Page 73 of The Viking in the Vault
His pupils are blown wide in the dim light, his gaze so deep it feels like I’m drowning in it. It's snowing outside, and the ethereal glow of the northern lights paints him in brilliant turquoise and pink. His hand strokes down my back, pressing me closer until I can feel every inch of him, solid and unmoving.
“I have spent my whole life waiting for you,” he says quietly. “I crossed galaxies to find you.” He presses his forehead to mine. “There is nothing that could take me from your side.”
I stare at him, my breath catching in my throat. He’s so certain…like the idea of love ending is something impossible, something he physically cannot comprehend.
I want to believe him. I really, really want to believe him.
But I know better.
I swallow hard, pressing my forehead against his, letting my eyes drift shut. “You say that like nothing changes.”
“Some things do,” Ragnar murmurs. “But not this. Not us.”
A small, broken laugh slips past my lips.
“I grew up on shifting sand,” I whisper. “A barrier island off the coast of Florida. Our whole town—our whole world—depended on something unstable, something that changed with every storm, every tide, every shift in the current.” I exhale slowly, shaking my head. “No matter how much people wanted to believe they could build something permanent, no matter how many times they rebuilt, the ocean always won.”
His hand strokes down my back, steady, grounding. “The ocean?”
I nod. “The storms. The hurricanes. The rising tides. You can fight it for a while, but in the end, everything sinks. Everything gets washed away.”
“Elena.” His voice is deep, quiet, steady. “I am not sand.”
I trace my fingers over his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solidness of him, the realness of him. He normally takes things very literally, but I get the impression he understands the metaphor this time around.
“No…you’re permafrost,” I whisper. “Deep and solid and ancient.” I let out a soft breath. “But even permafrost melts where I’m from.”
His jaw tightens. “Then it is a good thing I am not from your world.”
I press my face into his chest, trying to hold back the ache, trying to hold back the fear. “You can’t promise forever.”
“I can,” he growls. “And I will.”
I shake my head against him, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if you melt?”
Ragnar exhales slowly. “You fear what you have seen.”
“Yes.”
“You fear that I will vanish.”
I close my eyes. “Yes.”
His thumb brushes over my cheek, gentle, reverent. “But I am not the sand, Elena. I am not the frost. I am not the tide. I do not shift. I do not sink. I will not disappear.”
His hands tighten around me.
“I am here.” His voice is a low growl. “I am yours.”
My chest clenches, my breath shaky. His fingers tilt my chin higher, his gaze locking onto mine.
“Elena.” His voice is raw, emotional. “I crossed galaxies for you. You are the only thing I have ever searched for. And even if we change, we change together?—”
A low, exaggerated huff comes from the other side of the bed.
I blink, turning my head just in time to see Fenrik dramatically flop onto his side, his massive paws kicking out as if to physically shove us out of his sleeping space.
Ragnar lets out a deep, irritated sigh. “You ruin the moment, skarn.”
