Dreams of a Dark Warrior Read Free

Lucia do? She’d leave this place anon without revealing herself as a woman.
    “Boy, you are either very brave or very stupid to goad one of my strongest warriors,” Aidan remarked. “Now, tell me why you’ve come to my hall.” He tilted his headat her. “And why you’ve covered your skin like an aged druid.”
    Brandr grated, “The whelp probably had the pox.”
    Pox? She’d just stifled a hiss at him when Aidan said, “Enough.” He rubbed the blond stubble on his chin. “Were you ill, then? Mayhap you haven’t the strength needed to wield that long blade—or to taunt men bigger than you.”
    Regin’s eyes went wide. “Haven’t the strength?” She might only be twelve, and still vulnerable to harm, and ’twas true her blasted sword was far too big for her, but she could massacre all these mortals with tooth and claw if need be—
    Brandr struck without warning, lunging for her. Before she could defend herself, he’d delivered two punishing blows to her wrist, knocking the sword from her grip.
    When he straightened with a smirk, she gladly dismissed the weapon as her instincts took over. She leapt atop a table to her right, then bounded back to the left in front of him, raking her claws across his chest.
    Gods, the feel of rending flesh … what need have I for a sword?
    Landing softly, she hunched low, ready to spring again as the towering warrior bellowed, “He carries hidden daggers?” He gaped at the deep furrows in his skin, slashes that had severed even his leather scabbard. “Aidan, his death is mine! Any taller, and he’d have slit my throat.”
    Regin said, “I
chose
not to slit your throat. Thank me with ale.”
    Suddenly a huge palm closed over her nape. Another hand captured her wrists behind her. Hissing with fury, she twisted around and sank her small fangs into a brawny forearm.
    ’Twas the warlord! Aidan had her. How had he moved so quickly?
    Lightning struck outside, thunderclaps rattling the hall.
If only the bolt would hit me!
    “Cease this!” He roughly jostled her until she had to release her bite. Before she could blink, he had her cloak clutched in his fist.
    “Nay! Do not!”
    He ripped it back. Sucked in a breath. Promptly dropped her.
    All around her, wide-eyed men closed in. She hissed again, pivoting to keep the threats in sight, baring her claws and her fangs.
    One of them asked, “What
is
she?”
    Aidan frowned down at her. “She is merely a little … girl.”
    Brandr said, “By Wóden’s beard, she glows!”
    Regin spat, “He does not wear a beard!”
    At her words, recognition flashed in Aidan’s expression. His gaze lit on her pointed ears, then her eyes. By the way he stared, she knew they were wavering from amber to silver. “You are a Valkyrie. The one whose skin lights up the night. We’ve heard tales of you.”
    “You know nothing of me!”
    Raising his brows in challenge, he quoted a recent edda: “‘Eyes like amber cast in sun, skin and hair offirelit gold. Formed to war, courage as none, beauty to behold.’ You are Reginleit the Radiant.”
    Now several of the men murmured,
“Reginleit,”
in awed tones.
    But not Aidan. He shook his head. “Brightling, you are a very long way from home.”
    Of course that ass Brandr said, “
She
is one of Wóden’s treasured daughters?”
    Shoulders back, Regin said, “Most treasured. Above all my sisters.” Except for Lucia. And Nïx. Likely Kaderin. No need for these mortals to know that perhaps she was not a favorite of his.
At present.
    “Then why are you in the middle of a war, instead of the safety of Valhalla?” Aidan seemed angry about this. “You’re so small.” He’d begun to look at her with a peculiar intensity, different from the other men’s, more … protective.
    “What concern is it of yours where I might be?” She shoved her braids from her forehead, lifting her chin. “And I’m not
that
small.”
    “You are”—he ran a hand over his face—“
young
.”
    Beside him, Brandr