Dreams of a Dark Warrior

FOURTEEN

Again, Valkyrie?” Carrow the witch said as Vincente escorted Regin once more.

When the guard had shown up to cuff and retrieve her and she hadn’t been gassed first, she’d known.

Chase had taken the bait.

“What can I say, Carrow? The magister loves my company.”

In an urgent murmur, the witch said, “I saw how you fared his company yesterday. Maybe attempt not to enrage him tonight?”

On it. “I go with a peace offering. Check it”—Regin leered down at her own chest—“I’m braless.”

Carrow shook her head. “Crazy ass Valkyries.”

When they passed Brandr’s cell, Regin told him in Old Norse, “My time here grows nigh.” Though her attitude was confident, she knew several factors would work against her.

First, she wasn’t a golden-tongued and persuasive Valkyrie; in fact, she was considered just the opposite—abrasive and smart-assed.

Second, she didn’t do subterfuge, preferring to be brutally honest at all times.

Third, she had earned a reputation for flying off the handle with little provocation. Justly earned. Her emotions were notoriously volatile.

Yet now she would have to pretend to be attracted to a man who’d mercilessly tormented her? Instead of giving in to her need to play-dress him in his own intestines?

One move open to her. “His time grows nigh as well.”

Brandr was at the glass in a heartbeat. His light green eyes were bloodshot, his handsome face wan. Chase must’ve worked him over too. Still Brandr said, “Regin, don’t do it! I’ll warn him.”

For all that she and Brandr had never gotten along, she couldn’t fault his loyalty. “Stay out of my way, or you break your vow. …” She trailed off. Were those staples peeking out just above his shirt collar?

Dear gods, Chase had ordered Brandr’s vivisection? If he’d do it to his one-time best friend, he’d do it to her.

When she and Vincente reached the hub connecting two other wards, the guard squired her into one filled with offices and labs, all empty this late. They followed it to the end, then entered a dark-paneled office.

Chase was already there, seated behind a large desk. He wore his uniform as usual, his dress immaculate. She could even scent boot polish. His hair was off his face again, and he wasn’t as pale as usual. Nice lips, she realized with a start.

“Lemme guess,” Regin said. “You had your introductory spiel all planned, but rational thought deserted you when you saw me stroll in braless.”

Chase’s angry gaze raked over her breasts. They were pressing against her tight T-shirt even more than usual since her arms were bound behind her back.

“Leave us, Vincente,” he commanded.

Without any expression, the man did.

“For the record,” she continued, “it’s not my fault I came in here looking like Chesty LaRue. You caught me on laundry day, so I have no undergarments on. Though I will cop to a little extra spring in my step for your benefit.”

He subtly adjusted his legs behind his desk. Hard-on. Zing! Regin one; Chase zero.

Yet his resentment only seemed to increase.

She didn’t know when Chase might summon her again—if ever—so she had to make this one chance count. To rekindle his memories, she needed either to coax him to kiss her or to provoke the berserker inside him.

Sex or protracted violence should do it.

“Yeah, weirdly, our cell doesn’t have laundry facilities. So I figure I’ll wash undies at one time and outerwear at another, always keeping some cover for the cameras. I’m not shy, but frankly, I’ve had my limit of men chubbing themselves to videos of me. It’s moved from simple idolatry to something more sinister.” She sauntered over to his desk, hopping atop it, sitting on his papers. “A little too Caged Heat, you know?” Those angry eyes were rapt on her bouncing breasts.

Between gritted teeth, he ordered her, “Remove yourself from my desk, Valkyrie.”

“Fine, huffy.” She hopped down and began exploring his office. He said nothing, merely restacked his papers as he observed her.

The décor was modern and posh. Aside from the large mahogany desk and matching floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, he had a luxe leather couch and chairs. Office cabinets had been built into the walls. Two enormous windows revealed a temperate forest shadowed by night. Only so many places in the world where trees like that grew. …

Yet there were no pictures or decorations. The bookshelves were empty.

She turned to him. “I’m just relieved you weren’t one of the men going fap-fap-fap to my vid. Or were you?” she asked with a stage wink, but his demeanor remained frosty. “So, what’s with the gloves? The rumors say you don’t like to touch others, or be touched. Care to comment?” She settled on the couch, drawing one knee up to her chest. “I wonder how you have sex. Or maybe you don’t.”

He’d turned off his anger, his interest, everything. A light extinguished. “You know nothing about me.”

“The Blademan’s blade is sheathed, huh?” She gave him a slow grin. “I vow to you that I know you better than you know yourself.”

“So you keep saying.”

Survival time, Regin. She took a steadying breath. Aidan would want me to live.

Besides, she didn’t have any choice. Lucia needed her help; Regin needed to survive. Yet still she had difficulty with this plan. Centuries of secret hopes and waiting warred with the need to save Lucia—and herself.

Valkyrie won. “Yeah. A long time ago you were called Aidan the Fierce. I’ve known you for over a thousand years.”

The tension in him eased somewhat. “And yet I’m not even forty.”

“You reincarnate. A lot.”

“Reincarnate. And often, too? Now, this sounds interesting,” he said with a sneer. “How many times would this make it?”

“This is the fourth time that I know of.”

“Do I look the same?” He was clearly toying with her.

“Your eyes are the same, but the rest of you is always different. I can recognize you, and you always sense I’m familiar. Even now on some level you do, don’t you? Our little torture session probably hurt you just as much as me.”

“You’re insane,” he said easily, confidently.

“I vow to the Lore that I’m telling the truth. You know I’m bound by that vow.”

“Only when it’s made to another of the Lore.”

His darkening expression warned her she was on thin ice. Of course, when had that ever stopped her? “I know you don’t want to believe you have anything in common with me. But you are of the Lore.” She heard his leather gloves clenching beneath the table, knew he was probably envisioning strangling her. “Look, let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you more info about the Lore than you’ve ever gotten out of any prisoner, and you’ll grant me some concessions.”

“Such as?”

“As long as I’m giving you information, you don’t torture me or Carrow. Or Brandr and Uilleam MacRieve any more than you have,” she said. “Or Natalya and Thad. Just lay off me and those friends, and I’ll divvy.”

She could see the wheels turning. He fully believed she was nuts. But he also was weighing the odds that she’d reveal something he could use.

Again Chase took the bait. “Agreed. So tell me, Valkyrie. How did you and I meet?”