Page 44 of The Viking in the Vault
“Elena,” he murmurs, my name a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. His hand rises to cup my cheek, his touch gentle, reverent, like he’s afraid I’ll break. “Fenvarra…”
His gaze searches mine, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me again. My heart hammers against my ribs, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. But then he pulls me close instead, tucking me against his chest. He holds me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this world, and I let him, even though I know I should step back.
I let him because I don’t want to pull away.
Because I’m finally doing something for me…and I’m letting him in.
18
RAGNAR
Elena is still here.
I wake to the first light of dawn spilling through the small window in the clinic, its pale snow-tinged glow illuminating the room in soft gold. Elena breathes slow and calm in my arms, her head tucked against my chest. Her warmth grounds me in a way I’ve never felt before, steadying me in this unrecognizable world.
For the first time since waking, I feel at peace.
The moment doesn’t last.
The door creaks open, breaking the fragile stillness. My eyes snap open, catching the faint scent of someone unfamiliar—but there’s a trace of familiarity there, just enough to put me on edge. A Skoll female, if I’m not mistaken.
I sit up, tightening my hold on Elena instinctively. My gaze locks on the intruder: Davina Ferhalda.
The scholar I’d thought I could trust.
Elena stirs in my arms, blinking slowly as she wakes. She yawns softly, her head lifting just enough to glance in the direction of the door. The moment she registers Davina’s presence, her entire body stiffens. Her eyes widen, darting between Davina and me.
She bolts upright, pulling away from me in a rush.
I scowl, not satisfied with the sudden distance, and catch her wrist before she can fully escape. A low, dissatisfied growl rumbles from my chest as I pull her back, though I loosen my grip when she looks at me with a mix of surprise and embarrassment.
“What’s going on?” I grunt, my tone sharper than intended.
Davina raises her chin, her expression one of faint disapproval. “I’m here with news,” she says briskly, her voice clipped. “I just arrived from Mythara with some colleagues.”
“And?”
She huffs, clearly annoyed. “And we’ve cleared you—medically speaking—but there is still much to learn about your language. A whole dictionary, a translator algorithm to synthesize—and…”
She pauses.
I catch a strange scent in the air. My body tenses immediately.
It’s faint but unmistakable. Alien.
“…there’s someone who has arrived to help us with that,” Davina finishes, but her words barely register. My focus has already shifted, my senses sharpening.
“What is this?” I murmur, my voice low and edged with suspicion. My eyes narrow toward the door, where the scent is strongest. “Who did you?—”
Before Davina can answer, the door opens again.
And they walk in.
Skin and hair white as snow, a flowing cascade of purest alabaster. Eyes black as the void, gleaming like polished onyx.
A Borean.
I’m on my feet in an instant, squaring up to the door with my fists clenched and muscles coiled. My chest rises and falls in heavy, measured breaths as my gaze locks on the figure. Theblood in my veins thrums with the heat of memories, battles fought, comrades lost.
