Tales of the Valkyries Read online

  “I know what Valhalla is.” One of her high school friends had been into Viking history. “But that’s a myth. You can’t possibly mean—”

  Sten interrupted. “It’s probably better if I just tell you in one go and you hold off on asking questions until later.”

  Cassie nodded and started tallying up all the questions she’d throw his way later, but when Sten was done telling his story she just stared at him. He’d spun a tale about immortal Vikings and Valkyries being sent back down to earth to protect humanity from Loki’s evil creatures. It was too fantastic to be true, but Sten was so earnest in his telling she didn’t think he was lying. He believed all of this was true.

  She wasn’t sure what to think, but she’d seen the wolverines and those fuckers were definitely not human. Plus, Sten’s accelerated healing abilities were just as freaky. “I don’t know how to process this,” she finally croaked out.

  Sten moved closer and grabbed her hand. “I understand. It’s a lot to take in. Just know that I will make this right. I will make sure the wolverines will never hurt you.”

  Cassie drew back. “You think they’ll target me?”

  A tick pulsed along his jaw line. “They saw us kissing and will think you belong to me. You need to come with me so I can keep you safe.”

  “Belong to you? Keep me safe?” She stood, pulling her hand out of his. “I’m the one who saved your ass. Without me, you’d be shish kabob by now.”

  “I expressed that poorly. What I meant was that you should leave in case they come back. You’ll put everyone in town in danger if you stay. And I have to get back to my… boss.”

  Cassie studied him for a beat. There was something he wasn’t telling her. And then it dawned on her. “You live with a whole bunch of immortal Vikings, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Not just Vikings. We have Valkyrie warriors in our unit too.” He stood and pulled her hand into his again. “Cassie, I have put you in danger and so it is my duty to make sure you’re safe.” She sputtered, but Sten put his index finger over her lips. “The truth is. I’ve come to care for you.” He cradled her chin.

  Cassie tried to resist, but it was futile. His touched felt too good. Too right. She leaned into the caress. “I’ll think about it.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and then bloomed into a full grin. “That’s all I can ask.” He leaned in and claimed her lips with his own.

  As before, Cassie forgot everything but how good his mouth felt against hers.

  Epilogue

  Four months later.

  Cassie hurried across the University of Colorado campus toward her dorm, tugging her hat lower. The crisp January wind tried to find its way through her clothes, but her Montana winter coat kept her body nice and warm. Her hands were another matter. She’d forgotten her gloves when she dashed off to class that morning and was paying for it now.

  She yanked open the door to her building and stomped the snow off her boots on the mat inside. Cutting through the common room, Cassie nodded to a few people she recognized and was greeted in return. She was the oldest freshman in the dorm, but the other students were all friendly and she’d formed study groups with a few of them.

  As she took the stairs to her floor, she unbuttoned her coat, blew on her hands and then jammed them under her arms to capture as much heat as possible. Boulder’s winters weren’t as bad as the ones in Montana, but forgetting her gloves was still a bonehead move. Thinking about home made her miss her old house for a second.

  After the wolverine massacre, Sten had called his boss and gotten permission to help Cassie pack up her house. She’d only kept her grandmother’s photo album and a few other mementos. Sten had pushed hard for her to go back to Washington State with him, but she was not about to derail her college plans for a good looking guy again. Instead, she’d sold the house and headed to Colorado a little earlier than planned. Sten had been by to see her a few times.

  Jogging up the stairs to her dorm room floor finally warmed up her hands. She strode down the hallway to her room, her steps slowing as she got closer. A tall blonde man slouched against the wall by her door.

  “Sten,” she whispered, a pang of longing expanding her chest. He looked up and a broad smile stretched his lips.

  “Cassie.” He moved toward her, and swept her up in a hug.

  “You’re here,” she mumbled against his chest.

  “I’m here.” he confirmed.

  “For me?”

  He took a step closer and touched her hair. “Always for you. If you’ll have me.”

  If she’d have him? She’d like to have him so many different ways and in so many different positions. She knew they should sit down and define exactly what it was that they did have, but she didn’t want to waste their time together. And maybe she was a little afraid to explore the feelings this hunk of a Swede evoked in her. She’d never felt anything like it. Whenever she was with this man, she felt a profound sense of peace and belonging.

  But right now she just wanted to enjoy that he was here.

  She dug out her key and grabbed his hand. “Bed’s inside. Convince me.”

  Sten didn’t waste any time. His lips were already branding hers before the door closed behind them.

  Did you enjoy Viking Warrior Trouble?

  Then you’ll enjoy Viking Warrior Rebel

  She can’t let him discover…Immortal Vikings are among us

  Astrid Irisdotter is a Valkyrie-a fierce warrior fighting to protect humanity from the evil god Loki and his brutal minions. She’s on an urgent mission for her queen when everything goes hideously sideways. Undercover agent Luke Holden arrives on the scene just in time to save her life-and put his own on the line.

  Luke may have saved her, but that doesn’t mean Astrid can trust him. Tempers flare as they hide secret upon secret from each other, but Astrid’s inner warrior knows what it wants…and it will not take “no” for an answer.

  Praise for VIKING WARRIOR REBEL

  “Action-packed, sexy, and fun! Asa’s debut series is reminiscent of JR Ward–but with Vikings.”

  ~Ilona Andrews, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author

  “Filled with action and passion from the first page until the last. The characters are strong, likable and kick some bad guy butt…readers will devour this book. Another great entry from Bradley!”

  ~Romantic Times Book Reviews, 4.5 stars & Top Pick!

  About Asa Maria Bradley

  Thank you for checking out this anthology. I hope you are having as much fun reading it as we did writing it. I so enjoyed collaborating with these amazing authors. They are as kind and hardworking as they are talented. We had a ton of fun.

  I am originally from Sweden and have always been fascinated by Norse mythology. When I combined that interest with my love of paranormal romance, the Viking Warriors series was born. If you liked Viking Warrior Trouble, I hope you check out the other books in the series. VIKING WARRIOR RISING was a double finalist in the Romance Writers of America RITA awards and VIKING WARRIOR REBEL earned 4.5 stars and Top Pick! status from Romantic Times Book Reviews.

  So how did I get from Sweden to the United States? Well, I landed in Texas as a high school exchange student and liked it so much I stayed for college. I then moved to Colorado for graduate school, which landed me a job in California. That’s where I met my husband, who is originally from England. We now live in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with a rescue dog who is a mixture of so many breeds that his veterinarian hesitates to guess what the possible combinations might be.

  I’d love to connect with you on social media and if you subscribe to my newsletter, you’ll have a chance to win a fabulous prize every month, plus have access to exclusive content and giveaways only available to my subscribers.

  Vikings forever!

  ~Asa Maria Bradley

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  Discover Asa Maria Bradley’s Booklist

  Viking Warrior series

  Viking W
arrior Rising

  Viking Warrior Rebel

  A Collection of Travel Essays

  Female Nomad and Friends

  To Steal a Viking Bride

  by

  Gina Conkle

  Wars and weddings were alike in her father’s longhouse…celebrations marked with roast venison, rose hip mead, and raucous laughter. And much revelry. Except the old women. They drank quietly, their aged eyes fixed on the fire pit. Eira’s cheek brushed the lattice leather curtain she stood behind. She tried to read their faces through the weave.

  What secrets did the elders hide?

  They’d seen enough feasts honoring marriage and battle. The two could be cut from the same cloth. With her mother gone, she craved their wisdom.

  Her gaze slid to the great chair where her father, Den Gamle, Aland’s greatest chieftain reclined, his silver trimmed horn raised high. The chair would be hers as would the man beside it, Steinar of Uppakra, a Viking of greater standing and lethal ambition. Beautiful and strong, he could be the perfect mate, but when the time was right, she’d kill him. He deserved it for what he’d done three years past.

  Steinar’s pale blue stare searched the room, measuring, counting, full of expectation.

  “Calculating our wealth, is he?” She clutched the key ring heavy on her thigh. “He works harder to open my father’s chests than my heart.”

  The finest saffron wool stretched across his massive chest. Steinar didn’t need more silver, and he didn’t need her. She was a prize. Nothing more.

  His well-shaped lips tightened when he spied her empty seat. She stepped back in the shadows. The loose leather weave had been her mother’s effort to create a storage room and hide unsightly barrels. When her sister had whispered in her ear that they needed more apples, she was glad to fetch the fruit and have a moment of quiet. The needed bucket of apples in hand, it was time she returned.

  A cool draft stirred her skirts. “Who left the back door—”

  A brawny arm manacled her waist. Air stuck in her lungs. The bucket clattered to the ground. Apples tumbled around her feet as she struggled against a wall of muscle and heat.

  “Don’t fight me,” a deep voice male rasped in her ear.

  Her eyes flared wide. She opened her mouth to scream, tasting a man’s salty skin and seal oil.

  “More than a hundred men are outside,” he said, mashing his hand against her lips. “One battle cry from me and they’ll storm this longhouse. Understand?”

  Limbs locked, her gaze shot to her sister across the hall. Ginna laughed with her husband, Ivar, her belly round with child. Hands clenching, Eira gave a jerky nod. Her captor’s arm slid up her body, pressing her breasts as he walked her backward.

  He was stealing her? Or worse?

  Sweat beaded her forehead. The smooth white tip of her favorite paring knife poked from her pocket. She reached for the elk bone handle, crying out in pain when a large, calloused hand crushed hers.

  The warrior’s breath was hot on her neck. He drove her quivering arm lower across her belly. “Drop it.”

  Hand shaking, her knuckles showed white. Wide-eyed, she struggled to see the man behind her. He couldn’t have seen the knife. He knew it was there. Her teeth scraped the hand covering her mouth, but the warrior pinched her nose. Metal flashed…her blade’s iron and a gold arm ring on her captor’s wrist.

  Skin hot, her lung craved air. She pushed back with all her might. A barrel thumped the wall. The hold on her nose slackened and air wheezed through her nostrils. The man grunted, but he squeezed her hand harder, bruising her wrist.

  Five men played goat bone flutes across the hall, the light notes floating strangely as she fought. Her breath came sharply. A solid thigh squashed her bottom. Blonde hair fell across her eyes in the furious dance to be free. An ivory comb dangled over her breast. Shouts of laughter rang in the hall. Digging both heels into the stamped floor, she pushed again. The warrior rammed a barrel, toppling a turnip bucket.

  “Eira! Stop fighting me,” the voice hissed in her ear.

  She jerked at the sound of her name. Hand numb, she let go and the knife dropped. Beyond the lattice curtain the people of Aland reveled as she battled the invader. He dragged her to back door. Panting hard she clawed her captor’s leather arm braces. Legs wheeling in the air, she drove back with all her might.

  Thunk. Her head hit his chin and the world spun.

  Feet twisted with his, she landed hard on apples and turnips. Her head hit the stamped floor. She winced and faint stars danced before her eyes. The noisy feast, the goat bone flutes carried on. Her head throbbed. Lumps gouged her ribs and thighs. Dry-mouthed she gulped air.

  A grey wolf skin boot cross gartered with red stirred on her blue skirt.

  For a split second her breath stopped. The same booted foot had lifted her skirt once…a long time ago.

  “Gunnar?” Flinching, she rolled over.

  A red slash ran from his cheek to chin. The angry cut had been newly seared. Soot smudged his features. With his black hair falling about his face, he could be a prince of darkness come for a visit.

  “It’s nothing.” He grimaced and pushed himself upright.

  A lump formed in her throat. Hardness tinged Gunnar’s once open, friendly face. He rested gingerly against the barrel, both legs stretched out before him. Soulful dark brown eyes seared her. His shoulders were broader, his arms thicker, even his hands resting on long thighs were bigger. Three years spent in far flung places did that to a man. A wet circled bloomed high on his right arm and his ribs. A cut in the fabric showed a fresh wound.

  Touching his tunic left her fingers sticky. “You’re bleeding.”

  He grabbed her curious hand and brought it to his lips. Gunnar’s warm breath tickled her skin. “I’m healing.” He took his time, kissing each fingertip. “Does this mean you’re not angry with me for showing up at your betrothal feast?”

  “You’re one year too late.”

  “And you’re one night away from breaking your promise to wait for me.” His eyes sparkled severely. “If you marry Steinar tomorrow, it’ll be the worst mistake of your life.”

  “Why? Because he’s your half-brother?”

  Gunnar’s lips firmed. Music reached higher notes beyond the curtain. Why did he come back now? Wounded and harder, his soul looked the worse for the wear. Full of honor and goodness, he was the gentle corner born son of Steinar’s mother and a Greek slave father. As a babe, his mother had sheltered him from her brutal husband, Hrolf. Once he became a fledgling man, she sent him to live with kindly King Olof of Uppsala. There he learned to fight, but young Gunnar preferred to carve art in wood over wielding a sword.

  “Because only I can make you happy,” he said with certainty.

  Her heart softened the same as when he’d laid her on a bed of ferns and traced a line up her bare leg three summers ago. Gunnar whispered then how perfect she was, inching her hem higher with gentle words of love. Vivid images flashed…his eyes black with passion as his hand caressed hidden flesh.

  She shuddered at the memory of long sensual fingers parting tender folds of skin between her legs. “We were young and foolish.”

  Thighs tensing, her skin tingled all the same. Gunnar’s fine lips curved with satisfaction. He knew she fought a wave of pleasure. His brown eyes could read her every twitch. Even better, he understood her. Their youthful summer was filled with him finishing her sentences and kissing her senseless. For a woman raised to fight and hunt as well as any man, his sensitivity penetrated deep, dormant places.

  Gunnar plucked the ivory comb from her bedraggled tresses. “You’re wearing your hair like other high born ladies.”

  A self-conscious hand brushed the twisting loops at her nape. “It was…expected.”

  “When your mother died.” He pulled another comb from her hair and the corners of his mouth softened. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to hold you when you mourned her.”

  His words soothed her aching heart. Grief had been a l
uxury when her mother died at springtime. Rebellion had flared fast in Uppsala against King Olof, and her father counted on her to step into the void when he was called away. With only two daughters, she would inherit half the wealth and all the power. It was her birthright as the oldest daughter.

  Sometimes in the quiet hours, she wished she wasn’t the capable one. Good with a sword and shield, the people bowed respectfully and sought her judgement. Yet, authority was a heavy mantle. At night in her bed, she longed for simpler days.

  “I thought you’d forsaken me for another.” Her voice was brittle.

  “Never.” Gunnar pulled the last comb, and blonde hair fell free around her shoulders. “I had to fulfill my oath to Olof.”

  “Of course you did,” she said bitterly. “Searching for his holy man friend in Byzantium instead of staying with me.” Yet she scooted closer, needing him the way a moth craved a flame.

  King Olof had saved Gunnar’s life from Hrolf three summers past. It was the same summer her father promised Hrolf she’d wed his son, Steinar. Rebellion had flared hotly in her, burning as bright as her passion for Gunnar. She refused to do her father’s bidding. Steinar had lusted for her, but no more than he did for other fair maids. It’d be a marriage for wealth and power, benefitting the people of Uppakra and Aland.

  Once Hrolf caught wind of the young lovers, he’d nearly killed Gunnar, and Steinar had been the one to alert him.

  “I had debts to fulfill.” Gunnar brushed back blonde wisps falling around her face. “It was the only way…now I’m free to be with you.”

  Could life be that simple? A single vow bonding a man and woman, the tie mightier than swords or silver?

  Her lashes fluttered low. Three summers past, she let the black-eyed youth secret her away to the forest armed with a blanket and an ampoule of Rhenish wine. There amongst the ferns and butterflies, Gunnar had lifted her skirts and lowered her bodice. He’d planted a hundred kisses on her shoulders and neck before his lips grazed her nipples.