Dreams of a Dark Warrior

TWENTY

Late that night, once Declan finally slept, his body was restless, twisting in the sheets, his mind as-sailed by dreams. …

“What manner of creature are you?” Treves asked the woman before him.

He’d hoped they’d be enemies no more, and even now she was sidling closer to him.

“You do not remember me?” In his tent, her face proved even more radiant, her eyes and hair shining like sun-struck amber.

“I have not met you, had never seen you before this morning.” Except in dreams. Yet as soon as he’d heard her voice, he’d felt a stirring in his chest. “Are you a witch?” One who’s bespelled me?

“No. Not a witch.” She removed her swords and cloak, revealing her strange garments—an armored vest of stiffened leather over a fine linen blouse and a kirtle so short that her thighs were visible above her high boots. He swallowed. She had taut, smooth thighs made to cradle a man’s hips. Not that he would know from experience.

“I am a Valkyrie, an immortal. One of Wóden’s cherished daughters.” She said these words as if they should have some meaning to him. “Have you heard of us?”

“Only myths carried from the lands of the North.” He recalled that the Valkyrie were a type of warrior goddess.

This female expected him to believe she was one among them. And why shouldn’t he? What else could explain her glowing skin and small fangs, or the pink claws that tipped her delicate fingers?

He removed one gauntlet to run the backs of his fingers over her high cheekbones, his lids growing heavy. Her skin was impossibly soft. With each touch he marveled that such a female was in his keeping. My prize, and an earned one.

His forfeiture of that castle would enrage his king, who had steadily been losing patience with him. I might have a price on my head already. No matter. As Treves gazed down at her, he knew she would be worth any consequence.

And answering to another was a yoke that had never sat easily upon his shoulders anyway. He and his king would come to terms over this. Or I’ll pluck that crown from his head.

“You know that I am Treves. What is your name?”

“They call me Regin the Radiant.”

“A fitting name, belle.” When he tucked a wild braid behind her ear, his eyes widened. The tip was pointed. “A Valkyrie’s ear?” He was captivated by this creature, now taking her hand and smoothing the backs of her little claws over his face. “Why do you seem so familiar?” And how could he feel half in love with her already? As if he’d fall on his sword should they be parted?

“We met, ages ago.” She seemed alternately sad and excited, brows drawn one instant, a breathless smile blooming the next. “But if I tell you, you will think me crazed.”

“No more than I, to have dreamed of a woman I’d never seen.” Ever since he’d come to this castle, he’d been beset with dreams of her.

“In a past life, you were a berserker, a warrior in Wóden’s guard. You served my father.” She paused, then added, “And you’d planned to wed me.”

Wed her? He drew even closer. “I do not know who you believe I am, but I will gladly be this man.”

Her eyes searched his expression as she said, “You were called Aidan the Fierce.”

Clearly her affections had already been claimed by this Aidan. “Why do you think me him?” She had mistaken Treves for someone else. I cannot surrender her.

I will not.

“Your eyes glowed like a berserker’s. And I sense it’s you. The fact that you’ve dreamed of me convinces me beyond doubt.” When he cast her a dubious look, she said, “You’ve been re-embodied, your soul housed in another form.”

Could this be true? Could his soul have lived on from another time?

From his earliest memories, nightmares of angels and devils and biting snow had plagued him till he’d thought he’d lose his mind. Always his chest had given him pain. His parents had feared that his aching heart was weak, that he would die young. As a man, he’d warred to escape the turmoil within him—placating his inward black thoughts with outward black deeds.

Now the ache had disappeared. Perhaps his heart had always been strong, yet it would beat for this female alone. “How could I have returned?”

“When you died in my arms centuries ago, you vowed that you would come for me. I do not know how you’ve done this. Sometimes we’re not meant to know all the things that are possible in the Lore.”

“The Lore?”

“It’s our world. A world of immortals, where myths and legends live.”

She is an immortal; I am not. “You will not return to this land, Valkyrie,” he commanded, his voice rough from the thought of losing her. “Your place is with me.”

Her face brightened even more. “Then remind me why I chose you above all other men.”

“I know not how to remind …” He trailed off when she began unraveling the ties to his armor, her desires clear. He couldn’t rip off his chain mail and tunic quickly enough.

Yet even as his manhood swelled in his trews, he had to admit, “Cher, I’ve never lain with a woman before.”

“You have.” She smiled, beginning to divest herself of her own clothing. “You just don’t remember yet.”

His gaze was riveted to her deft fingers unlacing that leather vest. She shrugged from it, then stepped from her kirtle, leaving her garbed in only her blouse. It was so short he could nearly glimpse the juncture of her thighs—and so transparent he could clearly see her breasts.

He gaped at the ravishing sight before him, then swallowed audibly. “I’ve never wanted anything more than you in my entire life.” You are my life. Somehow I know this. …

She stood on her toes to press tender kisses to his neck, his chest. When she murmured, “Take off your boots,” they were as good as gone.

“And your trews.”

He tore them off his body.

She backed toward his bed, curling her finger, beckoning him to follow.

After drawing off the blouse, she lay back like a radiant offering. So stunningly beautiful, she took his breath away.

The first woman to grace his bed. And the last.

Once he’d lowered himself beside her, she reached for his rampant shaft, cupping her fingers around it. His hips bucked uncontrollably to her silken touch, and a groan was wrenched from his lips.

She began fondling him with languid strokes that made him lightheaded. The pressure within his manhood mounted as she rubbed her thumb over the crown, seeming to revel in the moisture there. “Ah, cher, I grow near—”

Without relinquishing her hold, she guided him to lie back. When she straddled his hips, he was transfixed, scarcely comprehending that he was about to know her fully.

She positioned his length beneath her, then began to lower her body upon it. With each of her panting inhalations, her breasts rose and fell so temptingly. His hands covered that supple flesh, kneading with delight.

Her tight sheath nearly robbed him of his seed. Gritting his teeth, he struggled not to shame himself.

She lowered herself as far as she could, her curling Valkyrie claws digging into his chest.

—As they should.—

Was he going mad? The thought faded when she rose up and inched back down, her core damp and quivering. Rising up. Slipping down.

—She needs me to master her, to overpower her strength.—

How could Treves know these things? Sensing them to be true, he seized her waist, forcing her to her back. When he spread her thighs and seated himself deep between them, she moaned with pleasure, her breasts bouncing as he began to thrust.

He dipped down to kiss her. As his mouth slanted over hers, her lips parted, her little tongue seeking. With his first taste, dizziness swept over him.

“So sweet,” he groaned against her lips. Like drugging poppies.

At once, memories overwhelmed him. Crimson spatter in snow. Being kept from her when he would slaughter anything that separated them. His savage need to claim her.

He drew his head back, his gaze narrowed. “No one keeps me from you, Reginleit.” When he realized his very accent had changed, his jaw slackened with shock.

I am this man she spoke of.

Which meant that she belonged to him. “Mine. Woman, you are mine.”

“A-Aidan?”

Blood surged within him as a frenzy took hold. “I have come for you.” Love for her pounded in his chest, matching the fever of his need.

Her eyes went wide, the irises pure silver. “You’ve remembered me!”

“From the moment I took your lips.”

“H-how?” She arched beneath him. “How could you return?”

He didn’t know; as he drove into her body, it didn’t matter. “Nothing keeps me from you. Nothing!” He cupped her face, pulling her up to him. “Tell me that you belong to me.”

“I belong to you.” Her claws sunk into his back as she gasped and writhed. “Ah, gods, I’ve missed you so much!”

He felt her sex tightening around his shaft, knew she was about to climax. I will take her over the edge, will make her scream with abandon.

“Follow me!” she cried.

“Wherever you lead.” Plunging into her madly, he did. …

Declan woke with his back bowed, his hand on his cock, precisely two quick pumps away from spending.

“Regin!” he bellowed when his seed erupted. He fucked his fist, imagining it was her tight little quim as lash after lash of scorching semen struck his torso. He yelled until his voice went hoarse, until the pressure finally ebbed. …

He was left gasping for breath, sprawled on his bed—with no pain, no anxiety, no strain. Only after-shudders from the most powerful ejaculation he’d ever experienced.

He’d masturbated to a dream about a detrus and had come so hard, his spend had nearly reached his chin.

I hadn’t known I could come so hard.

How had he lived without this for so long?

He groaned, wallowing in a kind of sick satisfaction. The guilt would arise soon enough, but for right now, he lay stunned, his limbs boneless.

Sick.

What was happening to him? Just like the Treves she spoke of, Declan felt like he was going mad. And, as in the dream, he’d begun having those stray thoughts, as if someone else was inside him.

In the end, Treves had been taken over by Aidan, the berserker’s memories overriding the knight’s, sublimating them.

The fuck that will be happenin’ to me. No, this was an entrancement. Regin was a born killer, an unnatural, deathless female. Damn it, he didn’t feel this way about her.

Go run, go train. Go kill something. But relaxation made his muscles lethargic, not with sleepiness, just … ease.

Yet soon enough humiliation begun to burn within him. Here he was, nearly comatose with pleasure after stroking off to one of them.

Where’s your iron will now, Dekko? With a bitter curse, he forced himself to rise and wipe off his chest. Stay away from her. Ignore her. Fight this—

His private line rang. Webb.

Just in time to make the humiliation and guilt complete. Declan crossed to his console, answered the call.

“You sound like hell, son. You losing your voice?”

There was something in Webb’s tone that immediately set him on edge. Paranoia gripped him yet again. “No, sir.” Just my mind.

Webb wasted no time. “I’ve received some disturbing reports about you and the Valkyrie.”

“No doubt from Fegley.” Though Vincente was privy to Declan’s dealings, he didn’t suspect the man for even a moment.

“Perhaps it was. The fact remains that I’ve heard disconcerting things.”

“She delivers information to me,” Declan said. “Information you ordered me to get.”

“Then why haven’t any transcripts been uploaded?”

Because Declan needed to edit them first—so her pleas for him to kiss her never went on record. “They will be,” he bit out, the harshest tone he’d taken with the man since that first night in the hospital.

A long pause followed. “Look, son, guarding the monstrous ones is relatively easy. It’s far more difficult to guard the innocent-faced ones, the beautiful ones. The ones that sound like us, dress like us, mimic our species in every way. They call to our sympathy. You’re there because you have no sympathy. You’re devoid of emotions like that.”

Declan’s mind flashed back to his training—the intermittent sleep and food deprivation, the combat simulation with live rounds and no pulled strikes. He remembered the butt of a rifle slamming into his temple as his commander yelled, “You’re more of a monster than the creatures out there. …”

At seventeen, he’d been shown photos of what detrus did to mortals. Hour after hour of grisly images for days. No sleep. In the end, his bloodshot eyes had rolled back in his head, and he’d collapsed.

To this day, I punish myself with photos. …

“They’ll fill you with doubt,” Webb continued, “make you question your mission. Is it already happening?”

Making his voice like steel, he said, “Absolutely not, sir.” He refused to elaborate, refused to try to convince Webb to see that he was still solid.

He remained staunch, his hatred stoked as hot as ever.

“Good.” Webb exhaled a relieved breath. “In any case, I’m arriving next week.”

Next bloody week? No! Not that soon. But knowing it was inevitable, Declan said, “Very good, sir.” Have to beat this obsession with the Valkyrie. Webb would see through Declan’s indifferent guise in a heartbeat.

“I look forward to viewing the new addition to your collection. Is everything on schedule for Malkom Slaine’s capture?”

My next acquisition. Slaine was a vampiric demon, a made immortal creature. Through some unknown ritual, a demon could be poisoned with a vampire’s blood, gifting it with the strengths of both species. Colloquially known as vemons, they were rumored to be the most powerful of the beings in the Lore, stronger even than a Lykae in his prime.

There were only four known vemons alive. Declan wanted to destroy them and forever bury the knowledge of their genesis.

“We’ve set the plan in motion.” Declan had dispatched Carrow the witch to Slaine’s home—a hell plane called Oblivion—in order to lure him into a trap. In return, he’d promised to free her and her young cousin.

An easy lie. After his hellish entrancement, Declan held a singular hatred for witches. And the young one had already killed twenty soldiers with her unearthly powers.

Carrow was due back in less than a week. He gave her a six-in-ten chance of succeeding. “Everything’s on schedule, sir.”

“Excellent. And while I’m there, you and I are going to take some time off. We’ll have a proper visit outside of work and all this madness.”

To talk about sports and women? Declan had no life outside of work. None. Still he said, “I look forward to it.”

Once they hung up, Declan glanced around his chamber. This room represented his entire life outside of his job. The facility itself was his life’s work. Now he was in jeopardy of losing it all.

Truly, how much is there to lose, Dekko? No family, no friends. No woman of his own.

No peace. For as long as Declan could remember, he’d craved some kind of ease inside himself. Though he’d never experienced it, he could somehow imagine what it would feel like not to know constant misery.

Declan had seen men with an expression that said All is right in the world, had envied them their contentment. His own da had had that confident, satisfied mien. At least, before Declan had started having nightmares as a boy. Once he’d begun running with that gang at fourteen, his da never had it again.

Listening to the Valkyrie’s tales, simply being near her, was the closest Declan had ever come to it. And tonight’s dream …

His mind whispered, Why not enjoy her?

No! She was undermining his resolve. And with that fall would go any pride he’d managed to salvage over the last twenty years. Whatever power she wielded, he would resist it.

Another of those creatures controlling him again? Never.

She would not break him. His will was stronger than hers. Than anyone’s.

I’ll break her.

And that was the reason—the only one—that he still burned to see her.