Page 27 of The Viking in the Vault
“Get it together, Elena,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head as if I can physically dislodge the image.
Not that you can easily dislodge an eight-pack.
I grab a fresh pair of pajamas and head to the bathroom, keeping my footsteps light so I don’t wake him. The bathroom is small, with just enough space for a standing shower and a sink crammed next to the toilet, but it’s mine. I lock the door behind me, letting out a long, shaky breath as I lean against the sink. My reflection in the mirror stares back at me, cheeks flushed, hair a tangled mess from the wind and cold. I look as frazzled as I feel.
“Shower,” I mutter, turning on the water and adjusting it until steam begins to rise. “Just take a shower.”
I peel off my sweater, then the rest of my clothes, and step under the hot spray. The heat is bliss, washing away the cold that’s been clinging to me since we left the library. I close my eyes, letting the water run over my face and shoulders, and take a deep breath.
But then…his face flashes in my mind.
And his abs. Again.
And that stupid smirk he puts on when I’m doing something he thinks is silly, and his laugh…
I groan, covering my face with my hands. “Stop it, Elena. He’s…he’s just a guy. A Skoll guy who’s clearly been through hell. He doesn’t need you drooling over him like some lovesick teenager.”
I finish my shower quickly, determined to shake off these ridiculous thoughts, and towel off before pulling on my pajamas—a simple set of flannel pants and a soft, oversized T-shirt. My hair is still damp as I climb into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin.
The room is quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire through the door. I close my eyes, determined to focus on something else. Anything else. But the harder I try not to think about him, the more vivid the memories become.
When I woke up next to him…it’s so stupid, but I had this crazy vision of a future with him. Being able to talk to him is a dream I want more than almost anything else.
He’s a distraction.
I can’t have that.
My heart aches a little, but not just because of how undeniably attractive he is. It’s more than that. It’s the weight he carries, the quiet pain in his eyes. He’s lost everything—his family, his world, even time itself. And yet, there’s a strength in him that’s impossible to ignore, a steadfast resilience that draws me in whether I like it or not.
I roll onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut. “You’re just tired,” I tell myself, my voice barely a whisper. “That’s all.”
But even as I drift off to sleep, his face lingers in my mind—not just his body, no matter how much I want to believe this is just physical. It’s his personality, too…a personality I’m certain will be incredible once we can actually talk. I should forget about him, go back to work…but he’s suddenly the most interesting thing about my life.
And somewhere deep down, I know that no matter how much I try to deny it, Ragnar Stormborne is going to be impossible to forget.
12
RAGNAR
Ilong for her.
Sleeping in this cottage, so close…hearing her move from the bath chamber to her bedroom, thinking about the things I could do to her in those places, the heights of pleasure I could take her to…
I groan, turning to bury my head in the blankets nestled on the floor.
There was no room on the sofa, so I must suffer here, on the cold floor, in solitude.
Fenrik, sensing my frustrations, turns his head to lick my hand. He's curled up between me and the fire, one of my arms slung over his furry bulk. I scratch his fluffy ears absentmindedly, trying to remind myself I can’t do what I wish.
Davina and Ves both know that I believe Elena is my fenvarra…and I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that it’s now an antiquated concept.
And how can I explain it to her, when the time comes?
The old tales tell us that Yrsa spun soul bonds from the threads of creation, stretching across the cosmos in a divine web. Those bonds connected us, even when the distances were vast–and I suppose those distances were both spatial and temporal.Elena is my fenvarra: fen, my heart…varra, kin. Kin to my heart, my soul, my everything.
She doesn’t realize it yet. And even if she did…what would she think of me? Of this broken, ancient warrior who’s spent centuries frozen in time?
I groan again, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself to sleep. She’s so close, just beyond that thin wall, lying alone in her bed. I can picture her there, half-dressed, her curves nestled beneath thick blankets. I could warm her better than any blanket could.
