Page 13 of The Viking in the Vault
It’s unsettling.
And…well, kind of attractive.
It looks like he’s trying to figure out the best way to unwrap and devour me.
“Thanks,” I mutter, not sure if he understands me but feeling like I should say it anyway. His lips twitch, fighting a smile, and he nods before turning back to the rubble.
I try to focus on the task at hand as we pick our way through the wreckage. The passage is a maze of broken beams, shattered cores, and unstable ice formations, but Ragnar moves through it with practiced ease. He clears debris with the kind of ease that makes it look like it weighs nothing at all, his strength making short work of obstacles that would take me hours to navigate. Fenrik stays close to my side, occasionally nudging me forward with his cold nose when I hesitate.
At one point, the ground trembles beneath us again—an aftershock, smaller but still enough to make my heart lurch. Ragnar stops immediately, holding out an arm to steady me, and waits until the rumbling subsides before pressing on.
His caution is almost reassuring, even if I don’t fully trust him yet.
We reach a particularly narrow section of the passage, the walls closing in on either side, and Ragnar’s broad shoulders tense. He scans the area, nostrils flaring, and then gestures for me to stay close.
“Yeah, no problem,” I mutter, my voice shaky as I follow him.
The floor beneath us groans ominously as we move forward, and Ragnar’s steps become more deliberate. He glances back at me again, his expression tightening, and then?—
The ground shifts.
It happens so fast I barely have time to react. The ice beneath my feet gives way with a deafening crack, and I let out a startled cry as I stumble backward. The walls tremble, chunks of ice falling around us, and I feel my heart slam against my ribs as the passage starts to collapse.
Ragnar moves like lightning. One moment, he’s ahead of me; the next, he’s got his arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground as the floor crumbles beneath us. I cling to him instinctively, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he leaps to the side, landing in a more stable section of the passage.
The impact knocks the breath out of me, and for a moment, I can’t do anything but gasp for air. Ragnar holds me close, one arm wrapped securely around my waist, his other hand braced against the wall. His chest rises and falls against mine, his breath warm against my hair as he murmurs something in his language.
“I’m okay,” I manage to choke out, though my voice wavers. “You can put me down now.”
He doesn’t. Instead, his grip tightens slightly, and his hand lingers at my waist, his fingers brushing against the curve of my hip. His gaze locks onto mine, intense and searching, and I feel a strange flutter in my chest that has nothing to do with the near-death experience.
I think he’s going to kiss me–or at least, he wants to try again, like he did a couple hours ago. I slapped him then, but now…
Now, I’m not sure if I would mind it.
“Seriously,” I say, forcing a weak laugh as I try to pull away. “I’m fine.”
He hesitates, and I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t want to let me go. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this guy, it’s that he’s incredibly horny–and I’m not just talking about the antlers. But he finally sets me down, his hands lingering for just a moment longer before he steps back.
I take a shaky breath, brushing off the lingering warmth of his touch as adrenaline.
It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything. That would be ridiculous.
Ragnar watches me, his head tilting slightly, and then turns back to the passage. He mutters something to Fenrik, who lets out a low bark in response, and the two of them move ahead to scout the area.
By the time we finally emerge into one of the archive’s intact labs, my legs are shaking like jelly. I slump against the nearest console, taking a moment to catch my breath and take in the room. The lights flicker weakly, but it’s functional. The equipment seems mostly undamaged, and my eyes immediately lock onto the comm panel in the corner.
“Finally,” I mutter, brushing off frost from the controls as I make my way over. “Let’s get some help?—”
A low growl stops me cold. I whip around to find Ragnar staring at the comm panel like it’s personally offended him. He stalks toward me, his massive frame taking up way too much space in the small room, and gestures sharply at the device, his tone quick and clipped.
“What now?” I ask, throwing my hands up. “It’s just a comm. I’m calling for help.”
He shakes his head and growls something else in that language I can’t understand, jabbing a finger at the panel, then at me, then back again. His tone isn’t angry exactly—it’s more urgent, like he’s trying to warn me about something.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I snap. “Just let me?—”
Before I can finish, Ragnar slams his hand onto the comm panel. The console sparks, cracks, and crumples under the sheer force of his hit.
