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Chapter Eleven
“My love, kiss me.”
—Viking Runes
Eir let her stallion fly across a stretch of flat, icy terrain.
She closed her eyes and simply focused on breathing in and out. Long draws and releases of breath to center herself. Stop the panic and terror from rising.
Fear.
It was not an emotion she had ever experienced before. Over a thousand years, she’d led her sisters into glorious, fantastical battles, in both the realms of men and gods. Valkyries were immortal, but they were not indestructible. Exactly twenty-three Valkyries had perished in those centuries, including Eir’s predecessor, the shield maidens’ previous leader.
Mist and herself were the longest living of the current troop. They thrived to see the greatest battle of all: Ragnarök.
But that wasbefore.
Now, Eir questioned what she lived for. What gave her the greatest thrill and the deepest joy.
And what made her insides gnaw with trepidation when she thought ofloss.
She mourned every one of her sisters who’d sacrificed themselves in bravery and honor. She missed the ones she lost; they all did. But they never dwelled on it. For they knew that the fallen Valkyries would join them for Ragnarök.
This was what they were made for, when all was said and done. To fight, to conquer, and to usher the best warriors into Valhalla and prepare for the final battle.
But now…
Eir’s heart had been moved by a few drops of warm, salty tears. Shed by a man she’d taken and claimed, but did notknow.
It shouldn’t have affected her this much. Hearing his drunken words and seeing his quiet pain.
It hadguttedher.
That night, Ere and Sorin had helped her get Kai back to their shared barn, after making a long detour to the outhouse to relieve his bladder. Ere had given her a strange look before they left. She didn’t know what it meant, and really, she wasn’t paying attention, her whole being focused solely on Kai.
There had been sympathy in Ere’s gaze. A warning as well. As if to say,I’ll make your life hell if you hurt a hair on my brother’s head.
It was not an empty threat, Eir knew. She even respected the man for making it.
Once she was alone with Kai, she’d taken his boots off and covered him with furs as he slept deeply, dead to the world.
Eir, however, didn’t sleep that night. She’d stayed awake beside him, simply watching him breathe.
As if her hands had a will of their own, she’d watched her fingers sift through his shorn hair, scratching gently against his scalp, like petting a great slumberous beast.
He’d sighed as if he enjoyed her touch, unconsciously leaning into it.
So, she spent many hours simply touching him like that. Running the backs of her hands along his face, fingertips grazing the ends of his lashes, thumb rubbing his soft lips.
She traced the tattoos that she could see, etched in neat lines from his temples, down the sides of his face and neck, and the backs of his hands.
She knew enough of him by now to know that he was a male who didn’t like confinement, including the trappings of clothes. But she didn’t attempt to undress him.
That night, in particular, he needed layers. He needed protection. She knew he’d never want anyone to see him thus: raw and exposed.
His soul-deep pain a throbbing, open wound.
So, she simply curled beside him, petted and stroked him. With a care she’d never felt before for anyone.
