Page 14 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

RAGNAR

I long for her.

Sleeping in this cottage, so close…hearing her move from the bath chamber to her bedroom, thinking about the things I could do to her in those places, the heights of pleasure I could take her to…

I groan, turning to bury my head in the blankets nestled on the floor.

There was no room on the sofa, so I must suffer here, on the cold floor, in solitude.

Fenrik, sensing my frustrations, turns his head to lick my hand. He's curled up between me and the fire, one of my arms slung over his furry bulk. I scratch his fluffy ears absentmindedly, trying to remind myself I can’t do what I wish.

Davina and Ves both know that I believe Elena is my fenvarra…and I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that it’s now an antiquated concept.

And how can I explain it to her, when the time comes?

The old tales tell us that Yrsa spun soul bonds from the threads of creation, stretching across the cosmos in a divine web.

Those bonds connected us, even when the distances were vast–and I suppose those distances were both spatial and temporal.

Elena is my fenvarra: fen, my heart…varra, kin.

Kin to my heart, my soul, my everything.

She doesn’t realize it yet. And even if she did…what would she think of me? Of this broken, ancient warrior who’s spent centuries frozen in time?

I groan again, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself to sleep. She’s so close, just beyond that thin wall, lying alone in her bed. I can picture her there, half-dressed, her curves nestled beneath thick blankets. I could warm her better than any blanket could.

Yrsa give me strength…

Fenrik huffs out a breath, shifting beneath my arm, and I press my forehead against his side. He’s been my only companion for so long, my only anchor, a companion raised from when he was a pup. He can sense it too–that Elena and I belong together.

Mine.

I can’t decide if her presence is a blessing or a torment.

The fire crackles softly, the only sound in the room besides Fenrik’s steady breathing and the faint creaks of the cottage settling in the cold night air. Her face is all I see when I close my eyes. My hands itch to touch her.

I want her. Not just her body, though the thought of that lone is enough to drive me mad.

I want all of her–her laughter, her kindness, her warmth.

I want to hear her say my name with love and affection until the day I die.

My people–in my time, because the Skoll have changed–were not withholding in our affections.

When we fell in love, we knew, and we took our pleasure as desired.

This is…an adjustment, to be sure.

I sigh heavily, rolling onto my back and staring up at the low ceiling. The firelight dances across the wooden beams, but it does little to ease the ache inside me.

For now, I must keep my distance. I’ll stay on this cold floor, and I’ll wait.

Wait for her to see me.

Wait for her to choose me.

And I’m certain she will…because from the moment the cosmos was born, we were fated to be.

A soft nudge pulls me from the haze of sleep. My eyes blink open, adjusting to the darkness of the room.

She’s here, beside me…touching me.

The fire has burned low, casting faint orange embers across the floor. Elena is crouched beside me, her hand on my shoulder, her dark eyes soft.

“Ragnar,” she says softly, her voice pulling me fully awake. “Ves come.”

Her words–spoken in my tongue, though I long to teach her more words–are simple but clear. I groggily sit up, rubbing the back of my neck. Fenrik, still half-asleep, lets out a huff of protest as I move, his warm bulk shifting off my arm.

Elena starts talking as she moves back to the kitchen, and I catch snippets of a few words I’m beginning to recognize.

You. Sleep. Warm. There’s a rich, earthy scent filling the room, and it gets stronger as I hear Elena fill two mugs.

She returns a moment later with two cups full of the delicious, sweet and spicy drink she gave me last night.

“Chocolate?” I ask, the word rough on my lips.

She snorts and shakes her head. “Coffee,” she says slowly.

She hands me one of the mugs and sits on the floor beside me, and I sniff it cautiously. Yes…it smells good, but strange. Not sweet–not like her chocolate, or like the mead we drank in the longhouses on Kanin. I take a hesitant sip.

And I nearly spit it out, cringing as I force myself to swallow.

Elena covers her mouth with her hand, laughing, and she takes the coffee from me to put it on the table.

She says something else, continuing to laugh, and busies herself making sure the drink isn’t somewhere Fenrik can spill it.

I take the opportunity to get a good look at her–at the loose, thin tunic she wears over her torso, the fleece pants.

She doesn’t appear to be wearing anything underneath her tunic, and I can make out the shape of perfect breasts with peaked nipples, a body I need to touch–

She notices I’m looking, and I catch sight of the blush on her face.

I like making her blush.

“Um…” she carefully stands, then she picks up both cups and returns to her kitchen.

I watch her move, the way her steps are quick and slightly unsteady, as though she’s aware of my gaze on her back.

The thin fabric of her tunic clings to her, teasing the soft curve of her hips.

It takes everything in me not to rise from the floor and follow her, to press myself against her and bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhale her scent.

I can’t.

Not yet.

Fenrik’s ears perk up and he lets out a low grumble, alert–then someone knocks at the door. Elena calls out, and whoever it is lets themselves in.

Ah…the Skoll velraen, Ves.

They take a look at me, huffing out a laugh and saying something cheeky to Elena, based on their tone. Elena blushes even brighter red, laughing and shaking her head as Ves slings a bag off of their shoulder and onto the couch, then begins to rifle through it. “What did you say to her?” I ask Ves.

Ves glances at me out of the corner of their eye. “She look forward to get you clothes,” Ves says.

I smile. “Your command of my tongue has already improved.”

Ves, to my surprise, smiles back. “I have never had real life practice.”

Ves pulls some cloth out of their bag, then they toss it over to me. I catch it instinctively, surprised, and I unfold it to find a strange black garment with long sleeves and a zip up the front. I frown. “What is this?”

“Shirt,” Ves says, gesturing to my bare torso. “You wear.”

I grumble. “I don’t think it will fit.”

“Cannot go out…bare chest,” Ves says. “Improper.”

“Not in my time.”

Ves cocks their head. “Not your time.”

I glare at Ves, but I pull the garment over my shoulders anyway, struggling to stretch it across my shoulders and chest. It’s tight–far too tight. The fabric clings uncomfortably, and I wince when I hear fabric tear, revealing my shoulders.

Ves sighs and says something to Elena, who looks back from the kitchen. Her lips twitch and she says something to Ves, who lets out a rueful laugh.

“Give back,” Ves says, holding their hand out.

I do as they say, and Ves takes the garment before tossing it to Elena. Elena, prepared with a pair of scissors, cuts the sleeves off.

That does seem more convenient.

The scholars chat as I rise and dress myself, tugging the garment back on. It’s still tight, but at least I can move–and Ves gives me an approving nod. Elena looks too…and I don’t miss the heat in her gaze as she takes in the sight of her fenvarra.

Elena quickly averts her gaze when she realizes I’ve caught her staring, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that makes my chest tighten. I smirk, taking a moment to adjust the makeshift sleeveless shirt. It’s strange, this fabric—soft, yet sturdy—but it’s far from the furs and leathers I’m used to.

“Better,” Ves declares, stepping back to appraise me. They nod toward the door. “We go now. More clothes.”

Elena grabs her coat, pulling it on hurriedly as she gestures for me to follow. She says something in her language to Ves, who chuckles before responding. I catch a few words—“big,” “shop,” and something about “time”—but the rest is lost to me.

Fenrik stretches lazily in front of the fire, clearly unimpressed by the morning’s commotion. He yawns and thumps his tail, but when Elena whistles softly, he’s on his feet in an instant, trotting to her side. I follow them both to the door, ducking to avoid hitting my antlers on the frame.

Once again, I’m assailed by a barrage of modern changes–people of various species moving about in complete peace, unbothered by the presence of aliens; vehicles moving on the fringes; laughter and conversation in so many languages…

and of course, the strange looks. Fenrik stays on the edges, protecting our retinue and baring his teeth at a few passersby only to be gently chastised by Elena.

There’s no space for warhounds in this world. Only…pets.

We reach a shop with large windows displaying an array of clothing–coats, boots, and other garments that look far more suitable than the tight shirt Ves forced on me earlier.

The clothes are displayed on statues of Skoll–none quite as large as me, but at least closer to my stature.

Ves holds the door open, motioning for us to enter, and I don’t even have to duck for my antlers to fit.

The shopkeeper, a Skoll female, gapes at me as we enter, and says something about my skarnhound.

I can hear the apology in Elena’s voice as she responds, explainin our needs.

The shopkeeper nods along as I stand awkwardly in the center of the shop.

The walls are lined with thick fur coats, boots, and Skoll tunics with alien elements.

Ves is already perusing the offerings, pulling things off of the racks to stack on their arm.

When I look back at Elena, she’s at the desk with the shopkeeper, selecting a gold cuff to wear on her ear.

A gold cuff that looks remarkably like the Borean brainwashing device I destroyed.

Or…the thing I thought was a brainwashing device.

“What is that?” I ask Ves, warning in my voice.

Ves looks at me as if they are entirely unfazed by my tacit threats. “Translator,” Ves says, tapping the device on their own ear.

“Why didn’t it work on me?” I ask.

“Ancient Skoll not indexed,” Ves explains. “And Elena say…you smash.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

I must have seemed like such an ignorant monster to her.

“Davina give money for new,” Ves offers, as if that would help. “And for clothes.” On that, they hold out the stack of clothes they just collected. “Now try.”

I begin to shrug out of my vest, only for Elena to stop me with a hand on my arm, pointing with her other hand toward a curtained off area on the other side of the shop. Ves offers an explanation.

“No naked here.”

I grunt.

With a resigned sigh, I grab the stack of clothes and head toward the curtained-off area, Fenrik on my heels.

The space is cramped, barely large enough for me, let alone for both myself and my skarnhound.

A large mirror takes up an entire wall, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection for the first time since I woke.

Even after everything, after these thousands of years…

I look so much the same. My beard is braided into an intricate pattern courtesy of my mother before the Stormcaller took flight; my hair swept into twisted braids as well, and bedecked with beads given to me by my sisters.

The silver ring hanging from my septum still sparkles as if no time has passed at all.

My heart aches.

I try to ignore my reflection as I remove the vest and my trousers, leaving my boots on the floor, then I shrug on the tunic–grey and light, with intricate blue stitching along the lapels and cuffs. This does fit…and I breathe a sigh of relief that I will at least fit into something here.

Next are a pair of trousers that hang from my hips, with cords to tie around my calves.

To their credit, Ves has good taste and a good eye for measurements; they carefully selected things that suit me.

I can feel the difference in these kinds of garments, too…

how they were crafted for comfort rather than roughspun for practicality.

I suppose some things have improved since I went into cryo-sleep.

The boots are the best part, a pair of functional black leather shoes that seem to form to my feet. I let out a sigh of contentment, Fenrik watching from the corner, bored.

“How is it?” Ves calls from outside.

“Good,” I say, gruff and short.

Very good.

Not that I would admit that.

I step out of the dressing area, Fenrik trailing behind me like a shadow. Ves and Elena turn toward me simultaneously, their expressions expectant. Elena’s eyes widen slightly as she takes me in, and for a moment, she says nothing, just stares.

Ves, on the other hand, grins triumphantly.

“Better,” Ves says, nodding in approval. They circle me once, tugging at the tunic’s hem and adjusting the cuffs. “Now you look like you belong here.”

I snort, crossing my arms. “I doubt I will ever belong here.”

Elena clears her throat, drawing my attention. Her cheeks are flushed, but she manages a small, approving smile. She says something to Ves, who laughs and shakes their head.

“What did she say?” I ask.

“She said you look handsome,” Ves says with a smirk.

I resist preening at the approval of my fenvarra.

Ves, oblivious or purposefully ignoring the moment, claps their hands. “Now coat,” they announce, holding up a long, fur-lined garment they must have plucked from one of the racks. “Try this.”

I take the coat from them and drape it over my shoulders. It’s heavier, but functional and designed for mobility. I adjust the collar, appreciating how the hem drapes all the way to my knees.

Elena steps closer, then stands on tip-toes, her fingers brushing against the collar as she adjusts it. Her touch is light, almost hesitant, and it sends a spark of warmth through me. She looks up, meeting my gaze, and I can see the softness in her expression.

“Good,” she says, smiling.

I swallow hard, the urge to reach out and touch her almost overwhelming. Instead, I nod, my voice rough when I respond. “Thank you.”

Ves clears their throat. “I pay.”

Once the transaction is complete, we step out of the shop and into the bustling streets.

The air is crisp and cold, but the new clothes keep me warm.

Fenrik trots ahead, his tail wagging as he sniffs at the snow-covered ground.

Elena walks beside me, her hand brushing against my arm as she adjusts her coat.

“Safe?” she asks, glancing up at me.

I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. That simple word has come to mean so much…one of the only words we share. It doesn’t quite sum up all I feel, but I confirm it for her anyway: “Safe.”