Vikings Unleashed: 9 modern Viking erotic romances

by Kate Pearce

  Frey balled his hand in the front of her shirt and lifted her bodily, using her as a shield as Erik pelted toward them, sword in one hand, chain in the other.

  “Kata! Come to me now or you know what happens!” Frey shouted, the threat in his tone unmistakable, and Bryn managed to turn her head to look.

  “Coming,” the other valkyrie rasped. She picked herself up off the ground, blood pouring down her arm, a piece of the metal wall protruding from her shoulder. She was white-faced and wide-eyed with terror. Whatever “what happens” was had scared the living shit out of her.

  When Kata raised her palms, magic tingled over Bryn’s skin. That was when she realized why Frey had brought Kata along for this ride and hadn’t turned her over to his giant friends. Because, as a valkyrie, she could decide the outcome of fights between warriors.

  If she was around, she could make Frey the winner in all of his battles. Including the one with Erik.

  * * *

  Holm had had C-4 in his pocket. How he got it or why he had it, Erik didn’t care. The other man had managed to blow a couple of neat holes in the side of the Quonset hut, which meant they could get in without using the door and without risking injury to Bryn.

  His first look at her made his stomach sour. Frey had his hand around her neck, hiding behind her like a gutless coward. Her face was contorted with anger, but she was covered with dark crimson. The way she held herself told him how badly she was injured. She needed medical attention, right now.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Tension vibrated through every inch of him, his hackles rising as he locked gazes with Frey. He was going to rip the motherfucker limb from limb. He didn’t give a shit if Frey was a god. Bloodlust rose high and hot within Erik, the berserker’s rage merging man and beast until there was one focus, one purpose. Dealing death to his enemy.

  The asshole actually smiled at him. “Erik. I knew you’d come, but you were faster than I expected.”

  “I had help.” He flexed his hands around the hilts of his chain-swords. He couldn’t attack while Frey had Bryn in a chokehold. “I’ve got friends in high places.”

  Something odd flashed through the god’s eyes, gone too fast to name. “Odin?”

  Erik just bared his fangs. If Frey didn’t know where Odin was, then that meant Odin might not be dead yet. Erik saw no need to give away the fact that he had no idea where their ruler was either.

  A sneer formed on Frey’s face. “Odin’s favorite child, always the one called first, always asked for advice, even though you’re not a god.”

  Erik snorted. “You’re jealous. Of me.”

  “The one who gets to survive? To repopulate the planet, remake an entire race in your image?” The glitter in Frey’s eyes was eerie. The god was unhinged. His grip tightened on Bryn’s throat, and she gurgled, her fingers locking around his wrist. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Time to distract him before he snapped her neck right before Erik’s eyes. Fear slicked his gut, cold sweat breaking out on his skin. “I didn’t ask to fulfill the World’s Chosen prophecy. I didn’t even know about it, and I had no idea I had a few molecules of Odin’s blood in my lineage.”

  “Poor, perfect boy.” Frey tsked in mock sympathy.

  “Hardly perfect,” Erik replied as reasonably as he could. “Bryn could tell you all about how dishonorable I can really be.”

  “Dishonorable, and yet you were favored above others far superior to you. That should never have happened.”

  Holm went tumbling past, wrestling with a two-headed frost jötunn. Erik saw Val shoot another giant at point-blank range. The giant went down with a resounding crash. Well, that was one less worry. Erik refocused on Frey. “Why are you doing this? Just to try and save your own skin in Ragnarök? Or because you want to be the most powerful god left standing, the new king of the gods, instead of one of Odin and Freya’s sons?”

  “It’s been eons since that prophecy was laid out. Gives a man time to think.” He fondled Bryn’s breast, and it took every ounce of Erik’s control not to leap at him. The god continued as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. “I could unite giants and gods. My children have both bloodlines, all the power of our combined races.”

  “Right.” Erik sidled to the side, trying to get a better angle on the god so if he launched a sword, it wouldn’t hit Bryn.

  Frey’s gaze sharpened, and he shifted to keep her firmly between them. “Jötunheim is behind Gerda and me.”

  Asgard wouldn’t be, but Erik didn’t say that. “Why involve Bryn? She’s got nothing to do with any of this. She’s not supposed to be involved in Ragnarök. The final battle prophecy doesn’t even mention her.”

  “True, but it occurs to me that if you don’t have this sweet piece of tail…” Frey slid his tongue along her neck, leaving a gleaming line of spittle. Fury flashed in Bryn’s midnight gaze. “Ah, I can see why you’ve never been able to resist her. She’s delicious.” He ground himself into her ass, his fingers tightening around her throat again. Her nails dug into his hand until bloody weals were left behind, but Frey didn’t seem to notice. “Where was I? Yes. If you don’t have her, it doesn’t matter if you survive the final battle. There’s no repopulating the world. Kill her and I’ll take your precious future with me, Chosen One. I will rip the heart out of you, and I don’t even have to touch you. It’s perfect.”

  It was perfect, revenge for a crime Erik hadn’t even committed, and he wanted to vomit. He’d never imagined so much hate was festering inside of the jovial god. He could understand not wanting to die, could see how that prophecy had hung over Frey’s head for ages, but blaming Erik for not being slated for death was madness.

  The worst realization was that the apocalypse was being instigated by something as stupid and juvenile as envy.

  Maybe an equal measure of pettiness would spare Bryn. Erik shrugged casually. “So kill her. It looks like the prophecy is changing with you switching sides anyway, so I’m sure fate will provide me with someone else to help repopulate the world. I haven’t given a shit about Bryn since I found out she murdered my son.” Her head came up, and what little blood remained in her face drained away. She couldn’t believe that line of shit, could she? He forced his attention back to Frey. Get her out of this and explain later, Erik. “I didn’t even go near the bitch until two days ago, and only because a völva told me to.”

  That truth seemed to catch his attention, and Frey blinked. “You came after her now.”

  Erik snorted. “I came after you, the bottom-feeding traitor, the wannabe-jötunn so scared to die he’s willing to sell out his entire race.” Frey’s face flushed purple with rage, veins bulging in his neck. Erik flashed a befanged, challenging smile and held out his sword, using it to beckon the god to fight. “Come on, coward. Let’s see who survives Ragnarök. Or are you afraid of taking on a mere berserker? As you said, I’m not even a god.”

  Frey hesitated, and Erik feared he’d refuse the challenge. Or kill Bryn first, just for sport.

  “Hey, Erik?” Bryn spoke for the first time, her voice a mere croak.

  He didn’t look at her, kept his gaze locked on his prey. “Yeah?”

  “I forgive you. For everything.”

  Every inch of his body froze in response to her words, and he did look at her then. She met his gaze, winked, and then went utterly limp. She caught Frey off-guard and slipped through his arms to hit the ground on her side. A strangled, pained cry burst from her, and it made Erik’s heart seize, but he reacted as he knew she’d want him to. He hurtled himself forward and slammed the god back, tumbling him through the opening they’d blasted through the side of the building, carrying them both away from Bryn.

  He hoped she would be safe, but the thought was fleeting. He had to give all his attention to Frey. If Erik lost, he didn’t want to consider what would happen to Bryn. He’d be kicking his own ass for all eternity if he failed her now. Again.

  The impact as they hit the ground was bone-jarring, but
Erik came out on top and sliced his chain across Frey’s face. His cheek sliced open, the flesh peeling back to reveal the god’s teeth and jawbone. He screamed, slammed a fist into Erik’s chest and bucked hard enough to send Erik flying. He landed against the outer wall of the Quonset hut, a shard of metal slicing into his back as he slid to the sand and hit his knees.

  The roar of rage as Frey came off the ground was chilling, and he grabbed Erik’s wrist to try to get the chain away. While Erik had superhuman strength, he was no match for a god in sheer power. The choice was lose the chain or get his arm broken, so he let go, but rammed the hilt of his sword into the god’s temple. Frey rocked back for a moment, giving Erik the chance to spring to his feet and put some distance between them.

  He heard the battle cries and the sound of skin hitting skin. He didn’t have to look to know his team was still fighting, so that was good news. This day could use some good news. The valkyrie Nauma and Bryn had identified on the newsfeed slithered out of the Quonset hut, her eyes on Frey and him. She didn’t try to interfere, just watched, but he’d have to keep an eye on her in case she leapt to the god’s defense.

  Frey charged, swinging the chain over his head. It was an awkward swing, and he managed to accidentally snap the chain into a solid sword. The change surprised him enough that Erik was able to pivot out of his way and bring his blade across the back of Frey’s thigh, slicing the muscle open, but not as deeply as he’d have liked. The god stumbled, but whipped his sword around to leave a shallow furrow along Erik’s pec up to his shoulder. It burned like a son of a bitch, but was superficial.

  They circled each other, looking for an opening, any weakness they could exploit. There. The god dropped one shoulder just a bit, and Erik knew his hold on the blade wasn’t as strong as it should be. A rookie mistake. He brought his sword down, and Frey’s wrist gave out, leaving his torso unprotected. Erik used his wolf’s claws to slash across the god’s stomach, hoping to gut him like a gaping fish.

  Another glancing wound. Painful, but not life-threatening. Shit.

  Letting his sword arm go lax, Frey made Erik stumble. Swinging his free hand, the god drove three quick punches into Erik’s side. Kidney shots. He’d be pissing blood for a week if he survived this. Pain shuddered up his ribs, and he wheezed in a breath. Frey grabbed for Erik’s head, aiming for his eyes. Ducking, Erik sank his fangs into the god’s arm, ripping a large chunk of flesh out with a vicious shake of his head.

  With a pained cry, Frey fell back a few steps. “Fucking animal!”

  Erik spat the chunk out as if it were foul and smirked at Frey. “That was for Bryn. I saw the marks on her neck from your jötunn scum.”

  “I knew you loved her.” Gloating rang in his tone.

  Erik swiped at his mouth. “Congratulations. I’m going to kill you for ever daring to touch her, you worthless piece of shit.”

  Their swords clashed again, sparks flying every time the metal met. Erik kept his extra senses open, in case Kata or a giant approached. Moving in the loose sand made the fight more exhausting, sucking his feet down if he stayed in one place a moment too long.

  They jumped back, separating again to circle. The god was panting hard, blood and sweat pouring down his face. It was clear he hadn’t fought anyone in quite some time, but he was a god of fertility, fair weather, and sunshine. Not much warring needed for that. But he had the strength of a god and that was a definite advantage, while Erik had his centuries of battle-hardened experience and training behind him.

  How much stamina did the god have? More than Erik, or less? Who could outlast the other might be the deciding factor on who won.

  * * *

  Bryn couldn’t even begin to count how many broken bones she had. Every breath was a struggle, and she could only manage a shallow panting. Pain was a living, writhing beast inside her, threatening to wrench her back into unconsciousness. A part of her would welcome the oblivion, the cessation of agony, the peace, but she couldn’t give in. Not now. Not yet.

  Soon.

  She was the only one still left in the bunker, except for the stiffening corpses of two fire giants with a bullet holes in their foreheads. Kata had followed Erik and Frey outside, so Bryn knew if the other valkyrie had the opportunity, she’d make sure Erik lost. That thought alone was enough to have Bryn crawling toward an overturned desk and using it to haul herself to her feet. The broken ankle throbbed as if someone were stabbing a hot poker into her joint. Her vision went black for a moment, and she had to lean heavily against the desk to remain upright. She gritted her teeth to keep in a scream. It hurt. Every fucking part of her hurt.

  One of the desk legs was loose, and she yanked at it until it came free. She used it as a cane as she made her way through the debris to the opening Erik had shoved Frey through. The light and blowing sand stung her eyes, and she turned her face away for a moment, shielded her gaze with her free hand and looked again.

  Chaos reigned.

  To her right, Val was in a sword fight with Surtr, though the berserker appeared to be losing. Not far from them, Holm lodged his battle-axe in the back of the two-headed frost giant. He went down with a great spray of sand, the axe still wedged between his shoulders, but Holm had already turned to sprint toward Val. Good. Two against one. They might stand a chance against the fire king.

  A rough shout drew her gaze to the left, where Erik battled Frey. Though Frey was a god, he wasn’t much of a warrior. He’d given up his sword when he’d married his giantess. The match was more even than it would normally be. But Frey had Kata on his side. The valkyrie’s gaze was fixed intently on the combatants, which made it easy for Bryn to get behind her.

  Hefting the desk leg like a baseball bat, she swung as hard as she could, put every ounce of her lagging strength behind the hit. A dull thud and blood poured from the gash in the back of Kata’s skull. She went down like a ton of bricks.

  Bryn felt the air waver and change, magic flooding her being, enervating her until her skin was too hot and too tight.

  The victory judgment had shifted to her.

  Bracing her feet apart, she dropped the makeshift cane. It wasn’t much use in shifting sand, and it was getting harder and harder to move her swelling fingers. Sweat slid down her face, her hands shaking, muscles in her legs cramping with pain. She wasn’t going to remain conscious for much longer—the beating had taken too much out of her. But she had to stay on her feet long enough to render judgment, which came only at the end of the fight and she couldn’t force it forward. All power had its limits. Locking her gaze on the combatants, she waited for a moment when Erik had the upper hand, when the magic coursing through her would let her make that final decision. It coiled, waiting like a snake ready to strike. She clenched her jaw, ignoring the agony screaming through her, the darkness that edged at the corners of her eyes.

  Stay awake, Bryn. Just stay awake. A few minutes more, that’s all.

  Shifting her weight made her catch her breath. The ankle throbbed sickeningly, the wounds on her collarbones still oozed blood, and fiery pins and needles prickled her arms and hands. Nausea roiled within her, and she wanted nothing more than to bend over and heave her guts up. Tremors ran through her and her palms went clammy. Even in the desert heat, cold sweat slicked her skin.

  A wolf’s howl wrenched from Erik’s throat, and he charged the god, his sword hammering down again and again, taking advantage of the god’s flagging endurance. He used martial arts moves the god clearly didn’t know how to counter. Even exhausted, they fought with speed almost too fast for her to track, but she stayed with them. A single slip of the foot on this sand could spell Erik’s doom—even if he looked better than his opponent, there were no guarantees.

  A roar sounded to her right, and she flicked her gaze in that direction. The frost giant wasn’t dead and bellows issued from both of his mouths. He carried Holm’s battle-axe and came at her, each stride seeming to eat up a mile. He’d be on her in seconds. She knew she was going to die. Her immortality
was over.

  She could have tried to run, tried to shift forms, but that would have left Erik to a fate she couldn’t bear. Having even a small part in his death—again—would shred what little remained of her blackened heart. She couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it. Maybe Nauma was right, and love was what would end this thing. Bryn loved him too much to let him die. So she stood her ground, praying to Freya that judgment would come before she died.

  Erik dropped down and swiped out a leg, toppling Frey. Rearing up, he used both hands to drive his sword deep into the god’s chest. Even then, Frey struggled, tried to slash at Erik with his blade.

  “Now,” she whispered and managed to hold up her palms, throwing every ounce of magic and willpower she had behind Erik’s victory.

  A harsh cry, and the two combatants went still.

  The berserker had beaten a god.

  She turned her head, knowing that the giant would be on her in the next split-second, and she braced for impact. His arm raised, the battle-axe clutched in his meaty fist.

  Here it came.

  A short crack sounded in the distance, and then the giant’s elbow exploded into shards of bone and bloody flesh that splattered across her face. The axe fell to the ground and deafening screams rent the air. Bryn swayed, staring dumbly. She blinked and he was gone, teleporting away—probably back to Jötunheim.

  On a rock outcropping above her, Nauma slowly stood. Beside her, Ivar heaved himself into a sitting position and lifted his massive rifle so it laid across his lap.

  He’d shot the giant and saved her life.

  “Bryn?” Erik shoved the prone form of the god off of him and used his sword as a crutch to heave himself to his feet. He was covered in gore, blood seeping from several cuts she could see. None looked too deep.