Page 17 of The Viking in the Vault
9
ELENA
Iwake up to the distinct scent of man and dog…and to the sensation of being squished between a warm, fluffy body, and a distinctly muscular one.
We're still bundled up by the emergency heater, Fenrik snoring softly while Ragnar holds me tight against him. At some point we must have laid down, because Ragnar's body is curled around mine, his arms holding me tight, his chin on top of my head and tucking me into his embrace. His breathing is steady, muscular chest rising and falling in that ridiculously tight coat.
Where the hell did he come from?
I know everyone who works here–scientists, historians, artists, the whole bunch. My best friend on the planet is Skoll; they would know who this guy is. But Ragnar…
I can tell he's not supposed to be here. He doesn't speak any language my translator can–or could, given that it's lying in pieces somewhere in the archive–comprehend. He was wearing ancient clothes before I gave him a coat. The dog he's with is supposedly extinct, at least at that size.
If I didn't know any better, I would have to assume he crawled out of a thousand-year ice nap. Maybe longer.
And the craziest part? I can't come up with any better explanation.
I reach out my hand to hesitantly trail down his chest, finding Skoll symbols tattooed across it. I know I shouldn't, but…ugh, I can't help it. He's easily the sexiest man I've ever touched, not that my experience is all that vast. I remember reading a novel in high school about some ice planet alien claiming a human woman as his mate and waking her up in a very creative way, and I don't know if I would've minded Ragnar doing the same thing.
Because it might be nice, right? To wake up somewhere far away from all this, somewhere I wouldn’t have to make impossible decisions or shoulder the weight of my planet’s future. I could just be…someone else. Someone warm and held and safe.
I shake the thought off, disgusted with myself. Great, Elena–you’ve been alone with a gorgeous alien for a couple of hours, and you’re already prepared to throw your entire life away for the chance to be carried off into the unknown.
As if on cue, Ragnar stirs beside me, a low rumble vibrating from his chest. He shifts slightly, his arms tightening around me, and I freeze.
He’s…oh my god, he’s hard. And huge, a cock the size of the empire state building pressing against my thigh.
I untuck my head from his chest and his ice blue eyes fix on mine, half-lidded and hazy with sleep. He reaches up and touches my face like he did yesterday, and I almost give in right then. I haven’t been with anyone since I got to M’mir, and this guy…well, it’s frankly unfair how good he looks like this, all mussed up and warm and…ugh.
“Morning,” I mumble, my voice strained and cracking slightly.
Ragnar grunts, shifting his weight to sit up and look around. He looks across me at Fenrik, who’s snoring like a freight train on the other side of me, plastered to my back.
Even with Fenrik still here, the loss of Ragnar’s warmth is immediate, and I hate how much I feel it. The chill seeps back in, and I pull the edges of Ragnar’s cloak around me as I sit up. My cheeks burn when I remember the ridiculous direction my thoughts had gone earlier, but I shake it off and stand, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of Ragnar’s lingering heat.
“We should keep moving,” I tell him, more to remind myself there’s a world out there than to actually communicate with him. “There’s got to be some way out of here.”
Ragnar frowns, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. For a moment, I wonder if he’s understood me–there’s no way, right?–and then he gestures toward the exit. “Go?” he says.
The single English word sends a thrill through me. I nod vigorously, hoping he’s finally starting to get it. “Yes! Go.”
He nods once, his expression serious, then lets out a low whistle. Fenrik jerks awake immediately, tail wagging as he scrambles to his feet and shakes the frost from his fur. Ragnar stands too, towering over me in that ridiculous blue puffer coat. It barely fits his broad shoulders, the fabric stretched tight across his chest and arms, and for a moment, the absurdity of it makes me smile despite myself.
Ragnar smiles too, then gestures toward the tunnel, his intent clear. He wants me to lead.
“Alright,” I murmur, pulling the cloak tighter and squaring my shoulders. I glance up at him once more, trying to gauge his expression. His face is unreadable, but there’s something almost…encouraging in his eyes, like he believes I can figure this out.
I can do this. I have to do this.
And hopefully he won’t destroy the next comms panel we find.
We take the heater with us, Ragnar holding the handle and using it as a lantern. The icy corridors stretch out in every direction, illuminated by the fractured glow of light filtering through cracks in the ice, the heater’s red-gold reflections all around us.
I glance back at Ragnar as we walk, his imposing figure just behind me. He moves with a calm, steady grace, his eyes constantly scanning the tunnels. His presence should be intimidating—and maybe it is, a little—but there’s also something reassuring about having him there. Like he’s watching my back.
Fenrik pads along beside me, his wagging tail brushing against my leg every so often. He sniffs at the ground, his ears flicking toward every sound, and I wonder if he senses something I don’t.
The tunnels shift as we move deeper, the walls narrowing in places and opening into wide, cavernous spaces in others. Frost glitters in delicate patterns across the ice, refracting the light into shimmering rainbows. It’s beautiful, but I can’t bother with that right now.
