Tormund stomped the snow in the yard behind the inn, his breath fogging the air. “Are you ready?” he called to Bryn as she stepped into the yard. “You promised me a fight.”
Dawn light softened the firm lines of her mouth and gilded her hair. The merlin fluttered down from the rooftop and alighted on the gauntlet she wore. Bryn seemed a creature made of fire, and the hard leather body armor she wore did little to hide her curves.
His mouth went dry as he beheld them.
The bodice she wore today was cut lower than any he’d seen her wear, and her rounded breasts threatened to spill free. She had hips a man could get a fierce hold of, and a soft, rounded belly he wanted to taste. And those thighs….
“Those eyes don’t look like you’re challenging me to a fight, big man,” she told him, a hard light flaring to life in her pretty green eyes. “They look like they’re contemplating another style of body-to-body combat.”
He couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Guilty. But you look glorious this morning. And I think this is your first attempt at disarming me.”
“You think I need to disarm you with these?” She pointed to her breasts.
“I think you fight dirty, woman. And you will stoop to nothing to bring a man to his knees.”
A hint of a smile touched her lips. Bryn lifted the leather gauntlet on her left hand and cooed at the merlin that rested atop it. “Oh Sýr, this fool thinks I need to disarm him in order to beat him.”
“Greater men have tried to disarm me and failed. Stop stalling, woman. We’re due to leave as soon as Haakon returns from his morning run, and he has the appalling tendency to complete five miles in just over half an hour. It’s sickening.”
“The only time I run is when something monstrous is chasing me. And even then, I’d prefer to fight it.”
“A woman after my own heart.”
“Merely a woman who knows her leather corset isn’t that good at defying gravity.”
His gaze strayed to her breasts. Fair enough. “Now I know you’re definitely trying to distract me.”
She tossed a tidbit to the merlin—he didn’t want to know precisely what it was but he could see a flash of fur—and then lifted her wrist. The merlin flung itself into the air and then soared into the trees, its banded wingspan almost as wide as his arm was long. Bryn drew her sword with a dangerous smile. “Be on your guard then. Or what little guard you have. Your defenses are shit.”
“Ah, love, you’ve got the sweetest mouth I’ve ever heard.” Tormund grinned, drawing his axe and slipping his arm through the loop on the small shield he sometimes carried. “If you can get past my shield, I’ll concede.”
Bryn circled him. “Concede what?”
“That you are the greater warrior.”
“Oh, no,” she told him. “I already know that. If I win, then I want more.”
Interesting. “What did you have in mind?”
Her eyes narrowed on him, but he pointed the axe at her. “Not the beard. The beard stays.”
Bryn’s answering smile was completely wolfish. “You should never tell me your weaknesses. Now I know exactly where to strike.”
She suddenly swung the sword at him, and Tormund met it with a clash of the shield. Steel shrieked on steel, and then Bryn backed away with a devilish twinkle in her eyes.
She really was excited to do this.
An odd way of courting, but oh well….
“Is it going to burst into flame again?” he asked.
“Why? Scared of fire, big man?”
“No.” He hefted his axe. “But I happen to quite like my beard, and I’m starting to wonder whether you do.”
It startled a laugh from her. “I hate beards. But yours is safe.”
“Hate beards?” he demanded in mock horror. “I thought you a sane woman.”
“They’re prickly, and they itch.” As soon as she said the words, he saw her eyes widen as if she realized the trap she’d just walked into.
“Were you planning on getting amorous with my beard?”
“I am planning nothing with your beard. Your beard looks like the backside of a bear.”
“I think you’re thinking about my beard a lot,” he told her. “You’ve brought it up again.”
“I didn’t bring it up! You—”
“All I mentioned was my fondness for it. You’re the one who took it beyond a mention.”
Bryn closed her eyes, both hands locking around the hilt of her sword as she took a deep breath. She exhaled loudly. “Has anyone ever told you how irritating you are?”
“Frequently. Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are when you’re angry?”
That earned another fierce glare. “Nobody has ever dared. Not while I’ve got a sword in my hand.”
He grinned. “Your eyes spit sparks and your lips are practically kissable.”
Bryn advanced upon him. “You know, I was planning to be kind this morning, but I think I’m going to enjoy this. I know what I want if I win, Tormund.”
It wasn’t going to be a kiss.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not shaving the beard.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
“If my beard becomes a bartering chip, then you’re going to have to offer something good in exchange.”
“A kiss, no doubt.”
Too easy. “Sweetheart, when I want a kiss from a girl, I don’t need to beg or barter for one. No. She’ll be the one begging. I want a secret.”
Bryn looked like she’d bitten into something sour. “A secret?”
“Something you’ve never told anyone before.”
“I think I’d prefer the kiss,” she said with some disgust. “I don’t share secrets.”
“You keep to yourself,” he pointed out. “You prefer to drink alone. And heaven help the poor lad who looks at you twice. You’re starting to engage my curiosity, my lady fair.”
“You’ve looked at me more than twice and still seem to be pestering me. And lady fair?”
A shrug. “I’m still trying to come up with a pet name for you. And you haven’t scared me away. I have a stubborn constitution.”
“Yet,” she said.
Ever.
“And if you start calling me ‘my lady fair’ you might want to start sleeping with a knife under your pillow.”
“Haven’t you realized, love? I don’t scare very easily. And are you planning to sneak into my blankets of a night? Be careful, Bryn. You might wake the Beast.” He waggled his eyebrows and tipped his chin downward.
“Ugh.” She launched forward, striking for his right side this time. “I swear to the gods that you might just be the most arrogant man I’ve ever met. You named your cock?”
He danced back, sweeping the blow aside with the axe. “I’ll take it that means you agree. The beard for a secret. And why not give it a name? It’s virtually its own entity.”
“You’ve given me good incentive not to lose. Have you ever used a sword before?” she asked as she hammered a set of blows at him that made his forearm vibrate.
Hell, she was strong.
“Yes, though I prefer an axe,” he said breathlessly. “I’m told I swing a sword like a meat cleaver.”
Bryn’s eyes never shifted off his stance. “Haakon?”
“Haakon,” he confirmed and then held his arms wide. “Are you going to attack? I’m tired of this dancing around, woman.”
This time, the smile that lit her eyes was real. “I think Haakon’s right. You have a death wish.”
And then she lunged forward, impossibly fast.
It was all he could do to keep her off him. And though they’d promised to spar, he heard the whine of steel as he ducked beneath a blow that could have taken his head from his shoulders.
Tormund backed away. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Bryn sank down into a wary stance. “Haven’t you realized yet? I’m not very nice, Tormund. Nice is what the world wants its women to be, and invariably it then sets their world on fire. Fuck nice. This way I get to be the one with the flint and tinder.”
Her sword moved forward again, but he recognized the way she held back, and sure enough, she riposted back the other way, spinning and hammering a kick toward his head.
Tormund swung the shield up, and the vibration through the steel made his ears ring. He lowered the shield. “Predictable.”
Bryn gave him a dangerous smile and started to run at him.
He swung the axe to block the blow he thought was going to come, but she hit the ground, sliding between his legs. At the last second he leaped out the way, the sword narrowly missing parts he held with a great deal of fondness.
“Not. Nice!” This time he stabbed a finger toward her. “You almost split my trousers.”
“Almost,” she said with a snort, hurtling to her feet. “There was no almost about it.”
He took a step toward her, and that was when he felt his trousers gape. Air rushed into parts unmentionable. Tormund looked down.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “The important bits are still there.”
Mother of dragons. He growled under his breath. “No more playing.”
“Who was playing?” she taunted. “Let’s start this lesson.”
The dance of weapons brought them body-to-body, his shoulder slamming into hers. Bryn huffed, dancing back, and then she was cutting to the side, the edge of the blade dangerously close to his lower abdomen.
Tormund jammed his axe between them just in time.
“First mistake,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. “Don’t ever let me in under your guard. Your proficiency with an axe relies upon the ability to swing it. Reach is your strength. Close range is mine.”
Somehow he found the tip of her sword between his legs, pausing at the juncture of his thighs.
Tormund froze, lifting onto his toes.
But she gave him a dangerous grin and then danced away, allowing him the chance to breathe easily.
“I’m starting to reconsider my first impression of you,” he growled.
“Oh, and what was that?”
“I thought to myself, here’s a gorgeous woman who can slay draugr and has the sweetest smile when she’s not plotting to kill someone. I’d best marry her and make sure she’s mine.”
“And now?”
“Now I realize that smile is pure evil, and you are the devil incarnate.”
“A good thing you discovered that before it was too late.”
She swung low, but he met the blow with the axe and whirled, slamming his shield into her side.
“Too late?” he asked, breathing hard as she recovered.
“Before you married me.”
Tormund shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart. What made you think I’d reconsidered that part of the proposition?”
Bryn attacked again. He shoved her back with the shield and pure, brute strength, and saw fury light her eyes when she realized it.
“Pure, common sense,” she growled, hammering at him.
Axe, shield, axe…. He met each blow, driving her back.
“No one ever thought I owned much sense, Bryn. I love hard, I laugh frequently, and I never think of the risks. Life is meant to be lived. A heart is meant to be given.” When her sword hit the shield, he slammed her back, ramming her into the tavern wall, where she was pinned behind the shield. Her heated breath licked over his lips, and Tormund leaned close enough to kiss her. “Even if you break my heart, it will be worth it for the sheer glory of every moment we share.”
Bryn froze, strands of red-gold hair falling into her eyes.
“You’re a fool,” she whispered.
He gave into temptation and kissed her. Hard.
A soft gasp escaped her and he tasted her breath on his tongue. Those lips were just as soft as they looked, and twice as tempting. And there was a moment where she wilted into him, kissing him back.
But he felt her begin to shift, and twisted his hips to the side as her knee drove up into his thigh.
Backing away with a laugh, he gave her a wink. “Not nice, Bryn. Not nice. But I think I’m working out how to disarm you.”
She wiped her mouth, and glory to the gods, she looked furiously roused. “You son of a bitch. You reckless”—she slammed the sword at his shield, not even bothering to strike at him—“foolish”—another ringing blow—“bastard.”
“Was it the kiss?” he dared ask, the second her sword gave him the chance to breathe. “Or the fact I pinned you?”
A small scream of fury echoed in her throat, and then she darted at the wall beside him, driving one foot off it as she launched herself high in the air. He was forced to one knee, slamming the shield up between them. The jarring screech of steel squealed in his ears, but he surged upright, using the shield to fling her off.
“Both,” she snapped.
“Your eyes were saying ‘kiss me.’”
“Maybe they were,” she shot back, circling him like a rabid wolf. “But you haven’t won a kiss yet.”
“Oh”—he leaned back as the sword whined past his nose—“is there a kiss on the table now?”
“Not anymore. Second rule: When on the back foot, attack hard.”
She launched forward, swinging a nasty combination of strikes at him. He deflected each one. Barely. But she moved as if she’d been born to battle, and she was both cunning and ruthless.
And his shield arm was starting to tire.
“There it is,” she said breathlessly, as he didn’t quite lift the shield high enough.
“You’re starting to flag. Fight back. You need to finish this quickly if you’re to stand a chance at beating me.”
“I don’t want to—”
“If you say ‘hurt you’ then I’m going to stop being so kind.”
Fine. His temper roused.
The second she lanced in for a snaking strike, he spun and snapped his elbow up in instinct. There was a loud crunch and then she was staggering back, landing on her arse in the snow with blood droplets spattering her upper lip.
“Shit.” He lowered his axe. “I didn’t mean to—”
Those glorious green eyes narrowed. Then her hips were swiveling, and her foot flying. A boot locked behind his, and down he went, slamming into a snowdrift.
Two seconds later she was upon him. The sword was gone. So too was his axe. His left arm lay pinned by the shield. Tormund barely had time to breathe.
The edge of a knife kissed the skin of his throat and Tormund froze, looking up into the coldest expression he’d ever seen as he slowly arched his head back in surrender.
“Fine,” he told her in an amiable voice. “I’m dead. You’ve proved your point. Now”—he winced and shifted a little—“unless you want my trousers to split further, you may have to stop sitting on me.”
Bryn’s breath steamed in the air, and she blinked, as if realizing exactly where she was. “Split further?”
She looked down.
Their predicament became clear.
Hard thighs straddled his own, her tight vest thrusting her breasts high. Gods, he wanted to touch them. And the rest of him wanted to make her acquaintance too. Which was clearly outlined against the remaining scraps of his leather trousers.
Bryn crawled off him, shaking her head and wiping the blood from her lip. “I had a knife to your throat and you were thinking with your cock?”
“Technically, it’s the smarter of the two of us at times.” He shoved himself upright. The cold breeze whispered past his groin. Damn it. “And I knew you weren’t going to kill me. Let me have a look at that nose.”
Bryn ducked away, wiping it with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s fine.”
He captured her face in his hands, holding her firmly in place. “You’re not—”
And then he blinked.
There was not a hint of blood on her lip. He was fairly certain he’d split it.
“I’m fine,” Bryn repeated in a dangerously soft voice that made him aware of how close they stood. “And I won.”
Turning away from him, she grabbed her sword.
“You won,” he repeated, rubbing at his beard. “Surely you’re not going to ins—”
“Oh, I am. Consider it penance for stealing a kiss you hadn’t earned. The beard goes, Tormund. I want to see those pretty pink cheeks.”
“Well, you may as well enjoy them for all of a day,” he grumbled. “My beard will be back before three days are out.”
“Then I will enjoy it.”
“Who taught you to fight?” He flipped the shield up into his hand with his boot, and then arched his brows when he saw the dents she’d made on the other side. “What the hell were you hitting me with?”
It wasn’t his imagination. Her hand faltered as she moved to sheathe the blade, before she rammed it home as if to prove there’d been no hesitation. “My mother taught me to fight. And I was only using a sword.”
Hell of a sword. He eyed it. Either its magic could dent solid steel, or she was as strong as three men. “She was good with a sword?”
“She was.”
“How old were you when she—”
Bryn whirled on him. “Enough of the questions. This was a waste of time. We’re not friends, and nor is there anything else between us. I don’t owe you any secrets. I am here to help you find Marduk, and then I’m going to take my coin and walk away.”
He fell into stillness, even as she backed away a step. Interesting. “Second rule of defense,” he told her softly.
When on the back foot, attack hard.
Bryn’s eyes widened. “I’m not….”
He arched both eyebrows.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, shooting him an angry look. Snow whirled beneath her boots as she stalked away.
Tormund sighed and fell back into the snow. “Prickly,” he muttered, as he swept his arms and legs wide, creating wings in the snow.
But he was not a man to admit defeat.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Bryn hissed to herself as she stuffed her things in her travel bag.
She looked up and met her eyes in the mirror.
There was not even a hint of blood. Not anymore. And Tormund had seen it. He knew he’d hit her hard enough to split her lip and had to be wondering why she’d stopped bleeding so swiftly.
This was what came from getting close to a man. She hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d let those generous smiles and twinkling eyes soften her, and she’d very nearly betrayed her heritage.
Bryn swallowed, her gaze lowering to her lip. Even though she was half mortal, there was enough Valkyrie left within her to make her heal exceptionally fast.
She was going to have to make it bleed again, just to assuage his doubts. Curling her fist, she winced a little.
She should never have sparred with him. Never have bathed with him.
Never have let him get close.
Why the hell did he have to be so charming?
“What happened to your beard?” Haakon stopped in his tracks the second he saw Tormund on the stairs.
“It’s a long story.” He scrubbed at his newly pink cheeks. Damn it. But he was a man of his word.
Haakon’s eyebrows rose. “Does it involve a dangerous redhead?”
“It might,” he said in a noncommittal voice.
Haakon fell into step beside him. “There’s something about her story that I don’t trust.”
“You don’t trust anybody,” Tormund pointed out. “Except for me and Árdís.”
Haakon gave him a long, slow look.
“I’m not a fool.” Tormund shouldered his bag. “There are a lot of things about Bryn’s story that don’t add up. I’m interested in finding out what those things are. That’s all.”
“That’s not all, and you and I both know it,” his cousin told him irritably.
“Well, we can’t all fall in love with dreki princesses.”
“She’s remarkably interested in finding Marduk.”
“He owes her money and she likes money.”
Haakon grabbed him by the wrist. “Even if there’s nothing sinister in her background, she’s still intent upon using us to find him.”
“And I am aware of that.” He sighed. “Don’t worry about me, Haakon. I’m not a fool. My eyes are wide open. She’s secretive, prickly and the glitter of gold gleams in her eyes. But there’s something about her that tells me she’s not just hiding a secret, she’s hiding her heart. She doesn’t like me talking about her mother. Something happened. Something bad. And I am going to discover what it is.”
Haakon finally let him go with the shake of his head. “A vulnerable redhead with a secret. It seems as though some god somewhere has wrapped up all your weaknesses in one enticing package.”
“Fate,” he said with a wink. “She can fight too.”
“Tor—”
“I’m in love, Haakon. Who am I to deny the will of the gods?”
Haakon shoved past him moodily. “I’m going to remind you of this when you’re crying in your cups.”
“Let’s go find our dreki packhorse. We’ve got half a continent to traverse, a prince to find, and a gorgeous redhead to seduce.”
“That’s if Sirius doesn’t dump us in the Caspian Sea. And if Bryn doesn’t slit your throat for a gold kroner.”
Tormund clapped a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “There, there, cousin. She wouldn’t go for the throat. She’d go for my balls.”