Tales of the Valkyries Read online
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This story, The Messenger, is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. The reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
All fictional characters in this story have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention. © Copyright 2016 Anna Markland All Rights Reserved
Aegir’s Daughter (A Viking Lore Short Story) Copyright © 2016 by Emma Prince. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact [email protected].
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. V 1.0
ISBN: 978-1-5323-1718-7
Table of Contents
Viking Warrior Trouble by Asa Maria Bradley
To Steal a Viking Bride by Gina Conkle
The Viking’s Immortal Princess by Lisa Hendrix
The Messenger by Anna Markland
Aegir’s Daughter by Emma Prince
To Tame a Viking by Harper St. George
Viking Warrior Trouble
by
Asa Maria Bradley
1
Sten Agnarsson looked out through the window of the diner at the deserted street outside. White Spruce, Montana had a population of about five thousand people. Despite the warm summer evening, none of them were out and about. The street outside the diner was desolate and definitely didn’t show Brick Johnson on his way to their meeting, which he should have started two hours ago. Sten had driven from eastern Washington State for ten straight hours to be on time. If it wasn’t for the fact that Leif—the king of the immortal Viking warrior tribe Sten belonged to—specifically wanted to buy from this gun dealer, Sten would have walked out an hour ago. Well, the king’s orders and the appetizing things he’d found in the diner. The second most tempting thing was the pie he was currently eating. At the top of the list was the waitress who had served it.
Sten shoveled another spoonful of pie into his mouth and savored the explosion of berry flavor on his tongue. Tart and sweet teased his taste buds as he sneaked a look at the server. Leaning over a table as she refilled the only other customer’s coffee, her loose black t-shirt draped down over plain, stretchy black pants. The outfit may not have been doing much for her figure but the reaching across the table pulled the fabric tight across her very nice ass. This was his seond visit to this small town in eastern Montana. On the first visit, he’d stopped by the diner by coincidence. This time he’d come because of the waitress. And the pie. They served the best pie. He’d had their raspberry pie the time before, this time he tried something called brambleberry.
He didn’t know why the woman fascinated him so. She wasn’t his type. He preferred tall blonde women, like the ones from his native Sweden. This waitress—Cassie, according to her name tag—was short and curvy and yet he couldn’t take his eyes of her.
The older man she’d just served said something that made her smile and she tucked a strand of her chin-length wavy auburn hair behind her ear as she walked back behind the counter that stretched the length of the diner.
His phone buzzed where it lay on the table next to the plate. Sten tore his gaze from pretty Cassie to check the incoming text.
Status? Leif didn’t believe in wasting characters.
Sten tapped in a response, Still waiting.
He imagined his king’s impatience and the curse escaping Leif’s lips. The phone buzzed again. Checking on holdup.
Sten scooped up the last bite of pie and shoved it into his mouth. He almost choked when he looked up to find the waitress right by his table. No untrained civilian should have been able to sneak up on him. His berserker spirit—his inner warrior soul—should have alerted him.
“Refill?” she asked, holding up the coffee pot.
He enjoyed the soft smile and the sparkle in her whiskey-colored eyes. “Sure.” Sten held out his cup and tapped into the mental connection he shared with his berserker. The beast was quiet and still, but hyper alert and focused on Cassie. That was new.
She poured the coffee with a sure hand. “How are you enjoying the brambleberry pie?”
“They’re my new favorite berry.” He smiled.
Her laugh was unexpectedly deep and throaty. The sound made his berserker hum and his dick twitch. “A few months ago you told me raspberries were your favorite.”
“So you remember me.”
She winked. “You’re kind of hard to forget.” She leaned back. “Brambleberry is what we call the pie, but it’s actually five different kinds of berries with some rhubarb thrown in.”
He was ridiculously pleased that she remembered him. “Well, I very much like it.” Sten turned up his smile to full wattage and let his gaze linger on hers. Last time the diner had been busy and he hadn’t have time for flirting. He intended to remedy that right away.
She cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Where’s your accent from?”
He wasn’t surprised she asked. Even after fifty years in America, his origins colored his speech. “Sweden,” he said, leaning in so his hair better framed his face and sent that subtle badass Viking vibe. Sten kept his hair shoulder-length not only because it symbolized a warrior’s strength, but also because it highlighted his Nordic background. The mortal women of Midgard liked his heritage, no reason to hide it. He stroked the trimmed beard that covered his chin.
A faint blush creeped across Cassie’s cheeks. “We don’t get many Swedes around here. White Spruce is not exactly a tourist hot spot.” The other customer gestured for their check and she looked away to smile at the older man. “Bringing it right over.”
Sten frowned over how easily she’d been distracted. Maybe he was out of practice. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman.
His phone buzzed again and he reluctantly tore his gaze from Cassie’s delicious behind, covered again by that irritating t-shirt. Although, he could still recall its fine shape in his mind.
Change of plans. Now meet at municipal airport.
He knew better than to ask Leif why the meeting place had changed. The king didn’t expect his warriors to follow orders blindly, but their argument had to be solid. Sten still felt he had to earn his place in the band of immortal warriors, no reason to bug the king with questions. Plus, he’d almost gotten his battle brother killed and still needed to make up for that screw up. When a mission got hot, the two had separated
and Per ended up kidnapped and poisoned. He’d almost died before their medical officer had been able to develop an antidote with the help of the queen’s genetically modified blood.
Besides, it wasn’t unusual that weapon deals changed locations. Even when executed by legitimate dealers like Brick Johnson. It was a lucrative business, which sometimes brought out shady customers and made the sellers extra cautious. This was also the reason why all communications went through the king. The dealer wouldn’t give Sten his cell phone number.
He tossed enough money on the table to cover the pie and the coffee, while still leave a generous tip. The bell over the door jingled as he exited, but the waitress only gave him a distracted wave and continued talking with the older man who still hadn’t paid his bill. Sten opened the door of his black Cadillac Escalade with more force than necessary and shoved the key into the ignition. Why Cassie’s inattentiveness bothered him so much, he didn’t know, but he needed to get his head on straight for the upcoming exchange.
Time to concentrate on getting the guns and then head back home to Pine Rapids. Odin and Frey had honored him–and his warrior brothers and sisters–by sending them from Valhalla to protect the mortal humans of Midgard from Loki and his minions. While Sten was a healthy warrior who definitely liked the company of women, his duty always came first.
2
The country roads around the airport didn’t have any streetlights. The dense Montana night pressed in on the narrow tunnel of light the SUV headlights carved out. He guided the car through the gates of the airport and around to the hangar with the number the king had texted. Two pickup trucks were parked outside the half-domed steel construction. Sten pulled up beside them and got out of the Escalade.
Brick Johnson, a middle aged man with short grey hair, approached him. “Sorry about the delay. We had a minor hiccup with a supplier.” He held out his hand.
Sten shot a quick look at the younger dark-haired man staying back. His lower body was hidden by one of the pickups and Sten couldn’t see his hands. Couldn’t see if he was armed. He tapped into the connection with his berserker and told his inner warrior to be alert. “Yep,” Sten shook Johnson’s hand and lifted his chin toward the other guy. “Who’s that?”
Johnson didn’t turn around. “Ben, my security. He won’t bother you unless you bother us first.”
Sten nodded. He could kill both of them before the younger guy would be able to draw his gun, but no reason to freak the mortals out unless he had to. “Show me the wares.”
Johnson walked to the closest truck and lowered the tailgate. “As specified by your boss, I have 6 new Glocks and two Remington sniper rifles.”
Sten peered into the truck bed where several gun cases were open. He picked up each of them and examined their sight and trigger mechanism. Per would drool big time when he saw the rifles. “Looks good,” he said.
“I brought ammunition as well.”
“Nah, don’t need that.” The warriors reloaded their own ammo. It was a good way to pass the time between patrols. There was only so much time you could spend in the gym. Plus, they didn’t use guns all that often. Gunshots attracted law enforcement, mortal men and women, and Loki’s minions didn’t hesitate to use them as shields or hostages. When there was an altercation, it was usually fought with blades and fists.
“Right.” Johnson started snapping the cases closed. “There is the small matter of payment and then you can be on your way.”
Sten shot another quick look at the guy standing behind the other pick-up. The man watched him intently, but didn’t seem like a threat. The berserker remained quiet and calm. “I’ll get the money,” Sten said and walked back to the Escalade. The Vikings had enough funds to not have to worry about finances. Some of the warriors had walked Midgard for centuries. Even bad investments dividends added up after that long of a time.
He retrieved a duffle bag with cash and after Johnson had counted the bundles, he and Sten loaded the weapons into the Escalade. The other guy remained at his calm vigilance. They’d stashed the last case in the back—later on Sten would transfer them to a hidden and locked compartment underneath the car—when a commotion behind them raised the hairs on Sten’s neck. His berserker was on instant alert and growled.
Sten turned around and took a step forward while shoving Johnson behind him. The man gave him a puzzled look but then inhaled sharply when he saw what Sten was protecting him from.
One of Loki’s wolverine creatures stood by the pickups.
Sten swore under his breath.
“What the fuck is that?” Johnson whispered, not even noticing that the man who was supposed to provide security lay on the ground in a crumpled heap.
Sten didn’t blame him for being shocked. The wolverine-human hybrids were created in underground genetic labs that Loki had somehow managed to finance and equip. The creatures walked on two legs and had humanoid bodies, but they looked like clones of each other. Not even twins were that similar in gesture and speech, and they’re movements were too fast. And then there were their eyes. Their freaky dead eyes that were orbs of complete blackness without pupils or irises.
“Let the mortals go,” Sten demanded, taking a few steps forward.
The creature’s lips stretched into what was probably supposed to be a smile, but looked more like a feral snarl. “Why should I?”
“They have no stake in this fight.”
The wolverine chuckled, an odd grating sound that ended in a hiss. “They have more of a stake than they think. When my master figures out how to trigger Ragnarök, all humans will perish.”
The Viking warriors’ mission was to make sure Ragnarök never happened. The prophesied final battle of the Norse gods would supposedly destroy the world and Loki believed he’d be the only surviving deity and would therefore rule the whole universe. “Let’s just concentrate on what will happen tonight,” Sten told the creature. He wasn’t sure how the wolverine had found him, but lately the fuckers were showing up everywhere and in bigger numbers than before.
“What the fuck is going on?” Johnson’s voice sounded thin and panicky. “What the fuck did you do to Ben?” He moved toward the wolverine.
Sten made a snap decision and side-clipped Johnson’s jaw. The man crumpled to the ground. It was better he was passed out than distract Sten during the fight. Or worse, got himself killed by the wolverine.
The creature hissed and its nails elongated into razor sharp claws.
Sten shuddered. It didn’t matter how many times he’d seen it happen, the nail growing thing freaked him out every time. He crouched down and retrieved his knife from his ankle holster and deepened the connection with his berserker. The inner warrior howled. The Vikings’ berserkers fed on the fever that rose on a battle field. A hungry berserker was dangerous and if starved for too long, it could take over a warrior’s body and keep them in permanent battle fury. They’d then be a danger to their fellow warriors and Odin would call them back to Valhalla and put them into an eternal slumber. The warriors had almost lost Leif this way, but their mortal queen had saved him and the two were a själsfrände bonded couple now—true soulmates.
The wolverine in front of him slowly circled Sten. He widened his stance, making sure his boots had a good grip on the asphalt as he turned his body so he always faced Loki’s creature.
The berserker alerted him a split second before the wolverine charged and Sten ducked out of the arc of its slicing claws, avoiding being skewered by a hair’s breadth. He quickly crouched down and swept out with his foot to take out the wolverine’s legs.
The creature jumped out of reach and countered with an overhand swipe. Sharp claws graced Sten’s ribs before he rolled away and out of harm’s way. He quickly got back on his feet and hooked a knee strike to the side of the wolverine. The freak leaned away at the last minute, but the impact was enough to knock it off balance.
Sten followed up with a fast uppercut to the creature’s chin and then sank his knife into its neck. Blood squirt
ed in a wide arc as Sten severed the wolverine’s carotid artery. Working the knife back and forth he kept widening the cut until the creatures head was almost severed. It was gross and overkill, but lately the fuckers healed unreasonably quickly and Sten wanted to make sure this freak was truly dead.
He went to check on the dealer and his pal. Both of the mortals appeared well with regular heart and breathing rates. Hopefully they’d wake up in the morning and think the monster was just a bad dream. Sten locked them both in one of the trucks with the window cracked open and the bag of money at their feet. He then dragged the wolverine carcass to the side of the hangar where the men wouldn’t see it. The creature would disintegrate in the morning sun.
As he stripped off his t-shirt, which was covered in the wolverine blood and gore, he wondered why the creature was alone. Usually they showed up with at least one buddy.
The berserker agreed and paced back and forth, growling out its need for more fighting. Sten used his connection with his inner warrior to scan the area. He could no further threats, so he clamped down on mental barriers with the berserker as he dug around in his bag. He pulled out a clean shirt identical to the one he’d worn before and shrugged into it.
If there were any incoming wolverines, he’d best protect the mortals by getting on the road back to Washington State and lead the wolverines away from White Spruce. He slipped into the SUV and reached for his phone to report this new development to his king.
3
Cassie maneuvered her old truck around the potholes littering the unpaved road to her home. The engine made a funny coughing sound and she sent a quick prayer to any higher power that cared to listen that it wouldn’t stall. Cassie had inherited both her cottage and the truck when her grandmother passed almost a year ago. Neither was likely to last much longer, but at least she had an offer on the home and would head off to college with a little cash in her pocket. The truck would stay behind.