Dreams of a Dark Warrior (2 page)

Theirs is a story of woe and warning. Take heed and listen well. …

-i-

The Northlands

In ages long past

“So this is debauchery,” Reginleit murmured as two guards led her into the mead hal of the notorious

warlord Aidan the Fierce.

At twelve years of age, and newly quit of the paradise of Valhal a, Regin was certainly getting an eyeful.

As she and the guards wound through the crowd of hundreds of berserkers, she gaped at drunken

warriors sparring in naught but loincloths while half-clad whores served ale, trenchers of meat, and …

other needs.

Luckily Regin’s disguise would conceal her expression—and her glow. She rechecked her cloak with

gloved hands. The hood was deep, fal ing far over her face.

By the light of the fire pits smoking up to the thatched roof, she glimpsed kissing, fondling, and some

acts her young mind couldn’t yet attach names to.

Yet none within this battlefront encampment laughed; no jaunty music could be heard.

Though they’d seized a bloody victory today—from the cliffs above the field, she’d observed their clash

against an army of vampires—al the many warriors here seemed to be simmering, snarling even. Much

like the bears these mortals revered.

Mounted bear heads with ominous fangs lined the wal s. Viking glyphs of ravening bears decorated the

rafters and doors.

Everything she’d ever heard about the uncivilized berserkers was apparently true. Her favorite half

sister, Lucia, had once told her, “Berserkers are grim, covetous, and possessive, savage when faced

with the loss of something that belongs to them. They are obsessed with war and intercourse—they think

of nothing else. Even our older sisters avoid them.”

Regin had known the risk in coming here, but she wasn’t fearful. As Lucia had also told her,

“Sometimes I don’t think you have the sense to be afraid when you should.” Regin had interpreted that to

mean, “You have no sense of fear, oh, great Reginleit.”

Besides, she had no choice. She needed the aid of these mortals. She was horseless and had barely

escaped a vampire ambush just days ago. Her bel y was empty—the trenchers of stew and haunches of

venison atop laden tables made her mouth water.

And Lucia was in danger.

Reminded of her purpose, she straightened her shoulders. Since the berserkers were her father’s

guard, surely they’d be duty-bound to serve her as wel . But if she met with trouble here, she wouldn’t

hesitate to use the long sword holstered across her back or even her claws. They extended through slits

in the fingers of her gloves, concealed by her draping sleeves—

Two nearly naked warriors locked in combat lurched past her. Fights continued al around, brawls over

women, wine, and weapons. These men fel into their berserkrage, with their eyes glowing and muscles

burgeoning, at the smal est slight.

Fitting that this encampment had been built at the edge of a war zone. For decades, these berserkers

had defended this strategic pass against an immortal menace, protecting the vil ages in the val ey below;

she began to see that anything keeping these men here on the battlefront—and out of civilization—was a

boon.

As she and the guards wended deeper within, Regin stopped abruptly. A short distance away, seated

atop a throne on the hal ’s dais, was a male she’d seen in frenzied combat earlier. One she’d watched

raptly.

Considering his unmatched speed and power as he’d wielded his war ax, she’d suspected he was their

leader Aidan.

A buxom brunette sat on the arm of his throne, serving him a tankard of drink and murmuring in his ear.

The wench’s eyes were excited, her breath shal ow.
She thinks the warlord handsome?
Regin’s gaze flicked over him.
Then the wench and I are in accord.

He had broad shoulders and muscular arms, his build as massive as a bear’s. His blond hair was thick,

some hanks plaited in ravels to keep them from his field of vision. He possessed al his teeth, and they

were even and white. His sun-darkened skin made his wintry gray eyes stand out.

Today, when he’d been in his berserkrage, those eyes had glowed like storm clouds ablaze with

lightning.

Now he pul ed the woman onto his lap, no doubt to join in the debauchery.
And lo, there he goes. …
He began to unlace her straining bodice.

“My liege, a moment,” one of the guards hastened to say. To catch the warlord before ’twas too late?

“What is it?” Aidan didn’t look up from his task of freeing the female’s ponderous breasts. Once he’d

loosened her bodice, his big hand dipped down to grasp one.

“This boy demanded to see you.”

Boy.
Males always assumed she was of their sex, simply because she wore trews and carried a

sword.

Aidan turned, his gaze fal ing on Regin. “Who are you?” he asked, his deep voice booming. Throughout

the hal , the enthusiastic skirmishes and fornicating slowed.

She answered honestly, “I am a weary traveler in need of assistance.”

At her words, his brows drew together. “You sound … familiar.” He removed his hand from the

woman’s bodice and sat up straighter, his demeanor now tense. As if her very voice had set him on

edge. “Though your accent is strange.”

“Yours is not my first tongue.” She spoke the ancient language of the immortals first, his Norse mortal

language second.

“Come forward.”

Though it nettled to take orders from a mere human, Regin stepped forth.

His gaze grew alert, assessing. She knew he was scrutinizing everything about her—her walk, the

uncommonly fine material of her cloak, the gold brooch that clasped the hood in place.

The wench tried to reclaim his attention by cupping his face, but Aidan brushed her hand away. When

she wriggled suggestively in his lap, he scowled at her and said something in her ear that sent her

flouncing away with a huff.

But the woman couldn’t prevent a longing glance over her shoulder.

For some reason, his dismissal of the buxom brunette gladdened Regin. She supposed she was

merely relieved to have his ful attention. “I saw you on the battlefield today, warlord. You fought wel .” As ever, her thoughts left her lips without any mediation. Lucia’s words repeated in her mind:
You have to
learn to hold your tongue. You could try even a glacier’s patience.

He leaned forward. “Boy, we are berserkers—we
all
fight wel .”

’Twas not true. She jerked her thumb at a young black-haired man to Aidan’s right. “Not him. His

guard’s too low.”
Hold your tongue, Regin!

After a stunned silence, a few awkward chuckles sounded. Even Aidan grinned, then seemed startled

by his reaction.

The man she’d insulted shot to his feet and stalked closer, his green eyes narrowed. “I’l show you a

low guard.”

At once, Regin dragged her long sword from its sheath, raising it between them.

He gave her a look of disgust. “That sword’s bigger than you are, cur.”

“The better to teach you to raise your guard, mongrel.”

As more chuckles sounded, the man’s fists clenched, his muscles tensing, growing. … Already on the

verge of berserkrage.

“Stay your hand, Brandr,” Aidan ordered.

Perhaps coming here was a mistake. These men were too violent and quick-tempered to aid her. And

that was something for a Valkyrie to suppose!

Even Aidan, who had appeared to possess more control of himself than the others, now seemed to

seethe with …
something
.

And though the berserkers were Wóden’s guards, perhaps they would hurt her if they found out she

was female. What would Lucia do? She’d leave this place anon without revealing herself as a woman.

“Boy, you are either very brave or very stupid to goad one of my strongest warriors,” Aidan remarked.

“Now, tel me why you’ve come to my hal .” He tilted his head at her. “And why you’ve covered your skin

like an aged druid.”

Brandr grated, “The whelp probably had the pox.”

Pox? She’d just stifled a hiss at him when Aidan said, “Enough.” He rubbed the blond stubble on his

chin. “Were you il , then? Mayhap you haven’t the strength needed to wield that long blade—or to taunt

men bigger than you.”

Regin’s eyes went wide. “Haven’t the strength?” She might only be twelve, and stil vulnerable to harm,

and ’twas true her blasted sword was far too big for her, but she could massacre al these mortals with

tooth and claw if need be—

Brandr struck without warning, lunging for her. Before she could defend herself, he’d delivered two

punishing blows to her wrist, knocking the sword from her grip.

When he straightened with a smirk, she gladly dismissed the weapon as her instincts took over. She

leapt atop a table to her right, then bounded back to the left in front of him, raking her claws across his chest.

Gods, the feel of rending flesh … what need have I for a sword?

Landing softly, she hunched low, ready to spring again as the towering warrior bel owed, “He carries

hidden daggers?” He gaped at the deep furrows in his skin, slashes that had severed even his leather

scabbard. “Aidan, his death is mine! Any tal er, and he’d have slit my throat.”

Regin said, “I
chose
not to slit your throat. Thank me with ale.”

Suddenly a huge palm closed over her nape. Another hand captured her wrists behind her. Hissing with

fury, she twisted around and sank her smal fangs into a brawny forearm.

’Twas the warlord! Aidan had her. How had he moved so quickly?

Lightning struck outside, thunderclaps rattling the hal .
If only the bolt would hit me!

“Cease this!” He roughly jostled her until she had to release her bite. Before she could blink, he had

her cloak clutched in his fist.

“Nay! Do not!”

He ripped it back. Sucked in a breath. Promptly dropped her.

Al around her, wide-eyed men closed in. She hissed again, pivoting to keep the threats in sight, baring

her claws and her fangs.

One of them asked, “What
is
she?”

Aidan frowned down at her. “She is merely a little … girl.”

Brandr said, “By Wóden’s beard, she glows!”

Regin spat, “He does not wear a beard!”

At her words, recognition flashed in Aidan’s expression. His gaze lit on her pointed ears, then her

eyes. By the way he stared, she knew they were wavering from amber to silver. “You are a Valkyrie. The

one whose skin lights up the night. We’ve heard tales of you.”

“You know nothing of me!”

Raising his brows in chal enge, he quoted a recent edda: “‘Eyes like amber cast in sun, skin and hair of

firelit gold. Formed to war, courage as none, beauty to behold.’ You are Reginleit the Radiant.”

Now several of the men murmured,
“Reginleit,”
in awed tones.

But not Aidan. He shook his head. “Brightling, you are a very long way from home.”

Of course that ass Brandr said, “
She
is one of Wóden’s treasured daughters?”

Shoulders back, Regin said, “Most treasured. Above al my sisters.” Except for Lucia. And Nïx. Likely

Kaderin. No need for these mortals to know that perhaps she was not a favorite of his.
At present.

“Then why are you in the middle of a war, instead of the safety of Valhal a?” Aidan seemed angry about

this. “You’re so smal .” He’d begun to look at her with a peculiar intensity, different from the other men’s, more … protective.

“What concern is it of yours where I might be?” She shoved her braids from her forehead, lifting her

chin. “And I’m not
that
smal .”

“You are”—he ran a hand over his face—“
young
.”

Beside him, Brandr asked, “What is it, friend? Your eyes grow fierce.”

Aidan opened his mouth, closed it. Then he gazed around the scene as if seeing it anew. “Gods.” He

reached for her with a hand raised, as if to shield her vision. “Come with me, little one. ’Tis no place for you.”

She backed up a step.

He cast her a disapproving frown. “I have pledged my life to serve your father; you were born of his

lightning. I could no more harm you than I could myself.” When she relaxed not one whit, he said, “Come.

You must be hungry. You can dine in my quarters.” He gathered her sword, offering it to her hilt first.

“There wil be plenty to eat.”

They
would
have plenty of food. His army had scavenged this countryside like locusts. Al the game that she could have hunted had been slain.

She peered up, regarding his face. The mortal did seem to have an honest visage. And mayhap he’d

do as she bade, or at least give her a horse and enough food for her journey.

Regin accepted her sword, sheathing it. But when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders

protectively, she stiffened. “I can walk on my own, berserker.”

Under his breath, he said, “’Tis a display of favor I offer you before al .”

“A display of favor,” she said in a dry tone. “From a
mortal
. Then how can I possibly continue without it?” She al owed him to usher her through the crowds of staring warriors and wenches.

A few berserkers sought to touch her “fair locks” or “alight skin,” but Aidan’s hand tightened over her

shoulder, his eyes blazing even brighter. He cast the men a baleful look and they al retreated without

another word, their faces paling.

Once she and Aidan had navigated the hal ’s gauntlet and exited into the summer night, he visibly