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  He was an animal. A mindless killer. The small part of him that was still human needled the animal, leveling accusations that were too true. Murderer. Assassin. Death-dealer. Why wouldn’t he hurt her too?

  Pure…

  She was every bit as good as her name—while he was not.

  He swung the axe and her feet left the ground, but she hung on, her body temporarily suspended in the air. At his mercy.

  Anger roared through him again. She shouldn’t let him do this to her. Shouldn’t hold on and hold on.

  “Let. Go,” he growled.

  “Stop fighting,” she screamed. The bear was oblivious to the desperation on her face, but the man howled that she wanted him to do this, pushing at the beast to behave. This was his Pure.

  He’d give her what she wanted.

  ###

  Vikar slammed the axe back into its sheathe on his back. His golden eyes glowed, all shades of pissed off. Stopping hadn’t been part of his game plan.

  “What in Odin’s name,” he roared, the change still thickening his tongue and his voice as his hands clamped down on her shoulders and pulled her towards him, “did you think you were doing?”

  The ground-shaking crash of thunder announced that Odin had finally stepped in, because, gods knew, Odin was as melodramatic as any of them. Surrounded by Valkyrie, he snapped his fingers, and the pale-skinned women dispersed, moving through the battlefield, choosing from among the dying. Who would go with them to Valhalla, to fight and feast eternally, and who would die and pass into Freya’s keeping and Fólkvangr.

  “Sweetling,” Odin called. “Come give me a kiss.”

  Twelve feet of brute muscle and chain mail frowned at her when she hesitated at his command. Disobeying the god was foolish. Reluctantly, she stepped away from her Viking. She hated the loss. She wanted to stay there, pressed against his chest. Listening to the steady in and out of his breathing. Waiting for him to come back to her.

  Fool.

  Vikar’s hand caught her arm when she would have slipped past him. “What is this?”

  “Secrets.” She forced the word past her lips. “More secrets.”

  “Yeah,” he snarled, “and this is another secret I’ve no liking for.”

  She owed him the truth. They’d struck a bargain, and she’d kept her end, but he’d shown her more than pleasure in his arms. He’d been her out and her escape plan. More importantly, he’d helped her exchange one heaven for another.

  “I was one of Odin’s handmaidens. I served him in Valhalla.”

  He nodded curtly, but his hands didn’t relax on his blades. Maybe he knew all too well where this headed. “And you serve him now?”

  “No more. This was the last time.” She wished—oh, how she wished—she could explain that to him. Explain that he’d been the price Odin placed on her freedom.

  “So this was your special delivery?” The words sounded strangled. “This is your father?”

  “Got it in one.” She went, reluctantly.

  Her Viking followed hot on her heels. “Why?” he roared.

  She was close enough now to smell the copper tinge on Odin’s blade. The stench of blood and wine and man.

  “I was bound to serve him,” she admitted.

  One big hand fastened around her arm, halting her. Odin frowned at her delay, but Vikar held her fast. “You set me up, baby,” he said.

  He didn’t know the half of it. Not yet.

  “And you trusted too fast,” she accused. He still held his blade in his right hand. She told herself she should be nervous. Moments ago, he had been all but lost in the bloodlust. The blood of his enemies covered him even now. Problem was, she trusted him. Her berserker possessed a bedrock core of honor. He’d given his word. He believed she’d given hers—and that had been enough for him. ”What did you think I was?”

  He shrugged and then he let go. Her sense of loss grew. He was pulling away from her, and she should have expected that.

  His eyes met hers. “A princess. You certainly have the attitude for it.”

  “I am”—was—“Valkyrie and an ice maiden.”

  His chuckle was unexpected. How could he laugh on this battlefield, when the whole world was coming apart around them? “You’re no ice maiden in my arms.”

  There was nothing to say to that. Stopping in front of Odin, she dropped to her knees. Odin chucked her under the chin, his fingers cupping her jaw, drawing her face up. Behind him, her Viking growled. Now he felt possessive? When he’d shared her with one of his own?

  He hadn’t shared last night.

  “And,” she continued softly, knowing Vikar could hear her despite the distance between them. “When I said I had lost a sister, I meant that I had lost her. And I can’t go looking for her while I’m bound to serve in Odin’s court.”

  Odin frowned. “I needed you at court,” he rumbled.

  She pushed his hand away. “And I needed Eira.”

  Odin looked fleetingly guilty, but she didn’t hear him volunteering to mount the long-overdue rescue mission. Around them, other Valkyrie descended, moving swiftly among the dead and dying. None of them met Pure’s eyes, just got on with their business. She held her breath when one approached Var, but the Viking pushed the Valkyrie away, and she shrugged and continued on.

  “Choose him. Take him to Valhalla. You’ll be excellent company,” Odin said, addressing Vikar directly.

  “He’s not dead,” she interrupted, and Vikar stiffened, as if he wanted to point out that the omission was one easily corrected by a god.

  Odin clearly saw the situation the same way. “There are a hundred ways to die here. You could do it.”

  “No.” Vikar crossed his arms over his chest. “Not only am I not dead, I'm not going anywhere. Not yet.”

  Odin flicked a glance at Pure. “You can go. You’ve kept your end of our bargain.”

  “What bargain?” The words emerged from her Viking as a strangled roar.

  “Pure was sent to test you, berserker.” Odin’s gaze flicked over Vikar. “I needed to know if you could control the bloodlust.”

  “And if I couldn’t?”

  Odin tossed Pure a blade, and she caught it with easy familiarity. “Then she would be your executioner. Maybe she should carry out that sentence now.”

  “No,” she said hastily. “He can control the berserker rage. And you promised that I could go. I need to search for Eira.”

  Odin shrugged. “He’d better. If he ever fails to do so, you slit his throat, Pure. Because otherwise you’ll take his place, and you’ll end up every bit as dead as Eira likely is.”

  ###

  Pure left him.

  Not so much as a backwards glance—just passed that quick judgment on him and trudged off down the docks. He wanted to follow her, and that shocked him. He brawled and he killed, the two things he excelled at. He’d never desired more.

  “Bend a knee, boy.”

  “No.” His memories of the arena too recent, Vikar refused.

  “She brought my berserker to heel. Make this easy for me now, and I’ll make sure you get a piece of her later.”

  “No.” Vikar eyed the god. At least Odin made a large target.

  A target that had just unsheathed a lethal silver blade. “That’s no way to be talking to me. I’ve got your life in my hands, boy. I’d think you’d be bargaining with me. You’re mercenary. You’re for sale. It shouldn’t matter who you sell yourself to.”

  Vikar bared his teeth. “Doesn’t matter. Pure was mine.”

  Odin bared his teeth. “She was mine first.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “I could send them to cut you down.” Odin waved a bloody hand towards the Valkyrie walking the perimeter of the battlefield. Collecting warrior souls to carry away.

  “Later,” Vikar promised.

  Odin pursed his lips. “True. A fighter like you, this would hardly be your last battle.”

  Vikar grinned. “I’ll give you many more chances to harvest my soul, g
od.”

  “Because you’ll be chasing my Valkyrie from one battlefield to another,” the god groused. “Pure is a cold one. Is she worth this effort on your part?”

  A lusty smile split his face as he nodded. “She’s not cold in my arms.” When the god looked intrigued, Vikar made his proposal. “When she is near, I control the bloodlust. But there will still be fights,” he vowed, pushing aside the anger. “Other fights you might be interested in. You leave me here, I’ll give you what you really want.”

  Nothing would stop Vikar from getting to Pure.

  He had a debt to collect.

  Chapter Eight

  She missed her Viking.

  Pure had walked away from Vikar, left him facing off with Odin, but now that it was too, too late, she wanted to go back. Wanted to claim him from her father and demand he be hers. Feelings sucked. This gnawing ache was not what she’d wanted when she’d struck her bargain with the god, and two weeks hadn’t lessened the pain.

  Leaving had been remarkably simple once she’d abandoned her scruples and asked herself what Vikar would have done. Since the obvious answer was commandeer a ship, she’d stolen herself a boat. Not a big one, because she wasn’t a fool, so the small motorboat meant she sailed close to the coast with her new crew. She’d picked up two dark elves and a wight who was clearly all too happy to be at sea again. It didn’t matter where she went. She wouldn’t spend her freedom pining for a Viking berserker. She wouldn’t.

  She’d go a-Viking. There were hundreds of different destinations to the west and east. For tonight, however, this pocket beach was her limit. Her sailors had pulled the boat up onto the shore and were sprawled on the sand near the fire, but she’d chosen to sleep on deck.

  The setting sun cast a blood-red shadow. Which was fitting when the dragonship sailed out of the bloodbath headed straight for her beach. One of her new men cursed, scrambling for weapons.

  Too little. Too late.

  The dragonship sailing towards them was truly terrifying, a feral dragon head scowling from the prow. The hooked maw and ferocious teeth made it seem as if the artist had caught the beast mid-roar. Her head knew the beast’s rage was merely wooden artifice, but her heart beat harder, instinctive fear punching adrenaline through her blood. The dragonship cut through the water fast and fierce, the shallow draft of the beach no obstacle.

  On board, men roared triumphantly, scenting battle, their shields up as they jumped clear before the longship hit the sand. The impact shuddered through her body.

  He’d come for her.

  The Vikings spilled ashore with a fearsome roar, and she recognized the big body driving through the surf, shield raised. He vaulted one-handed over the side, his booted feet hitting the water. The spray he kicked up didn’t hide the fierce grin on his face beneath the iron helmet.

  “Pure,” he crooned. “Time to settle up, baby.”

  She pulled her blade. This boat was hers. He took nothing now she didn’t choose to give.

  ###

  After collecting his longship from its hiding place up the Alaskan coastline, Vikar had found fast water and ridden the sea’s punch, driving the dragonship up and over the waves with no holds barred. Sails up, oars out, sailing close to the wind and riding that edge between speed and sheer, utter disaster.

  Pure wasn’t his long-lost Astrid, although she was every bit as strong as his first love had been. Astrid would have liked this female. Too much. He could never have been fortunate enough to keep both by his side, so he was lucky to have had first one and then the other.

  And he’d let. Her. Go.

  No.

  Nothing and no one would stand between him and Pure. He’d take the chance to tell her how he felt. He’d find some way to convince her, no matter how many nights—or heated touches—it took. Hel, he half-hoped Pure took convincing.

  He’d pulled with his crew because each stroke brought him closer to where he wanted to be. At sea, he didn’t need a map to get his bearings—he’d learned as a youth to watch the water, to find the familiar currents, and those landmarks would guide him clear and true. He’d crossed entire seas that way.

  Now, Pure was his landmark.

  His female. Vikar had never hesitated in battle before and he didn’t hesitate now. He one-armed it over the side, the shallow water spraying up around his boots as he roared triumphantly.

  There.

  On the beach. His beast resented the male crew she’d surrounded herself with. The man, however, simply drew his blade and charged for the shore. He didn’t know if she’d resist. If she’d fight him on this. He’d given Odin his promise to provide the god with an unending supply of bloody battles. In exchange, the god had let him go. He had no date with Valhalla today.

  “Don’t kill them,” he gritted out to Var, and his second nodded, surging ahead. Leaving the crew alive went against the grain, but these sailors hadn’t realized they were baiting the beast. Likely, they were good men just doing their jobs. Even if he wanted to tear them away from her. Hurt them. No. He’d show her he was more than the beast.

  His feet hit sand and he raked the beach, looking for her. There, standing, legs apart on the deck of that pitifully small ship. He bared his teeth in a grin. His was larger. He’d convince her and she’d come with him. Or he’d take her.

  Taking her was good.

  He smiled slowly, meanly, and her eyes widened.

  Yes. His Pure knew exactly how much trouble she was in.

  Ignoring the melee on the beach behind him, he stalked towards her. Her four sailors were a truly pitiful match for his Viking crew.

  Nice. He was supposed to court her. Show her just how nice he could be. That had been Var’s advice. If she wanted nice, however, she’d picked the wrong Viking. And pick him she had. She’d gifted him with her virginity, begged him to touch her, and that meant it was far too late now to recant or rethink.

  She’d given him a taste, and he was back for more.

  ###

  Vikar was a glorious sight. Wild and powerful and free. And bare. Chest naked, his muscles bulged as he swung his big sword, black hair flying around his face as he stalked towards her. He didn’t even look as he brought the hilt of his sword down on the head of one of her hapless sailors. The man crashed gracelessly to the ground, but Vikar didn’t stop.

  No. He just kept right on coming.

  Her big, sexy beast. And he was a beast. She had to remember that. And yet, when he slapped a hand on her ship’s railing and vaulted easily over the side, all she could remember was what it felt like to touch him. To have those big, hard fingers in her and on her. Mastering her. Pleasuring her.

  “You left me,” he growled. The length of the deck between them was suddenly too little space.

  She pointed her blade at him. “Yes,” she snapped. “It was part of the job requirement.”

  His sword came up, meeting her blade with a loud clash. One battle-scarred hand gripped the leather-wrapped hilt. A gorgeous sword, the pommel and guard all copper and silver wires. The work was strangely delicate. And yet in Vikar’s hands that iron blade could chop a man in two.

  He grinned savagely. “You don’t want to fight me.”

  “Oh, but I do.” She shoved, the edge of her blade sliding past his, and he pushed right back. The shock of that hit tore through her arm. He wasn’t holding back. Wouldn’t go easy on her. Good. She’d make him earn his victory.

  “I kill things,” he pointed out. “People. Norse gods and other immortals. I’m not particular.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that.

  “I enjoy fighting,” he continued. “I always did.”

  “That’s likely why Loki chose to make you a berserker.”

  He nodded and glanced down at the sword in his hands. “Yeah. Likely. But his choice doesn’t change how I’ve spent my life. I’ve spent hundreds of years killing, on the battlefield and off. I didn’t mind, either. If Odin’s looking for a few more fighters for his end-time army, signing up i
sn’t such a hardship. Especially not if you’re the prize.”

  Grinning fiercely, he lunged.

  For long minutes, they parried, matching blow for blow, until with one last push, his sword pinned hers to the ground. She was human now, and her experience as Odin’s handmaiden was nothing compared to the battles he’d fought and won. No signs of berserker rage appeared on his face. No, when she searched his eyes, she saw only determination and a fierce possessiveness. And a predatory watchfulness. When finally he knocked the blade from her hand, he stalked her back to the ship’s mast, slapping his hands on either side of her head when the wooden post hit her back and she could go no farther.

  He was magnificent and he was hers.

  His mouth found hers, his lips covered her lips, and there was no more thinking. No time for strategy, because all she could do now was feel and open up to let him in. His tongue licked and pressed, stroking deeper, as an answering heat built inside her.

  He lifted his head. “Admit you’ve been beat, baby.”

  “No.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m taking you.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it.

  “You stay with me,” he ordered.

  Vikar looked at her, his face demanding, branded with a raw hunger that mirrored the need on her own face. With every hard inch of him pinning her in place, Pure’s belly came alive, and she was wet just remembering how he’d loved her. She didn’t know if he’d been thinking about having sex with her then, but he damned sure was now.

  This man wanted her.

  Did he know just how much she wanted him? He was miles and miles out of her league. He was all rough brute and determined lover. He shouldn’t have come for her. She’d betrayed him, plain and simple, and he’d warned her what the consequences would be. And yet here he was.

  And yet, she wasn’t a trained bitch to heel when he called. Even without the hands-on experience, she knew letting him get the upper hand now would be a mistake.

  “This isn’t a game,” she said.

  “No. This is war, baby.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, an unwelcome fright emotion. Freya’s teeth, she had to learn to control this. “You shouldn’t be here.”