience on my side.”

  “You don’t look a day over thirty-five.”

  He didn’t need her thinking about his looks. “Just don’t test me.”

  She tapped the spatula against her palm. “So, if I do this…” She teasingly hit his chest with the utensil. “You will retaliate? Is that what you’re saying?”

  The spatula continued thumping against his t-shirt.

  His heart pulsed. A full-blown pumping it hadn’t done in ages.

  Vidar grabbed Leila’s wrist.

  The spatula fell.

  He pulled her close, the scent of roses washing over him.

  And then he did it, lifted one hand to her chin and tilted her beautiful face upward.

  Her gaze softened.

  His mouth hungered for hers.

  Vidar lowered his head, brought his lips to Leila’s.

  His resolve shattered.

  He took her like a mad Viking dead-bent in pursuing victory on the battlefield, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her so close the heat from her body seeped into his chest.

  A slight breath escaped her mouth.

  She moaned.

  His tongue danced with hers.

  Hints of orange teased his taste buds, reminded him of the rare moments of enjoyment he’d had as a child. Like the few times he’d been given fruit from his uncle’s supplies and had split it with Katya. Those were his good memories. And this Leila MacHendrie was bringing that part of him to life once more. The sensation felt so foreign now, he wasn’t sure he liked it.

  Yet, he didn’t pull away.

  His tongue dove deeper.

  Another moan escaped Leila’s throat.

  ~~o0o~~

  She was kissing a wolf. Or rather allowing herself to be kissed by a he-man Viking of a wolf.

  The best darn kisser she’d ever locked lips with and that made all the things she didn’t like about him, okay. Maybe she needed to rethink that girlhood fairytale about the boy next door type and make a few adjustments.

  Bane was so going to have his tail down over this.

  Vidar pulled back. “How do you control this sin-eating?”

  That was not the sentiment she’d expected to hear after such a hot smooch. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know?”

  His arm remained around her waist. “My father refused to acknowledge the fact that I did not take after him, so we never talked about it. And I had no contact with my mother’s family, so I never had anyone with which to discuss the matter.”

  “Then how do you work your gift?”

  If only she had the answer to that question. “It just happens. Some days it’s quiet, other times it has me sucking in every last drip of dark energy within a ten-mile radius. But I can usually tell when it is going to happen. Like last night when I asked you if you saw what I saw when I had my hand against your chest. I see a dark aura coming off an item or person, and then I zip my mouth or it will be in me. And once it starts, it’s very difficult to stop until the complete aura has been absorbed.”

  He gave her a puzzled look, a stare that landed somewhere between concern and fear. “What happens to the aura once you’ve taken it.”

  Now he was getting too personal. She wiggled out of his embrace and slid a tad to the side. “I’m really hungry. So how about we get back to making those eggs.”

  Telling Vidar she was like a Pandora’s box, a container filled with evil just waiting for some savior to come and pop it open to release her from her torment, wasn’t something she wanted to divulge. From what she’d learned through her own research about her family’s particular form of sin-eating, whoever freed her from the darkness she’d taken in over the years, would have to consume it in its entirety. And that amount of evil taken in all at once, could kill a person. Even if said person was an immortal Viking wolf.

  Uncle Bane was definitely not going to be happy about this.

  Chapter Six

  Leila stared at her now completely wiped clean breakfast plate.

  As it turned out, the Viking hunk was quite good at cooking up eggs, though the man’s culinary talents didn’t stop at frying. He also did multi-grain toast without burning it. A feat she’d never accomplished no matter how long she kept watch over the toaster oven. But what really won her over was the batch of honey-infused butter Vidar had so deftly whipped up. The topping now dripped down her hand in a thin, endless stream, catching in the crease under her left pinky as she bit into a second slice of toast.

  She was so going to gain weight this holiday.

  Licking at her skin, she caught the butter, her tongue reveling in its salty-sweet taste. This was the kind of breakfast she’d like to have every day. Vidar’s feast ran circles around the handful of dry cereal she tossed in a cup each morning.

  She gazed across the table. “You need to s
et out more napkins when you cook.”

  The man grinned. “What I need is to not make breakfast for a beautiful woman when I visit Wolfsden.” He reached for her hand and glided the edge of a green linen napkin over her fingers.

  He winked.

  Goosebumps rose on Leila’s arm as warmth settled in her core. Vidar’s sentimental nature wasn’t what she’d expected. Nor was it what she wanted. “Well, blow me over, who knew a strapping hulk of a Viking could have heart.” She pulled away and popped the last morsel of toast into her mouth. No way was she going to let herself get all warm and fuzzy about the gorgeous immortal sitting across from her. Just because they were destined mates, didn’t mean she had to accept that future.

  “I do not have heart, Miss MacHendrie. Of that I am certain.” A few strands of Vidar’s shoulder-length blond hair fell free from the leather clasp at his nape, and framed the left side of his face. A shimmer of amusement sparked in his bright blue eyes. “I think the pixies have hexed me, made me way more agreeable than normal.”

  He tossed aside the napkin and then picked up the fairy wing laying on the table not far from his dish. “I have a feeling if I don’t fix this soon, I will be cursed for eternity. And a pleasant Viking does not make for a formidable warrior.” A smile stretched across his lips. He raised the dainty wing, inspected it in the light shining down from the five stainless steel lamps hanging overhead.

  Leila sat back and watched Vidar. The man had the most amazing eyes, their brilliant hue reminding her of London blue topaz, like the stone in the pendant she’d inherited from her mother. It was a unique tint, an intensity of color she hadn’t found in anything else. The Viking intrigued her. “I think under that strong façade you’re hiding the soul of a teddy bear.”

  “I am no bear. Again, of that I am certain. And don’t repeat yourself or my wolf will get quite agitated for being referred to as such a grizzly beast.”

  “But I thought bears, dogs, and wolves were all in the same family?”

  Vidar returned the fairy wing to the table. A cold stare shot from his eyes. “My wolf is related to no other species. He is neither dog, nor bear. He is in a class of his own.”

  Darkness crept into her soul. She knew all about finicky wolves, having spent many occasions with her cousins visiting her and her father in New Orleans. Male wolves were a broody bunch on a good day. But what clouded Vidar’s comment went beyond the typical moodiness her cousins sometimes descended into.

  Reaching for Vidar’s plate, she piled it on top of her own, then stood and headed for the sink. “How long do you think the castle will keep us locked in?”

  “I don’t know. It does seem quite temperamental.”

  A low rumble quaked at her feet. “I think Wolfsden disagrees with you.”

  The scent of clean linen draped her space.

  She turned around and nearly collided with Vidar. “For a massive guy, you’re very quiet on your feet.”

  “Silence catches the enemy,” he said, handing her the frying pan and spatula that were previously on the stove. “Surprise is an important element in achieving victory on the battlefield. It gives you a hairs up.”

  “Heads up,” she corrected. The way Vidar sometimes chose the wrong word, added an air of innocence to him. So much so, she couldn’t help but think there was more to this great warrior than just the broody guy he seemed to sometimes be. “Why don’t you live in New Orleans? You own enough houses there.”

  Vidar grabbed the white dish towel off the narrow handle of the drawer next to the sink. “I don’t consider my inherited holdings mine. It is my goal to return them to the descendants of those from whom my uncle pillaged, including the mansions in New Orleans which were not rightfully his. I will keep only those that no longer have a bloodline alive to inherit the property. Those holdings I have been turning over to Katya.”

  Leila rinsed a streak of soap from the plate in her hands and then passed it to Vidar. A trail of water dripped down her arm. “That’s quite noble of you. But why not keep something for yourself?”

  He laughed. “I don’t belong anywhere. The wolf in my heart must never settle down.” A look of longing crossed Vidar’s ruggedly handsome face.

  Grief stabbed at her core. “Everyone belongs somewhere. Even I have found a place where I can rest the weary side of my soul. And that’s huge for a sin-eater.”

  “New Orleans must speak to you, then. It does not to me.”

  It didn’t actually speak to her, either, but the basement of her father’s house was the one zone in which she felt safe. Though it probably had more to do with the fact it was an empty shell of a place with no inanimate objects housed within its walls. And as long as there was nothing for her to extract darkness from, she could exist in a state of peace. The basement gave her solitude.

  With a now dry dish in his hand, Vidar reached for the open cabinet to the side of the sink and set the plate on the middle shelf. A tendril of aura snaked from his chest as he moved his arm.

  Leila inched away from him. Turning off the water, she focused her gaze on the stainless-steel faucet. Concentrating on anything, save for the wisp of gray matter tempting her sin-eater soul, was the only way she was going to keep from sucking in the energy pulling from Vidar’s body.

  A tightening twisted in her gut.

  Her lips grew warm.

  Damn it. Her sin-eater was not playing nice.

  The thread of energy from Vidar’s aura now floated past her, started to rotate into a neat little coil that danced upward toward her mouth, rotating with such force it resembled a stick-thin, ghostly tornado.

  The tart taste of lemon touched her tongue.

  That was odd. Negativity usually held the bitter flavor of rubbing alcohol. At least it did for her. But the Viking’s darkness carried a pleasant taste. Of course harboring darkness in one’s soul didn’t mean the person himself was horrid, and Vidar did have a gentle heart. Maybe his kindness, his selflessness, influenced the taste of this negative energy gunning for her mouth. It made sense.

  She looked away from the swirling matter.

  Vidar’s scent was now coming at her in every way possible, and that was despite her best effort at keeping her lips in a firm line, her eyes diverted, and her body at a distance. She wondered what would have happened if she simply embraced taking in the aura tempting her sin-eater.

  A shudder washed over her.

  Vidar’s darkness possessed a strength few entities were capable of containing. Whatever was at its root had to be great, profound even. And that made her wonder about his statement about not belonging anywhere. Torment on that level usually stemmed from something horrific.

  Devastation nipped at her soul.

  All people—all things in fact—had some degree of negative energy within them. It couldn’t be helped. Energy from the earth alone contributed to that little fact. But what she was picking up from Vidar scaled the charts.

  Her gaze drifted to a bead of water gliding down the sink’s right side and heading toward the drain. In many ways, she was a lot like that little droplet, some days sliding down a huge hurdle that had nothing but a vortex of the unknown at its center. One slip and her version of Pandora’s box stood to unleash hell. When it would start, how it would proceed, and why it even happened, was her version of the sink’s drain, her own personal cavern of the unknown. She hated when the sin-eater inside acted up. The darn thing should just go away or learn to behave so she could manage it better.

  Pressure in her core mounted.

  Like air pushing a balloon to the point of bursting, anxiety rushed Leila’s every nerve.

  Vidar’s darkness rose to within a hairsbreadth of her lips, its gossamer form hovering.

  And just then it jabbed at her mouth.

  She gasped, her lips parting so wide it was like her mouth had become some human black hole pulling in everything around it with such magnitude she knew darn well the negativity would pummel straight to the very center of her soul.

&
nbsp; Darkness poured through her.

  “Leila?”

  She couldn’t move.

  Couldn’t speak.

  Vidar probably had no clue what the hell was going on as the gray matter floating from his chest should go undetected by him. Earlier it had remained unseen. Now should be no different.

  A slight gurgle emitted from her throat.

  Vidar was on her in a flash, pulled her into his embrace. She could barely breathe he was holding her so close.

  The energy slamming her from his chest withdrew and wormed its way back into him.

  She caught her breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t know. Darkness either released fully or remained buried. Vidar’s worked differently. It seemed trapped between wanting to be free and hesitant about letting go. Negativity never worked like that. At least not with her, not once her greedy little sin-eater started feasting. “I can’t say.”

  “You better sit.” He led her back toward the table.

  “No. I think I’d prefer to go lay down.”

  “Fine.” He swooped her up in one swift move.

  “I don’t need you to carry me. I can still walk. Sin-eating only involves my soul, not my legs or feet. At least not at this moment. I was paralyzed a few seconds ago, but I’m fine now. Really. You can put me down.”

  “It will be faster this way.” He carried her to the back of the kitchen, through an archway that opened onto a cozy nook furnished with one filled-to-the-max bookcase, several over-stuffed, over-sized chairs with matching ottomans, a huge blue and green paisley patterned wool carpet, and a cozy hearth with a flaming fire crackling inside. He gently settled her in the nearest big chair.

  She ran her hand over the chair’s arm, her fingers brushing a span of blue MacHendrie tartan.

  Tension eased from her limbs as she sank into the comfy seat. “Tell me about the darkness in your chest.”

  Vidar knelt next to the ottoman and untied Leila’s boots before slipping them off her feet. “It’s in my heart.”