Page 26 of The Viking in the Vault
Ragnar keeps flipping through the pages, saying nothing as he takes in the images. There are a few more of the beach…and the old house, which was closer to the coastline.
“That’s the house I grew up in,” I gesture at it. “But we lost it after a hurricane. The storms were already getting worse before the Convergence, and everything just went totally haywire after that. Florida’s a lot smaller than it used to be.”
He keeps turning the pages, finding more and more of my siblings. I can see the expression on his face changing…and I realize he’s sad. It’s despair I’m seeing.
“Did you…” I pause, trying to figure out how to ask him this question. I finally decide; I point at the picture of me and my siblings, then I point at me and hold up three fingers–three of us girls–then I point at him. “Did you have siblings?”
Ragnar hesitates, searching my eyes for more clues…then understanding seems to dawn on him.
He nods.
Holds up four fingers, then points at himself.
My heart breaks a little at the sight of him like this–looking at pictures of my family, when he just learned each of his siblings–three siblings he was trying to save–died thousands of years ago.
Ragnar stares at the picture for a long time, his fingers still resting lightly on the page. His silence feels heavy, like the weight of something he’s been carrying for centuries but can’t put into words. I watch him, unsure of what to say, my heart aching for him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, even though I know he doesn’t understand.
His head turns slightly, his blue eyes meeting mine. There’s a deep sadness in them, but also a flicker of something else—gratitude, maybe, or understanding. He nods once, a small, almost imperceptible movement, before flipping to the next page.
It’s a picture of me and my mom, sitting on the porch of our old house, laughing about something I can’t even remember. My mom’s arm is around me, her smile as warm as the sunlight streaming down on us. Ragnar traces the edge of the photo with his finger, his expression softening.
“Varra,” he murmurs.
I frown. “Fenvarra?”
He shakes his head, though it’s with a smile. “Varra…” he points at me and my mom in the photo. “Varra.”
Ah…I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Family,” I guess.
For a moment, the room feels impossibly small, the crackle of the fire and the soft hum of the TV the only sounds between us. I want to ask him more, to know everything about the familyhe lost, about who he was before the world moved on without him. But I don’t want to push, not when he’s already carrying so much.
He closes the album gently and hands it back to me, his hands brushing mine again. His touch is warm, steady, and it lingers just long enough to make my heart stutter. I take the album and slide it back into the drawer, my fingers trembling slightly as I shut it.
When I sit back, Ragnar is still watching me, his gaze steady and unreadable. For a second, I think he might say something, but then he leans back against the couch, his head tilting slightly as his eyes drift to the TV. The firelight dances across his face, softening the harsh lines of his jaw, and I realize just how tired he looks.
“Long day,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
Ragnar nods, his eyes heavy, and I realize he’s fighting to stay awake. Fenrik has already claimed the spot by the fire, his tail thumping lazily against the rug as he snores softly. I smile at the sight, then stand and grab the blanket draped over the back of the couch.
Ragnar doesn’t even stir as I gently spread it over him, his breathing deep and even. His face, tense since I met him, is peaceful now, the weight of the world momentarily lifted.
I hesitate, my hand hovering near his hair, the urge to brush it back almost overwhelming.
But I pull away, shaking my head at myself.
What am I doing?
I turn off the TV, leaving only the glow of the fire to light the room, and retreat to my bedroom. My communicator flashes with a missed call from Marcy, but I send her a quick message: Long day–but I’m safe. Talk tomorrow?
I get the response a few minutes later.Of course. Love you, El.
I step into my room and close the door quietly behind me, leaning back against it for a moment. My heart is still racing from…everything. Finding him in the ruins of the sublevels…Ragnar rescuing me.
Ragnar in my apartment. Fenrik nearly destroying my kitchen.
And Ragnar’s chest. His broad, bare chest, so defined it’s practically etched into my memory.
