Linda Evans - Sleipnir

"No, you're all wet." She laughed, pushing me away. "Get the other towel."

"Where?" I looked and didn't see another.

She pursed her lips; then smiled. "Oh, silly Gerta, she's probably left it on the bed instead of in here."

Rangrid disappeared into an adjoining room, and I followed, still dripping onto the floor. "Yes," I heard her say, "there it is. Go dry yourself while I brush out my hair."

She had wrapped the towel around herself and was hunting for a brush on a nearby table. I spotted the towel in the center of her enormous bed, and leaned over to retrieve it.

She tackled me from behind.

I sprawled, exhaling sharply as her weight pinned me on my stomach.

Blind survival instinct kicked in. I heaved upward, spilled her onto her side, and rolled fast, pinning her flat on her back before she could move. An involuntary snarl escaped as I pinned her wrists and looked for weapons. Her eyes widened as she realized this wasn't just rough foreplay. Abruptly she lay very still.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I meant only to tease—"

Warily I held her gaze. Suspicion still flared; but I could find no trace of guile in her eyes. When I let go and sat up, there were red marks on her wrists. I scrubbed at my eyes, then stood up and found a wall to lean against.

"Look, Rangrid," I said wearily, "I've been through more than you'll probably ever understand. You're a goddess. I'm just Randy Barnes, the dumb troopie. It's your boss who's trying so hard to kill me. Not twenty minutes ago he was ready to split my skull wide open with his war axe."

I glanced up to see how she was taking this. Her eyes reminded me of a puppy somebody's recently kicked. Her lower lip actually trembled. I felt angry, betrayed, stupid, and loathsome, all at once. I'd never hit a woman in my life, and hadn't meant to start with Rangrid.

"Dammit, don't look at me like that! I'm not some low-life scum who gets his rocks off beating women! Think about this, Rangrid. Odin's called Oath Breaker for good reason, and you work for him. What else am I supposed to think when you attack me from behind?"

She came off the bed in one fluid movement. "I am a valkyrie! Not a coward! Those who have fallen to me in battle have died honorably. I have never taken a mortal outside of combat—never!—and certainly not with the coward's blow!"

Proud, furious, naked in a way that made her strangely vulnerable ... How many of the "heroes" in that hall out there had seen Rangrid like this? Something told me, not very many. God help me, I didn't trust her; but I wanted her. I scowled and thumped the wall absently with one bare heel.

"Yeah, well, maybe you've got a sense of honor; but that bastard out there misplaced his. If he ever had one to begin with."

"I am not Odin!" she said sharply.

I gave her an equally sharp stare. "Meaning... ?"

She looked as if she wanted to lower her gaze; but she was too proud to look away.

"I do my job. I do it well, even when I do not like it. All soldiers face this; do they not? But I am not Odin, and I do not wish your death, and it is not I who will collect your life on the field of battle tomorrow."

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Rangrid's expression shifted, then, into a terrible fear which chilled me. What could frighten a valkyrie? Whatever it was, it scared hell out of me.

She whispered, "There are so few like you... ."

Her eyes met mine. A cloud of soft gold framed her face. Her voice was velvety, persuasive. "You are safe so long as you remain with me. And we have the night to enjoy. Please, for a few hours, at least, try to put aside your suspicions. You have a right to them; I will not argue that. But I am not your enemy. I never have been. Tonight I wish only to enjoy your company. As I hope you will enjoy mine."

I don't normally sleep with the enemy. But she was soft and warm, and my skin remembered the feel of her, and wanted more. And there wasn't much use ruining what might well be my last night as a living, breathing man. Even condemned murderers get a last meal. Besides, I wanted to believe her.

So call me a fool.

I nodded, unsure how to break the tension that had flared between us.

Rangrid took care of that. "Come, lie down. Please. Let me rub your back and shoulders. You look like stone."

"Huh. I feel like it." My shoulders were so knotted, I could've earned a merit badge with them.

I crossed to the bed—one eye still on her—and lay down, slowly. She knelt above me. Then, as promised, she went to work on my shoulders. She kneaded and stretched out the hard knots, slowly working her way up my neck, down my back, across my hips, and down each leg, until I lay relaxed and glowing beneath her touch. She could've gotten a job at any whorehouse this side of the planet Neptune, just giving backrubs.

"Mmm," I sighed. "Nice."

Her lips touched my shoulder blade, like sun-warmed rose petals. Lazily, I hoped this boded well for the rest of the evening. Rangrid was a lady I wanted a long time to get to know. More time than Odin might give us.

"Shh..." she urged. "Don't think of tomorrow. Think of my hands, and lazy, sunlit afternoons... ."

She continued on in that vein for several minutes. As she worked over me, her breasts tickled and teased my sensitized skin. Her hair brushed my back with the softness of butterfly wings.

She even rubbed my feet.

Then she worked her way slowly back up my legs, running her thumbs up the insides of my thighs, stretching the sensitive skin in rhythmic circles. I hissed softly.

"Keep that up," I murmured into the bedding, "and you'll undo all your good work."

"We mustn't let that happen, then, must we?"

There was low laughter in her voice. When she turned me onto my back, I rolled willingly, returning the smile she sent from beneath a cascade of golden hair.

"Now," she said with a wicked smile, her fingers doing soft, tantalizing things, "what was it you said out there about your coming depending on me?"

"Oh, no," I groaned.

"Oh, yes," she replied, leaning over me until her hair tickled my chest. "Really, you should never tease a valkyrie; especially not where the Einherjar can hear."

Her hair trailed tantalizingly downward... .

My eyes crossed and I moaned. When I could speak again, I croaked hoarsely, "Really, I didn't mean it that—"

I grunted when she sat on my chest. The witch leaned over my face until her breasts just barely skimmed my lips. "Oh, yes you did!"

I was too distracted to deny it. It was true, anyway.

Eagerly I licked. "Mmm," I said in my throat, nursing and nibbling with my teeth.

She pulled back, smiled demurely; then turned around.

I gasped; my torture had begun.

For the first half-hour, she never even touched the one part of me that demanded to be touched; by the end of that time I was thrashing and grinding my teeth. Every time I reached for her, she moved my hands aside, and continued tantalizing me.

"For gods' sake, Rangrid," I gritted, "have a... little mer- cy ... !"

My voice hit soprano. Cold air a moment later was a shock.

"Mmm," was all she said.

"Oh, god ..."

When she started a slow, rhythmic dance my eyes rolled back into my head and I convulsed. "Oh, god!"

My whole universe contracted, centered on the exquisite agony at my hips. I could endure no more, and did, and cursed and begged. Warm breath from her low laughter teased me as much as her actual touch. I lost all sense of time. When she finally turned and slid down over me, I actually lost consciousness in the throes of orgasm.

When I woke, the room was dark. The scent of her filled my nostrils. This time I took the initiative, and before I was even halfway finished with her, she was crawling backward up the wall, clutching my head and screaming with every shudder.