Kresley Cole - Dreams of a Dark Warrior

“And can you blame me? Imagine the woman she would be.” He gazed up at the cloudy sky as if picturing her at that moment, and Regin’s heart clenched again. Then Aidan faced Brandr. “Nay, do not imagine her.”

Brandr exhaled. “There are women aplenty in this camp. Women who burn to bed you. Surely you can replace her.”

“The idea is laughable. As well you know.”

“I’d take a warm woman in my hands over a cold Valkyrie in my mind.”

I am not cold!

“By the way,” Brandr added, “that was enough drink to put down a horse. You’ll be on your face soon. Mayhap you’ll actually sleep a night through.”

With a snarl, Aidan shot to his feet, then lurched toward a nearby tent.

“Go to your lonely bed, old man!” Brandr called.

Brandr and I are going to cross swords one day, Regin decided. Then she leapt from one limb to another, settling in a tree outside Aidan’s tent. From there, she could spy the dimly lit interior through the outer flap.

Inside, he angrily ripped off his tunic, displaying broad shoulders and a brawny back that tapered down to narrow hips. As he moved, his muscles flexed beneath smooth tanned skin.

Magnificent male. She hissed out a shaky breath at the sight.

He kicked a shield on the ground, then knocked a tankard from a table. He was like the approaching storm, his ire building as he began to smash his belongings—weapons clanging, wood splintering.

Regin tilted her head in wonder, frowning at the mortal’s rampage.

When the storm gave up its first bolt above, he froze. She thought she heard him mutter, “Lightning. Lightning ?” Out of the tent he staggered, clearly the worse for the liquor, and headed away from the camp.

Regin dropped down and silently followed as he made his way out of the forest into a nearby field. He stopped before an ancient rune stone—an upright slab of rock more than ten feet tall, carved with glyphs. They were numerous in these Northlands, each created to be a direct path to Wóden’s ear.

He faced the stone. “You give me lightning this eve?” With every word, his voice grew louder, until he was shouting: “To remind me of what I have lost?” He launched his mighty fist against the rock.

Regin’s jaw dropped at the blasphemy.

Aidan punched it again, bloodying his hand. “To remind me of what I cannot find?”

With his every word, she felt his pain. It washed over her like a flood, temporarily numbing her desires. She’d never known hurt like this—a torment not of the body but of the mind.

Of the heart?

She’d never known he would come to this.

As if pulled to him by an invisible force, she eased closer. When he drew back his bloodied fist again, she stayed his arm with a touch.

He went still, but his whole body seemed to be thrumming. Regin’s was as well; her own lightning lit the sky from her turbulent emotions.

Slowly, he turned to her. With a shaking hand, he reached for her cloak. She didn’t think he even realized he spoke aloud: “Be her, be her, gods, let it be her. ”

He unfastened the garment, let it drop to her feet, then sucked in a breath at her uncovered face. His bloodshot eyes now glowed gray as they flickered over her features. Brows drawn together as if he were pained, he held up a lock of her hair, threading his fingers through it. “So fair.”

A light rain began to fall, misting their skin, but he seemed not to notice as his gaze dipped to her body. Rocking on his feet, he rasped, “Gods, ängel . I dreamed of you like this. Every night.” Then he frowned, muttering to himself, “Still in reverie. That was the choicest spirits.”

“’Tis no dream, warlord—”

One strapping arm shot out to circle her shoulders; the other was a band around her arms and torso, dragging her against him. She felt him groan from deep in his chest as their bodies met.

The closest she’d ever been to a man.

“You’ve returned to me. No longer must I worry for you, out in the world alone,” he said, his voice breaking lower with emotion. “You were just a little girl. Without my protection.” He nuzzled her hair, inhaling with another groan. “But you’re a woman now.” His erection pressed against her belly as he growled, “ My woman.”

The bare skin of his chest was smooth against her cheek and felt so hot in the rain. His scent surrounded her, enticing her as much as his muscles rippling all around her. When he rubbed his chin over the sensitive tip of her pointed ear, her claws curled, readying to sink into his body and pull him ever closer.

Yet then he drew his head back, suspicion in his expression. “Have you lain with another?”

She frowned, genuinely curious when she asked, “Would you not want me if I had?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He ignored her question. “Has there been another, Valkyrie?” His wild eyes were seething gray. “Tell me! The beast in me stirs. It can’t share its mate. I can’t share my mate.”

Regin swallowed at the intensity of his gaze. He would never give her up, would never accept the mere months she’d intended to give him. “Th-this was a mistake.”

“There has been.” He threw back his head and roared like an animal in pain, crushing her against him with one arm as he pounded his fist into the wet stone over and over. “You were meant for me, meant only for me!”

“Aidan, wait,” she cried, grappling to free herself, but he’d pinned her arms to her sides. “Listen to me!”

He didn’t. “I was true to you, Valkyrie!” The rune stone began to crack under his assault. “I will slaughter any who’ve touched you. …”

Seeing no other recourse, she sank her fangs into one of the thick muscles of his chest.

He seemed not to feel it. She bit harder until she’d drawn blood.

Finally he slowed. “You’re biting me?” he slurred.

With a roll of her eyes, she released him.

“If you mean to pain me, you will have to do better than that. I’ve had nine years of perfect misery.”

“I had to do something to make you listen. Aidan, I’ve never been touched. Not that it should matter—since you are certainly no innocent.”

He sagged against her in relief.

She added sarcastically, “My virgin’s blood is still yours to spill.”

He took her words seriously. “’Tis mine by right. You belong to me ! If there’d been another, I would make him eat his own entrails.”

She blinked up at him. “And these are your words of sentiment?”

“There’s no poetry in me, Reginleit. No fine words.” He stared down at her, his gaze seeming to consume her. “I come to you as a man unfinished.”

Raw, grim male.

He took her hands in his bloodied, callused ones. “Accept me?” His eyes glowed, his lashes spiked from rain.

Lightning struck then and her breath caught—he had a face made even more beautiful in the blaze of lightning. “Warlord, you once told me I’d always know what you’re thinking. What are your thoughts now?”

“Partly, I’m thinking that I might shame myself in my trews, just from the feel of you next to me.” One of his hands snaked around to cover her backside, gripping her there.

“Oh!”

“And partly, I’m fearing I will frighten you away again.”

“You did not frighten me away before. Nothing frightens me.”

“Then why did you leave me?”

“Because you would not listen to me. You sought to take away my freedom.”

“And give you mine in turn, woman! Then why’ve you come to me now?”

“Mostly because of … the change. When beset by these needs, I came to you to have them eased.”