Former soldier Erik Harrison is a dead man walking. The sole survivor of an ambush, the guilt of losing his friends is crushing. He questions his own sanity, remembering the vision he saw as he was dying –– a battle angel come to collect his friends' souls.
Valkyrie Brenna Lund doesn't know why she failed in her duty to reap Erik's soul on the battlefield. He deserves his place with the other mighty warriors in Valhalla, and if she wants to return home, she has to kill him.
There are consequences for betraying the gods. But the closer Brenna and Erik become, the more they both want to risk everything for a future together. If only an immortal hunter weren’t sent to kill them both.
Valkyrie Brenna Lund doesn't know why she failed in her duty to reap Erik's soul on the battlefield. He deserves his place with the other mighty warriors in Valhalla, and if she wants to return home, she has to kill him.
There are consequences for betraying the gods. But the closer Brenna and Erik become, the more they both want to risk everything for a future together. If only an immortal hunter weren’t sent to kill them both.
Excerpt:
Freyja spied into your heart and knew you wouldn't be able to do it. She knew even before you did.
It should have been easy to take a tired, weary warrior. Even one like Erik.
The question now was why? This was the second time failing in her duty and she was no closer to finding out why.
She rubbed her face with her palm.
Brenna got to her feet and walked toward the bathroom.
Maybe there was some sort of clue about him, something she could pick up. Her only memory of him before tonight had been almost a year ago and under very different circumstances.
The door was ajar, the water running. She edged close enough to look in.
The breath caught in her throat as she gazed at Erik Harrison, his bare torso gleaming with sweat in the dim light. The shredded remains of his shirt lay on the floor along with his jeans and shoes, kicked to the side in a jumbled heap. He wore only a pair of tight boxer briefs riding low on his hips.
It wasn't like she didn't know what a naked man looked like. Berserkers donned a scrap of bear fur as armor as they charged into battle, racing to a glorious death. Armored knights rode, encased in metal charging onto the battlefield. Soldiers from all times and places sat together in the Halls, fought every day and celebrated all night. She'd seen them all.
Including Erik, in the cage only a few hours ago, facing his opponent and going down to defeat wearing much the same as he had on now.
But this... this was different.
He wasn't perfect, far from it. Erik's chest was dotted with white puckered scars, some the size of nickels and others as short slashes. As he turned she saw his back and other, older marks showing previous battles. Yet it didn't seem to detract from the power coming off him in waves, the silent strength evident with every move, every shift of his body. The muscles were tight and well-defined, not an inch of fat on his frame.
He winced as he pressed a damp cloth to the mottled bruises over his left rib cage. Matty had focused in on that during the fight and it showed. The swollen cut over his eye had stopped bleeding and was already going down but it still warranted a cleaning and a fresh bandage.
She couldn't take her eyes off him. The toned muscles seemed to be calling to her urging her to soothe his distress with her touch, offer to take the pain away somehow. Images flashed through her mind of the couples she'd seen in the shadows of the Great Halls, lovers stealing away for some private time before the never-ending battles started at dawn.
Brenna clenched her fingers, digging her nails into the skin to stay still. A flash of heat between her legs shocked her and she pressed her knees together, cursing in silence.
What is this madness?
***
