Chapter Eighteen

The knitting had been Helen’s idea, brought about by Brenna asking what she was doing one day in the back of the van. She had seen knitting before on her travels, usually by little old ladies in the bus stations as they waited for arrivals and departures, but not up close. Now, as they spent hours every day sitting side by side, she was pulled in by the hypnotic movement of Helen’s hands, seen up close. She finally asked the older woman what exactly she was doing.

Helen immediately pulled out a spare pair of needles and handed them over, laughing as Brenna initially held them like knives, gripping them tight.

“I was hoping you’d ask. Lucy gave up on the second day out.”

Lucy, sitting in front of them, leaned back with a laugh. “I don’t have the patience.” She held up her cell phone, showing off a brightly colored game. “This is all I need to fill my spare time.” With a laugh, she turned back to tapping the tiny screen. “If I can ever get past Level 232…”

“I’m making hats for newborns.” Helen showed her the tiny square. “They go to the local hospitals, get handed out to all the babies. Here.” She took hold of Brenna’s fingers and manipulated the long plastic sticks, tucking her elbows down. “Let me get you some wool and we’ll start on a basic stitch. After that, the sky’s the limit!”

She couldn’t think of a reason to object, so she followed Helen’s lead.

It’d become a daily routine in the van, sitting side by side working on what might turn into a scarf, if she was lucky. Helen didn’t have any issue with her not joining in making hats and noted a scarf was a worthy project.

“Depending on where you go, you might need it.” She passed over another ball of brightly colored wool, adding a sky blue onto the previous dark green. “It’ll be spectacular.”

The rhythmic knocking of the needles reminded her of the warriors’ chants she used to hear echoing through the Great Halls. The two women sat there while Lucy chatted away, a mundane routine easy to fall into.

It was startling. Her single goal for almost a year had been to chase Erik down and kill him. Now she had to find something else to do, to focus on. Other than the man sitting in the seat ahead of her. She swallowed hard, tamping down the surge of desire rushing to the surface every time he caught her eye in the mirror.

She worried about Kara being on their trail. And for those around them who could suffer for their friendship.

That wasn’t all that nagged at her. There was something else, grinding against her nerves every morning she rose with the other women in the tent and helped with breakfast and packing up the camp before they piled into the van and drove off.

It’d been a full two weeks, and she couldn’t hold back anymore.

She crept out through the small opening, slipping her shoes on. The morning dew settled on the grass as she walked into the nearby clearing. The need was too much, and she couldn’t deny herself a minute longer.

Brenna needed to pick up her old routine, the shadow sparring and fighting a major part of her life for centuries. If she was going to fight Kara, she had to keep her edge—and that meant getting back into regular practice.

She might have been forced to use a knife in her attempt to kill Erik, but deep down, she missed her lance. Brenna longed to have it in her hands, the lightweight metal cool to her touch.

A long stick would have to stand in for the time being. She searched through the brush until she found a nice one, straight and in excellent shape. A few minutes to strip off the tiny branches and she had as good a staff as she was likely to find out here.

Time to begin.

Brenna stood in the middle of the clearing and closed her eyes, settling her soul. These exercises had filled her life for decades, going right back to her initial training. It was a meditation of sorts, a way of connecting with Freyja.

The connection might not be there anymore, but the inner peace came to her, the memories taking control.

The rod cut through the air with ease, slashing and jabbing as she spun around. Her muscles burned with the effort, but she relished it, the exercises helping her become balanced.

In her mind, she was back in the enclave, standing with her sisters as they went through the morning ritual.

Spin. Twist. Jab.

She took a quick step forward and slashed with the staff.

The wooden stick hit something hard and snapped back, freezing her in place.

She opened her eyes to see Erik in front of her. He held a short branch, less than half the size of her staff.

He wore no shirt, his scars proudly on display. The gray track pants hugged his hips, the running shoes damp with dew. He gripped the baton and laid it flush against his forearm.

His eyes met hers, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

She smiled and attacked.

…

He couldn’t sleep. He’d always been an early riser and had assigned himself the task of getting breakfast started—or at least coffee. It’d taken a few minutes to get the fire going, settling the old dented pot over the flames.

He spotted Brenna creeping out of the tent, pulling on her shoes.

Running away?

He dismissed the thought, noting she had nothing but her clothing on. Wouldn’t be smart to leave without grabbing her duffel bag and some supplies.

Erik crept after her, watching as she trotted down the trail to a nearby empty clearing. Brenna strode around, hands on her hips as she studied the trees.

He watched her twist and move with her eyes closed, the elaborate routine a mixture of tai chi and karate, hypnotic and enticing even as he recognized the lethal strikes illustrated.

Her short blonde hair bounced off her shoulders as she spun and jabbed, sweat beading on her face as she moved.

Erik swallowed hard, the desire stirring in his groin. There was nothing sexy about this, but he was reacting, the dangerous dance striking deep into his heart and soul.

I must be losing my mind.

He had to do something.

He couldn’t resist a challenge.

Erik reached out and picked up a much shorter, thicker branch reminding him of a police baton. Solid in his hand, it reminded him that over the past week and a half he hadn’t done training of any sort.

Time for that to change.

He moved into the clearing, biding his time until an opening appeared in her silent ballet.

Erik stepped in, braced himself, and swung up.

The staff smashed into the wood, breaking the spell.

The reverberations shot up his arm, but he held his ground, the makeshift baton holding up well under the strike.

Her eyes flashed open and locked with his, the icy blue gaze melting as he smiled and raised an eyebrow, making the silent challenge.

Met and accepted.

She lunged forward as he did the same, moving within easy reach.

The battle was on.

…

Over the years, Brenna had sparred with hundreds of warriors. There were many fighters in Valhalla who came to the Valkyries and demanded a challenge—knowing if she struck them down, it wouldn’t be permanent and they would rise again at sunset. Few managed to get past her defenses and touch her armor before she ended the duel with a swift strike of her lance.

Freyja intended the Valkyries to be ready to fight when Ragnarok came. When they weren’t collecting souls, they practiced and sparred, fighting each other and those warriors willing to do so. Later on, she realized the deeper logic. The routines gave them the chance to purge themselves of the horrors witnessed on the battlefield, helping keep them sane.

Over the last few months, her skills might have grown stale, but she was having a good time keeping Erik at bay.

Good time meaning he was pushing her limits, the short strikes with his baton threatening to get past her invisible wall and score a blow. A light sheen of sweat covered his bare chest, the scars almost glowing as they moved around the rough circle.

She hesitated, her feelings in flux. A warmth flowed through her, a combination of the exercise and something else…something she was unsure what to do with.

“You’re not bad at this,” Erik said as he stepped to the side, avoiding a shoulder blow.

The comment brought her back out of her introspection. “Thank you.” She spun the staff over her back and narrowly missed catching him at the knees. “You as well.”

The sparring continued for a few seconds, her blood singing.

He was enjoying it, too, his face flushed as he ducked out of the way with a laugh.

As the time passed, his expressions changed, shifting to be more serious. There was no laughing, no smiling now.

He dropped and swept his leg out, forcing her to jump. Her heel landed on a rock, and she fell backward, landing with a huff as the air rushed out of her lungs.

Erik stood over her, breathing hard. He extended a hand, his short hair sticking to his forehead. His scruffy beard was already beginning to grow out, the rough bristles adding a more rugged, earthy look to his appearance. Now he looked more like a Viking, and it was easy to imagine him with a war ax, ready for battle.

A burst of desire flared up, the need in her inner core surprising her with its intensity and ferocity. Brenna blinked, and the emotion disappeared in a haze of confusion, leaving her sore and sensing she’d just missed out on something wonderful.

She gripped his hand and stood.

“Let me catch my breath.” He coughed, giving her a wide smile. “Been a long time since I had this type of work out.”

She leaned on the wooden stick, taking advantage of the short break to steady herself. “You’re doing well. Fully recovered from the warehouse fight?”

“Which one?” He let out a soft chuckle. “Not my best showing in either case.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Between Mad Matty, you, and Kara, I took a bit of a beating.”

“Kara.” Brenna sighed, her thoughts shifting. “She’s changed. She’s not the woman I remember, not the sister I left. She’s turned cold, heartless. I thought I knew her once but…” She shook her head. “I hope she sees her way clear of this folly. This isn’t what a Valkyrie does. This is not what’s in her soul.”

“She’s a woman on a mission. I don’t hate her, but I won’t let her win.” He took hold of the staff, his hand almost touching hers.

“She won’t give up the search. She’ll be as drawn to us as I was to you—there’s no stopping.”

“Drawn to me,” he corrected her. “Not like a year ago. On the battlefield where we met.”

A vice squeezed her chest, pushing the air from her lungs.

“Back then, when you came down from the sky…” He shook his head. “I thought you were a hallucination. A dream conjured by my mind to try and deal with the fact I was dying. You went to my men, to my people, and took their souls, and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

Brenna could do nothing but nod.

“I yelled at you, and you turned to me.” He tapped his chest. “Came over. Took off your helmet and knelt. You kissed me.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you take me with the rest? With Scotty and April? Was I not…” He hesitated, his voice strained. “Worthy enough?”

Her knees weakened as she stared at him, hearing the pain.

“Why didn’t you take me?” he repeated. “Why did you leave me behind?”

“Because…” Her throat felt swollen, the words forcing their way out. “Because I knew you were not destined for Valhalla, not then.” She blinked, aware of the tears blurring her vision. “You are more than worthy. I…” She paused. “I saw it in your eyes. You cared so much about your fellow warriors, you challenged me to fight for them. I don’t know how to describe it, but I knew it would have been wrong to take you.”

“I don’t quite understand, but that’ll have to do.” He drew a deep breath. “Explain the kiss to me.”

“The kiss?”

“The kiss.” He arched one eyebrow, one edge of his lips twitching upward. “I assume you remember that part of our first encounter.”

She fought to not put her hand to her mouth, the tingling on her lips reminding her of the fateful meeting.

“Why did you kiss me? You didn’t do that to all the men.”

“I don’t…” She fumbled over the words, trying to make sense of her scrambled thoughts. “I didn’t…”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t kiss me because that’s the one thing I remember clearly, the one thing that stuck with me through my entire recovery.” He moved in again, his voice strong and commanding. “So why?”

“I was curious. I didn’t know what it’d be like to kiss a man.” She spat the words out, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the staff.

“Never kissed a man before?” A spark of mischievousness flared in his eyes. “How about a woman?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean…” She gritted her teeth, done with this line of questioning. “I don’t kiss. Anyone. Never had a reason to.”

“I see.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “So, tell me—did you like it?”

Her mouth went dry as she stared at him, her mind going blank.

Brenna swallowed hard before springing two steps back and spinning the wooden stick around in both hands, taking refuge in the familiar routine.

She couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Right, then. Rest time’s over.” Erik shifted into a fighting stance, smirking. “Now that you’re warmed up, let’s see what you’ve got, Valkyrie.”

He feinted at her, prompting a fast strike that missed his head by inches, the staff slashing through the air with a swoosh. He let out a hoarse laugh and advanced on her, the baton flush against his arm.

He wasn’t playing around. Neither was she.

The time for games was over.

She lunged at him, smashing the rod against the rough wood. He flinched but kept his ground, replying with a hit against her forearm—not hard enough to break the bone but she’d have a bruise in a few hours.

The pain helped her focus as she took a step back, regaining the advantage of the staff’s long reach.

He crept forward, taking it away.

The staff came up and around Erik’s arm, pulling him in closer as she disarmed him. The club flew away to land in the nearby brush, forgotten.

He grabbed the stave and moved in, his hands falling on hers as he advanced.

Brenna growled and yanked the spear, hoping to dislodge her opponent.

It didn’t work.

Suddenly, he was inside her personal space and rendering the shaft useless as a weapon. His fingers overlaid hers, trapping them on the wood.

Her thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind. She heard him breathe, the short pants matching her own. His dark brown eyes locked with hers, finishing the connection.

Her arms burned, her legs burned as he leaned in and pressed his lips to her mouth, the heated touch sending her nerves ablaze.