"This discussion is finished." Erik rises with fluid grace, but I catch the slight shake in his hands. "Some battles aren't meant to be fought."
"No," I stand too, blocking his retreat. "Some battles are exactly what's needed. But hey, keep hiding behind your duty and honor. I'm sure watching another man claim your mate won't haunt you for the next few centuries."
His mask slips for just a second—long enough for me to see the raw agony beneath—before snapping back into place. Without another word, he turns and stalks away, his rigid posture screaming control while everything else about him bleeds defeat.
"Fucking idiot," I mutter, watching him go. Across the room, Bryn's wing twitches as she tracks his exit, her face a mirror of his hidden pain.
I've barely settled my ass back into my chair, reaching for what's left of my mead, when all hell breaks loose behind me.
"You're worthless now." That bastard Viking says to Bryn, his words slur like shit in sewage. "Just a washed-up Valkyrie. At least you're still good for one thing."
The scattered laughter from his warrior buddies sends my blood pressure spiking. These fuckers think this is funny? Let's see how hard they laugh with their spines decorating the walls.
"Fuck you, asshole!" My mate launches forward like an avenging angel, but I'm already there, pulling her back against my chest. As much as I'd love to watch her turn this bastard into Viking confetti, this isn't her fight.
"Know your place, little mortal," the drunk fuck sneers, mead dripping from his unkempt beard like dog slobber. "This is between me and my broken Valkyrie." His meaty paw swings toward Bryn's face with all the grace of a dying troll. "Come now, wingless one—time to earn your keep. You may have lost your warrior's pride, but you still have other... uses."
"Fuck you, Gunnar," Bryn snarls.
I feel Dani's power surge against my restraining grip. My own beast claws at its cage, demanding blood. Where the hell is Erik? His mate's about to get—
The sound of a slap cracks through the longhouse like lightning. Bryn's head snaps sideways, a red handprint blooming on her cheek like a battle flag. Her wing flares, more in shock than pain.
Thelonghouse goes dead silent except for this soon-to-be-dead fucker's breathing. Even the fire seems to hold its breath, waiting for the storm about to break.
And it will. Because this asshole who's about to die—that's Erik's mate he just struck. And my brother? He's standing in the doorway, his eyes promising the kind of death that'll make the ancient Norse hells look like a summer vacation.
"Bryn!" Dani's cry rings out, fury and pain twisting through her voice. "How dare you touch my sister—I will kill—"
The rest of her threat dies in her throat as Erik moves. One second he's in the doorway, the next he's got Gunnar by the throat, lifting the bastard clear off his feet like he weighs nothing.
I lean back against the pillar, pulling Dani flush against my chest, my arms locked around her waist like steel bands. Her heart's racing against my palms, but my attention's on Erik. About fucking time my brother woke up and remembered he's got fangs. Been watching him play the noble martyr so long I was starting to wonder if his balls had permanently retreated.
But that look in his eyes right now? That's the predator I've been waiting to see. That Viking fuck is about to learn why you don't touch a vampire's mate—and from the way Erik's eyes are blazing, it's going to be one hell of an educational experience.
Front row seats to a Viking's worst nightmare, and honestly? Couldn't happen to a more deserving asshole.
Erik
41
Idon't recall moving. Don't remember crossing the space between us. One moment, I'm by the door; the next, my fingers are locked around this assholes throat, fangs bared in the firelight.
His pulse throbs against my palm, each desperate beat a reminder of how easily I can end his miserable existence. The acrid stench of fear mingles with stale mead as his feet dangle uselessly above the floor.
"Touch her again," my voice cuts through the silence like frozen steel, "and I'll paint these walls with your entrails."
He chokes out a wet laugh, blood vessels bursting in his eyes. "Defending... damaged goods?" His words wheeze past my grip. "The great... vampire... playing hero for a... broken bird?"
The bones in his throat creak beneath my fingers. "Choose your next words carefully. They may be your last."
"She spreads... her legs... like a common whore..." Snot trickles from his nose. "Maybe... you want... sloppy seconds?"
Something snaps—a darkness I've kept chained for centuries breaks free.
My fist connects with his jaw—bone crunches beneath my knuckles. Again. And again. Blood sprays across the floor, his face caving like ripe fruit. I slam him into the nearest table, wood splintering beneath his bulk. Each punch lands with surgical precision, centuries of combat experience focused on prolonging his pain.
"Erik!" Dani's voice barely penetrates the red haze. "Stop!"
