Page 28 of The Viking in the Vault
Yrsa give me strength…
Fenrik huffs out a breath, shifting beneath my arm, and I press my forehead against his side. He’s been my only companion for so long, my only anchor, a companion raised from when he was a pup. He can sense it too–that Elena and I belong together.
Mine.
I can’t decide if her presence is a blessing or a torment.
The fire crackles softly, the only sound in the room besides Fenrik’s steady breathing and the faint creaks of the cottage settling in the cold night air. Her face is all I see when I close my eyes. My hands itch to touch her.
I want her. Not just her body, though the thought of that lone is enough to drive me mad. I want all of her–her laughter, her kindness, her warmth. I want to hear her say my name with love and affection until the day I die. My people–in my time, because the Skoll have changed–were not withholding in our affections. When we fell in love, we knew, and we took our pleasure as desired.
This is…an adjustment, to be sure.
I sigh heavily, rolling onto my back and staring up at the low ceiling. The firelight dances across the wooden beams, but it does little to ease the ache inside me.
For now, I must keep my distance. I’ll stay on this cold floor, and I’ll wait.
Wait for her to see me.
Wait for her to choose me.
And I’m certain she will…because from the moment the cosmos was born, we were fated to be.
A soft nudgepulls me from the haze of sleep. My eyes blink open, adjusting to the darkness of the room.
She’s here, beside me…touching me.
The fire has burned low, casting faint orange embers across the floor. Elena is crouched beside me, her hand on my shoulder, her dark eyes soft.
“Ragnar,” she says softly, her voice pulling me fully awake. “Ves come.”
Her words–spoken in my tongue, though I long to teach her more words–are simple but clear. I groggily sit up, rubbing the back of my neck. Fenrik, still half-asleep, lets out a huff of protest as I move, his warm bulk shifting off my arm.
Elena starts talking as she moves back to the kitchen, and I catch snippets of a few words I’m beginning to recognize. You. Sleep. Warm. There’s a rich, earthy scent filling the room, and it gets stronger as I hear Elena fill two mugs. She returns a moment later with two cups full of the delicious, sweet and spicy drink she gave me last night.
“Chocolate?” I ask, the word rough on my lips.
She snorts and shakes her head. “Coffee,” she says slowly.
She hands me one of the mugs and sits on the floor beside me, and I sniff it cautiously. Yes…it smells good, but strange. Notsweet–not like her chocolate, or like the mead we drank in the longhouses on Kanin. I take a hesitant sip.
And I nearly spit it out, cringing as I force myself to swallow.
Elena covers her mouth with her hand, laughing, and she takes the coffee from me to put it on the table. She says something else, continuing to laugh, and busies herself making sure the drink isn’t somewhere Fenrik can spill it. I take the opportunity to get a good look at her–at the loose, thin tunic she wears over her torso, the fleece pants. She doesn’t appear to be wearing anything underneath her tunic, and I can make out the shape of perfect breasts with peaked nipples, a body I need to touch–
She notices I’m looking, and I catch sight of the blush on her face.
I like making her blush.
“Um…” she carefully stands, then she picks up both cups and returns to her kitchen.
I watch her move, the way her steps are quick and slightly unsteady, as though she’s aware of my gaze on her back. The thin fabric of her tunic clings to her, teasing the soft curve of her hips. It takes everything in me not to rise from the floor and follow her, to press myself against her and bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhale her scent.
I can’t.
Not yet.
Fenrik’s ears perk up and he lets out a low grumble, alert–then someone knocks at the door. Elena calls out, and whoever it is lets themselves in.
