Page 12 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

ELENA

I haven’t taken a boy home with me since I lived on Earth…and even then, it was rare.

Plus, they were never ancient alien warriors.

We get more than a few weird looks as we walk through town, though I can’t tell if it’s because of Fenrik or because of Ragnar’s absurd blue jacket.

I live in a clump of student apartments, populated mostly by humans and Ka’reth.

Ragnar keeps looking around, clearly disturbed by the Ka’reth–and it occurs to me he’s never seen one until today.

I wish I could tell him he’s going to be okay…to explain what’s going on.

Instead, all I can do as I unlock the door is turn around and tell him, “Safe.”

I open the door and Fenrik takes the opportunity to plow ahead, making me rush to flip on the light so he doesn’t destroy anything. I open it up to see him disappear around the kitchen counter, tail wagging above it, nose to the ground. I step in and Ragnar follows.

Or at least, he tries to follow–but he knocks his antlers against the door frame and grunts.

“Sorry!” I say, looking back at him with a wince. “Human corridors…not big enough for Skoll, I guess.”

Although Ves has never had a problem getting inside, but they’re not a giant.

I don’t know what to do, especially since I can’t make conversation. I clasp my hands together, chewing on my lip. “Uh…do you want–”

Something crashes in the kitchen and I jerk my head around, Ragnar letting out a growl.

Fenrik is giving a deeply accusatory look to the offending chair–thank God it wasn’t anything more valuable.

I rush over to him to pick up the chair again, Ragnar whistling for him and taking a decisive seat on the couch.

He looks…hilarious.

The blue coat is still on his shoulders, stretched way too tight, and he dwarfs the couch. Once Fenrik jumps up with him, I fear that they might break my furniture. Not that I can do anything about it; they’ll do less damage there than roaming around.

I point at them, hoping he’ll understand. “Stay right there,” I say. My eyes roam over the room, wondering… “Actually! Wait.”

I walk to the coffee table and grab the remote, then I flip on the TV over the fireplace.

The holographic screen flares to life, filling the small room with soft light and the familiar chime of M’mir’s planetary entertainment network.

Ragnar cocks his head, eyes wide, then he leans forward and clasps his hands.

Fenrik’s ears perk up, similarly drawn to the flashing lights.

“I’ll put something on for you,” I murmur, more for myself than for Ragnar. He glances at me, but he’s mostly transfixed on the TV.

Good.

That will give me some time to figure out what I’m doing here.

I go to the TV guide, where I scroll through my options.

They keep a little bit of everything available here–numerous cultures and languages, though the planet with the most TV shows and movies is definitely mine.

I find an old sitcom–something I know will stay calm and simple. No explosions, not too much weirdness.

Perfect.

I put my hands on my hips, wondering what I should do next–and it’s only then that it occurs to me I’m still wearing my winter gear.

I start taking it off, shrugging off my coat to hang it by the door.

I go through the motions, slipping off my boots and my scarf.

The cold bites at me right away, even through my thick wool sweater. I turn around to get the fire started–

Oh my God.

He’s right behind me.

Ragnar is shrugging off his coat and mimicking me, though he is completely–gloriously–shirtless underneath that ridiculous parka. My lips part as I look up at him, finding the broad plain of his abs, his chest, his…

His eyes.

He’s smirking at me.

“I was just…” I start, stuttering and blushing bright red. “Um. Getting a fire started.”

He grunts in acknowledgement.

I somehow manage to slip past him.

I’m shivering by the time I get the fire started, and I kneel in front of it to warm my hands. Now that I’m out of my coat…oof, I need a shower. Can I just shower with Ragnar in my house? Would he like to have a shower? Would he like to shower with me–

“Hot chocolate,” I mutter to myself, cutting off my own thoughts. “Hot chocolate would be good. Okay…yes, yes.”

I stand, then, and move to the kitchen. It’s not nearly warm enough in here, though Ragnar looks completely comfortable.

He’s actually a little too comfortable, sitting on the couch again with his arms stretched across the back, legs spread like he’s some kind of king.

I resist the urge to just look at him, busying myself in the kitchen.

“I hope you like chocolate,” I blurt out, grabbing supplies and putting them in two mugs. “I try to save it for a special occasion, but I guess this is one? I don’t really have boys over. Not that you’re a boy, of course. Like…I mean in general, normal boys.”

I’m distracting him from the TV, when my whole intent was to use the TV to get attention off of me.

I groan.

“...not that you’re not normal,” I shake my head. “I mean, I guess you’re not normal, but not in a bad way.”

I’m rambling, clumsy with the container of precious cocoa powder. My hands are shaking, probably because of the cold and not because there’s a shirtless viking in my living room.

Right.

Definitely the cold.

I look up and catch him watching me, his head tilted slightly, like he’s trying to decipher some ancient text. Or maybe just me. His gaze is steady, his smirk gone, and there’s a strange intensity in his expression that makes my heart pound harder than it should.

“Chocolate,” I say again, pointing at the mugs like an idiot. “It’s, uh, sweet. Warm. You’ll like it.”

Ragnar raises a brow but doesn’t say anything.

Fenrik, meanwhile, has draped himself across the couch with the same smug confidence as his master, his head resting on Ragnar’s thigh.

He looks completely at home, and I can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since either of them felt safe like this.

I focus on the task at hand, heating up the milk and stirring in the cocoa powder, sugar, and a pinch of chili powder.

The smell of chocolate fills the air, rich and comforting, and it helps me relax.

Just a little. I pour the hot chocolate into two mugs and carry them over to the couch, handing one to Ragnar.

“Careful,” I warn, miming drinking from the mug. “It’s hot.”

He takes the mug from me, his fingers brushing mine, and the warmth of his touch sends a jolt up my arm.

I freeze for a second, then quickly sit down on the other end of the Fenrik, putting as much space between us as possible without being obvious about it.

Fenrik looks at me, clearly unimpressed, then lets out a dramatic sigh and closes his eyes.

Ragnar lifts the mug to his lips and takes a cautious sip. His eyes widen slightly, and he glances at me, nodding in approval.

I smile, feeling oddly proud. “Told you.”

We sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the crackling of the fire, the TV, and the occasional soft slurp as Ragnar drinks his hot chocolate. I sip mine slowly, savoring the warmth, and sneak glances at him out of the corner of my eye.

He looks…different in the firelight. Softer, almost. The harsh lines of his face are gentler, and there’s a quietness about him that I haven’t seen before.

“You know,” I say, talking because…well, I just want to talk to him. “Back at home, hot chocolate is a tradition. Especially when it’s cold like this.”

He nods along, listening even though I’m confident he doesn’t understand.

So I keep talking.

Because it’s actually kind of nice to talk to someone who will listen without any judgment.

“It doesn’t really get this cold much where I’m from,” I say.

“More now than it used to, but that means our summers are hotter, too. But on days when we would have ice storms, or there was snow on the beach, my mom would make us all hot chocolate. She’d bundle us up in homemade scarves and hats–like the one I have over there–and take so many pictures. ”

I smile at the memory, then I realize I can actually show him.

I put my hot chocolate down on the side table, then I pull open a drawer underneath it to grab a photo album. I hand it over to Ragnar, who takes it as if it’s priceless. He gives me a questioning look, and I nod.

“Open it,” I urge him.

Ragnar carefully flips open the cover, his large hands delicate as he handles the album.

I scoot closer, unable to help myself, and Fenrik lets out an annoyed grumble before he slides off the floor and goes to sleep in front of the fire.

When I look down, I see a picture of my family: my mom, me, Marcy, and Lisette, standing on the beach about ten years ago.

It was always just the four of us Draycott girls against the world.

“That’s my family,” I say softly, leaning even closer to point at the picture. I’m shoulder to shoulder with Ragnar now, but it’s comfortable–warm, perfect even. “My mom, me, and my sisters Marcy and Lisette. We used to live really close to the beach.”

Ragnar keeps flipping through the pages, saying nothing as he takes in the images. There are a few more of the beach…and the old house, which was closer to the coastline.

“That’s the house I grew up in,” I gesture at it. “But we lost it after a hurricane. The storms were already getting worse before the Convergence, and everything just went totally haywire after that. Florida’s a lot smaller than it used to be.”

He keeps turning the pages, finding more and more of my siblings. I can see the expression on his face changing…and I realize he’s sad. It’s despair I’m seeing.

“Did you…” I pause, trying to figure out how to ask him this question. I finally decide; I point at the picture of me and my siblings, then I point at me and hold up three fingers–three of us girls–then I point at him. “Did you have siblings?”

Ragnar hesitates, searching my eyes for more clues…then understanding seems to dawn on him.

He nods.