Page 22 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

RAGNAR

I have no idea how people wear these infernal devices.

The translator hums against my skull, an obnoxious pressure that seems to resonate in my ear. It’s been hours since Thorne helped me fit it, but I still can’t stop myself from rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the sensation.

It’s unnatural.

I don’t like it.

It leads me to have even fewer regrets about smashing Elena’s translator when I first met her.

“Stop fidgeting,” Thorne mutters, not looking up from the datapad he’s scrolling through.

I scowl. “It’s irritating.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

I grunt, shifting in my seat. I don’t want to get used to it. I want it gone. But I also know that without it, I’ll never be able to talk to Elena…or at least not for a few years.

We need to speak sooner than that.

Right away, if possible.

“Where has your mate taken my fenvarra?” I grumble. “It’s been too long.”

“You’re going to have to get used to it,” Thorne says, glancing up at me with a long-suffering sigh.

“Mates don’t spend every waking hour together these days, and females have far more freedom now than they did in your day.

Sometimes she’ll want to be apart from you…

and you’re going to have to accept that. ”

I grunt. “My Elena will want to spend all her time with me.”

“Right,” Thorne says. “Of course she will.”

Thorne’s smirk is insufferable. I clench my jaw, glaring at him. “You don’t know?—”

I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence—because the doors open.

All my irritation vanishes.

Elena steps inside, her cheeks flushed from the cold, a pink coat wrapped around her small frame. She brushes a few dark curls away from her face, locking eyes with me as if she’s entirely forgotten that Page and Thorne exist…and then?—

“Is it working?”

Her words…they translate through the device in my ear, and it’s suddenly not annoying at all, but a blessing. My breath catches as I jolt to my feet, extending my hand to her.

“Elena,” I murmur. “I understand.”

The weight of it crashes over me, so sudden and consuming that I can hardly breathe. The relief I feel is palpable, far greater than I thought it would be. I didn’t realize how painful it was for our language to separate us, and now…

Thorne, damn him, clears his throat. “Well—I guess my job here is done. We’ll leave you to it.”

He and Page exchange a look, something smug and knowing in the way they glance between us. Then, with far too much amusement for my liking, they slip out of the room, leaving us alone.

The room is silent.

Elena shifts, stepping closer, her eyes darting from the translator to my eyes as she tries to gauge my reaction. Her tongue flicks out over her lips, and the sight of it sends heat racing through me.

“I don’t know what to say,” she says slowly.

I reach for her, and she hesitantly puts her hand in mine.

“Anything,” I breathe. “Anything you say would be perfect.”

Her cheeks darken instantly, her fingers twitching against mine. She glances down at our joined hands, then back up at me, like she’s only just realizing what she’s done.

Then, in a small, breathless voice, she blurts out, “I—uh—nice hands.”

A beat of silence.

I blink.

She goes still, eyes widening in horror.

“Oh my God,” she groans, yanking her hand back and covering her face with both palms. “What—why did I say that? That’s not—ugh.”

Fenrik watches us, entirely transfixed, and just as confused as I am about why she’s reacting to her own comment this way. I tilt my head and look at my hands. I’d never noticed they were nice before, but the compliment makes me reconsider. “You think so?”

She makes a strangled sound, peeking at me between her fingers. “That’s not—I meant—oh, just kill me.”

I frown. Why would I kill her? That would be an absurd reaction to a compliment.

“Elena,” I say slowly, keeping my voice gentle. “I would never harm you.”

She groans even louder, dragging her hands down her face until they flop at her sides. “I know that! It’s just an expression!”

I tilt my head. “Then why would you say it?”

“Because—” She exhales sharply, closing her eyes for a long moment before opening them again. “Because I’m embarrassed, Ragnar.”

I blink. “About the truth?”

“What?”

“You said you like my hands.” I flex them again, turning them over, studying them in a way I never have before. Big. Calloused. Strong. Reliable. Nice, apparently. “I don’t see why that would embarrass you.”

Elena stares at me, her mouth opening and closing like she’s trying to find the words, but they’re getting stuck somewhere in that pretty head of hers.

“I—because—” She throws up her hands. “That’s not the point! It was just…just a stupid thing to say, okay?”

I frown. “I thought it was a very kind thing to say.”

She groans again, rubbing her temples. “You’re really not getting this, are you?”

I grin, delighted that I now understand enough of her language to tease her properly. “You think my hands are very nice, then?”

“Oh my God.”

She turns, as if she might physically flee the conversation, but I catch her wrist—not to keep her here, but because I want to touch her. Now that I can finally speak to her, I want her to know how much I mean every word.

“Elena. May I touch you?”

She blinks up at me, stunned. “You—you are touching me.”

“Yes,” I murmur, tightening my grip just slightly, enough for her to feel the warmth of my palm against her skin. “But I want to touch you more.”

Her breath catches. I see the moment she understands—not just my words, but my meaning.

The air between us shifts, turns thick and heavy.

I watch the way her lips part slightly, how her pulse jumps beneath my fingers, how her gaze flickers down to my mouth before snapping back up.

She doesn’t pull away.

I step closer, slow enough to give her time to stop me. She doesn’t.

I lift my free hand and brush my knuckles over her cheek, just barely touching her. She’s warm, softer than anything I’ve ever felt. I want to do more than this. I want to trace every line of her, learn her through touch alone.

She shivers, but she doesn’t move away.

“Fenvarra,” I whisper. “Tell me what you like…tell me how you want to be touched.”

“I…” she trails off, and it strikes me as somewhat funny that we both seem lost for words now that we can understand one another. I pull her closer, her coat obnoxiously thick between us. “I want…”

Her expression clears.

“I want you to tell me what that means.”

“What?”

“Fenvarra,” she says. “It’s um…Ves tried to explain but I want to hear it in your words.”

“It means fated mate,” I rumble, brushing my fingers down the curve of her jaw. She leans into my touch, eyelashes fluttering. “Two souls made by Yrsa herself, destined to find each other across time and space.”

“And what does that mean for us?”

My other hand slides down her back to the curve of her hip, and I take the risk of gripping her backside beneath her coat.

She arches toward me, lips parting. “First, it means I wish to claim you,” I murmur.

“But only after you tell me what you like. Then…then I will take you to bed and give you all you ask for.”

Elena makes a small, helpless sound in the back of her throat—half shock, half something utterly delicious. Her fingers curl into the front of my tunic, tightening as she exhales a shuddering breath.

I want to hear more of that sound.

Want to hear it while she’s naked and riding my cock, full breasts in my hands.

Her brown eyes flicker between mine, dark with something uncertain. Not fear—never fear—but hesitation. Caution. She’s overwhelmed. I can feel the tension in her, the battle between the heat in her body and the logic in her brilliant mind.

“You—you don’t waste time, do you?” she finally manages, her voice breathless.

I smile, running my thumb in slow, teasing circles against her hip. “I have wasted four thousand years. I have no intention of wasting another moment.”

Her throat bobs with a swallow, and I watch, fascinated, as a shiver ripples through her body.

She’s feeling this just as much as I am.

“Elena,” I murmur, prepared to beg if I must. “Tell me what you like.”

Her fingers twitch against my chest, her pulse hammering beneath my touch. She wets her lips again—Yrsa help me, I want to taste her—and I can see the moment her resolve nearly breaks.

Then—

Fenrik whines, padding over to the door and sniffing at it. He wags his tail once, then lets out a bark of warning.

We aren’t alone.

I groan as the door creaks open, and Elena jumps back like she’s been caught in the middle of a crime. Ves is standing in the doorway, glaring at me.

“We heard they got a translator working?” Ves asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “I can now speak with anyone on M’mir.”

Ves doesn’t look entirely pleased about the situation, but they press on, arms crossed as they glance between me and Elena.

“They want you back at the Eiskammer,” they say. “Dr. Kallipso is hoping that Fenrik can help to help track the cryopod you emerged from originally. It could lead us to more…or at least help us understand how you ended up here in the first place.”

Elena straightens beside me, the flush on her cheeks fading as reality settles back in. “Right,” she says. “That makes sense.”

It does. But that doesn’t mean I like it.

I exhale slowly, the heat of our moment dissolving. The past looms like a shadow in the distance, waiting to be unearthed. It’s a reminder that I’m a man out of time—and that my crew might still be out there.

Elena glances up at me, her dark eyes searching. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing—that whatever we find in the Eiskammer could change everything. That maybe there are answers waiting for us in the ice.

Or maybe she’s wondering if we’ll get another moment like this before duty calls us away again.

I brush my knuckles over hers, a silent reassurance.

“When does she want us back?” Elena says. “Tonight, or?—”

“No,” Ves says. “Tomorrow. Just wanted you both to know so you could get packed.”

I nod, only half-listening to the details Ves rattles off about departure times and coordinates. None of it matters—not right now.

Tomorrow, we leave for the Eiskammer.

Tomorrow, we go searching for answers, for the past, for whatever remains of my crew buried in the ice.

Tomorrow.

But tonight…

Tonight belongs to her.

The thought settles in me like a fire catching, slow and deep and impossible to extinguish. I don’t want to wait any longer. The moment she stepped into this room, looking at me like I was something worth returning to, I knew.

She is mine. And tonight, I will claim her.