“What’s his name?”
Her brows rise in surprise. “Oh, um...,” Valkyrie stutters before letting out an embarrassed, “Cuddly Dudley.”
Cute. Bending down, I take out the dagger I keep in my boots and Valkyrie’s eyes flare. I play around with the weapon and do a couple of tricks while Valkyrie stares.
“I think you should rename him to Iversen,” I say, adding, “or I’ll let him taste the blade for daring to sleep in your bed every night.”
Valkyrie’s mouth pops open before she fidgets and lets out a snigger. “Would you really gut that innocent little teddy?”
“He’s not so innocent to me,” I growl and she struggles to keep her laughter under control. I grin, wanting to kiss her on her soft and big lips but then as if picking up on my carnal intentions, she lets out a gasp and steps farther into the room.
“I forgot to give you your fur back,” Valkyrie blurts, holding it out for me but I shake my head.
“Keep it.” I’ve worn that thing like a second skin for years and I want her to have it. “It looks good on you, baby.”
Whimpering, Valkyrie gasps and then she closes the door. Slams it right in my face. I want to kick it down and claim her right on her prissy carpet and take her first orgasm as my loot. A grin stretches my mouth.Soon. Nothing will stop me from claiming Valkyrie.
Not even death.
****
Valkyrie
Breathing so harsh, I’m going to need an oxygen mask soon, I lean against the door and crash. I don’t think my pulse has ever raced this fast. It’s going to climb out of my chest soon if I don’t calm down. Clasping Iversen’s fur, I bury my face in it.
It smells like him, of cedar wood and smoke and danger and it makes me weak in the knees.
What we’re doing is forbidden but it makes it all the more thrilling. The most sensible thing to do would be to talk Iversen out of it, ask him to be respectable and follow regular protocol instead of trying to be with me in secret. But I can’t ask that of him.
I want to trust my gut and follow my heart.
Draping Iversen’s fur over my favorite chair, I give it one last stroke of longing before changing into my robe. The color leaves a lot to be desired but at least it’s made of satin. Still, it’s long-sleeved and goes all the way down to my ankles and it’s not exactly something that would make a male’s blood run hot.
Honestly, I wonder what Iversen sees in me.
I’m so...average.
My appearance is average, my wit is average, my fighting skills...fine, they’re below average. And yet Iversen still looks at me like I’m the best thing since sliced bread. It makes my belly flutter, makes me feel strong and powerful and...extraordinary.
All my life I’ve yearned to feel extraordinary, always thought I’d find it the day I’d become more warrior like, more like the males I grew up with and I thought I had to be what they value. Now I only care about what Iversen values and he doesn’t care about my prowess. He just cares about being allowed to hold my hand and staying in my presence.
And it makes a girl feel glorious.
I open up the double doors and step out on my little balcony. The wind is so mild tonight after the rain but I can still smell the moistness in the air. Leaning over the black iron balustrades, I listen to the music of the trees. Did it always play this beautifully or is it maybe the infatuation that makes everything sweeter.
Dragging a content breath, I tense when I hear male grunting in the corner of the courtyard and I turn my face. Of course. The soldiers are fighting because nobody around here ever misses out on a brawl. I squint and my heart starts pounding when I despite the distance recognize the shape of the tattoo on that torso.
It’s Iversen and I bite my lip when my body turns into pure jelly. Before I would’ve let out a yelp in horror and ran back inside, terrified of the things he does to me but now I try to withstand it. Things are different now. I’ve looked at him, talked to him, felt his touch on my skin and now I can’t just look away.
Besides, nobody knows I’m watching him. And it seems only fair considering he stares at me all the time.
He’s one of our most skilled fighters, dodging every blow but never missing out on delivering a hook. He fights like the way he talks and looks at me.Dirty. I crave it even though I know it’s not appropriate but I crave the brutality in him. I’m not like other girls, I grew up in the mob and I can’t just have the average Joe. My husband won’t ever be a mailman, or a lawyer, or a politician. It’s either a made man or nobody at all.
Though, ever since today it’s Iversen or nobody at all.
A nervous flicker flutters in my belly at the thought of somebody else taking his place. It’s not impossible. Anybody else in the organization could win the position as the new underboss and my husband, simply by impressing my father or the boss well enough.
Luckily Iversen is strong. Competitive. He won’t let anyone else take his place. I think about what he did to my then fiancé and I grow so dizzy, I need to steady myself on the handrail.