Page 29 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

ELENA

I wake to the sound of soft whining at the door.

For a moment, I’m caught between sleep and wakefulness, wrapped in warmth, my body draped across Ragnar’s with one big arm around my shoulders.

He’s so solid, his breath slow and steady against the top of my head.

The heat of him sinks into me, his arm like a weighted blanket, almost comfy enough for me to drift off again…

Then Fenrik whines again, scratching lightly at the door.

Carefully, I ease Ragnar’s arm off me and slip from the bed, my feet barely making a sound as I cross the room. When I open the door, the skarnhound pushes his way inside, letting out a pleased huff before immediately bounding onto the too-small bed.

I stifle a laugh as he wedges himself between me and Ragnar, his massive head resting against my stomach as he lets out a satisfied sigh.

Ragnar doesn’t even stir, sleeping at an incline with his antlers against the padded headboard.

He’s so at ease, so comfortable, that even with Fenrik’s weight pressing into him, he barely shifts, just tightening his grip on the blanket with a low, sleepy noise.

I try to go back to sleep.

It doesn't work.

Instead, I lie there, running my fingers absently through Fenrik’s thick fur, my thoughts churning in a way I can’t seem to stop.

I’ve never felt like this before. Not really in my whole life…and definitely never with a man.

Safe. Warm. Like I belong.

I swallow hard, staring up at the ceiling. It terrifies me how much I like this, how much I want to just stay wrapped up in this moment forever. No research grant, no Eiskammer, no cryosleep pod or big, galaxy-shaking mysteries; just me and Ragnar and our dog, curled up in bed.

But nothing lasts forever. People leave. Promises break.

And I learned a long time ago that love—at least the kind that people dream about—isn’t real.

I must shift without realizing it, because after a moment, Ragnar stirs beside me.

His body tenses slightly before he reaches for me only to find a massive, fluffy skarnhound instead.

His antlers get in the way—I have this idle thought that I need a bigger bed—as he shifts to sit up and look down at me.

“You’re awake.”

Ragnar’s voice is rough with sleep, searching for me, trying to navigate around Fenrik’s enormous, sprawled-out form. His antlers brush the padded headboard as he straightens, his gaze flicking between me and the skarnhound wedged between us.

I force a small smile. “Fenrik demanded entry.”

Ragnar hums, his hand absently rubbing the hound’s side. “He does that.” He reaches across Fenrik to stroke my hair, and his expression softens. “But you—you couldn't go back to sleep?”

I hesitate. I don’t know how to explain what’s churning in my chest, how the quiet warmth of this moment makes me feel…wrong, like it’s something fragile that can’t possibly last.

I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

His expression darkens slightly, like he’s not buying it for a second. He grunts at Fenrik, who grumbles in response but gets out of the way, crawling over to Ragnar’s other side. I let out a contented sigh as Ragnar takes me in his arms and kisses my forehead. .

“Elena,” he murmurs. “Talk to me.”

I let out a slow breath, eyes closed, face buried in Ragnar’s chest hair like I can shut out the rest of the world. “I was just thinking.”

Ragnar shifts closer, his presence heavy, warm, safe. “About what?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Just—things. My family. My mom. I miss her.”

It’s not a lie.

But it’s not the whole truth, either.

His thumb strokes over my hip in slow, soothing passes, but he doesn’t say anything, just waits. The silence stretches, and eventually, I find myself filling it.

“My parents got divorced when I was young,” I say finally. “And even before that…it was never really good between them. My mom did everything. My dad—” I cut myself off, my throat tightening. “He made a lot of big, sweeping promises, and then one day he just… left to be with someone else.”

Ragnar stills.

I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t think I ever really needed him. Didn’t even like him much, if I’m being honest. I used to tell myself it didn’t matter.” I shake my head. “But I guess it does. More than I thought.”

The admission feels raw, scraped out of me, and I immediately wish I hadn’t said anything at all. Ragnar is silent for a long moment, his fingers flexing slightly against my hip. Then, finally?—

“I do not understand.”

I blink, turning my head to look at him. “…What?”

His brow furrows. “Divorce.” He says the word carefully, and I realize there's no Ancient Skoll equivalent; even the concept is alien to him. “What does this mean?”

I stare at him. “You don’t know what divorce is?”

He lets out a slightly irritated growl. “I understand that it is…ending a mating bond?” His frown deepens. “But why?”

I open my mouth, then close it again, struggling for words. “I mean…sometimes people just don’t love each other anymore.”

His frown turns incredulous. “That is a thing that can happen?”

“Yes,” I say slowly. “It happens all the time.”

His expression darkens further, like the very idea offends him. “No. That is not right.”

I let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Ragnar, it is right. It’s just…life.”

“No,” he says again, sharper this time. “Not my life. Not our life.” His grip tightens slightly on my hip, his other hand coming up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. “You take a mate, and you spend the rest of your days worshipping her. You do not leave.”

His voice is firm, resolute. Like this is just an undeniable truth of the universe.

And maybe it is. Maybe in his world, in his time, things were different. Maybe love wasn’t something temporary, something that withered when it stopped being convenient.

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “It’s not always that simple.”

“It is that simple,” he insists, his voice rough with conviction. “When my people take a mate, we keep them. There can be no other.” His thumb strokes along my cheekbone, his expression turning almost angry. “Did your father not understand this?”

I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Apparently not.”

Ragnar makes a low, displeased noise, his hand sliding to my nape, his fingers tangling in my hair as if it proves he's hanging on tight. “He is a fool.”

I shake my head. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter now.”

“It does matter,” Ragnar rumbles. “Because you are his daughter. You carry his wounds.” His grip tightens, his gaze burning into mine. “And you think I will leave you like he did.”

I press my lips together, not answering.

Because the truth is—I do think that. Not because I don’t believe Ragnar, not because I think he’s lying when he says he won’t go.

But because forever isn’t real. Not with fathers, not houses…not planets.

It never has been.

Ragnar exhales, but he's still so intense that I feel almost afraid of what he'll say next.. “Elena,” he murmurs. “I will never leave you.”

My throat feels tight. “You can’t promise that.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his expression hard, unshakable. “I do not make promises lightly.”

I close my eyes. “Maybe not.”

His hand tightens at my nape. “Look at me.”

I do.

His pupils are blown wide in the dim light, his gaze so deep it feels like I’m drowning in it.

It's snowing outside, and the ethereal glow of the northern lights paints him in brilliant turquoise and pink.

His hand strokes down my back, pressing me closer until I can feel every inch of him, solid and unmoving.

“I have spent my whole life waiting for you,” he says quietly. “I crossed galaxies to find you.” He presses his forehead to mine. “There is nothing that could take me from your side.”

I stare at him, my breath catching in my throat. He’s so certain…like the idea of love ending is something impossible, something he physically cannot comprehend.

I want to believe him. I really, really want to believe him.

But I know better.

I swallow hard, pressing my forehead against his, letting my eyes drift shut. “You say that like nothing changes.”

“Some things do,” Ragnar murmurs. “But not this. Not us.”

A small, broken laugh slips past my lips.

“I grew up on shifting sand,” I whisper.

“A barrier island off the coast of Florida. Our whole town—our whole world—depended on something unstable, something that changed with every storm, every tide, every shift in the current.” I exhale slowly, shaking my head.

“No matter how much people wanted to believe they could build something permanent, no matter how many times they rebuilt, the ocean always won.”

His hand strokes down my back, steady, grounding. “The ocean?”

I nod. “The storms. The hurricanes. The rising tides. You can fight it for a while, but in the end, everything sinks. Everything gets washed away.”

“Elena.” His voice is deep, quiet, steady. “I am not sand.”

I trace my fingers over his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solidness of him, the realness of him. He normally takes things very literally, but I get the impression he understands the metaphor this time around.

“No…you’re permafrost,” I whisper. “Deep and solid and ancient.” I let out a soft breath. “But even permafrost melts where I’m from.”

His jaw tightens. “Then it is a good thing I am not from your world.”

I press my face into his chest, trying to hold back the ache, trying to hold back the fear. “You can’t promise forever.”

“I can,” he growls. “And I will.”

I shake my head against him, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if you melt?”

Ragnar exhales slowly. “You fear what you have seen.”

“Yes.”

“You fear that I will vanish.”

I close my eyes. “Yes.”

His thumb brushes over my cheek, gentle, reverent. “But I am not the sand, Elena. I am not the frost. I am not the tide. I do not shift. I do not sink. I will not disappear.”

His hands tighten around me.

“I am here.” His voice is a low growl. “I am yours.”

My chest clenches, my breath shaky. His fingers tilt my chin higher, his gaze locking onto mine.

“Elena.” His voice is raw, emotional. “I crossed galaxies for you. You are the only thing I have ever searched for. And even if we change, we change together?—”

A low, exaggerated huff comes from the other side of the bed.

I blink, turning my head just in time to see Fenrik dramatically flop onto his side, his massive paws kicking out as if to physically shove us out of his sleeping space.

Ragnar lets out a deep, irritated sigh. “You ruin the moment, skarn.”

Fenrik grumbles in response, letting out another long-suffering sigh before resting his giant head on my thigh, making himself very comfortable.

I snort. “I think he’s bored of our deep, emotional revelations.”

Ragnar makes a low, thoughtful noise before nudging Fenrik’s face with his foot. The hound lets out an affronted chuff but doesn’t move, just rolls his eyes in a very dog way.

“He has heard me say these things before,” Ragnar mutters, like it’s obvious. “He knows my heart.”

“You’ve said these things before?”

“We had many discussions about you before I had a translator,” Ragnar says. “One-sided, of course—but Fenrik is an excellent listener.”

I blink up at him. “Oh, so Fenrik already knew we were soulmates?”

Ragnar nods, completely serious. “Of course.”

I can’t help it. I laugh, reaching down to scratch behind Fenrik’s ears. He lets out a pleased little grunt but still doesn’t move, content to take up as much space as possible.

“I should’ve just asked him about it from the start,” I tease, shaking my head.

Ragnar leans in, pressing his forehead to mine again, his lips curving. “He would have told you that I am yours.”

Fenrik makes a disgusted little sound.

Ragnar immediately turns to glare at him. “You whine at the door to be let in, and now you have complaints?”

Fenrik lifts his head just enough to stare at Ragnar before huffing out a breath like you two are ridiculous, then flopping back down.

I cover my mouth to smother another laugh. “I think he’s over it.”

Ragnar grumbles something under his breath in Skoll before shifting, pulling me onto his lap. He doesn’t seem to care that Fenrik is still half sprawled across us, just wraps his arms around me, pulling me in close.

His chest rumbles against mine, deep and sure.

“I am not the tide, fenvarra,” he murmurs. “And I will not melt.”

I don’t answer right away.

Because I don’t know if I believe him.

But I want to.

So, I let my fingers tangle in his beard, let my head rest against his shoulder.

I let myself close my eyes, breathing him in, letting the steady weight of him settle around me.

Ragnar makes a pleased sound, his arms tightening, and Fenrik lets out one last, final sigh before he burrows his face under the blanket and pointedly ignores us.

I smile against Ragnar’s skin.

For now, for this moment?

I let myself believe.