Page 5 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

ELENA

I ’m dead. I have to be dead. Although…if I am, heaven is very warm.

And very muscular.

I curl into it instinctively, letting out a groan when my head suddenly starts pounding. I struggle to catch up to what’s going on–I remember the core samples, the second earthquake, the sensation of falling…

My eyes snap open, the haze of sleep and pain clearing long enough for me to process what I’m looking at. It’s dark, but there’s at least some glow from the surrounding cores–and it allows me to see gorgeous, bronze muscle.

Thick, corded muscle, draped in a fur-lined cloak that’s also been draped around me.

My gaze travels upward, and I realize I’m pressed against a broad chest–one so big it could double as a wall. I’m still processing that fact when I catch a glimpse of a face.

A face that isn’t quite like anything I’ve ever seen before.

Skoll…but not the kind of Skoll I know.

He’s handsome, with a thick beard, long hair, and massive antlers. His face is tattooed–curling script in some language I can’t read underneath each eye, a vertical line on his lower lip. I take a second to try and figure out what the hell is going on.

Then I finally react.

Panic shoots through me, and I let out a sharp yelp, scrambling in his arms. “What–who–put me down!” I gasp, my hands pressing against his chest as I struggle to free myself. The movement jolts my body, pain flaring in my ribs and in my head, and I wince.

The man stops walking and looks down at me with wide, startlingly blue eyes that glow like starlight in his metallic bronze skin.

His features are striking: a broad, strong brow over deepset eyes, a septum piercing with a glittering gemstone hanging above his lips, a thick, dark beard wound into intricate braids.

His hair is the same way, tumbling down his back, while his bone white antlers are bigger than any other Skoll I’ve ever seen.

And then he talks, and it gets even weirder–because my translator isn’t able to process a word of it.

His voice is deep, rumbling. The dialect is entirely unfamiliar, guttural and melodic at the same time, with a cadence that sounds like Ves’s native language but clearly isn’t. Even worse, he doesn’t make any move to release me.

“Put me down,” I reiterate, pushing against his chest again.

The Skoll frowns, tilting his head as if trying to make sense of my words.

He replies in that same alien language, his tone almost…

amused? His arms tighten around me slightly, like he’s trying to reassure me, but all it does is remind me I’m trapped.

He keeps talking, keeps hanging on, and I bat at him.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I snap. “Seriously, put me–”

My words die in my throat as something brushes against my leg, warm and furry and far too big to be anything normal. Does he have a tail? No way. I twist in his arms, craning my neck to look beneath me.

And I come face to face with a dog.

No…not a dog.

A massive, wolf-like creature with bright blue eyes, white fur streaked with that same blue, and a tail that wags uncontrollably. The kicker? This dog is roughly the size of a pony, and its head is bigger than mine. Canines the size of my thumbs frame its lolling tongue.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, panic momentarily giving way to bewilderment.

I’ve seen this thing before, but only in books–they have descendants that are smaller and are commonly kept as pets on M’mir.

We found one of its skeletons in a core that recently came into the archive.

This thing…it’s old. “Is that a skarnhound?” I whisper.

“Skarnhound,” the Skoll confirms–so at least I know we have one shared word.

He looks down at the dog, then, and says something else in his language.

The skarnhound lets out a soft bark in response, as if they’re having a conversation.

The creature’s cold black nose nudges my hand, teeth getting way too close, and I yelp again, trying to pull away.

“What is happening right now?” I mutter, my heart pounding so loudly I can barely think.

The Skoll shifts his grip, holding me closer. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, the world…well, I don’t really know what happens. Looking into his eyes feels like falling into a pool of water, like I get lost for a second, gasping for air.

It’s nice, though? Which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Maybe it’s just the fact that I hit my head, but there’s something in his gaze–something intense and unyielding and frighteningly familiar–that operates on me like a sedative.

I’m suddenly very comfortable being held in his arms.

Better that than on the ground with the pony-sized dog, anyway.

At least I feel that way until the Skoll moves me, suddenly turning me upright with a hand firmly on my ass.

He pulls my thighs up around his waist, directing me to loop my arms around his neck, and I find myself entangled with a complete stranger.

“Um, excuse me!” I gasp, finding this way more intimate that I’m necessarily comfortable with.

The Skoll just grunts.

Then he keeps walking.

The skarnhound trots alongside him, its nose occasionally brushing against my foot as if he’s trying to get a good sniff before he eats me.

We’re definitely still in the archive, but I have no idea where–and whoever this guy is, I doubt he’s supposed to be in the Eiskammer, let alone with a prehistoric canine companion.

“Can you please stop so I can get a handle on where we are?” I ask, voice shaking.

“I don’t know who you are or where you’re taking me, but I’m not okay with this! Put me down!”

He replies again in that incomprehensible language, a little more stern this time–as if I’m being an obstinate child who needs a talking to. I glare at him, and he glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

“You need to listen to me,” I snap, gesturing wildly toward the gold translator curled around my ear. “Do you have any idea what I’m saying? Translator? English?”

His brows furrow and he leans in slightly, his eyes narrowing as he peers at the device.

Then–to my complete horror–he snatches it off my ear.

“Hey!” I say. “Stop! What are you?—”

“Borean,” he growls.

Then he crushes it in his free hand.

I look from the destroyed translator back at him, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I know I’m overreacting, but that thing…it’s probably the most expensive thing I own.

“Do you…do you know how much I payed for that?” I whisper.

The Skoll barely spares the destroyed translator a second glance, his focus shifting back to me. “Borean,” he repeats, gesturing to the crumpled remains in his hand before tossing them to the ground like trash.

I gape at him, furious. “What the hell does that even mean? It’s not…it’s not Borean at all, it’s mine! I needed that!”

He doesn’t even flinch; just mutters something in his language and continues walking, his grip on me firm but not uncomfortable. The skarnhound lets out a low huff, its massive head turning toward me as if to say, Don’t bother.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. Okay, Elena, think.

This guy doesn’t understand you, clearly has no respect for your personal space, and is dragging you deeper into the Eiskammer for reasons you can’t begin to guess.

Oh, and his prehistoric pony-wolf seems far too interested in the way you smell.

I glance around, taking in the unfamiliar passageways. The lights flicker faintly, illuminating cracks in the ice and walls that seem more damaged than I remember. A constant hum reverberates through the space, likely the result of the failing systems Dr. Kallipso warned me about.

Wherever the Skoll is taking me, it’s deeper into the archive—and probably more dangerous.

“Okay,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “This is fine. Totally fine. I’m just being carried off by an enormous, prehistoric Skoll warrior and his pony-sized skarnhound. Completely normal day.”

The Skoll glances over at me, listening even though he clearly doesn’t understand. For a split second, I see a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, and I think maybe he’s going to start trying to figure out what I’m saying…but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“Great,” I mutter. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

He snorts. Actually snorts, like I’m just an amusing little curiosity. The audacity of this guy is unbelievable. I scowl, pushing against his chest again, but it’s like trying to move a boulder.

“Fine,” I snap. “You’re not going to put me down? Guess I’ll just–”

Before I can finish, he shifts his grip, hoisting me even closer to him so our lips are almost touching. Both his hands are on my ass now, a smug smile on hiis face.

“Excuse me!” I gasp.

He growls something in his language—short and clipped, like a command—and I hate how it makes me feel all Tarzan and Jane. Yes, I'm trapped and being manhandled by a stranger, but the gruff and growly thing is kind of doing it for me.

“I’m losing my mind,” I mutter under my breath.

The Skoll doesn’t seem to care, his attention now focused on the path ahead.

The air grows colder with each step, the walls around us shimmering with frost and fractured light.

I catch glimpses of shattered cores, their contents spilling out in jagged, frozen shards, and the weight of what’s happened begins to settle over me.

The second quake must’ve caused even more damage than I realized. The Eiskammer is barely holding together, and here I am, getting dragged deeper into it by someone who seems completely unfazed by the danger.

I glance up at him, my fear warring with frustration. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but we can’t stay down here. It’s not safe.” I point to the cracks in the walls for emphasis. “Do you see that? Dangerous.”

He looks at the cracks, then back at me, his expression completely unreadable. After a moment, he mutters something under his breath and keeps walking.

“Of course,” I mutter. “Why would you listen to the tiny, squishy human? Clearly, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

The skarnhound barks again, as if it agrees with me, and I glare at it. “Don’t you start.”

The Skoll glances at the creature, his lips twitching into what might be a smirk, and my irritation flares. I smack his chest lightly—not that it does anything except make my hand sting—and glare up at him.

“You think this is funny?” I demand. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Dragging me around like a sack of flour, letting your prehistoric dog sniff me like I’m dinner—this is all just a big joke to you!”

He raises a brow, clearly unimpressed by my outburst, and mutters something else in that infuriatingly incomprehensible language.

I sigh, slumping in his arms as the reality of the situation sinks in. This is my life now. Carried around by an enormous alien who thinks I’m amusing and has no concept of personal space.

And the worst part? Some tiny, traitorous part of me feels…safe. Like maybe this ridiculous, overly muscular Skoll knows exactly what he’s doing.

I’m doomed.