Page 21 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

ELENA

P age McRae…I know that name.

Because like—everyone does.

There was a huge stir in Mythara last year when a human historian discovered the most valuable source of all time: a living, breathing Borean magister who lived through the fall of the Borean republic and the rise of the Empire. He’s the last of his kind, and she’s his mate.

Which means she has a unique perspective on whatever the hell is going on between me and Ragnar—who might be the new most valuable source of all time.

Lots of that going around these days.

I sneak a glance at her as we walk, trying not to make it obvious that I’m studying her.

Page looks…normal. Which is strange, given everything I know about her.

There’s nothing about her that screams pioneer of interstellar historical studies or mate to the last living Borean.

She’s dressed in a comfy grey sweater and light leather jacket, brown hair in short waves, and I think she might actually be younger than I am.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was just another scholar.

But I read. I pay attention to the news. So I know she stood at the center of an academic firestorm, there was a whole freaking tribunal…she rewrote our understanding of the Skoll Lost Expeditions: the expeditions that Ragnar claims to have been part of.

Now she’s standing next to me.

Getting coffee.

It’s almost as strange as having an ancient alien viking drink hot chocolate in your living room.

The doors to the hospital slide open with a soft hiss, and the crisp air of Snowveil rushes in to greet us.

Behind us, the hospital is one of those strange, hodgepodge buildings that looks like it was made by at least ten different aliens with vastly different ideas about architecture…

which it probably was. The main structure is sleek and modern, with glass panels, reinforced alloy beams, and soft glowing signage.

The wings that extend outward each have their own character: Merati opal and coral, Nyeri’i cybertech, Skoll stone.

Ragnar is somewhere in that Skoll section…and it’s almost like I can feel him pulling me back.

The cold is biting, but nothing I can’t handle; I’m used to it. Page, on the other hand, curses under her breath.

“Fuck, it’s fucking cold here,” Page mutters, her foul mouth catching me off guard. Yet again—another surprise from the girl who caused such a stir on M’mir. “How do you live like this?”

“Lots of cozy sweaters and coats,” I laugh. “And tea. Hot chocolate. Warm fires.”

“You almost make it sound appealing,” she snorts.

I shrug. “Didn’t get to see much snow where I grew up, so I’ve learned to make the most of it.”

Page rubs her hands together like she can will warmth back into them. “I don’t care how much tea you have—this is some bullshit.”

I laugh, pulling my pink puffer coat a little tighter around me as we start walking down the bustling street. “I take it you’re not a winter person?”

“Winter’s fine. This?” She gestures vaguely at the icy-blue sky, at the towering frost-crusted buildings and the winding streets dusted with fresh snow.

“This is hell frozen over. I grew up in Boston. I know cold. But at least there, you get used to it. This place?” She shakes her head.

“Nah. This is like the wind wants to kill you.”

I grin. “It is a little harsh.”

Page eyes me like I just said the sky is a little blue. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Florida.”

Now she really laughs. “No fucking way. And you’re okay with this?”

“Hey,” I shake my head. “Better than deadly hurricanes, right?”

Page groans as we push through the next gust of wind. “I don’t know, I’d take my chances with a hurricane over this ice planet bullshit.”

I laugh, my breath curling in the frigid air.

The streets of Snowveil are bustling despite the cold, a mix of species weaving through the narrow pathways lined with softly glowing signage.

Steam rises from street vendor stalls selling hot broth and roasted root vegetables, and the scent of something spicy drifts through the air, mingling with the ever-present crispness of ice.

Up ahead, the coffee shop comes into view—a cozy little place nestled between a Nyeri’i tech shop and a Skoll forge, the latter radiating heat even from across the street.

The sign above the door is an elegant swirl of Skoll runes that my new translator downloads quickly, promising strong drinks and fresh pastries.

The warm glow spilling from the windows is downright inviting after the trek through the icy streets.

Page practically bolts for the door.

The moment we step inside, a wave of warmth washes over me, chasing the chill from my fingers and toes.

The interior is exactly what I hoped for—soft lighting, heavy wooden beams, thick Skoll furs draped over the seating.

A massive hearth blazes at the far end of the room, its flames flickering behind a protective glass panel, casting golden light against the stonework.

I exhale, stretching my fingers as the heat seeps back into them. Cozy barely covers it.

Page sighs dramatically. “Oh, thank fuck.”

I shake my head as we approach the counter, where a Skoll barista with curling antlers and a deep, rolling voice greets us. The place smells like roasted coffee, cinnamon, and something floral—maybe Nyeri’i spices.

“What do you want?” Page asks. “I’m buying.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“Please,” she says. “You deserve to be treated. Sounds like you’ve had quite the ordeal, and…well, trust me, I get it.”

I chew on my lip, looking up at the menu. “Okay…ooh, that looks good—a sugarpetal latte with extra marshmallows, please.”

She smiles. “Figured.”

She orders for both of us, then we wait in silence for our drinks and two pastries.

Once we’ve got our stuff, I follow her to a corner booth near the hearth, sighing in relief as I sink into the soft, fur-lined seat.

The fire crackles gently behind its barrier, adding to the low, pleasant hum of conversation and clinking dishes.

Page takes a long sip of her coffee, watching me over the rim of her cup. “So.”

I pause mid-sip. “So?”

She smirks. “You’re dying to ask about Thorne.”

I cough, nearly choking on my coffee. “I—what?—?”

“Oh, please.” Page leans in, bracing her elbows on the table. “Ragnar wakes up from a four-thousand-year nap and immediately wants to claim you? And you’re sitting across from the only human who has even remotely been through something similar?” She spreads her hands. “Go on. Ask.”

I swallow, shifting in my seat. She’s not wrong.

My mind flashes back to Ragnar—to the way he looks at me, the way his body moves toward mine like he knows something I don’t. It’s not just attraction, not just interest. It’s like…he’s already made up his mind.

And I have no idea what to do with that.

I clear my throat. “Okay. Fine. What was it like for you?”

Page leans back, considering. “You mean, what was it like realizing the world’s last Borean decided I was it for him?”

I nod.

She snorts, shaking her head. “That’s not exactly how it happened. Like…the way that Skoll is acting with you would have been shocking coming from Thorne.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Mmhm.” She exhales, tapping her fingers against the side of her cup.

“I spent weeks chasing him down while he did everything in his power to convince me I was wrong. That we weren’t mates.

That it was just my imagination. He had every excuse in the book—he was too old, too dangerous, too complicated. And I was…” She shrugs. “Persistent.”

I blink. “So he didn’t want?—”

“Oh, he wanted me.” She smirks. “That was never the problem. The problem was that he thought he shouldn’t. That I deserved someone who hadn’t spent centuries watching his people tear themselves apart. That I should be afraid of him, because he was powerful, because he knew things I didn’t.”

She pauses, biting her lip.

“I started off just wanting to learn from him,” she admits. “That was the whole deal. He was the most valuable historical source in existence, and he was the only one who could teach me what I needed to know. I thought that was all it was.” She huffs a laugh. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

Something in my chest tightens. “But…how did you know?”

She tilts her head, considering. “How? The real question isn’t how I knew.” She watches me, dark eyes sharp. “It’s when.”

I frown. “When, then?”

Page’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Right away.”

The words settle between us like embers in the hearth. I press my lips together, fingers curling around my cup. Because…that is what’s happening with Ragnar, isn’t it?

He knew right away…and maybe I did too.

I stare at her. She sips her coffee like she hasn’t just said something that makes my stomach flip.

I clear my throat, looking anywhere but at her. “I mean, it’s not?—”

Page smirks. “Uh-huh.”

“I barely know him,” I protest.

Page shrugs. “And yet, you haven’t run, even though this is totally freaking you out”

I go to argue, but…she’s right. I haven’t run. And I am absolutely freaking out.

Page watches me like she knows exactly what’s going through my head. And…maybe she does. I don’t know the full extent of what Borean bonds mean, or what it’s like to be mated to someone with their abilities, but I’d be a fool not to assume she’s picking up something from me.

Even if she can’t read my mind, it would make sense; anyone in this situation should be losing it, and at heart, I am a planner who hates things that take me by surprise.

I’ve spent my whole life making careful, logical decisions. My research, my career, my grants—all of it has been meticulously planned. I don’t take unnecessary risks. I don’t make impulsive choices.

But…Ragnar looks at me like he already knows me. Like he’s already made up his mind.

And maybe the terrifying part isn’t that he knows.

Maybe it’s that I feel like I do too.

Page tilts her head slightly, resting her chin in her hand. “It’s a lot,” she says, her voice softer now. “I get it.”

I exhale, rolling my cup between my hands. “Do you?”

She nods. “Yeah. I do.”

I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts. “I’m not—I mean, I shouldn’t be thinking about this. I just met him. I should be focused on my research. I have deadlines, funding I can’t afford to jeopardize—this whole thing with Ragnar is just…a complication.”

Page hums like she’s considering that, then asks, “Do you really believe that?”

I flinch. “What?”

She doesn’t let me dodge it. “That this is just a complication. That it’s something you can walk away from.”

I hesitate, staring down at my drink. The words are right there, the logical ones, the ones I should be saying. But they feel wrong. My fingers tighten slightly around the warm ceramic.

Page nods, like she already knows. “Yeah,” she says, sighing. “I thought so.”

My throat tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” she agrees, “it’s not.”

I don’t expect the empathy in her voice. I expect her to tease, to needle, to smirk at me like she has all the answers. But she doesn’t. Her gaze is steady, calm—like she’s been here before.

Which she has.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” she says. “But don’t lie to yourself about what’s happening. If you feel it—even a little—you owe it to yourself to figure out what that means.”

I swallow, something heavy and strange settling in my chest.

What does it mean?

For all my research, for all the history I’ve studied, I don’t have an answer for that.

Page watches me for a moment longer, then takes a sip of her coffee. “And don’t worry about the university, by the way.”

I blink. “What?”

She grins. “I’ll put in a good word for you…and so will Davina. Let them know you’re working on something important.”

I gape at her. “Page?—”

She holds up a hand. “Hey, you’ve got a literal Lost Expedition survivor. If that doesn’t count as an academic breakthrough, I don’t know what does.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “I doubt the funding board is going to approve ‘historical alien soulbonding’ as a research focus.”

Page winks. “Not with that attitude.”

I shake my head, but warmth spreads in my chest, easing some of the tension knotting there. For the first time since I woke up tangled in Ragnar’s arms, I feel like I can breathe.

Maybe I don’t have the answers.

Maybe that’s okay.

Maybe…I just have to figure it out.

One step at a time.