Page 16 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

RAGNAR

S omehow, I’m starting to feel at home in this alien world.

I sit by the fire, the warmth of the flames sinking into my muscles.

We purchased clothes for rest as well, and I’m comfortable in long pants and a robe.

My hair and beard are damp from bathing–even though the strange sprinkling bath was far too small for me–and my skin smells of soap and Elena.

Fenrik sprawls on the rug near the hearth, snoring softly.

It’s quiet, peaceful…save for the sound of Elena’s voice from her bedroom.

She’s speaking with her family, I think.

And she’s worried.

Her words are muffled, the tone carrying more than the meaning itself. I don’t understand the language, but I don’t have to; the ache in her voice is enough. It’s an ache I feel when I think about those I left behind on Kanin…a family roughly the same size as Elena’s.

A mother. An absent father. Three little sisters.

Mine are long gone, but Elena’s are still on her homeworld, and I find myself worrying for them.

Fenrik lifts his head from his place near the fire, his ears twitching toward her door.

He whines softly, a low, questioning sound, before resting his head back down.

Even he can sense it—whatever weight she’s carrying.

I stare at her closed door, my fingers twitching with the urge to knock, to step inside and… what? Fix it?

What could I possibly offer her? I am a relic of a time she cannot fathom, and she is struggling with a world I don’t yet understand. I would only make it worse, wouldn’t I? She needs space. Privacy.

I tell myself that, over and over, like a chant meant to calm the storm building inside me.

I force myself to settle deeper into the blankets, my body rigid at first. The fire crackles softly, its warmth pressing against my skin, but it doesn’t soothe me.

Not when I can still hear her, speaking low and strained.

Still, I try to close my eyes. My chest tightens as her voice softens even more, barely audible now. My fists clench, the tension threading through my body like a taut bowstring. I want to go to her. I want to know what’s wrong.

But I don’t.

I stay where I am, sinking into the warmth of the blankets and the firelight, forcing myself to breathe. Slowly, steadily, the sound of her voice begins to fade, replaced by the low hum of the night and the rhythmic crackle of the fire. My muscles relax, inch by inch, and my eyelids grow heavier.

Even as I drift off, though, the echo of her worry lingers. It follows me into sleep like a shadow, weaving itself into the edges of my dreams…

Then, a sound.

I jolt awake, feeling like only a few seconds have passed.

The fire has burned to coals, though, and Fenrik is gone.

It takes me only a moment to find him standing at Elena’s door, scratching at the wood, whining softly.

I sit up, instantly alert, my heart pounding.

Fenrik whines again, louder this time, and I hear Elena now.

Soft, uneven breaths.

Crying.

I’m on my feet before I even consider it, crossing the room in a few quick strides. Fenrik scratches the door again, more insistent. If she’s in danger…

I slam the door open.

Elena sits up with a jolt, clutching the blankets around her, eyes wide. Her dark hair falls in messy curls down her back and over her shoulders, the soft glow up snow-lit moonlight filtering in through the window. Her holopad is resting in her lap, illuminating the shimmering tears in her eyes.

I don’t get a chance to ask what’s wrong–because Fenrik launches himself into the bed.

He practically knocks her down, and I worry at first that he’s lost his mind–but he starts licking her face, working hard to stop her crying. “Fenrik!” I shout, striding forward and reaching for him. “Fenrik, stop…”

The words die in my throat when I realize Elena is laughing, even through her tears. The holopad slips off the bed and thuds to the floor, but she doesn’t care; Fenrik seems to have had the correct solution to her problem.

I slump, leaning against the doorframe as the tension drains out of me. My heart is still pounding, but seeing her smile–even if it’s because of Fenrik’s antics–is enough to ease the tight grip of worry in my chest.

“Fenrik,” she scolds lightly, sitting up now and sniffling. She wipes at her face with one hand and the other scratches behind Fenrik’s ears. “Ragnar…”

Her eyes flick up to me now, and her breath hitches. My robe has fallen open to reveal my chest–and she’s seen enough of me that I feel it should be less exciting now, but she blushes, even in the dim light.

“I’ll go,” I murmur, gesturing toward the door. “Fenrik–”

“Come?” she asks in Skoll.

Then she pats the bed beside her…an invitation.

I freeze, not sure how I should respond. I know what I want, but I don’t know what’s best for Elena. If I’m in her bed…will I be able to control myself?

Fenrik looks up at me, wagging his tail.

Nothing is going to happen. I need to comfort her.

I step fully into the room, leaving the door open as I sit down beside her. The bed creaks under my weight, but it holds. I wait for Elena’s cue as to what she wants me to do. First she reaches down to pick up the holo…but then she moves closer.

I extend my arm to wrap around her.

I try desperately to control my breathing, my pulse. She doesn’t seem to notice as she holds the holo in her lap, Fenrik curled up at our feet. I tentatively reach out and touch her face, wiping a tear away with my thumb.

“Why?” I ask.

She closes her eyes and bites her lip before sighing deeply. She seems upset as she turns on the holopad again, then shows me an image.

It shows a village, flooded and broken. Buildings are submerged in water, streets turned to rivers. This is destruction…familiar in its devastation. She scrolls through a few more pictures, and I recognize some of the structures and the style of the buildings.

This was her home.

“Varra,” she says quietly.

Family.

“Safe?” I ask.

She frowns…then nods. “Safe, but…not safe?”

She gestures again at the holopad, where she pulls up a moving picture of her family.

They’re older than they were in the images from the photo album, huddled together in what looks like a much smaller house, with many boxes and bags around them.

They speak toward the screen in Elena’s language, smiling.

One has a little girl and boy with her, and she’s crying.

Elena gives me a new word to add to my lexicon: “Hurricane.”

She continues to scroll through the footage. Soon, she’s crying again, and I extend a hand to cover hers, stopping her. She looks up at me.

She’s so close…I could distract her. It would be the perfect moment to kiss her, to claim her, to show her that she isn’t alone.

But her people are unlike mine. Ves told me to be cautious. And this…she could perceive it as taking advantage.

I would never, ever hurt her.

I cup her face in my hand, resting my forehead against hers. Elena reaches up and grasps my forearm, closing her eyes. The scent of her tears fills my lungs, and I know my initial thought was correct.

Now isn’t the time.

“Safe,” I murmur. “Safe, Elena.”

I open my eyes to find her looking at me, and I know she has a thousand things she wants to say to me. I feel the same…but for now, it’s still not possible. I take her hand and splay it across my chest, over my heart. “Fen,” I say, telling her the word for heart.

She repeats the word, quiet as a prayer.

I hold her hand against my chest, letting her feel the steady thrum of my heartbeat. “You are not alone,” I murmur, the words halting on my tongue, foreign. I’m unsure if she’ll understand, but I need to say it. For her. For myself.

Elena doesn’t reply. Instead, she rests her head against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.

I’m still holding her hand, my thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way I hope is soothing.

Fenrik shifts at the foot of the bed, letting out a low, contented sigh, as if the moment has his approval.

She sits like this for a while, her body leaning into mine, her hand still pressed against my chest. The holopad rests forgotten on her lap, its glow dimming as it powers down. The quiet of the room wraps around us, broken only by the faint sound of the wind outside and the rhythm of her breathing.

I close my eyes, letting the moment sink in. This is what I’ve craved without realizing it—this closeness, this trust. Not the heat of battle, not the icy resolve of survival, but this: the gentle weight of another soul beside mine.

Eventually, she shifts, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze.

Her eyes are swollen from crying, her lashes wet, but there’s something in her expression that feels…

lighter. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against my beard, tracing the edge of my jaw.

The touch is fleeting, hesitant, but it leaves a trail of warmth in its wake.

She lowers her hand, resting it on my arm instead, and I take it as a sign that she doesn’t want me to leave. Carefully, I shift, pulling her closer until she’s resting fully against my side. She doesn’t protest. In fact, she leans into me, her body soft and warm against mine.

“Safe,” I say again, the word a promise as much as a reassurance.

Elena sighs, her breath hitching slightly as if she’s still fighting the remnants of her tears. I want to take that burden from her, to shoulder it myself, but I know I can’t.

All I can do is be here, solid and unyielding, for as long as she’ll let me.