His taste—ocean, thunder, and raw power—floods my senses as my body heals. Each pull draws a low rumble from his chest, his fingers tightening in my hair. Even weakened from battle, his blood carries enough strength to remake me, to erase every mark the Einherjar left on my flesh.
His wrist withdraws, replaced instantly by his mouth claiming mine. The kiss is savage, desperate—all the fear and fury of battle transformed into raw need. His tongue sweeps past my lips, still carrying traces of his own blood, creating an intoxicating mix of flavors that makes my head spin.
My earlier threats of punishment for his secrets with Erik fade into background noise as his tongue strokes against mine, hot and demanding. Each sweep, each taste, sends electricity racing down my spine. Rhyland's hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. His tongue strokes against mine in a sinful dance that has heat pooling low in my belly.
Each teasing flick, ignites nerve endings already sensitized by his blood. He tastes like storm clouds and danger, like lightning about to strike.
I gasp into his mouth as his other hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him.
My fingers dig into his shoulders as he devours me, his growl of possession vibrating through my entire body.
His teeth graze my bottom lip, not breaking the skin but promising more, making me arch against him. The kiss grows wilder, deeper—our tongues dancing in a heated battle for dominance that he wins easily.
I should be angry about the secrets. I should stick to my threats of punishment. But with his mouth moving against mine like sin incarnate, his tongue doing wicked things that make my toes curl, I can't remember why any of that matters right now.
Rhyland breaks the kiss. His fingers still tangled possessively in my hair. Those stormy-blue eyes bore into mine, dark with hunger and something more profound. The intensity of his gaze pins me in place more effectively than his physical strength.
My legs have apparently forgotten how to function, turning to liquid beneath me. His arm around my waist is the only thing keeping me upright, my body molded against the hard planes of his chest. A smirk tugs at his kiss-swollen lips—he knows exactly what he does to me, the bastard.
"Time to go, Angel." His voice is pure silk wrapped around steel, creating goosebumps on my skin. I try to nod, but my brain seems to have malfunctioned. I have to swallow twice before I find my voice, and even then, it comes out embarrassingly breathy. So much for maintaining my composure.
Focus, Dani. Remember the plan. No sexy times until I get answers about Erik's secret. I need to stay strong, stay determined, stay...
Rhyland's thumb traces my lower lip, his eyes tracking the movement. A delicate current of electricity dances from his thumb across my skin, something entirely new in his arsenal of seduction. The sensation isn't painful—quite the opposite. It's like liquid lightning coursing through my veins, making every nerve ending sing. My breath hitches as my nipples tighten in response, and I feel that familiar heat pool low in my belly. Damn this Viking and his newly discovered powers. One electrically-charged touch, one smoldering look from those ocean eyes, and my determination dissolves faster than a snowflake in hell.
Who the fuck am I kidding? In our little game of dominance and submission, Rhyland always wins. Always. And judging by the knowing smirk on his face, he's counting on it.
Iconjure a portal, the edges crackling with power. No way am I dealing with another round of undead Viking assholes or those oversized murder-birds—the shimmering gateway to Valor's Watch beckons like a beacon of sanctuary.
Baldr stands before us, not a single hair out of place despite the carnage we just survived. His perfect features arrange themselves into what he thinks is a wise expression. "The second Einherjar essence must wait. Seven days of rest, then we return."
Before I can argue, he and Heimdall vanish in a flash of divine light that's way more dramatic than necessary. Show-offs.
My body screams for rest, every muscle trembling from battle, but the image of Bryn tears at my soul. The memory replays in vivid, horrible detail—her wing, proud and beautiful, being ripped away. The sound of her scream still echoes in my ears, her blood staining the virgin snow. This war forever changed my fierce Valkyrie sister. Its weight sits like a lead in my stomach. I want to push forward, to end this quickly, but one look at Bryn's face—the way she holds herself rigid against the pain, her remaining wing trembling with each breath—tells me Baldr is right.
Some wounds go deeper than flesh and bone. This isn't just about physical healing—it's about learning to live with an irreplaceable loss. The thought makes my throat tight, my eyes burning. Seven days feels too long to wait and not nearly long enough to process what's happened.
Gullfax follows me to his stall, his hooves clicking against the stone with a distinctly pouty rhythm. He's being surprisingly childish about taking the portal shortcut for a magical horse that can run on air.
"Come on, handsome." I lead him to his stall, where golden hay gleams in the manger. "There will be plenty of chances for you to show off your fancy moves."
"I am a war steed of Ásgard, not some common pack horse to be shuffled through magical doorways. My hooves are meant to strike thunder from the clouds themselves. My sacred duty is to carry you through the skies and across the realm. You're denying me my purpose."
I roll my eyes, running a hand down his shimmering neck. "I get it," I say softly, understanding dawning. "You feel like you failed today because that Draugr got the drop on you. But taking the portal wasn't about not trusting you—it was about being smart. You did great today. Stop whining."
His big hooves stamp against the ground, sending golden sparks flying."Perhaps next time you'd prefer to walk? I hear frost-bitten toes are quite fashionable among mortals these days."
"Did you just... sass me?" I stare at him in disbelief. "Since when did you get so lippy?"
His only response is to turn his back to me, munching his hay with exaggerated dignity. For a horse that can outrun the winds, he's got the dramatic flair of a teenage diva.
"Look," I stroke his fur, "don't take the portal thing personally. You're still my favorite celestial taxi service."
"Arguing with the war horse, Angel?" Rhyland's deep voice carries that hint of amusement as he approaches, his presence filling the stable like a storm front.
I lean back against his chest, feeling the rumble of his laugh. "He's sulking. My portal-jumping offended his sensibilities."
Gullfax keeps his back turned, munching his hay."I am an ancient steed of legend, blessed by the AllFather himself. I do not sulk."
