“Time,” Gerrie called from the side.
Solveig had to hand it to the clan. As much as they’d been cheering and egging the two of them on throughout the fight, no one cheered now. Likely out of respect for Latham, not wanting to further his humiliation, as well as fear of her retaliation.
The crowd dispersed quickly and quietly, money exchanging hands as they went.
Waiting until they had no more audience, Solveig took her foot from Latham’s chest and held her hand out to him. He didn’t snub her offer, but it was clear he was in no mood to speak with her, unable to meet her eyes as he grasped it and got to his feet. He dropped her hand the second he was steady and grabbed his fallen helmet off the ground, taking off towards his tent without a word.
She watched him go, her heart heavy. Tucking those emotions away like she always did and instead focused on the relief that he wouldn’t becoming with them. Gerrie, ever the irreverent person, came up behind her and slapped her ass.
“Atta girl!” she said happily, slinging her arm around Solveig’s much higher shoulders, steering her in the opposite direction of Latham. “He’ll be fine,” she whispered.
Gerrie could be rude and abrasive, completely carefree in any situation, but she was also Solveig’s anchor. She needed to hear those quiet words, however small and insignificant they seemed.
Shorter by more than a head, Gerrie’s arm was comically stretched around Solveig. She had rich dark skin and her head was sheared of any hair, making her appear exactly as fierce as she was. Tattoos of feathered wings marked both her arms and the columns of her neck, a line of runes down her throat to her chest. The tattoos told the story of Gerrie’s loss.
Her family had been slaughtered in Vanaheim and she had been witness to the brutality of it. Gerrie had been only a witchling, her family spies for Asgard, when they were caught, The Midgard army shackled her to a post and forced her to watch.
The scars and tattoos entwined together, marking her as a free female shaped by her past.
Others often thought her humour was a way to cover her pain, but Solveig had known Gerrie before her tragedy and she had always been crass. She envied Gerrie’s ability to prevent past suffering from taking joy from the present.
“Thank you,” she whispered back. Solveig took no pleasure in defeating Latham, but she pushed those emotions down again and went back to the council tent to plan the raid.
“I’llfightyouforit,” Gerrie said with a straight face. Solveig had just told her she would not be coming. She’d been on the last six, and now Solveig refused her request to come on another one. Solveig was tempted to throw a dagger at her friend.
“So funny, ha ha.”
“If you can appoint yourself to go on every raid, then I can be there every time to have your back,” Gerrie said, this time with a sincerity that told Solveig she wasn’t joking. Plus, Gerrie could beat her, so there was no point in fighting her. Solveig sighed in defeat.
“Latham is going to be furious when he finds out I’ve allowed you to come ... again.” She rubbed her temples with her fingers. Twelve were chosen, and with herself and Gerrie, they now had fourteen of the fifteen who would carry out the raid.
Using Gerrie’s suggestion from earlier that morning, Solveig had selected two people from each battalion residing in camp. Initially, when she’d asked for volunteers, only four stepped forward.
It was no surprise that her three most trusted shieldmaidens, Veda, Signe, and Idunn, were willing to join her. She wouldn’t have expected anything less from the three females who had pledged their loyalty to her a century ago. She’d hoped they would volunteer—it was imperative that she had soldiers she could trust to keep themselves safe and not make any foolish mistakes.
The other eight were chosen based on age and family circumstances. It wasn’t fair to punish those without families, but Solveig was not in the mood to bury another mother or father that day. With one spot remaining, she knew what she was going to do, and it gave her a twisted sense of satisfaction.
Gerrie laughed when Solveig informed her who she was choosing and sent her on her way with an extra dagger tucked up her sleeve just in case things got ugly. Striding through the camp with her face set in a way that no one dared approach her, she smiled wickedly to herself. She would not be deterred from this course of action, it was the most joy she had felt all month.
Solveig marched straight to CommanderMaddock’s tent and let herself in without preamble. She didn’t even blink when two females shrieked at her sudden entrance.
One of them toppled right from where she sat straddling Maddock’s face. The other dove under the covers, kneeling between his legs with her head down. Solveig surveyed the scene in disgust.
She’d rather burn in Muspelheim with the fire demons than touch any part of this male.
Maddock looked up to see what had interrupted his afternoon delight. He scowled at Solveig before reaching under the sheets, grabbing the female to place her mouth back on his cock.
Even under the covers, Solveig could see the female’s head moving up and down. His smirk told her he expected her to leave. She didn’t.Instead she plastered a lazy grin on her face and leaned against one of the tent’s support poles. Maddock thrust his hips, eliciting a gagging sound from under the blanket.
With a satisfied expression, he reached down to lift the other Vanir back to his face. Solveig knew what he was trying to do, but she refused to leave. She stood there in silence while the female on his face made moaning sounds, crying out in obviously fake pleasure within seconds.
Solveig snorted. With what could only be described as lavish enthusiasm, the head under the covers increased its pace and Maddock, still holding the other female to his face, bucked his hips wildly, finishing with a loud gargled grunt. Solveig was pretty sure sex was now forever ruined.
He spanked the ass of the female on his face, and she swiftly removed herself, hurrying to put her dress back on. She exited the tent without making eye contact with Solveig. The other female also extricated herself as quickly as possible, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she scurried away.
Maddock took his time stretching, his elaborate braids of muddy blond hair tangled around his head. His beard was mussed from the disappointing oral he’d delivered, not that he cared. He stood straight up, naked as the day he was born, with his now flaccid shaft dangling below.
Solveig resisted another snort and a comment about the scene she’d just witnessed. He made no move to get dressed.
