Page 47 of The Viking in the Vault
“Is it alright if my mate takes your fenvarra to lunch?” Thorne asks, eyes sliding from them to me.
I tense immediately. The word mate—his mate—rings in my ears, a claim spoken so easily, so casually. There is no question of it, no uncertainty. Mate. As if it were that simple.
I exhale through my nose, glancing at Elena. She’s watching us with open curiosity, her eyes flicking between me and the Borean’s female—Page, I think. She’s smiling, gesturing toward the door as she speaks, and Elena, despite her obvious frustration at being caught between languages, seems to understand something of the offer. Her shoulders relax, her lips quirk at the edges.
She trusts them.
And that, above all else, makes my decision for me.
I don’t like it. Not one bit. But I nod. Once.
Thorne smirks slightly—just enough to make my fists itch—but he doesn’t push his luck. He murmurs something in his mate’s tongue, and Page claps her hands together before motioning for Elena to follow her. Elena hesitates at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. Her expression is unreadable, but something about the way she looks at me—like she’s leaving something unsaid—sends a tightness through my chest.
Then, with a small wave, she’s gone.
Thorne exhales, watching her go before turning back to me. “She’ll be fine,” he says. “Page has a way of making people feel at ease.”
I huff but say nothing, rolling my shoulders as I try to rid myself of the tension clinging to me like frost.
“So,” Thorne says, settling onto a chair. “Let’s see how much of this translator project we can knock out before she gets back, yeah?”
I exhale sharply and lower myself onto the opposite chair, bracing myself for what’s to come.
I will learn their words. I will speak to her.
And when she returns, I will finally tell Elena what she means to me.
19
ELENA
Page McRae…I know that name.
Because like—everyone does.
There was a huge stir in Mythara last year when a human historian discovered the most valuable source of all time: a living, breathing Borean magister who lived through the fall of the Borean republic and the rise of the Empire. He’s the last of his kind, and she’s his mate.
Which means she has a unique perspective on whatever the hell is going on between me and Ragnar—who might be the new most valuable source of all time.
Lots of that going around these days.
I sneak a glance at her as we walk, trying not to make it obvious that I’m studying her. Page looks…normal. Which is strange, given everything I know about her. There’s nothing about her that screams pioneer of interstellar historical studies or mate to the last living Borean. She’s dressed in a comfy grey sweater and light leather jacket, brown hair in short waves, and I think she might actually be younger than I am. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was just another scholar.
But I read. I pay attention to the news. So I know she stood at the center of an academic firestorm, there was a wholefreaking tribunal…she rewrote our understanding of the Skoll Lost Expeditions: the expeditions that Ragnar claims to have been part of.
Now she’s standing next to me.
Getting coffee.
It’s almost as strange as having an ancient alien viking drink hot chocolate in your living room.
The doors to the hospital slide open with a soft hiss, and the crisp air of Snowveil rushes in to greet us. Behind us, the hospital is one of those strange, hodgepodge buildings that looks like it was made by at least ten different aliens with vastly different ideas about architecture…which it probably was. The main structure is sleek and modern, with glass panels, reinforced alloy beams, and soft glowing signage. The wings that extend outward each have their own character: Merati opal and coral, Nyeri’i cybertech, Skoll stone.
Ragnar is somewhere in that Skoll section…and it’s almost like I can feel him pulling me back.
The cold is biting, but nothing I can’t handle; I’m used to it. Page, on the other hand, curses under her breath.
“Fuck, it’s fucking cold here,” Page mutters, her foul mouth catching me off guard. Yet again—another surprise from the girl who caused such a stir on M’mir. “How do you live like this?”
