Page 33 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

ELENA

R agnar is quiet and moody as we follow Fenrik through the tunnels, the skarnhound completely distracted by whatever it is that lies ahead—and I can tell Ragnar is frustrated when Dr. Kallisto calls it quits for the day. He wants to find something…but we’re only human.

Well, some of us. And even those who aren’t human don’t have the energy to keep exploring the sublevels all night.

We end up making camp at a waypoint deep in the Eiskammer, an old outpost Dr. Kallisto says dates back to when the vault was being carved out by the M’mir’i pioneers centuries ago.

It’s one of several scattered throughout the Eiskammer: little pockets of warmth buried deep in the ice, half-forgotten but designed for longevity.

A passage off the main tunnel takes us into the outpost, and we find ourselves in what’s basically a giant igloo with private warming pods lining the edges.

I’ve studied these kinds of things a little—they were developed by the Nyeri’i originally, places to escape to when their homeworlds started to collapse thanks to Elixir mining.

We even thought about putting similar structures on Earth before we started real efforts to salvage our climate.

The thought reminds me of back home…of my family, who I’m ignoring to go on this—well, I guess quest would be the right word for it?

Damn it.

Dr. Kallisto leads the way, going to what looks like a furnace at the center of the room and examining it for a moment before tapping out a command on a console at its base.

It flickers for a moment then begins to emit a warm glow, and we all gather around it to drop our packs and warm ourselves.

Ragnar is still quiet— too quiet —as he sets to work pulling out some food for Fenrik, who wags his tail and digs in a second later.

I don’t catch myself staring until he catches me first, and I avert my eyes.

I want him to be happy—to go back to being his goofy, hulking self, with his easy smile and his antiquated ideas about courtship and his bluntness…

…not whoever this guy is.

Because it reminds me that Ragnar had a whole life before we met—a history, people, family. He’s been so positive, so sure of our relationship, that I almost forgot.

Then it slapped us in the face. A literal corpse of a woman who followed him across star systems purely for the sake of hoping he would be hers . And what the heck are you supposed to say about that?

Condolences! Sorry we found the body of a woman who was in love with you and died on a mission with you, sorry we were literally looking at her corpse. Do you want to talk about it?

It’s stupid to be jealous. I’m not sure if I am jealous. Not exactly, at least. It’s more like…I didn’t realize how much Ragnar’s certainty in us was built on waiting: waiting for me, believing I was out there somewhere, crossing deep space to find me.

And Syf—she thought he was the one worth following.

I look over at him and he seems to sense me watching, his blue eyes meeting mine.

Shadows flicker in their icy depths, one hand reaching for me and twining his fingers with mine.

It feels good and reassuring at the same time that it feels like intense pressure—because he chose me before he even knew me, and I’ve known him for all of a couple weeks—days? —and now I’m being asked to decide?—

“You should eat, fenvarra,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long day.”

He withdraws his hand to riffle through his pack, and I can do nothing but watch as he starts putting rations and packed meals from home on the floor between us. Even going through what he’s going through, he’s still taking care of me.

So I reach out and stop him, stilling his hand.

“Ragnar…will you let me take care of you right now instead?” I ask.

He stares at me like he’s never even considered the possibility…then he slowly nods.

I take over, sorting through our rations. Ves, Davina, and Dr. Kallisto sit across the fire, the two professors talking while Ves openly gawks at us. I look over at them, frowning. “See something funny?”

Ves shrugs. “Just cute.”

Dr. Kallisto’s comm chimes suddenly, and we all go quiet and still, waiting for news. Her eyes are on the screen as she reads quickly and then taps out a response, sending it with a flick of her fingers.

“Well,” she murmurs. “Cosmia and Rishik have finished their preliminary scans of the pod.”

Ragnar goes rigid beside me. I take his hand and squeeze it, getting closer, reminding him I’m here.

“And?” Davina asks.

Kallisto meets Ragnar’s eyes. I know she’s not a warm person—she’s about as transparent with her emotions as a brick wall—but she softens just a little.

“She didn’t suffer,” she says. “The pod’s stasis function lasted long enough to keep her unconscious through the failure.

Whatever happened…she wouldn’t have felt it. ”

A slow breath leaves Ragnar, like he’s letting out a negative emotion that’s been churning inside him. His grip tightens on my fingers, but he says nothing.

“That’s a small mercy, at least,” Davina says.

Ves, who’s pulled out their own rations, pokes at their food. “I know this is tragic—it really is—but isn’t it weird that she was there at all?” they ask. “Ragnar’s pod was fine, and I don’t think it was that close to Syf’s. Plus—how in the hells do that many cryo-pods get lost in an archive?”

Kallisto frowns. “There are some truly massive core samples in the sublevels,” she says.

“Could be that the whole crew was taken into the Eiskammer without our knowledge, especially during the Nyeri’i Cataclysm when they were trying to acquire as many samples as possible with the fear that the Boreans would take us all out.

They may have mistaken the ancient pods for anomalies and had no time to analyze them thoroughly. ”

“But why did Syf’s pod malfunction?” I ask.

“Rishik and Cosmia found that the pod malfunctioned on initial escape, and was frozen with the others,” Kallisto says. “It didn’t happen recently. Which means…well, if others survived like Ragnar’s, they’re likely still down here and were dislodged during the earthquake.”

Ragnar frowns. “Did they determine if the pod detached from our ship prior to the crash?”

Davina cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

Ragnar strokes his beard. “Our ships were designed so some pods were on the exterior and others were on the interior—some of the crew was always meant to go down with the ship in case there was any chance of salvaging materials, while others would go out , seek help if possible.

Dr. Kallisto nods. “That would make sense. If Syf’s pod was on the exterior, it could have been lost before impact—detached before the ship even went down. But if it was internal…” She trails off, glancing at Ragnar. “Then the ship made it into the ice intact.”

Ragnar’s jaw clenches. “Or it nearly did.”

A heavy silence settles over the group. Because that means?—

“There could still be a wreck,” Ves finishes, their voice hushed. “Somewhere beneath us.”

Kallisto exhales, looking toward the warming station like she’s already mapping out excavation plans in her head.

“It would explain why the archive records don’t have any mention of ancient Skoll pods.

If they were deep in the ice from the start, buried beneath layers of seismic activity, they might have been lost long before anyone realized what they were looking at. ”

Ragnar nods, slowly. “My people were built to endure. We were warriors, hunters, explorers. We did not fear death, but we did not welcome it either. We would have done everything possible to survive. If there were others…” He trails off, his fingers tightening around mine. “If there are others…”

“...they’d still be fighting,” I murmur.

Ragnar’s gaze sharpens. “Yes.”

Kallisto hums. “I’ll send the data up to the lab for deeper analysis. If there’s a wreck, we’ll find it.”

“But,” Davina cuts in, “not tonight. No offense, but we’re all on the verge of passing out, and you’re talking about deep-excavation recovery like we don’t need a full night’s rest first.”

Kallisto hums. “Fair point.” She pushes herself up, brushing the dust from her gloves. “I’ll finalize the report, then I’m turning in.”

The others make their way to their pods, one by one, until it’s just me and Ragnar left by the fire. Fenrik is curled up beside us, his breathing slow, content, but Ragnar…Ragnar is wound tight, like something is pressing against his ribs and has nowhere to go.

I clear my throat.

He keeps looking at me.

“Are you okay?” I finally whisper.

A low growl rumbles in his throat. “That my whole crew could be down there…” he murmurs. “It changes things, doesn’t it? They will all need help adjusting, all will struggle. When it was just me, I believed…I thought perhaps it was better they had died and I lived. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Why would you think it was better?” I ask. “Aren’t you—I don’t know, aren’t you happy?”

He swallows hard, pulling me just slightly closer and raising his other hand to brush his knuckles down my cheek. “I was happy that I found you, fenvarra. Eager to begin our life together. This complicates that life.”

I bite my lip, lips curving into a soft smile as I lean into his touch. “It doesn’t complicate it too much,” I say. “I mean…I always wanted a big family.”

His eyes spark at those words, and I realize he has taken a much different meaning from it than I intended.

“I long to give you what you crave, fenvarra,” he purrs.

“Oh,” I gasp, perpetually stunned by his ability to go from zero to a hundred on the horniness scale in seconds. “Um…I meant—I have a big family, I don’t mind meeting yours.”

Ragnar’s grip tightens around my waist, pulling me even closer than before—as if there wasn’t already practically no space between us.

I guess I’m glad he’s distracted, but his attention is purely on me now and it’s…

a lot. I can almost read his thoughts: Big family.

Mate wants big family. Give mate big family right. Now.

“You wish to bear my children,” he growls, lips finding my temple and trailing down.

I nearly choke. “Ragnar—no! I mean, not no, just…not right now.”

“So not no ,” he repeats slowly. “Just…not yet.”

I open my mouth to argue—I really mean to argue—but his big hands slide down my hips to pull me into his lap, strong and possessive, and I forget how to form words. My body betrays me instantly; his scent wraps around me, and suddenly the conversation isn’t so funny anymore.

“Fenvarra,” he rumbles, lips on my throat now, fingers gliding beneath my sweater to find bare skin. He’s so warm it shocks me, makes every hair on my body stand on end. “You are all I dreamed of…all I hoped you would be.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk more?” I squeak, though I’m fully confident that I don’t want to talk anymore either. My hands find his shoulders, gripping him as he trails kisses down my throat.

“I want you to come to bed with me,” he says. “I want to lick your cunt until you scream and wake the others.”

“Ohhhh wow,” I moan, breath hitching. “Wow, that’s something.”

Ragnar chuckles, and in the back of my stupid mind I find myself happy he’s at least back to his usual self—unrepentant, blunt, and undeniably horny.

“I will take that as a yes,” he murmurs, smug.

And then I let out a yelp as gravity shifts and he’s lifting me up, my arms wrapping around his neck to cling to him. “Ragnar!”

“Hold on tight, fenvarra,” he purrs. “I will not drop you.”

“Where are we going?” I manage, trying to sound doubtful even as my legs lock around his waist.

He meets my eyes. “I am taking you to bed, mate,” he murmurs, “so we can practice making a big family.”