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I flick my gaze up at him, my eyes narrowed. "You kidnapped me. If you don't like my questions, that sucks for you."
"It's not your questions, Valkyrie," he says quietly. "It's your stubborn refusal to accept an answer as it's given. You've been awake for all of five minutes. You should rest a while. Then we'll talk."
"Or we talk now, and then I'll decide if I'm capable of resting in this place," I say instead, refusing to back down. Call me crazy, but I don't particularly feel like kicking back in bed and taking it easy right now.
He scowls at me.
I scowl back.
"Gods, you're just like them," he mutters with a sharp shake of his head and an exasperated laugh. "You take no prisoners, Rissa."
"It's hard to take prisoners when you are one," I say sweetly.
"You aren't a prisoner."
"Says you. But no one drove you to the middle of nowhere while you were unconscious, now did they?"
He growls at me.
"What's Eitr, and why don't you want to tell me?"
"It's a poison made in one of the nine realms."
"Nine realms?" I blink, trying to put the pieces together. "You mean Norse mythology." Of course. That's why it soundsfamiliar. When I was a little girl, my mother used to fill my head with stories of the Northern people and their Gods. She had this book we read from Every night was a different adventure.
Honestly, it's no wonder I've had nightmares my whole life. Most of those stories were full of death and dying and wars, things far beyond my understanding at the time. I don't remember much about them now, but I remember the nine realms.
There was Álfheim, Jötunheim, Helheim, Asgard, Midgard, Muspelheim, Svartálfaheim, Niflheim, and Vanaheim, each sitting at different levels on Yggdrasil, the world tree. Most home to different races of beings. Some of those beings were considered good, others were anything but, like the giants and the dark elves.
"Eitr!" I snap my fingers as I realize why the name is so familiar. He's right. It was poison. "It was the poison that dripped from the ice in Niflheim and created Ymir, the first being."
"Ja." Dax's eyes glow with pride. "The poison that brought life to the world. You know the Norse people, Rissa?"
"A little." I shrug. "My mom used to read bedtime stories to me. Those were always her favorite."
"She must have been Blooded too."
"Blooded?"
"You don't know who you are, do you?"
"Clarissa Michaelson." I grimace, bending to scoop the pillow from the floor where I dropped it. "If you call me Clarissa, though, we're going to have problems you don't want, Adaxiel."
"That's not what I meant, Valkyrie. I meant your history. You don't know it."
My grip tightens around the pillow, my stomach churning. I know my history. I lived every miserable moment of it. But I'm not sharing those wounds with this man. Beautiful as he may be,he's still a—possibly mentally ill—stranger who kidnapped me. That doesn't make him my friend.
"I'm not telling you my life story, Dax," I say flatly. "If that's your kink, you've got the wrong girl. Find someone else."
"My kink?"
"The dirty thing that gets your dic—"
"I know what a kink is, Valkyrie," he growls. "Bondage. Domination. Watching people fuck in public. Pain." His gaze rakes down my body, his green eyes glowing. "Believe me,bittesmå ljós. You'll be the first to know when I discover what I like."
My stomach quivers. With nerves. With excitement. I hate how much it doesn't quiver with fear. Not once have I truly feared this man. Either I'm a bigger idiot than I thought, or I have a death wish. Because he's death incarnate. I see it in his eyes, glowing like unholy fire. He could rip me apart with his bare hands if he wanted to do it. I think he's probably done exactly that too many times to remember…killed with his bare hands.
He's lethal, the same way lions at rest are lethal. They may let you look. They may even let you get close enough to think you can touch. But as soon as you think you're safe, they strike you down. This man is dangerous. And I don't fear him nearly enough.
