Page 8 of The Viking in the Vault
My fated mate.
For a moment, I can’t move. Can’t think. All I can do is stare at her, the bond already tugging at my soul, demanding that I protect her. Claim her.
A low growl builds in my throat as I move closer, dropping to my knees beside her. Fenrik whines softly, nudging her with his nose, and I reach out a trembling hand to brush a dark curl from her face. My fingers tingle as they make contact with her skin, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me.
She’s so small. So fragile.
Mine to protect and cherish.
“Fenrik,” I murmur, my voice rough with emotion. “We need to get her out of here.”
I slip my arms beneath her, lifting her carefully from the rubble. She’s warm against me, her scent enveloping me, and for the first time since waking, I feel a strange sense of calm.
Whatever happens next, I won’t let her out of my sight.
And together, we’ll escape Borean clutches and return to Kanin…where I will make her my bride.
5
ELENA
I’m dead. I have to be dead. Although…if I am, heaven is very warm.
And very muscular.
I curl into it instinctively, letting out a groan when my head suddenly starts pounding. I struggle to catch up to what’s going on–I remember the core samples, the second earthquake, the sensation of falling…
My eyes snap open, the haze of sleep and pain clearing long enough for me to process what I’m looking at. It’s dark, but there’s at least some glow from the surrounding cores–and it allows me to see gorgeous, bronze muscle.
Thick, corded muscle, draped in a fur-lined cloak that’s also been draped around me.
My gaze travels upward, and I realize I’m pressed against a broad chest–one so big it could double as a wall. I’m still processing that fact when I catch a glimpse of a face.
A face that isn’t quite like anything I’ve ever seen before.
Skoll…but not the kind of Skoll I know.
He’s handsome, with a thick beard, long hair, and massive antlers. His face is tattooed–curling script in some language Ican’t read underneath each eye, a vertical line on his lower lip. I take a second to try and figure out what the hell is going on.
Then I finally react.
Panic shoots through me, and I let out a sharp yelp, scrambling in his arms. “What–who–put me down!” I gasp, my hands pressing against his chest as I struggle to free myself. The movement jolts my body, pain flaring in my ribs and in my head, and I wince.
The man stops walking and looks down at me with wide, startlingly blue eyes that glow like starlight in his metallic bronze skin. His features are striking: a broad, strong brow over deepset eyes, a septum piercing with a glittering gemstone hanging above his lips, a thick, dark beard wound into intricate braids. His hair is the same way, tumbling down his back, while his bone white antlers are bigger than any other Skoll I’ve ever seen.
And then he talks, and it gets even weirder–because my translator isn’t able to process a word of it.
His voice is deep, rumbling. The dialect is entirely unfamiliar, guttural and melodic at the same time, with a cadence that sounds like Ves’s native language but clearly isn’t. Even worse, he doesn’t make any move to release me.
“Put me down,” I reiterate, pushing against his chest again.
The Skoll frowns, tilting his head as if trying to make sense of my words. He replies in that same alien language, his tone almost…amused? His arms tighten around me slightly, like he’s trying to reassure me, but all it does is remind me I’m trapped. He keeps talking, keeps hanging on, and I bat at him.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I snap. “Seriously, put me–”
My words die in my throat as something brushes against my leg, warm and furry and far too big to be anything normal. Doeshe have a tail? No way. I twist in his arms, craning my neck to look beneath me.
And I come face to face with a dog.
