Kresley Cole - Dreams of a Dark Warrior

Now he pulled the woman onto his lap, no doubt to join in the debauchery. And lo, there he goes. … He began to unlace her straining bodice.

“My liege, a moment,” one of the guards hastened to say. To catch the warlord before ’twas too late?

“What is it?” Aidan didn’t look up from his task of freeing the female’s ponderous breasts. Once he’d loosened her bodice, his big hand dipped down to grasp one.

“This boy demanded to see you.”

Boy. Males always assumed she was of their sex, simply because she wore trews and carried a sword.

Aidan turned, his gaze falling on Regin. “Who are you?” he asked, his deep voice booming. Throughout the hall, the enthusiastic skirmishes and fornicating slowed.

She answered honestly, “I am a weary traveler in need of assistance.”

At her words, his brows drew together. “You sound … familiar.” He removed his hand from the woman’s bodice and sat up straighter, his demeanor now tense. As if her very voice had set him on edge. “Though your accent is strange.”

“Yours is not my first tongue.” She spoke the ancient language of the immortals first, his Norse mortal language second.

“Come forward.”

Though it nettled to take orders from a mere human, Regin stepped forth.

His gaze grew alert, assessing. She knew he was scrutinizing everything about her—her walk, the uncommonly fine material of her cloak, the gold brooch that clasped the hood in place.

The wench tried to reclaim his attention by cupping his face, but Aidan brushed her hand away. When she wriggled suggestively in his lap, he scowled at her and said something in her ear that sent her flouncing away with a huff.

But the woman couldn’t prevent a longing glance over her shoulder.

For some reason, his dismissal of the buxom brunette gladdened Regin. She supposed she was merely relieved to have his full attention. “I saw you on the battlefield today, warlord. You fought well.” As ever, her thoughts left her lips without any mediation. Lucia’s words repeated in her mind: You have to learn to hold your tongue. You could try even a glacier’s patience.

He leaned forward. “Boy, we are berserkers—we all fight well.”

’Twas not true. She jerked her thumb at a young black-haired man to Aidan’s right. “Not him. His guard’s too low.” Hold your tongue, Regin!

After a stunned silence, a few awkward chuckles sounded. Even Aidan grinned, then seemed startled by his reaction.

The man she’d insulted shot to his feet and stalked closer, his green eyes narrowed. “I’ll show you a low guard.”

At once, Regin dragged her long sword from its sheath, raising it between them.

He gave her a look of disgust. “That sword’s bigger than you are, cur.”

“The better to teach you to raise your guard, mongrel.”

As more chuckles sounded, the man’s fists clenched, his muscles tensing, growing. … Already on the verge of berserkrage.

“Stay your hand, Brandr,” Aidan ordered.

Perhaps coming here was a mistake. These men were too violent and quick-tempered to aid her. And that was something for a Valkyrie to suppose!

Even Aidan, who had appeared to possess more control of himself than the others, now seemed to seethe with … something .

And though the berserkers were Wóden’s guards, perhaps they would hurt her if they found out she was female. What would Lucia do? She’d leave this place anon without revealing herself as a woman.

“Boy, you are either very brave or very stupid to goad one of my strongest warriors,” Aidan remarked. “Now, tell me why you’ve come to my hall.” He tilted his head at her. “And why you’ve covered your skin like an aged druid.”

Brandr grated, “The whelp probably had the pox.”

Pox? She’d just stifled a hiss at him when Aidan said, “Enough.” He rubbed the blond stubble on his chin. “Were you ill, then? Mayhap you haven’t the strength needed to wield that long blade—or to taunt men bigger than you.”

Regin’s eyes went wide. “Haven’t the strength?” She might only be twelve, and still vulnerable to harm, and ’twas true her blasted sword was far too big for her, but she could massacre all these mortals with tooth and claw if need be—

Brandr struck without warning, lunging for her. Before she could defend herself, he’d delivered two punishing blows to her wrist, knocking the sword from her grip.

When he straightened with a smirk, she gladly dismissed the weapon as her instincts took over. She leapt atop a table to her right, then bounded back to the left in front of him, raking her claws across his chest.

Gods, the feel of rending flesh … what need have I for a sword?

Landing softly, she hunched low, ready to spring again as the towering warrior bellowed, “He carries hidden daggers?” He gaped at the deep furrows in his skin, slashes that had severed even his leather scabbard. “Aidan, his death is mine! Any taller, and he’d have slit my throat.”

Regin said, “I chose not to slit your throat. Thank me with ale.”

Suddenly a huge palm closed over her nape. Another hand captured her wrists behind her. Hissing with fury, she twisted around and sank her small fangs into a brawny forearm.

’Twas the warlord! Aidan had her. How had he moved so quickly?

Lightning struck outside, thunderclaps rattling the hall. If only the bolt would hit me!

“Cease this!” He roughly jostled her until she had to release her bite. Before she could blink, he had her cloak clutched in his fist.

“Nay! Do not!”

He ripped it back. Sucked in a breath. Promptly dropped her.

All around her, wide-eyed men closed in. She hissed again, pivoting to keep the threats in sight, baring her claws and her fangs.

One of them asked, “What is she?”

Aidan frowned down at her. “She is merely a little … girl.”

Brandr said, “By Wóden’s beard, she glows!”

Regin spat, “He does not wear a beard!”

At her words, recognition flashed in Aidan’s expression. His gaze lit on her pointed ears, then her eyes. By the way he stared, she knew they were wavering from amber to silver. “You are a Valkyrie. The one whose skin lights up the night. We’ve heard tales of you.”

“You know nothing of me!”

Raising his brows in challenge, he quoted a recent edda: “‘Eyes like amber cast in sun, skin and hair of firelit gold. Formed to war, courage as none, beauty to behold.’ You are Reginleit the Radiant.”

Now several of the men murmured, “Reginleit,” in awed tones.

But not Aidan. He shook his head. “Brightling, you are a very long way from home.”

Of course that ass Brandr said, “ She is one of Wóden’s treasured daughters?”

Shoulders back, Regin said, “Most treasured. Above all my sisters.” Except for Lucia. And Nïx. Likely Kaderin. No need for these mortals to know that perhaps she was not a favorite of his. At present.

“Then why are you in the middle of a war, instead of the safety of Valhalla?” Aidan seemed angry about this. “You’re so small.” He’d begun to look at her with a peculiar intensity, different from the other men’s, more … protective.

“What concern is it of yours where I might be?” She shoved her braids from her forehead, lifting her chin. “And I’m not that small.”

“You are”—he ran a hand over his face—“ young .”

Beside him, Brandr asked, “What is it, friend? Your eyes grow fierce.”

Aidan opened his mouth, closed it. Then he gazed around the scene as if seeing it anew. “Gods.” He reached for her with a hand raised, as if to shield her vision. “Come with me, little one. ’Tis no place for you.”