Page 16 of The Viking in the Vault
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.
