Chapter One
“Well, well, look what the cats dragged in.” Eira smirked at the pair of huge, stone-faced guards standing off to the side in the main foyer of Folkvang—her goddess Freya’s grand palace. There were marbled tiles, gilded moldings, and halls aplenty for drinking, whoring, and fighting. Because anyone who didn’t fight didn’t belong in the godlands.
Life with the goddess in Asgard—the immortal realm—had its perks. Perfect weather, a divine landscape filled with sweet-smelling flowers, rolling hills, and enough practice ground to keep the warriors in residence in berserker paradise. Not to mention the muscled eye-candy staring back at her.
Eira should have been ecstatic surrounded by paradise. But for all that she’d never gone hungry, thirsty, or sleep-deprived in Asgard, she’d also never gotten a rise out of Freya’s favored guards either. No joy from Hall or Avarr in five long decades. Damn. She was better than that.
Lowe, her friend and battle companion, nudged her. “Leave them alone. They’re probably tired from pulling that big cart all over the sky.”
They snickered. Freya’s chariot was no mere cart, but to be strapped to such a thing to haul their goddess’s ass around… Embarrassing. Yet who else could pull it? Not Freya’s battle boar. He didn’t have the temperament, or the strength, despite his size. The goddess’s warriors? The shapeshifting falcons and eagles wouldn’t sully their precious talons, and no valkyrie worth her spear would ever consider such a lowly task. Eira sure the hell wouldn’t. Besides, Freya’s battle-maidens had better things to do, like hauling worthy souls from the battlefield. Drinking, swearing, fighting…fucking.
She eyed Hall and Avarr again. They certainly seemed built for war. They didn’t talk much, but they looked fierce. Too bad their appearances didn’t reflect their true characters. They might be strong, sexy, and more than appealing with all that muscle, but they bored her. No fights? No inexplicable rages? No passion?
Such a waste. Both men towered over her, and she was no slight female. They had dark hair and eyes, with square jaws and massive shoulders. Dark trousers outlined their thick muscular legs, and she’d had dreams about those broad chests covered in sleeveless tunics. By Hel’s breath, the golden bands around their arms would nearly fit around both of her thighs. Their hands looked large enough to span her entire head. Yet they’d never held a sword, bow, or axe.
She felt sorry for them.
“Do you two ever do anything other than breathe, hunt mice, and pull that chariot around?” An unfair question, as they lived to serve and protect their goddess. But Freya never used them as more than intimidating bookends who constantly escorted her immortal tush all over the place.
Hall raised a brow. Oh gods, a reaction. She felt positively giddy.
Like Avarr next to him, he possessed a feline soul—a giant battle-cat the size of two grizzlies. Not a falcon or a boar, but still an impressive animal when shifted. Too bad she’d never seen him fight anything but a harness.
Avarr stared at her, his eyes so dark they looked black. “Little Snow, is there something you wanted?”
“Eira, I’m hungry. Are you coming or not?” Lowe griped. The elfin valkyrie was just visiting before she returned to Midgard, where she normally lived with her mother’s people among the humans. The girl’s blood sugar had been a popular topic of conversation of late. When Lowe grew hungry, she turned bitchy. Then heads rolled, bodies crumpled, and wars started.
As much as Eira loved her warmongering buddy, Avarr’s tone warranted further discussion. She scowled and ignored Lowe’s urging to join the others in the feast hall.
“Fine. I’m going without you.” Lowe left Eira alone with the brutes.
Finally.
“ What did you call me?” Eira asked and stomped to within arm’s reach of them. This close, they made her feel
“Well, well, look what the cats dragged in.” Eira smirked at the pair of huge, stone-faced guards standing off to the side in the main foyer of Folkvang—her goddess Freya’s grand palace. There were marbled tiles, gilded moldings, and halls aplenty for drinking, whoring, and fighting. Because anyone who didn’t fight didn’t belong in the godlands.
Life with the goddess in Asgard—the immortal realm—had its perks. Perfect weather, a divine landscape filled with sweet-smelling flowers, rolling hills, and enough practice ground to keep the warriors in residence in berserker paradise. Not to mention the muscled eye-candy staring back at her.
Eira should have been ecstatic surrounded by paradise. But for all that she’d never gone hungry, thirsty, or sleep-deprived in Asgard, she’d also never gotten a rise out of Freya’s favored guards either. No joy from Hall or Avarr in five long decades. Damn. She was better than that.
Lowe, her friend and battle companion, nudged her. “Leave them alone. They’re probably tired from pulling that big cart all over the sky.”
They snickered. Freya’s chariot was no mere cart, but to be strapped to such a thing to haul their goddess’s ass around… Embarrassing. Yet who else could pull it? Not Freya’s battle boar. He didn’t have the temperament, or the strength, despite his size. The goddess’s warriors? The shapeshifting falcons and eagles wouldn’t sully their precious talons, and no valkyrie worth her spear would ever consider such a lowly task. Eira sure the hell wouldn’t. Besides, Freya’s battle-maidens had better things to do, like hauling worthy souls from the battlefield. Drinking, swearing, fighting…fucking.
She eyed Hall and Avarr again. They certainly seemed built for war. They didn’t talk much, but they looked fierce. Too bad their appearances didn’t reflect their true characters. They might be strong, sexy, and more than appealing with all that muscle, but they bored her. No fights? No inexplicable rages? No passion?
Such a waste. Both men towered over her, and she was no slight female. They had dark hair and eyes, with square jaws and massive shoulders. Dark trousers outlined their thick muscular legs, and she’d had dreams about those broad chests covered in sleeveless tunics. By Hel’s breath, the golden bands around their arms would nearly fit around both of her thighs. Their hands looked large enough to span her entire head. Yet they’d never held a sword, bow, or axe.
She felt sorry for them.
“Do you two ever do anything other than breathe, hunt mice, and pull that chariot around?” An unfair question, as they lived to serve and protect their goddess. But Freya never used them as more than intimidating bookends who constantly escorted her immortal tush all over the place.
Hall raised a brow. Oh gods, a reaction. She felt positively giddy.
Like Avarr next to him, he possessed a feline soul—a giant battle-cat the size of two grizzlies. Not a falcon or a boar, but still an impressive animal when shifted. Too bad she’d never seen him fight anything but a harness.
Avarr stared at her, his eyes so dark they looked black. “Little Snow, is there something you wanted?”
“Eira, I’m hungry. Are you coming or not?” Lowe griped. The elfin valkyrie was just visiting before she returned to Midgard, where she normally lived with her mother’s people among the humans. The girl’s blood sugar had been a popular topic of conversation of late. When Lowe grew hungry, she turned bitchy. Then heads rolled, bodies crumpled, and wars started.
As much as Eira loved her warmongering buddy, Avarr’s tone warranted further discussion. She scowled and ignored Lowe’s urging to join the others in the feast hall.
“Fine. I’m going without you.” Lowe left Eira alone with the brutes.
Finally.
“ What did you call me?” Eira asked and stomped to within arm’s reach of them. This close, they made her feel
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