Page 8 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

RAGNAR

T he woman–my fenvarra, Elena–does not trust me.

She keeps her distance, pacing around the Borean lab like a cornered animal. Every so often, she glances at me, her expression full of frustration and deep suspicion. She must still be under the influence of the Boreans, enthralled by their mind control.

At least she seems to trust Fenrik, who follows her around the space like a loyal hound. She’ll touch him.

I try not to be jealous.

She’s clearly exhausted, though, even as she stalks around, searching the cabinets for more alien technology. I can’t allow her to contact my enemy; if she does, we could both be doomed. I could end up back in cryo-sleep for Yrsa knows how long.

“You should sit,” I tell her, even though I know it’s pointless. “You’re too tired to keep searching.”

She shakes her head at me, babbling in her alien language before turning back to one of the consoles. She’s shaking, even underneath my massive cloak.

I stand, even though I’ve been trying to make myself small so as not to frighten her.

I keep my movements slow and deliberate, Fenrik perking his ears up and watching me cross the room.

Elena turns and, when she sees me, her eyes go wide.

She blurts out a word of warning, shielding the console behind her.

“I won’t hurt you,” I murmur, raising my hands in surrender. I then place my hand over my heart. “You are my fenvarra. I am sworn to protect you, to adore you, to worship you”

Her brow furrows.

“Fenvarra,” I repeat, pointing at myself.

She points at me. “Ragnar…?”

I nod. “Ragnar, fenvarra.”

She nods along with me. “Ragnar Fenvarra.”

I blink, taking a staggering step toward her. Does she…has she accepted it? That we were fated to meet, that we–

She takes a step back.

No.

…she thinks it’s my name.

Fenrik whines and I glance down at him for reassurance, the skarnhound wagging his tail tentatively. He looks just as baffled as I feel. For a moment, I thought she’d accepted me as her mate, but no…she hasn’t.

And now she’s pointing at the exit, saying the same syllable over and over. “Go?” she says.

Ah…yes. She wants to leave.

I follow.

The caves were light for a moment, but now they’re getting dark again; the day cycle must be short on this planet, wherever we’ve found ourselves.

The sun is setting, and light filters through the cracks in the ice in fragmented beams of purple, orange, and gold.

Each step forward reveals a new kaleidoscope of color, refracting in mesmerizing patterns across the walls.

It’s beautiful, but I can hardly focus on it.

Because Elena…she looks more and more exhausted. I think she truly believes we’ll escape tonight–or she’ll find the Boreans she believes can save us–but she needs to rest.

I stop abruptly, reaching out and taking her shoulder. She lets out a strangled yelp, batting my hand away. I pantomime resting, closing my eyes and tilting my head as if asleep. She shakes her head and babbles at me, resistant.

She’s shaking so hard that I want to wrap her in my arms and force her to rest…to stay warm, to let me hold her. I reach out to pick her up, but she stumbles away.

I sigh, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. I can’t force her to do anything–not yet. She doesn’t trust me, and if I continue this way, I know she never will. I point at her, then at the floor, then I pantomime resting again…but she merely keeps walking.

“Go,” she repeats. “Go.”

I sigh.

Fine.

We continue walking, even though I’m terrified this journey will be the death of her. Time stretches out…the sun sets, and the light goes from dusk to the glow of an aurora. I wonder if we’re on that horrible planet–Borealis, home to my greatest enemy. If we are…

Elena stops and points, then looks at me with an excited smile. She says something in her language, eyes alight.

Then she bolts.

Fenrik is right on her tail, and I increase my pace to keep up. Elena turns quickly around a corner, clearly trying to escape me, and I follow her–

–only to find her shoulders slumping at the sight of yet another ruined communications screen.

She looks up at me with a dejected sigh, shaking her head. She says something in her language–to Fenrik, not to me–and I do my best to let her alone.

Eventually, she’ll collapse from exhaustion, and I’ll be there to catch her.

It’s only a matter of time.

Elena moves around the lab with slow, deliberate steps, more tired by the second. She rifles through one of the storage compartments, muttering to herself in her alien language as I watch from a safe distance. Fenrik follows her, nosing through the cabinets, tail wagging.

After a moment, she pulls out a stack of thick blankets. Turning to me, she holds one up, her brow furrowed as she hesitates. I think she’s offering it to me, but I don’t need it–I’m already warm. I point to her instead, then to the blanket, motioning for her to keep each and every one.

“I’ll keep watch while you sleep,” I murmur. “We don’t know when our captors will come for us.”

She shakes her head and steps closer, holding the blanket out insistently. I continue to say no, and she sighs in frustration. Giving up on the blankets, she goes to remove my cloak from her shoulders to pass it back.

I shake my head more firmly, growling.

She backs off.

At first, I worry I scared her–but I think she’s done being frightened by me.

Elena begins to rummage through another storage compartment, muttering under her breath until she pulls out a garment that is large, blue, and puffy.

She holds it up to me with a triumphant smile, and I realize it’s a coat made for someone much larger than her–a coat that matches her own.

It’s bulky and awkward, but she steps toward me and thrusts it into my hands.

With this particular garment, she will not take no for an answer.

I blink, holding the coat as I study it. It’s a strange design–like hers, and unlike anything I’ve ever seen before…but clearly made for someone of my height and stature. It does look warm, maybe even warmer than my cloak. I glance at her and she nods encouragingly, motioning for me to try it.

“You want me to put this on?” I ask, holding it up to myself.

She nods eagerly.

With a shrug, I shake the coat out and slide it on over my shoulders. It fits–but just barely–and leaves a great deal of my wrists exposed. I struggle with the device at the bottom used to seal it until Elena reaches out to latch it, then she raises it halfway up my chest with a zip.

Elena looks me over, eyes skimming over the new garment. It is ill-fitting, my chest still completely bare, shoulders straining at the garment. I huff out an uncomfortable sigh.

…then her lips curl at the corners.

And she laughs.

She says something, gesturing at my shoulders and chest. I don’t understand her words, but I’m sure I look utterly ridiculous.

I let out a low chuckle, adjusting the coat awkwardly as Fenrik wags his tail.

Elena’s laughter softens into a smile, and for the first time since I pulled her from the rubble, the tension between us feels less like a wall and more like a thread–fragile, but taut, pulling us together.

When she finishes laughing, she gestures toward the blankets, spreading one out and then handing the rest to me.

I begin to try building them into a makeshift nest to stay warm, and she soon returns with what appears to be a lantern.

She switches it on and it glows red-gold, emitting pleasant waves of heat.

She places it in the center of the blankets, then, and sits down.

Fenrik takes to it right away, curling up beside Elena in the lantern’s glow with a satisfied sigh. I sit cross-legged on the floor, intent on staying up all night to guard her, while Elena wraps herself in the blankets. She’s still shaking, even with the blankets, with Fenrik…

It’s not enough.

She doesn’t want me to hold her, I’m certain of that. And yet, I feel compelled to be closer to her, to keep her warm. Even if she doesn’t like me, doesn’t trust me…even if she never accepts me as her fenvarra, I cannot lose her to the cold night.

So I hesitantly move closer.

At first, her eyes widen…then she nods, seeming to acknowledge that she needs more warmth that only I can offer. I move to her side and put my arm out, and she curls into my side.

And by the gods…I’m nearly undone.

Her scent…her touch, the soft puff of her breathing against my shoulder.

She smells earthy and warm, with a faint sweetness like summer flowers or honeyed mead.

That scent is intoxicating, making it difficult to suppress the urge I feel to mate with her, to warm her inside and out.

I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us, even through our clothes.

She inhales deeply, then yawns–and I take the opportunity to glance down at her.

She is so beautiful, and so very like me…

but unlike any of the species I’ve encountered.

Beautiful brown skin, soft and supple where a Skoll’s would glimmer; a dusting of darker freckles across her nose, thick black eyelashes and brows.

Her lips are red and pouting, chapped slightly. How I long to–

She meets my eyes and takes a sharp breath.

I avert my gaze.

Elena shifts, adjusting the blankets around her shoulders, and the movement brings her even closer to me. Her hand brushes mine, and I take the risk of twining my fingers around hers. She tilts her head to look at me.

Were she a Skoll female, versed in our language and customs, I would take her face in my hands and kiss her. I would claim her here in this nest, cherish her as only one’s fenvarra can, keep her moaning and writhing beneath me until dawn.

“I know you don’t understand me,” I murmur. “But Elena…you are the most magnificent beauty I have beheld in all my days…my fenvarra.”

She tilts her head, her confusion clear, but she doesn’t push me away. Instead, she repeats it softly under her breath, as if testing its weight on her tongue.

“Fenvarra,” she says, and that word on her lips breaks and rebuilds me into something frightening and new.

Eventually, her breathing evens out, and then…she finally sleeps. I indulge in a sigh of relief, resting my head against hers.

She needs rest. She’ll have it. And I…

…I think I need it too.