Viking's Fury (8 page)

“It’s just, it was too easy. I know Eir meant well, but something just feels off.”

“Our welcoming did seem a bit showy for last minute,” she sighed. “Maybe it’s okay that we’re not safe. Maybe being here will cause our enemies to strike and we can defeat them in the light, for the whole ‘verse to see.”

His arms tightened around her and even though she knew what he was going to ask next, it was still a shock to her system when he said the words.

“Even if that enemy is your father?”

“He will always be my father and I hope you understand that when he is gone, I will mourn the loss of my father, but I won’t blame you. Not if he comes after us.”

“And Rollo?”

“We’ll just have to hope we can meet him on our own terms.”

“What your mother said—”

“I choose you.”

He lifted his head. “What?”

“Whatever happens, I choose you. We’re not going to hide from him and hope he doesn’t come steal our happiness. Even though it’s only been a short time, I know you like I know myself. I guess it’s the Valkyrie/Berserker bond or something, but I know you’d never be happy, never be able to breathe while he lived.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” She pushed her hands through his hair.

“For not asking me to choose, because I would choose you, Mercy.”

His grip was so tight, it was almost pain, but she didn’t move. It was as if he were trying to anchor her there, or maybe it was himself.

“A Valkyrie worth her salt wouldn’t ask you to.”

“No, but maybe a smart woman would,” a voice sounded from the door.

Mercy had had just about enough of surprises, but unlike when she’d be alone with Fenris, she wasn’t afraid. It wasn’t only because Magnus was with her. She wasn’t afraid because there was nothing he could do to her now that mattered. She’d finally found her own place in the ‘verse, her own purpose.

Rollo, the bastard who would be king, couldn’t take that away from her.

He stood like some melodramatic villain, dressed in a black tech suit—mech wings spread out behind his shoulders, and the black forest of his hair hanging down over his pale brow.

“You just killed yourself,” Mercy said. “You’re dead, and you don’t even know it.”

His eyes slid to her, and they reminded her of the Great Dark. No light. No hope. Endless nothing. “You’ll be an interesting addition to my harem. I’ll put you in a cage with my other Valkyrie. Maybe I’ll let you fight to the death for the honor.”

She snarled.

“I like that fire. You didn’t have that last time I was on Hel. I would’ve accepted when your father gave you—”

Magnus cut him off with the deadly song of his war hammer. He swung the beast through the air in a killing arc, but Rollo, for all his theatrics was a hardened warrior. He would’ve had to have been, to have defeated Boudicea. He met the blow with one of his own.

The clash of war hammers echoed throughout the great white-pillared halls.

But Mercy wouldn’t be just an observer to this battle. She was engaged with a cool hand closed around her throat from behind.

She had no training, but the something that flowed hot and volcanic through her blood spurred to life and guided her movements. She grabbed the restraining wrist and used her own body to leverage the other woman, so that Mercy threw her forward and evened the playing field.

Anae scrambled to her feet and produced a thin silver blade from her armlet. “Time to die, princess.”

Mercy didn’t bother to respond. She didn’t need to threaten the other woman, didn’t need to enumerate the ways in which she would dis-articulate all her moving joints. No, Mercy was about action, not promises.

It didn’t matter why Anae had joined with Rollo. It didn’t matter what her evil plan was. All that mattered was that Mercy knew that she’d learn what it meant to take a life.

There was a moment when it seemed as if time stopped. Everything slowed down as if they were all moving through anti-gravity. Her vision narrowed, so all Mercy could see was the priestess’s neck and the thin blue veins under the ivory skin. So fragile.

So breakable.

The priestess drew her blade, held it high, and launched herself at her opponent.

Mercy saw her coming in slow motion, her muscles and ligaments moved without any conscious instruction and her left fist extended with so much force, bolstered by Magnus’s strength, that she punched through Anae’s throat.

In one fluid motion, she dropped the priestess, caught the silver blade and spun through the air, her body guided by instinct, passion, and the connection to her Berserker.

She put that silver blade through the back of Rollo’s head and he dropped like a stone.

Mercy ducked just in time to avoid losing her own head to Magnus’s war hammer.

The look of horror on his face told her just how close she’d come. The war hammer dropped from his hand and instead, his arms were full of her.

“Sweet fucking Valhalla, what the hell were you thinking?”

She clung to him, unmindful of the blood and sweat on them both.

“I wasn’t thinking. I was being a Valkyrie.”

“You are certainly Eir’s daughter.”

“Mercy Eirsdottir. I like it.”

“Then wear it. You’ve earned it.” He kissed her hard.

“You’re not angry I took your chance at vengeance?”

“You’re safe. That’s all that matters. That’s all that’s ever mattered.”

“You say the prettiest things, Berserker.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got other uses for my mouth.”

“That, I do. And I intend to work you hard, once we’re somewhere safe.”

“And where is safe, do you think, Mercy?”

“Is that your way of saying you want to stay here?” She put her hand on his cheek.

“The Acadians are my people. Your people. You’d be a queen.”

“My father raised me for a life in politics. I could do worse.” She shrugged. “We’ll have to get a contingent of soldiers here, until we’ve rooted out all of Rollo’s supporters.”

“And here you thought you didn’t think like a Valkyrie. I have you almost naked in my arms, post battle, and there you go talking about strategy. It’s kind of sexy.”

“Only kind of?”

“Yeah, I like it better after the talking.” He nuzzled her ear. “And so do you.” He carried her out the doors and, still clothed into the fey purple waters that washed away the blood, the fear, and all that was left of Odinsdottir.

She’d been quite right when she said she was the girl who used to be Mercy Odinsdottir because all that was left was Valkyrie.

Eirsdottir.

Valkyrie to Magnus the Destroyer.

Receiver of Happy Ever After.

Epilogue

Magnus the Destroyer, bad-ass extraordinaire and King of the Acadians, had a tankard of mead halfway to his lips when a screech sounded from the upstairs room where his beloved lay sleeping.

He paused—debating which reaction was appropriate. To run up the stairs swinging his war hammer ready to do murderous things to any who’d dared disturb his love, or slinking outside to work on the special dagger he was carving for her.

Actually, if anyone had dared disturb Mercy’s slumber, he wouldn’t give a six-legged horse’s turd for their future.

He brought the mead closer to his lips, and she screeched again.

Damn it, it was like she knew.

Eir took the tankard out of his hand and drained it. Since Rollo’s death, with her fifteen year mission at an end, she’d retired and come to live on Lycaos Four. “Sounds like your ladylove is in need of your services.”

“Why don’t
you
go see?” he dared her.

“Not me. She’s as big as a bear and just as angry. You married her, you deal with it.” Eir teased. “It’s your fault she’s like this anyway.” The woman grinned.

“Yeah, you just wait until Thane and Thora are calling you Grammy and pulling your braids like reins.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Eir’s smile softened, until Mercy yelled again.

“Put that damn tankard on a tile. You’re going to ruin the wood. It’s like you two were born and raised in a barn.” Mercy leaned over the stairs, her riot of long red hair swaying in the cool breeze coming in off the water.

Magnus grinned. “Not a barn. A mud hut.”

Instead of being irritated with him, she smiled. “Come here. Your bite-sized Valkyries are kicking up a storm.”

Magnus darted up the stairs and grabbed her, hand on her belly. The ferocious little kicks delighted him. They were so fierce, so strong—qualities the babes would need once they came to meet the world.

Rebuilding the Acadian way of life and culture was taking time, but when he was out destroying, earning his name and killing his way across the ‘verse, this was what he’d been seeking all along.

He didn’t know if he actually believed in Valhalla, but if it was real, he imagined it looked a lot like this moment.  

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Coming September 15, the second in my Labels series:
Slut
.

“You’re a woman who is comfortable in her own sexuality. That necessarily means you must be labeled, categorized and filed away for everyone’s safety.”

Rebecca “Bex” Foxworth likes that description of herself. It makes her sound strong, dangerous, and powerful—like she’s standing against some grand injustice by using her body as she sees fit. That’s how her friend Claire Howard sees her and if Claire has taught her anything, it’s that labels are defined by the people who wear them, and not the other way around.

But SLUT is more than a label to Bex: it’s her armor. It protects her from ever having to share her true self. The loop in her head tells her she’s innately flawed and wholly unworthy. Why else would her parents insist she go under the knife for a new nose, a new body, and plastic perfection?

That’s something Thornton Henry Edgeleaf would never understand. Thornton is perfect, in every way—handsome, worldly, passionate—with just one unforgivable flaw: he’s utterly sincere. It makes Bex want to run screaming, back into the familiar, indifferent arms of men who won’t fail to dismiss and mistreat her. But nothing’s as easy as it used to be…

Books by Saranna DeWylde

The Labels Series

Fat

Slut

10 Days Series

How To Lose A Demon in 10 Days

How To Marry A Warlock in 10 Days
How to Seduce An Angel in 10 Days

Desperate Housewives of Olympus

Desperate Housewives of Avalon

Ride of the Darkyrie

Writing as Sara Lunsford
Sweet Hell on Fire: A Memoir of the Prison I Worked In and the Prison I Lived In