The Valkyrie’s Mortal Read online

  The Valkyrie’s Mortal

  By Lily Harlem

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  The Valkyrie’s Mortal: text copyright © Lily Harlem 2018

  All Rights Reserved

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Lily Harlem.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Please note this book is intended for mature readers.

  Artwork by Studioenp.

  Editing by Writer Marketing Services.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Bonus Read

  Chapter One

  Odin’s words rang through Iona’s mind as she forged forwards on her magnificent steed:

  The web of war is again upon us. Follow the banners, charge with the heroes and bring only the worthy to Valhalla. Because it is you, my valkyrie, who will choose who is slain and who will remain.

  Her master, Odin, must be obeyed. He was her god, he was the brave warriors’ god and he had entrusted her to ride into the bloody battlefield and carry out his bidding.

  Iona’s horse galloped on and on, his hooves pounding on the hard ground. It was twilight and the darkening sky was streaked with fingers of red, orange and purple. On the horizon the spiked tips of forest trees pierced the bellies of the bloated clouds.

  Soon, the sounds of the battle penetrated Iona’s helmet. Shouts, screams and the heavy metallic clash of steel banging onto armour and shields. It wasn’t a noise she feared, it was a noise that meant it was time for her to work and carry out her duties.

  She was a foreboding, ethereal addition to the battle, and her arrival would run terror through the veins of any warriors who paused in the fighting to glance at the beautiful woman in their midst.

  From her helmet, stiff gold wings fanned out behind her and her hair was braided into two long plaits that hung to her waist and bounced with each pace of her horse. She wore a black corset dress that covered her breasts and stopped at the very tops of her thighs. Over this a long, black leather cloak with shoulder pads sporting more golden wings. On her feet, heeled black boots, rising above the knee and with wickedly pointed toes. She had a short belt, like a garter, buckled around her right leg. Here she kept her dagger.

  She drew near to the bloody scene. She kept going, entered the foray and was surrounded by jarring swords and screams of agony.

  She pulled to the right, avoiding a man who’d taken a painful but not fatal blow to his arm. Before her was a slain victim. Another valkyrie was tending him, bent protectively over his body, shoulders hunched as she made her decision.

  Iona pulled her horse to a halt. But he didn’t like standing and reared, front legs pawing the air and nostrils flaring as he snorted his protest.

  But something, or rather someone, had captured Iona’s attention, and as she gripped the reins and counterbalanced, she studied the mortal before her.

  He was a giant of a man, of Norse descent, and was skilfully swinging his sword at three enemies all attacking him at once. He’d lost his helmet revealing a long scar over his face and his blond hair hung down his back in great tousled curtains. He wore only trousers—foolhardy for war, unless like his helmet he’d lost his armour since the fighting began—and the muscles on his torso danced and flexed as he hoisted the great weight of his weapon through the air.

  Iona had never seen a more beautiful earthly man.

  Her mouth went dry and her breasts pressed against the front of her corset. An ache grew between her legs.

  She had to have him.

  Instinctively she knew the name he went by.

  Asger Holt of Esthland.

  Asger roared—head back, eyes flashing—as an invader raced towards him with weapon raised and aimed at Asger’s skull.

  He swung his sword upwards, blocked the attack, lunged and sent the man reeling to the ground as though he were nothing more than an insect.

  Behind him another aggressor sprang forwards with his sword held aloft.

  Again Asger obstructed the blow.

  He reminded Iona of Thor—strong, wild, undefeatable—and the woman in Iona longed to know how that power and dogmatic determination would translate in the bedchamber.

  Iona’s horse placed its front hooves on the mud-strewn ground and skittered to the left as again Asger was attacked. This time by a small man, fast and artful on his feet, who ran a full circle around him, long knife thrust forwards.

  “No,” Iona gasped. “No, not him.”

  But even as she spoke she saw it was too late. The smaller man had been swift and skilful as he’d stabbed, jabbed and embedded the knife deep in Asger’s chest.

  Asger dropped to the filthy ground, clutching a small wound that spurted blood into the air, which landed wetly on the churned, stained earth.

  Iona leapt from her horse and rushed to him.

  She’d done this many times in her eternal role as a valkyrie, but never had she felt such agony, such empathy. It was as though her chest had been pierced.

  “Asger Holt of Esthland,” she said, dropping to her knees and pressing her palm over the fatal wound.

  “Valkyrie…” he gasped, staring up at her with wide eyes, bluer than the sky at Valhalla.

  “Yes. I am here.”

  “But…” He coughed and a droplet of blood landed on his full bottom lip.

  “Shh.” Iona wiped the scarlet drip away with the pad of her thumb. “I am here. There is nothing to worry about. Soon the pain will disperse.”

  “You are…beautiful…”

  “Yes.” She pushed his hair from his eyes. “So are you, and now it is time for you to accompany me to Valhalla. You are a chosen one.”

  “No, no…” He screwed up his eyes, clearly in agony. “No. It is not my…time.” He shook his head, mud plastering the long strands of his hair.

  “That is not your decision.” Iona looked down at her hand, still pressed over his wide chest. Her skin was bright red with blood.

  His pulse was thready and his breaths coming in shallow wheezes. “Please. I have many more battles as a mortal, much to do. Don’t take me…not yet…one day…but not now.”

  He was weakening, his words fading. Life was leaking from him.

  “Why would you resist Valhalla?” Iona asked. “It is Odin’s paradise created just for you, his mighty warriors who wait to serve at Ragnarok.”

  “Doomsday is many…moons away…”

  “We do not know that. The five hundred and forty doors that surround the palace need to be sufficiently manned for when Ragnarok comes.”

  “I do understand…and I want to serve…but there is work to be done here.” His eyes rolled back, his earthly soul preparing to float from him.

  “Here? What do you have here? At Valhalla, you will live like a king, blissful under the leadership of your god. It is a splendid palace, roofed with shields and the warriors feast on the flesh of a boar slaughtered daily and made whole again each evening. They drink liquor that flows from the udders of a goat, and their sport is to fight one another every day and make love to valkyrie wo
men.”

  “I know. But not yet.” His eyes closed. “Please, what can I give you?”

  Iona looked at his ruggedly beautiful, mud- and blood-splattered face. She had the power to heal, to make his heart beat again. To give him what he wanted.

  “What can I trade?” he begged.

  “Your body.” Iona sucked in a breath. Had she really just said that?

  “It is yours.” He cracked his eyes open and set his gaze on her. “It would be an honour to be your mortal lover.”

  Iona lifted her free hand and pressed her fingertips over her lips. He’d known what she’d meant without her even having to speak the words.

  “Please,” he said, his voice weak. “Make the deal. I promise…I will uphold.”

  It was against the rules. The exact opposite of what she was supposed to do. But Iona couldn’t help herself. Even though she was supposed to bring the great and mighty warriors of the battlefield to Odin, she couldn’t resist keeping Asger on Earth. The thought of using his warm, hard body for pleasure was temptation personified and she wasn’t strong enough to walk away.

  She closed her eyes and murmured the sacred salvation prayer.

  The heavens above are too stained with the blood of men. Invested in me is the power of the valkyrie. Hear my song, hear my plea. Take swords unsheathed away from here and let life dwell another day.

  As she spoke the last word, Asger gulped in a great lungful of air. His chest inflated beneath her palm and the flow of blood stopped.

  She lifted her hand and looked at the wound. The skin tugged together, sealing the deadly hole. Within a few seconds it was as though Asger had never been injured.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice already stronger. “Thank you, valkyrie.”

  “Iona.” She leaned forwards, her braids brushing over his chest. “I am Iona. I am your valkyrie and you owe me, mortal.”

  “Yes. I owe you my life.” He reached up and gripped the side of her head, over her helmet. “And I am not a man who likes to be in debt.”

  “And I don’t like to be owed.”

  “So come to me. In Esthland.”

  “Oh, I will. I will. When you least expect me.” Iona brushed her lips over Asger’s, then stood. “Be prepared.”

  The wind had picked up and her cloak billowed out behind her. All around, the battle raged on. Men were dying and being brutally hacked, but all she saw was Asger. Asger Holt who owed her his life and also his body.

  Chapter Two

  Three months later Iona rode through the marshy fields that surrounded Asger Holt’s farm in Esthland. Time had no meaning for her, but still, this was a moment she’d been looking forward to—secretly of course, for she’d told no one of her deal with the mortal warrior she should have delivered to Odin.

  She spotted his dwelling and paused. It was a wooden structure set against the side of a lush green hill. The roof appeared to have grass growing over it from the adjoining rise of earth. Next to the main building was what looked like a low-pitched barn with a clutter of tools around the entrance; a cart, boxes, scythes, forks and barrels.

  Iona clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and urged her steed onwards. They followed the meander of the river, a wide gush of water, to Asger’s home. She knew he was there, she felt it in her blood and in every beat of her heart.

  When she was within twenty feet of the building she slid from her horse and left him standing, watching her. She walked, boots tapping on the roughly cobbled ground, to the entrance of the barn.

  She peered in. The light was dim and the scent of freshly harvested hay filled her nose.

  Standing in the middle of the building, amongst the dust motes, was Asger Holt. Again he was shirtless, but this time there was none of the fierce energy of battle surrounding him. He was calm, focused and drawing a plane along a wide, smooth piece of wood in long, even strokes.

  Iona paused and enjoyed the vision. He was even more beautiful than she remembered. He’d pulled his hair up to the centre of his head and braided it every few inches with strips of leather as it hung down his back. The rest of his scalp, above his ears, was shaved. His skin, bronzed and muscled from a summer of sun and manual labour, sported several battle scars and inked drawings. His cloth trousers sat low on his hips, the drawstring holding them having come loose. Like Iona, he wore boots that hugged his feet and calves. Laces wrapped around kept them secure and his lower garments tucked in.

  For a few blissful moments she watched him working. He was clearly a master carpenter as well as a farmer and an accomplished warrior.

  His biceps bunched and relaxed as he pulled the tool along the wood, sending a scatter of shavings to the ground. He bit on his lower lip, as though deep in concentration then frowned as he rubbed his palm along the plank, checking the smoothness of the surface.

  Iona wanted that hand on her. That palm sliding over her body and bringing her pleasure.

  “Asger Holt of Esthland,” Iona said, stepping into the barn, her cloak floating out behind her.

  He jerked his head up and looked at her. His lips were parted and his eyes wide. “Valkyrie,” he said, his voice low and rasping. “You have come to me.”

  “You knew that I would.”

  “Yes.” He set down his plane and straightened to his full height. “I did.”

  Iona walked deeper into the shadows. To her right a table was set with an assortment of tools and chunks of wood, to her left a large pile of hay. She reached out and touched the wood he was working on. It was warm and velvety.

  “What are you creating?” she asked.

  “I am repairing my boat before the next voyage. The stern has some damage.”

  “Voyage to where?”

  “A dangerous voyage with my men to visit a faraway land and take back what is rightfully ours.”

  Iona nodded. “You are right to prepare your vessel.”

  “My vessel is my lifeline.” He paused. “Apart, of course, from you.”

  Iona lifted her hand from the wood and touched her fingertips to the centre of his chest where he’d been fatally wounded.

  There wasn’t even a scar. Just healthy skin coated in golden body hair.

  He breathed deeply. “You have come to collect your debt.”

  “Yes,” Iona said quietly. Her body tingled and heat gathered between her legs. She hadn’t bedded a mortal before—usually it was the slain warriors in Valhalla that sated her needs.

  She wasn’t complaining, though—this was new and exciting and Asger Holt had ruled her thoughts and invaded her dreams since the day she’d met him.

  Asger tipped one side of his mouth into a half-smile “So how would you like to proceed?”

  Iona raised her head, jutting her chin upwards. “I want to know how mortal men take their women.”

  “But what if you do not like it?” He twitched his eyebrows, almost teasingly. “You are, after all, not of this earth.”

  “I am of a higher place. I can handle whatever this earth throws at me.” She frowned.

  “Ah, yes, but that was before you met me.” He reached out and wrapped his arms around Iona’s waist. He jerked her close, so her body pressed against the length of his.

  Iona gasped; the fast embrace and the sensation of his hot, hard skin stole her breath.

  “You saved my life,” Asger whispered hotly. “And for that I will be eternally grateful.”

  “I should have taken you to Odin.”

  “But you did not, you left me to fight another day. Many men want to kill me; women too, probably, but you…you let me live.”

  “I let you live on a condition.” Iona ran her hands over his shoulders, enjoying the feel of his warm flesh. “That you become my lover.”

  “I could never forget that condition.” He smiled. “And I do not think it will be a hardship.”

  He pressed his lips to hers in an intense, passion-infused kiss that made Iona dizzy.

  She moaned her pleasure and clung to his long braid of hair.


  He tilted his head, deepened the kiss and pushed his tongue between her teeth.

  Iona shifted even closer to him, her breasts pressing through the material of her corset dress onto his chest. “More,” she demanded into his mouth.

  He ground his pelvis into hers.

  She could feel his excitement, his desire for her. It increased her own desire, and impatience flooded her veins. She dragged her nails over his shoulders.

  He groaned and drew his head back. “You taste of paradise.”

  “And you taste of sweet ale.”

  “Let us be rid of this.” He reached up and tugged off her helmet. “I do not want to kill myself on the sharp points of the wings.”

  Iona watched as he carefully set aside her helmet—it was one of her most treasured possessions, a gift from Odin on the day of her first battle.

  “And this.” Asger slipped her cloak from her shoulders.

  The cool air inside the barn caressed Iona’s skin. Normally she wasn’t as aware of temperature but right now her senses were hyper-alert to everything. She wanted to experience it all; every taste, smell and touch.

  Asger took the cloak, laid it over the wood he’d been working on, then turned to look at Iona.

  He blew out a long, low breath and shook his head. “On the life of Odin, you are more beautiful than anything I have ever seen.”

  Iona knew she was beautiful—all valkyrie were creatures of paradise and stunning beyond all comparison. But when Asger Holt said it, with that lustful look in his eyes and admiration in his tone, she couldn’t help a flush of joy.

  “And you are a warrior to challenge all others,” she said, jutting out her hip and placing her hand on her waist.

  “And a lover to challenge all others.” He grinned, and, without looking away from Iona, removed his boots. “Are you ready?”

  “Always.”

  Iona gripped the front of her corset, where it joined. With one fast movement she tugged the garment open, revealing her nakedness beneath. She let the dress fall to the floor.