Page 41 of The Viking in the Vault
Her cheeks flush slightly, and she murmurs something to Ves. They translate with a faint smirk. “She says you are lucky she does not give up easily.”
I chuckle softly, the sound rumbling from deep within my chest. “I am lucky,” I admit, my gaze fixed on hers.
Without thinking, I reach out, my hand brushing against her cheek. Her skin is warm, soft, and the gesture feels natural, as though I’ve done it a thousand times before. I want to thank her, to convey what words cannot, but the moment is short-lived.
Elena stiffens, her eyes darting toward the glass window where the strange scholars are watching us with thinly veiled curiosity. She pulls back, her movements quick and hesitant, as though the realization has hit her all at once.
“Elena,” I murmur, confused by her retreat.
She shakes her head, her expression flustered as she looks at Ves and then back at me. “Not safe,” she whispers.
I nod, understanding the unspoken boundaries she’s setting. I drop my hand, letting the moment pass, but my heart doesn’twaver. She may pull away now, but I know what we are to each other.
I know what she feels, even if she isn’t ready to face it.
17
ELENA
Ican’t believe this is happening.
When we brought Ragnar back from the Eiskammer, I figured they would have taken care of anything like this at that point. We were in the library; they could have done whatever they wanted.
But it turns out, Professor Ferhalda got spooked by all the fenvarra talk…and the whole team of scholars knew they would have to take him from me by force.
And that…I don’t know how to feel about that.
I know I should go home, but I sit in the lobby of the health clinic instead, tapping my foot on the tile floor. Ves left a while ago; I told them I would be okay, even though I don’t feel like I’m okay at all. Ragnar is still stuck here, waiting on Ferhalda and a couple other experts to arrive from Mythara, and I’m just…
…I really, really don’t know what I’m doing.
Because yes, I should go. I should absolutely go home and get some rest. I can come back tomorrow, and it’s frankly very strange that I’m sticking around.
But I don’t trust these people. Not with Ragnar, not with Fenrik.
Not with this fragile, impossible bond that’s somehow taken root between us.
I pull out my communicator and fiddle with it, wondering if I should call my family. It’s late, and I’ve been so distracted that I didn’t even check in with them after last night’s storm…but I need them, and they need me. I finally cave and dial Marcy’s code, making my daily extranet call all the way back to Earth. It rings only a couple times before her face appears on the screen, one of her kids sleeping on her chest.
My heart aches at the sight of them in that hotel room–carrying all their stuff with them. The house wasn’t completely destroyed…but it’s pretty badly flooded.
This might be the death knell for living in Santa Rosa.
“Hey El,” she says quietly, smiling as she strokes her son’s hair.
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, no…he’ll sleep through it,” she says. “They got to hang out at the hotel pool today so they’re both pretty tuckered out.”
I take a deep breath, leaning back in the hard plastic chair, the edges of it digging into my back. “How are things otherwise? Any updates with the insurance?”
Marcy lets out a soft sigh, her free hand resting on her son’s back. “Still waiting. The adjuster came by this morning, but you know how it goes—paperwork, delays, and more delays. Mom’s been nagging me to move back up to Boston, but…” She trails off, her eyes distant for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine leaving California, even if things are a mess.”
I nod, understanding but not knowing how to help. My sister is the most grounded person I know, but seeing her like this—tired, stretched thin—it reminds me how much I’ve been away. Too far away. Too out of touch. “I wish I could help more,” I say, my voice soft.
“You’re helping by doing what you’re doing, El,” she says, offering me a small smile. “The work you’re doing…it’s important. You don’t need to feel guilty.”
But I do. I always do. And tonight, with everything happening here, it feels heavier than usual. I glance down at my communicator, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of the device. “Marce, I…there’s something I need to tell you.”
