Page 44 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

ELENA

I wake with no idea what time it is.

The tent is still dark, lit only by the low pulse of the lantern tucked into the far corner. The air is warm beneath the furs, but cold brushes my nose and cheeks where I’m exposed. I burrow deeper, finding a hot, muscular chest pressed against me.

Ragnar is awake…watching me.

I look up at him, his antlers casting a crisscross shadow across my face. One hand props up his head, the other resting in the dip of my waist, which is conspicuously missing the chain and silk—though I’ve still got the stacks of bracelets and torque on.

I’ve never really been one for jewelry…but I don’t think I ever want to take them off.

“Hi,” I murmur, voice rough with sleep.

His smile is slow, indulgent. “Hi.”

I stretch out under the furs, muscles sore in the best way, and tuck my face closer into his chest. “Have you been awake long?”

“A little while,” he says. “You talk in your sleep.”

I go still. “Did I say something weird?”

He laughs, the low, delicious kind of laugh that I feel more than hear. “Mostly my name. Once, you demanded soup.”

That makes me snort. “Sounds about right.”

Ragnar shifts just enough to look down at me. “Are you hungry, fenvarra?”

My stomach chooses that exact moment to answer for me, growling loud enough to make me wince.

Ragnar grins.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says.

I squirm a little, trying to push the furs aside and sit up, but my body is…well, not cooperating. Everything aches in that tender, overused, well-ruined way that makes me feel embarrassingly proud. The Elena of two weeks ago would have never said that, but this Elena?

I think she’s kind of a ho.

“You struggle,” Ragnar murmurs. “For what?”

“Pants,” I reply. “Or at least, like, underwear.”

Ragnar tucks the furs tighter around me, thwarting my escape. “No need.”

“No need for pants?”

“No need for anything but warmth,” he says, kissing my bare shoulder. “You are Vethari now. You are mine . Let them see.”

I blink at him, not sure if I’m getting his meaning. “Okay…but let them see is very different from let them see me without pants , Ragnar.”

He chuckles, utterly unrepentant, and stands without shame.

I realize he’s just as gloriously, obscenely naked as he was when I went to sleep, and he’s not making any effort to change that—beyond grabbing one of the furs and draping it around his shoulders like a cloak.

My eyes go straight to his muscular thighs, and the cock that is somehow still massive even when he isn’t hard.

“Stay there,” he says when I start to fidget again. “I will make you presentable.”

“Oh no,” I breathe. “You’re going to turn me into some kind of ceremonial blanket burrito, aren’t you?”

“I…do not know what this ‘burrito’ is,” he says (and I make a mental note to introduce him to burritos when we get back to Snowveil). “But if it is a beautiful, bedecked mate, then yes.”

It really isn’t, but I let that slide.

Ragnar moves to the crate and returns with a heavy slate-colored fur cloak trimmed with cream and gold thread. It looks unnecessarily regal, but I have to admit it matches the bracelets and torque as he drapes it over my shoulders and wraps it around me.

“This is excessive,” I mutter.

“This is appropriate ,” he corrects me, fussing with the way it drapes down over my body. “You are the captain’s mate and should be adorned as such.”

“Yeah, but I’m not wearing anything under this.”

He cups my cheek in one giant palm and leans in, his voice a low purr against my ear. “Exactly.”

I’m still getting my head back on straight after the rumble in his voice when he sweeps me up into his arms like a bridal carry…and I don’t protest because I’m too sore to feel like walking anyway.

He carries me out of the tent into the early dawn light, pale pink filtering through the glacier overhead. I can hear the soft lapping of ocean waves where the Stormcaller is frozen into the edge of the glacier, then I feel what is definitely a tongue on my bare toe, and I jerk it away.

Fenrik whines in response.

“Oh!” I say, seeing the skarnhound a second later and reaching toward him. “Oh, I’m sorry buddy. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Very kind of you to give us our privacy last night, my friend,” Ragnar says.

Fenrik huffs in response.

The skarnhound trots along at Ragnar’s side as we approach the bonfire, which has diminished just slightly but still has a colorful glow at its center, where they burned Syf’s axe.

The air smells like roasted roots and cooked fish, spices that are both familiar and slightly alien—a little like Skoll cuisine I’ve had at this little brunch spot in Snowveil.

Skoll crew members are tucked around the fire in various states of undress and sleepiness, and it makes me feel at least a little better to see that Ragnar’s not the only one unbothered by nudity.

In fact, they’re going a little farther than nudity.

There is literally a couple just slowly having sex by the fire.

Alrighty then.

Everyone else smiles when they see us, as if this is all completely normal. One warrior with a scar across her brow lifts a steaming cup in salute, while another offers Ragnar a grunt and a grin that might be congratulatory or teasing.

Maybe both.

Ragnar settles beside the fire, still holding me, and we’re joined a moment later by Axl. The navigator passes Ragnar a bowl of something piping hot and hands me a piece of flatbread.

“Vethari,” Axl nods. “Good morning.”

I frown, glancing toward the Stormcaller. “I’ve been called that a lot in the past twenty-four hours,” I say. “Is it like…a thing now? Like will you always call me that?”

Ragnar nods. “A ship does not lose her captain merely because she no longer flies,” he says. “I remain the Stormcaller’s steward—and you, my lifelong companion.”

“What does your mate ask?” Axl says—a reminder that I can understand them, but they can’t understand me. We really need to get translators for all these folks as soon as possible.

Ragnar smiles down at me. “She asks if the title is permanent.”

“It is,” Axl replies without hesitation, tearing a piece from their own flatbread. “Unless she renounces it, of course.”

I look up at Ragnar with a soft smile. “I don’t think I want to do that,” I say.

He kisses my forehead.

No words needed.

“So…” Axl says. “I’ve already spoken with the crew. They’re prepared to pack up our camp and return to civilization with you. Is your village ready for this?”

I snort at the term ‘village.’ If that’s what they’re expecting, there’s going to be a massive culture shock…but I guess that just comes with the territory of being in stasis for thousands of years. Ragnar looks to Axl as I munch on the flatbread, nodding along.

“We will have to move through the archive first, a few days’ worth of travel,” Ragnar says. “Elena…you have already informed your research team of the crew’s survival?”

I nod. “They’re making preparations. We’ll have to spend some time in the Eiskammer so they can run tests and make sure there aren’t any ancient pathogens on anything.”

Ragnar translates for me and Axl nods. “A reasonable request…just tell them to keep their needles away from my ass.”

A laugh bubbles past my lips, making me choke on my bread. Ragnar looks at me in concern while Axl grins and winks.

“There are a few things we’ll want to extract from the ship first,” Axl adds. “Tools, memory cores, rations…a few personal hoards.”

“What about the ship?” I ask.

Ragnar sobers. “Mm…perhaps we will one day return for her. But for now, the crew is what matters.”

Axl finishes chewing and rises with a groan, taking their dishes with them. “Well, I should go and continue to prepare for the journey,” they say. “Enjoy your morning—Captain, Vethari.”

“We will,” I say, which gets me a raised eyebrow from Ragnar.

Axl just grins and disappears into the camp, Fenrik at their heels.

Once they’re gone, it’s just us—me wrapped in too much fur, Ragnar beneath me like a walking furnace, a few other Skoll ignoring us and focusing on each other.

I settle into his lap, moving my legs to straddle him, finishing my bread in lazy bites while he feeds me pieces of roasted roots from his bowl.

It’s easy like this. Soft…strange, but cozy.

Then I shift again.

And I realize he is a little too randy for just having breakfast.

“Oh,” I say. “Um…you’re…”

Ragnar’s hand flexes, warm and heavy on my leg as he puts down our empty bowl. He leans in, his breath ghosting against my ear.

“Yes,” he says. “I am.”

I blink down at the fur wrapped around us, then back up at him. No one could see, I guess, but it’s still…well, very much outside of my comfort zone.

Or is it? I don’t know anymore.

“Is this a biological thing?” I ask.

He snorts. “Only in that I am aroused by my mate.”

“In front of other people?!” I hiss.

Ragnar shakes his head. “I woke with you in my arms. I watched you sleep. You stirred…you moaned my name. And then you bit your lip while eating and made this noise low in your throat.” His fingers graze my sternum, his breath disturbing the soft curls at the hinge of my jaw. “You expect me not to be aroused?”

“I was just eating.”

Ragnar meets my eyes. “There is nothing you could do that is not beautiful to me.”

I flush, skin tingling with awareness now as I rest my hands on his shoulders. His cock is thick beneath me, hard and hot, pressed right where I’m sore and still a little wet. I shift again without meaning to—and his grip tightens, the slightest warning.

“Careful, fenvarra,” he murmurs. “Unless you want everyone at this fire to hear you sing again.”

I go still…then I smile, biting my lip again.

“Maybe I do,” I whisper.

Ragnar’s pupils dilate, nostrils flaring as he inhales sharply…but I don’t give him time to take the lead. I lean forward, brushing my lips against the curve of his jaw.

“I’m not, you know, super articulate?” I say. “But I think I want…I want you to fuck me. Right now.”

He growls, low and hungry.

“I don’t know if I can be quiet,” I admit.

Ragnar’s hands flex at my hips. “You don’t have to be,” he says. “Let them hear.”

Maybe, in another life, that would have embarrassed me, but it just makes my core clench.

I’m in a fire lit fever dream, and apparently I don’t want to wake up.

Ragnar groans, deep and rough, and I feel the thick head of his cock slide against me under the furs. I brace my hands on his shoulders, shaking with anticipation, and when he pushes up into me—slow, steady—I swear my soul leaves my body.

The pressure is so good I see stars.

“Elena,” Ragnar moans. “How you take me…I will never get enough of you.”

I drop my forehead to his shoulder and bite down to muffle a moan, but he tuts softly and nudges my chin up with one large finger.

“None of that,” he says. “Let them know you are loved.”

So I do.

Not loud, not yet, but open. I let out a soft cry as I start to ride him, pressing my body to his, the hair rising on the back of my neck and shooting down my spine like an electric current.

His hands grip my hips, guiding me gently, keeping me steady…safe. I thought it would be shameful, that I would never be able to forget about the people around us, but I’m entirely at ease as I ride his cock, right here in front of his crew.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I can’t believe how much I love it.

Every movement is slow, deep, reverent…the friction perfect, the stretch overwhelming. Ragnar is so big that it feels like I was made to take him—and maybe I was. Maybe that’s what this is.

Fated. Sacred . A mating claim drawn out under the soft glow of the fire and the pink dawn light filtering through the glacier above.

Ragnar leans in, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. “You feel like home.”

My breath hitches and I press my forehead to his. “You are home.”

He groans again, his hips shifting up to meet mine with more force. The fur slips from my shoulder as I move faster, one hand tangled in his hair, the other braced against his chest. I feel wild, feral, a little drunk on the adrenaline of it all…of being watched and loved and ruined by him.

The pressure builds fast. Too fast.

“Oh…Ragnar…”

“Yes, mate,” he says. “Sing for me again.”

The cry rips from my throat before I can stop it, half moan, half sob, all of it his name.

I fall apart in his arms, clenching around him, the aftershocks pulsing throw me like waves…

and that’s all it takes for him to follow.

He thrusts deep, spilling into me with a growl I feel in my ribs, in my chest, in every vertebrae.

We don’t move for a long time.

But eventually, Ragnar presses a kiss to my temple. “You are extraordinary,” he says, and I know he’s not talking about the sex.

He’s talking about us…about the way we came together—no pun intended. About being here across thousands of years, countless stars.

The two of us.

Together.