Valkyrie Concealed

by Allyson Lindt

  Starkad studied her. An awkward silence descended in the room.

  “No more questions, then?” Irritation bled from Brit’s voice, and she stood. “No more seeing how much truth I’m willing to give you?”

  Starkad didn’t respond.

  Chapter Six

  Kirby dug her toes into the workout mat, as she faced Gwydion. Her posture was casual. His was more guarded.

  In a way, Aeval’s castle reminded Kirby of the TOM campus, where she was trained and raised. But the atmosphere here was warmer. Kinder.

  She needed to burn off a lot excess energy—more than sex would take care of—so she was sparring with Gwydion in one of the training rooms. A thin sheen of sweat clung to her skin, and portions of her ached from exertion and his hits. It was perfect.

  “You look tired.” He bounced on the balls of his feet. “You sure you want another round?”

  “Absolutely.” She kept her tone as easygoing as her stance, but she never took her eyes off the way he moved. Even if Starkad weren’t talking to Brit, Kirby didn’t spar with him anymore. Because he’d trained her in this life and they’d practiced together so frequently since, they spent more time watching each other, waiting for someone to twitch, than they did actually throwing any strikes.

  Gwydion moved first, as was typical of these sessions, stepping in with a feint of a right hook, that blended into a knee where he hoped her leg would land as she dodged.

  Kirby sidestepped both, but tripped on a root that had magically appeared in her path, in the middle of the mat. She recovered, and the obstruction vanished. The kick she directed at the back of Gwydion’s knee landed solidly.

  He grunted, rolling as he hit the mat and coming back up on his feet. He faced her again, playful grin in place and loose fists up. “Predictable.”

  “You’re one to talk.” Kirby landed a fist in his gut with enough impact to force him back a step. The words were more taunt than truth. She’d become familiar with some of his go-to moves, but he surprised her on a regular basis.

  Gwydion wasn’t trained in any specific fighting style. He was a brawler with centuries of experience, the strength of a god, and magic. He was also good at ducking and weaving. What looked like over-correcting for his stumble turned into a roll. He swept a leg out into hers.

  She jumped. The root appeared as her feet left the ground, not giving her any out but to land on it or adjust her stance. She managed a bit of both, but still lost her balance.

  Gwydion straddled her, pinning her to the mat, and dipped his head to brush his lips over hers.

  Another thing she loved about sparring with him—he didn’t take it nearly as seriously as most people. She leaned into the kiss, focused both on the weight of his body and on her next move to twist out from under him.

  He pinned her wrists above her head before she could move, stealing her leverage and locking her in place.

  Kirby laughed. “You win. You cheated, but you win.”

  “How did I cheat?” His grin was broad. He trailed his lips along her neck.

  Pleasant shivers raced over her, and she tilted her head, to give him better access. She sighed at the playful attention. “Sorry—what?”

  “How did I cheat?” His lips vibrated against her skin.

  He hadn’t. There were no rules beyond those they imposed on themselves. Typically, he didn’t use his full strength, and she didn’t summon her magical shield.

  Gwydion traveled his mouth lower, along her collarbone.

  Kirby groaned. “I’m thinking raw sex appeal.”

  “That’s cheating now?” He pulled back to meet her gaze. His grin matched hers. “Because I can’t turn it off.”

  She shifted her weight, grinding her hips up into him, looking for a new distraction to give her the advantage. Not that she minded this.

  He tightened his grip on her wrists. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me sixty-nine times—”

  “Sixty-nine? Really?” She snorted.

  The sound of Starkad clearing his throat reached them. If he were alone, he’d be watching or joining in, so there was a reason he was interrupting.

  Brit’s heavy sigh followed, and Kirby’s good mood evaporated.

  Gwydion pressed his mouth to Kirby’s ear. “I could bind and gag her with branches,” he whispered. “Buy a couple more minutes.”

  “Are you trying to make me jealous? Don’t you dare.” Kirby felt better at the teasing.

  Gwydion gave her another kiss, this one sweetly chaste on the cheek, and helped her to her feet.

  Starkad, Min, and Brit stood at the edge of the mats. Kirby could almost hear the sarcastic, Sorry to interrupt, racing through Brit’s thoughts and matching her scowl.

  Brit’s expression was oddly comforting. If she were trying to hide her irritation, Kirby would be more suspicious.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.” Starkad’s apology was genuine. “We’d like to gauge what Brit can do. Are you up for finding out?”

  “We know what I can do.” Frustration filled Brit’s reply. “Coming back to life didn’t give me anything new but the ability to come back to life.”

  So she said. If Starkad thought Brit was a significant threat, he wouldn’t be proposing this.

  “Wouldn’t you rather fight someone who doesn’t know all your moves?” Kirby asked.

  Brit smirked. “You haven’t seen me fight in almost six years. I promise, you don’t know them all.”

  This was different—the confidence, the lack of deference. Very unlike the Brit who blamed Kirby for most of her problems.

  Kirby stepped forward. “Spread ’em.”

  Brit placed her feet shoulder-width apart, and her arms straight out at her sides.

  Kirby patted her down for weapons.

  “You’re making it too easy to grab the one-liners,” Brit quipped. “I know you like an audience—”

  “And I know your go-to move is stab an ally in the back.” Kirby didn’t want to fall into any sort of banter with Brit.

  “Touché.”

  “Am I allowed to voice my concern?” Gwydion asked. He’d joined the other men at the edge of the mat.

  Starkad shook his head. “No. But you are allowed—”

  “He’s not.” Kirby knew where that thought was going. It would sound something like, You are allowed to step in if things go wrong. “You want to see this? Then watch. Don’t interfere.”

  Brit’s smirk grew.

  Kirby stepped back onto the mat and gestured for Brit to join her. The stare-down was similar to the start of most of Kirby’s sparring matches, but Brit had never been patient.

  Kirby twitched.

  Brit attacked with a swinging kick, aimed at Kirby’s shins.

  Kirby stepped out of range, but Brit pressed the attack, throwing one punch, then a second.

  Kirby dodged. She countered with a spinning kick at Brit’s head.

  Brit ducked under Kirby’s leg and bounced on her toes, waiting. “You don’t have to pull your punches. You’re not going to hurt me any more than he did.” She nodded at Min.

  “I could say the same to you.” Kirby launched a gut punch and connected.

  Brit leaned into the attack and threw a one-two jab.

  Kirby blocked both.

  “That thing G does, with the roots growing out of the ground...” Brit kneed Kirby in the gut.

  Kirby deflected most of the impact. “Neat, right?” How did Gwydion feel about the nickname? He was probably a lot more okay with it than Starkad would be if someone called him S. “I can have him toss a couple more in here. Mix things up.”

  “That sounds distinctly like the interfering you told them not to do,” Brit said. “Are one too many trips over those roots the reason you favor your left leg?” Her straight punch connected solidly with Kirby’s cheekbone, sending sparkles of pain through her.

  Kirby exaggerated her stumble. “That’s not real. I want you to think the leg is weak.”

  “Telling me defeats the purpo
se, and fighting that way keeps you off balance. I call bullshit.” Brit circled Kirby.

  Kirby studied her movements, watching and waiting for the right cue. “Call it what you want. Your opinion doesn’t change reality.”

  Brit targeted Kirby’s leg with a sweep of her own.

  Kirby pushed off the bad leg, into a spinning kick that caught Brit in the chest and knocked her to her ass.

  She was on her feet again before Kirby touched the ground.

  “You still prefer grappling on the mat?” Kirby kicked.

  Brit dropped her arms, to block. “Only with the right person. You volunteering?” There was no animosity in her retort.

  Kirby was enjoying this. Not just the workout, but also the banter she’d wanted to avoid. The playful feeling could be because she and Brit were psychically taking their frustrations out on each other, but this exchange was fun. Perish the thought she might enjoy her time with Brit. “I’m good up here, thanks.” She swung her elbow at Brit’s jaw.

  Brit rolled with the hit, grabbed Kirby’s wrist, and twisted. “You’ve never complained about tumbling with me before.”

  “These days, I have a much better idea of how I like to be hurt.” Kirby broke the grip and bounced back to throw her body weight into another kick.

  Brit dodged. “You and me both.”

  “Mariah Carey still?” Kirby executed a flurry of smaller kicks and chopped her arm toward Brit’s neck.

  Brit blocked and punched over her own block. “Too much ouch there. But she’s better than Taylor Swift.”

  Time to wrap this up. Kirby ducked, to drive her shoulder into Brit’s gut, and pushed her back until she collided with a padded support. “Taylor Swift wishes she could write breakup songs about me.” Kirby didn’t mean the words cruelly, but would they set Brit off?

  “She wouldn’t do you justice.” Brit’s retort was breathless, but calm. She pummeled her fists into Kirby’s sides.

  Kirby returned the punches, pushing away before she took too many herself. She bounced on the balls of her feet. Where to strike next? “I should probably counter something like that with something cheesy, about being the one who delivers justice.”

  “You should probably counter with your left forearm.”

  Kirby raised her right one instead. When Brit struck her exactly where she’d warned, it left Kirby’s head ringing.

  Now they both knew that trick. She drove her shoulder into Brit’s stomach again.

  Brit rolled with the attack, reaching over her head, to grab the support pillar. She picked her legs off the ground, wrapped them around Kirby’s neck, and dropped both women to the mat.

  Brit’s chokehold on Kirby was anything but playful, threatening to cut off her air supply.

  Kirby had her fist rested at Brit’s side, though. “It’s a draw if you’re lucky.” She rasped the words.

  “You don’t have a weapon or leverage, and as long as I choke you before you twist free, I win.” Brit squeezed her thigh harder.

  Kirby tapped the mat, and Brit moved. Relief filtered through Kirby, as she gasped for breath. She rolled onto her side and slammed her fist into the mat. A hole burned through the padding, and a small crater exploded around her attack. That was new. A glance at the men showed their surprise.

  Kirby hid hers. “It’s a draw.” What else could she learn, with Brit pushing her in sparring? Carelessness, probably.

  Brit rolled onto her knees. “It’s a draw.” She stood and offered Kirby a hand.

  Kirby didn’t hesitate to accept the offer of help up. This was more fun than she expected. Too bad it couldn’t happen again—the thought pinged with regret in her chest. “You’ve gotten better.”

  A smile ghosted across Brit’s face. “So have you. Who do I have to fuck to get myself a Super Sayan Fist of Doom like that?”

  “Odin.” Kirby didn’t want to be having fun. More than the challenge of the fight sped through her veins. Brit’s company was nice. Possibly even pleasantly enjoyable.

  Brit furrowed her brow. “I mean, I suppose if I had to. Nope. Still wouldn’t do it.”

  “I don’t recommend it anyway.” Kirby stopped a light laugh from slipping out, and gave her attention to Starkad. “Verdict?” Not just about the fight, but also the mission, the pairings—all of it.

  “Team One—Aeval, you, and me. Team Two—Brit, Gwydion, and Min.” Starkad’s answer provided much more information than a list of names.

  It was expected that Gwydion and Aeval would split up. The rest of the pairing offs meant Starkad trusted Brit enough to do what she was trained for, but not so much that she could be unsupervised. And if she did become an issue, Min would disable her, and Gwydion would still be fire-support.

  It also meant Starkad didn’t want Kirby and Brit paired. A reasonable decision, based on their skills, and a potent reminder that to him, Brit was barely more than a dangerously useful weapon.

  Kirby glanced at Brit, and for a heartbeat, the woman looking back was the person Kirby had fallen in love with and done everything to protect.

  A sharp pain jabbed through her chest—the ghost of a wound she’d never actually received, from a bullet fired at her hundreds of times, by Brit. It was a potent reminder of where they stood now.

  “I agree,” Kirby said to Starkad.

  Brit chuckled dryly. Would she protest? She shrugged. “Better than I expected. And a lot better than being locked in my room.”

  Chapter Seven

  For the first time in many months, Min could allow himself the full freedom to relax. Everyone was staying in Aeval’s fortress, in preparation for tomorrow’s mission.

  He rarely slept, but he sought rest and recovery in the form of a meditation that allowed his mind to flow where it would and process the world around him.

  Tonight, his mind lulled him gently toward a moment more than two-thousand years ago, in his own palace.

  Intricately carved stone spread around him, racing in pillars toward the sky, and flowing into benches and steps. Magically lit torches lined the walls, casting sensuous shadows around the bodies that filled the room.

  Dozens of people in various stages of undress writhed in pleasure. With each other, with themselves, and in hopes of drawing his attention.

  This celebration of life and fertility was a tribute to him. In return, he’d influence the harvests and the births, and tonight he’d bestow his grace on a few who caught his eye.

  He sat on his throne, surveying his believers. Feeling as much as seeing, the passion that flowed through the room.

  Some of the gods operated out of spite—if they didn’t get what they wanted, they ensured their followers suffered. Min preferred to offer pleasure—his and theirs—in exchange for worship.

  Amid the undulating flesh, one body captured his gaze. So pale, she almost glowed against the dark skin around her. He’d met with paler-skinned peoples, though he wasn’t a fan of most of the Greek gods who chose to masquerade as Roman, rather than own their origins.

  However, this woman was statuesque marble. Her skin, her hair, and her eyes were alabaster. One of those Greek statues, brought to life, including the lightweight shift that covered but didn’t hide ample breasts and hips.

  She fixed her gaze on his and strolled toward him, a sensuous sway to her hips and a confident smile on her lips. The crowds parted around her. As she reached the platform his throne sat on, she never bowed in deference.

  New and tempting. “What can I bestow upon you this evening?” he asked.

  “Your adoration.” Mischief tickled her smile.

  The same thing so many others wanted. “I don’t offer that to just anyone, but you’re intriguing,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  “Urd.” Rather than kneeling at the base of the steps leading to him, the way his followers did, she approached until she stood next to him. “And tonight, you will worship me. It’s written in the stars.”

  Amusement tickled his senses, and he rose. No one towered over him.
Desire flitted across his tongue, wanting to know how this marble creature, who thought she could stand on his ground without humility, would taste. “What else do the stars say?”

  Urd pressed her body closer and crooked her finger, motioning for him to lower his head. She brushed her mouth over his ear. “They tell me not to give you the important information until you’ve proven to me why these people all worship you,” she whispered. “Until you’ve knelt at my feet and shown me true pleasure.”

  Min didn’t kneel before anyone, including his brothers and sisters. He was also loathe to refuse such a succulent challenge. He tore her dress away, and offered her everything she requested and more. The room felt the swell of his passion and the climax of hers. Many times.

  She stayed with him through the night, along with others he’d graced with his glory. Half a dozen people lay tangled together in his bed, when he awoke the next morning.

  He left his devoted followers and his clothes behind, to step outside and greet the sunrise. The sand and native grasses were soft and warm against the bare soles of his feet.

  Urd joined him. The predawn light cast her nude form in a pale pink glow. Today she was quartz, and just as stunning. “When the visions come to me, they’re impressions. Words. No emotion. If I were to feel them.” She shuddered. “What you showed me last night was a moment I only wish to live once. It was so glorious, I’m grateful I experienced it firsthand and not through a flash of images.”

  Of course her time with him had been glorious. “What else have you seen?” Min asked. Some oracles were truly gifted, and others were looking to deceive. Urd radiated truth, but that simply meant she believed the things she said, not that they were true prophecy.

  “So many things. People you’ll meet. Others you never will. You. Falling in love. Losing her. Many times. A pale beauty whom you’ll offer a greater devotion than your followers give you.”

  Tying himself to one person? Ridiculous thought. “I suppose this is where you tell me you’re that pale beauty.”