by Jane Cousins
Absently she reformed the little black suit, her shellan no worse for wear. It would take a lot more than a few tears and rips to dispel the magic of the cloth that was magically bound to her.
Hmmm, she considered hunting Galen down and having things out with the perplexing Demon… but a strange emotion tugged at her senses, fear? It was both a novel and galling experience to feel such an alien emotion. What did she have to be afraid of? She was a Valkyrie, hear her war cry and piss yourself accordingly.
It was just everything had been going so well. The urgent, rough fucking, finally, and then… Oh damn, the kiss!
What had possessed her? Couples kiss. People in love kiss.
Did Galen think that kiss actually meant something? Because it totally hadn’t, she’d just been caught up in the moment. That was all. Sure, she liked the big bastard… quite a lot, surprisingly. But she didn’t do attachments and she certainly didn’t do love.
Fuck. Was that why he had looked horrified, thinking that the kiss red flagged that she was falling in love with him? By the Sword, was that another new emotion assailing her? Would this plague of new feelings never end? Embarrassed? Her? A Valkyrie?
No, this whole situation regarding the kiss wasn’t embarrassing, it was annoying. Galen should know her well enough by now to realise the kiss was nothing more than an encouraging pat on the back for a team mate, who was doing stellar work, and was on the verge of making her come. Not a belaboured metaphor at all.
Crap. She had no experience in understanding what the hell was going on between her and Galen. Usually when she had a problem, she killed it. Occasionally she might bang boots with the problem first and then kill it, but… she didn’t want to kill Galen.
No matter how annoyed and Freyja damned horny he made her.
Stomping off towards the suite they’d been assigned she prayed that it would be empty, because she really needed some alone time to come to grips with all these alien thoughts and weird… feelings that were hammering her right now.
She should have skewered him with her hatchet the moment she laid eyes on him back in that hot spring. Worse, she knew that she was lying to herself. Here she was, horny and unhappy, and the only man, Demon, that could change that was Galen, no substitutes allowed. Her gut roiled at the very idea.
Grrr, since when had she become a one Demon Valkyrie? When a weirdly gorgeous, perplexing one crossed her path and made her… feel stuff.
Damn. She couldn’t kill him. But she hadn’t ruled out torture and a little maiming.
Chapter Thirteen
Stephanie stared at her reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror, frowning. The imprint of Galen’s bite marks on her throat and breast were fading fast. But the faint red outline of them, they set up a drum beat of need in her lady parts that was worryingly loud, bordering on the unable to ignore.
Yes. She got it. Sometime, during her restless night’s sleep, she had come to accept the fact that she was a little hung up on the idiot Demon who had stomped off in a snit last night over one little – caught up in the moment – kiss.
And by hung up, she obviously meant that banging boots with Galen had clearly become some kind of challenge to her competitive nature, nothing more.
She’d been very relieved to realise that all these strange and novel feelings that had begun to surface were nothing more than her Valkyrie genes asserting themselves. No Valkyrie liked to fail. She’d set her cap on seducing the big lug back in the cavern, and a Valkyrie always followed through on her mission.
That’s all Galen was now, a challenge. A foe to be conquered. Damn, and she was fighting the urge to smile again at the image of her totally trouncing his tight, muscular ass. Hmmm, yeah, she’d trounce him good and proper. Vowing that there would be no more kissing, just hot and heavy fucking, with absolutely no feelings involved. Well, except for lust, want and need.
Stephanie hung up the damp towel and sighed, now what did one wear to hunt down a Demon? Her gold-plated armour and matching knife pleated skirt would probably be overkill, right? Besides, she was still undercover, masquerading as Galen’s executive assistant. Until they worked out what the Queen’s end game was when it came to Galen, she would need to remember her role.
Okay, so black and white checked capris, with a sleeveless, ruffled, white blouse, black sandals, and of course, her hair back up in its usual high ponytail. There. She looked casual but business like. Hmm, though a little too demure. With a few magical adjustments she made the pants a little tighter. Excellent, her ass looked spectacular, if she did say so herself.
Pleased to note in the mirror that she didn’t look horny. Which she totally was. Better still, she certainly didn’t look angry. Which she totally wasn’t.
So Galen had left her in the lurch last night, mid-fuck, no big deal. So he’d failed to come back to their suite, and Freyja knows where he’d spent the night. It’s not like the Palace was bursting at the seams with over eager She-Demons who would be willing to take him in and soothe all his worries away, grrr. In particular, it wasn’t like there was one of Galen’s ex-girlfriends lurking about with avarice gleaming in her eyes, talking about claiming him.
Claiming Galen? What, By the Sword, did Aspen mean when she so confidently stated that she just needed to utter a few little words and Galen would be hers? Was that even possible? Did Galen secretly want that to happen? Could Aspen be his soul mate? Better the Demoness he knew, than some random hot to trot?
Stephanie scowled at her reflection again, noting the sudden appearance of her war hatchets in her hands. Not exactly fitting in with the casual work attire image so she magic’d them away.
Hmmm, and let’s not forget one of the many other questions that had caused her restless night, what had Galen meant when he said he wasn’t safe to be around? She’d presumed the kiss had been the cause of his hasty retreat. But later, when she replayed the scene over and over again in her head… for clarity, not because she was obsessing. That particular statement had stuck out like an amputated arm at the elbow.
Not safe to be around?
She didn’t get it. If there was danger lurking nearby, she’d eradicate it. If there was a threat looming, she’d smite it. If there was a foe approaching, she’d kill them. Safe? It made no sense. He was a Conflict Demon and she was a Valkyrie, together, what peril couldn’t they overcome if they joined forces?
Okay, Stephanie glanced at her reflection one last time, picking up her trusty clipboard and slipping on the faux black-rimmed glasses. There, she was ready to track down one perplexing Demon and get some answers as to what, in the name of the Goddess above, was wrong with him. Besides clearly not being right in the head for walking away from her mid-fuck, that went without saying.
* * *
Galen woke on a lounger by the communal steam baths to find a squadron of Palace Guards surrounding him, sword tips inches away from his flesh. Idiots, did they think if he had gone true Berserker that he’d care about the threat of their weapons?
They all jumped, several of their swords wavering slightly, hands trembling with fear, as Galen stretched and yawned. “Morning.” He grimaced, rubbing at the two days of beard growth roughening his chin. “Ugh, I need a shower and something to eat.”
The fact that he could form sentences appeared to reassure the squadron Captain. Signalling for his underlings to lower their weapons, though most did so with obvious reluctance.
Heaving himself to his feet, Galen winced as his back let him know it hadn’t appreciated his choice of beds last night. Which sparked a flashback of his hot and heavy almost fuck session with Stephanie. Hell. What, in the name of Lucifer’s balls, had happened to him last night?
One moment he’d been speaking with the Queen and then suddenly, he’d been gripped by dark, relentless, seething emotions. His gaze had fallen on Stephanie, his inner Demon, already worrisomely close to the surface, had locked on to her as their target, and the next moment he was striding across the room intent on only one thing, having
Stephanie.
Her, in his arms, nothing had ever felt so good. His mouth on her skin. His hands exploring all that toned, yet velvety flesh. His fingers drenched in her liquid heat. The heady feel of his teeth all but tearing into her, marking his territory… like some witless heathen.
Shit, he remembered wrenching off Stephanie’s jacket. Ruthlessly tearing off her underwear. Brutishly snapping the straps of her top. All he’d wanted, desired, was to have her naked. And he hadn’t cared about anything but getting what he wanted. It, last night, had been all about him. He hadn’t concerned himself with Stephanie’s needs, hadn’t even asked if she consented. No, he’d been too busy indulging his own ravenous hunger to care about her wishes.
He was aware the squadron’s swords were back out, and pointed in his direction. Crap, he’d been growling unconsciously in disgust as he re-lived the memory. He turned the growl into a clearing of the throat. “Sorry, bit rough this morning. If you will excuse me, gentlemen.” Galen turned towards the shower room located at the far end of the room, finding his way blocked.
The Guard Captain, a broad fellow, with red, close cropped hair and silver eyes, warily met Galen’s questioning dark eyed look. “We have our orders, Prince Galen.”
“Just Galen, no title required.” Heaving out an irritated sigh. He should have guessed the Queen wouldn’t allow him to roam unaccompanied in case he made a break for freedom. “Well, come on then. I have places to be today.” And one Valkyrie to avoid.
He didn’t trust himself when it came to Stephanie, either alone or in public. He certainly hadn’t cared about a room full of party-goers last night when he’d swept her off in to the darkness. No, neither he, nor his inner Demon, could be trusted.
So, while he worked on shoring up his control, he would need to keep on the move. Avoiding a no doubt furious Valkyrie who probably wanted to rip out his guts and stomp on his favourite body part.
Damn, and she was entitled to think like that, absolutely. He considered giving her carte blanche when it came to kicking his ass. Problem was, what if he enjoyed the punishment too much? What if he went to that dark, dangerous edge again? Once more turning all that seething lust in Stephanie’s direction?
No. He refused to hurt her anymore than he already had.
Breathing slowly in for eight counts and then out for another eight, he cleared his thoughts. Okay, there was no point in making a fuss in regards to the detail of Guards assigned to him. They were on the Queen’s orders, there was nothing he could do to change that. So they would just have to come along for the ride. He hoped they were wearing comfortable shoes. Spending the day avoiding a Valkyrie intent upon revenge was going to be a challenge, one Galen hoped he was up to.
He just needed to buy himself enough time to come up with an apology. Figure out some way to make amends. Because if he didn’t, there was nothing to stop Stephanie from busting her way out of this Realm and leaving him for dust. Leaving him to do nothing but devolve into a mindless, killing machine and serve out the rest of his life on the Western Front, battling the Morgdhorn Horde.
That was if they could contain him to this Realm. In his Berserker state, he wouldn’t be able to remember Stephanie, but Galen feared he would feel the void, the hunger that she left behind, and that he would burn down multiple worlds in response.
He needed to face the brutal truth, the idea that Stephanie would claim him now, after what he had done? it seemed futile to go on believing that was a possibility. All he could do was issue an apology, and allow the Valkyrie to smite him from existence, if she so chose.
Death, was not his most favoured of options. But given his actions. His lack of control. He wouldn’t blame Stephanie. If anything, he’d prefer to go by her hatchets. Then his Valkyrie, all the Realms, would be safe.
But he wouldn’t go to Hell without telling Stephanie how truly sorry he was. His pride demanded it. He would face her one last time. Let her war hatchets cleave what they may. If he had to die, then it should be by his Valkyrie’s hand. He would accept no paltry substitute.
First though, he just needed to buy himself some time. Get cleaned up. Get his emotions under strict control. Ring his parents, and sisters. And, come up with that apology.
That’s how Galen found himself showering surrounded by ten fully clothed Guardsmen, who flinched every time he made a grab for the soap. One almost wetting himself when Galen produced a razor to start shaving. Damn, it was going to be a very long day.
* * *
Stephanie absently acknowledged the Conflict Demons she overtook on the path leading to the beach, where this evening’s party was to be held. Untroubled by the fact that more than a few were sending her pointed, hard looks of promised retribution in return.
There was only one Demon she was concerned about and he’d somehow managed to elude her all day. Which should have been impossible, given who she was, and that Galen was running around with a squad of Palace Guards trudging after him.
She’d missed him only by five minutes at the dining room where breakfast was being served. Had been barely two minutes behind him at the gym. Then she’d tracked him on a convoluted trail that circled the Palace twice, delved into the nearby lush jungle for ten miles, then back around the Palace.
He was a no-show for lunch in the dining room. Though later she discovered he had raided the kitchen. There’d been a close call mid-afternoon when she’d caught a glimpse of him in the East Wing, but he strategically sacrificed two of his Guardsmen by using his conflict mojo. The duo’s sudden physical altercation blocked the exit just long enough for Galen and his posse to disappear down a maze of corridors.
It was almost funny. If it hadn’t been so very frustrating.
Stephanie finally gave up chasing him. Galen was clearly avoiding her. Besides, even if she did corner him, she really didn’t like the idea of the Guards bearing witness to their discussion. Bringing up the kiss in front of Galen would be bad enough, she didn’t need a group of strangers to know her personal, private business.
Deciding to think more strategically, she gave up on her pursuit, knowing full well exactly where he would be this evening. Given his escort of Guards, he would have little choice but to attend the beach party his aunt had arranged.
Powering down the pathway, Stephanie took a deep breath and then exhaled. She taken a meditation class a few years ago. It had been Rainfurg’s idea, who for a Valkyrie, gave off quite the hippy vibe.
Rainfurg battled like a one-woman battering ram whilst on campaign. But during her off-time liked to dabble in making scented candles, that weirdly always smelt like fading farts. She ate granola. And volunteered at an animal shelter at least once a month.
Despite her high kill count, Rainfurg was considered a little dippy, but most of her Sisters found her refreshing, in short bursts of contact. As for one little meditation class? Stephanie had figured what could it hurt? Well, the instructor for one. Who only ten minutes into the introductory session had received a kick to the balls from Paisgylph, who caught the man staring down her yoga top. Then Rainfurg had head butted the man into oblivion.
Best yoga class ever. Short and sweet.
Stephanie didn’t remember much else about the class, except that it was important to breath in times of stress and high emotion. She could get behind that mantra. After all, if you weren’t breathing, you were dead. Duh. Did people really need to spend money and their valuable time to be taught such an obvious lesson? According to Rainfurg, they did.
So here Stephanie was, breathing, barrelling at a fast clip down the winding, lush jungle path towards the shoreline. Brushing aside a purple palm leaf she stepped out onto the light blue sand, wrinkling her nose as the pungent smell of sulphur hit her. The ocean was glassy smooth and dark green in colour. Tiny waves brushed up against the shoreline, barely making any impact upon the wide expanse of beach where the party was being held.
A tiki bar was set back against the red coloured ferns that bordered the beach, its roof thatched
with dark purple palm leaves. Several waiters, wearing Hawaiian shirts, circulated throughout the crowd serving drinks. Stephanie shook her head at the female staff member wearing a bikini who attempted to drop a lei of red flowers over her head. No way, the sulphur was bad enough, she refused to add sickly, sweet smelling flowers to the mix.
Hmm, first things first, she double checked to make sure she’d gotten the dress code right. Interesting, there were way more muumuus and kaftans present than she would have thought. In fact, the only females who appeared to be wearing bikinis were the staff. Huh. That was… oh, she was forgetting all the fun she’d had last night, finding faults real and imaginary.
Who knew Conflict Demons, who were so used to manipulating others, would be so blind to her ploy. Very conscious suddenly that a large number of party-goers had noted her arrival and were sending her menacing, intent glares. Really? With the mood she was in? If they wanted to pick a fight, bring it.
Being a Valkyrie meant Stephanie never shied away from a brouhaha. If anything, her Sisters and she had a tendency to be the ones that lit the powder-keg on any given situation.
Hmm, and why should she stop now?
Reaching up, Stephanie tugged at the pink summery shift dress she’d chosen to wear, shedding it, to reveal the rather daring matching one-piece bathers she had magically called in to being just seconds ago.
The one-piece suit had a halter neckline, covering the faint - almost gone now - teeth marks Galen had imprinted upon her flesh last night. But that was about the only prim thing about the article of clothing. The plunging keyhole neckline descended almost to her belly button, and what little material was in back hugged her toned butt like it was melted to her flesh. A fine gold anklet adorned her left ankle, her sandals gone, leaving her bare foot.
Smiling tauntingly at the crowd over the rim of her black glasses, she dropped the dress, sauntering across the sand, casually fanning herself with her trusty clipboard. Several nearby She-Demons flinched at the sight of it. Damn, who knew a clipboard could be just as effective as producing her hatchets and waving them about in an intimidating fashion? You live, you learn.
