Kresley Cole - Dreams of a Dark Warrior

Again, he went still. “You came to me,” he repeated hoarsely. “To your man. Reginleit, you make my chest bow with pride.” His lips curled. “And my shaft swell. I’m greedy to sample these generous new curves you’ve brought me.”

“My looks please you?” She straightened her shoulders self-consciously. “I fear I did not grow tall.”

“Please me?” He laughed from deep in his chest. “You stun me. Ah, little wife, if you did not grow up, you certainly grew out.” One of his hands dropped to cover a breast, giving it a tender squeeze. When he shuddered with delight, she felt a thrill down to her toes.

“And you came to me to ease you here?” His other hand trailed down between them to gently cup her sex.

She gasped. “Y-yes.”

His eyes burned with excitement, with possession, with pride. “I’m going to make your lightning rain down.” He pressed the heel of his palm harder, and her head fell back.

“Ah, yes! Make love to me, warlord.”

“Words from fantasy. But I cannot. I need more time.”

She lifted her head. “I do not understand.”

“I want more of you. I want eternity.”

“What are you speaking of?”

“If I deflower a Valkyrie before wedding her, I will never earn ohalla. Wóden would never gift me with it.”

“Wed?” She yanked his hand from her. “Immortals cannot wed mortals! It’s unnatural.” To watch him die a little each day, until he withered with age …

“Precisely. So I must be of your kind. And even were it not forbidden, I still would not wed you without ohalla. I know of no warrior older than sixty winters. I’ve forty. Two decades should be but a taste of life with you.”

In a crestfallen tone, she said, “You want me to … wait?” Her plan was foiled, utterly. Not only would she not get what she came for, she’d be punished for trying.

“Only to be claimed. Rest assured, I’ll sate you in other ways till then.”

But she wanted to know everything, to experience it all. “How many battles do you have left?”

He lifted his chin. “A mere six dozen or so.”

“Are there even that many wars?” she cried.

“Between the vampires and the unallied demonarchies, a lifetime of war awaits.”

“Seventy battles could take years! I came here because I wanted you to be my first lover.”

“By all the gods, I will be, woman. But not yet. You wait for me, Reginleit. I will seize ohalla for you, for us.”

“And what would you expect me to do while you are out fighting? My Valkyrie nature hungers for war as much as yours does. And I hold no love for vampires.” Her mother’s people, the Radiant Ones, had been exterminated by them.

“You will remain behind—”

Eyes widening, she opened her mouth to give him a blistering reply.

“—to train, as all my men do before they go to battle,” he finished.

“Train?” she scoffed. “I’ve readied for war all my life.”

“Using the wrong weapon. You still wield your long sword?”

“Yes.”

“With your small height and Valkyrie speed, you should be fighting with two short swords. I could teach you how.”

She pursed her lips, reluctantly intrigued by that idea. “And once I am trained …” she prompted.

As if the words were pulled from him, he said, “You can join me at the front. But only after I deem you ready.”

She dug one fang into her bottom lip, actually considering his offer.

He must have taken her silence as acceptance, because he leaned down to kiss her neck, his mouth so hot in the rain. Against her skin, he rasped, “And, brightling, know this …” His tongue flicked out to lick drops from her. “I vow to you now, I will be your last lover.”

She couldn’t think when he was doing that! “I-I haven’t agreed to this. Am I to have no say? Again?”

He inhaled as if for control, then raised his head. “Give me a chance, and I will claim your heart. All I need is time.”

She didn’t believe that could happen. An immortal like her could never fully love a mortal. Her instincts would rebel against tender feelings like that.

After all, she could never give her heart to a man who would take it to the grave with him, leaving her broken and yearning for eternity.

Still, there was something captivating about Aidan’s utter confidence. As if he knew something about her that she didn’t even know herself. And her out-of-control desires were making it difficult to deny him. “I will give you three months, warlord. You have three months to win me.”

“Ah, Valkyrie”—he curled his finger under her chin—“your heart will be mine in two.”

Seven months later

Where is he? I’m going mad without him here.

Regin paced their longhouse as a blizzard raged outside. Aidan was a week overdue from a campaign. She’d ridden the countryside searching for him for days, but found no sign.

There was rumor of a capture.

Did he even live?

Aidan. The bear of a warrior she could never allow herself to love, but the one she wanted above all others.

Even though she was a full immortal now—her appetite for food had disappeared, her need for war burgeoning—she lingered with him here at his camp.

I am better for being here, for being with him. She was a better swordswoman—though he hadn’t deemed her ready for war yet, and she secretly feared he never would.

She was a better lover. Though he hadn’t coupled with her.

Seven months ago, she had tried repeatedly to seduce him, coaxing him to take her completely. Yet in time she’d come to want more of him, too. No, he couldn’t win her heart, but he’d won her desires. He’d pleasured her relentlessly, teaching her to slake him as well.

Each time he set off to battle, she demanded, “Take me with you, warrior.” His ploy to keep her in camp? He left her sexually sated and sprawled on the furs, exhausted but glowing with bliss. Already pining for him to return.

As he’d done so long ago, Regin had begun to ask herself, why not him?

Because once she’d learned how to handle her stormy berserker—knowing when to tease him, when to claw him, when to draw him into her arms and murmur, “Shh, be at ease, warlord”— life with him had been surprisingly gratifying.

He treated her like a goddess, spoiling her with gifts and surprises. And they laughed constantly. She savored the sound of his laughter coming from his big barrel chest—as well as his gruff words of affection: “Remember those years ago when I vowed I would love you one day? I told you true.”

Could any male make her feel as he had the night he’d lightly rasped his blond stubble over her stomach and murmured, “I want babes with you—berserker sons and Valkyrie daughters.” He’d raised his head, gazing at her with clear gray eyes. “Give them to me one day?”

Having a Valkyrie for his mate had done nothing to curb his arrogance. He behaved like an immortal already—even more arrogant and lordly—thrilling her. “Wóden will look upon me with favor,” he’d told her. “No male could treasure his daughter more than I do you.”

’Twas simple enough. Regin desired him above all males and knew she always would, which meant two decades was far too short—

He stumbled through the door.

She gave a cry, leaping to her feet. “Thank gods, you’ve returned! Where have you …” She trailed off at the wild look on his face. “Aidan?”

His eyes ablaze, he dropped his bloody ax, then ripped off his sword belt and crimson-stained tunic. His tattooed chest heaved as he stalked toward her, his expression warning her to take a step back. Then another.