Valkyrie's Claim: Paranormal Romance (Academy of the Immortals Book 2) Read online

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” We may have a truce, but I don’t trust the Nephilim at all. Not when it comes to my boys.

  I abandon him and walk toward Rupert.

  “Did you really kill him?” a voice asks, tickling my brain. I spin and see a boy with a flat nose and creamy brown skin. His eyes are glued to my ass, and there’s no doubt he’s talking about Headmaster Gardner.

  I cross my arms over my chest. All that does is draw his eyes from by ass to my tits. He licks his lips. “Maybe. Who are you?”

  “I’m Darius.”

  “Hildi Axel—”

  “The Valkryie. I’ve heard of you—well, seen you before.”

  I narrow my eyes, studying him. He’s slightly, vaguely familiar. He’s not from Odin’s realm, that’s for sure. “Where was that?”

  “At the fights. In the Upperworld.”

  Something tickles at my brain. Then it hits me. “You’re related to the Shaman. Is he your father?”

  He smiles, happy I’ve figured it out. “My uncle.”

  If he’s here, that means he’s royalty. It also means he’s probably next in line. The Shaman is a tricky figure. He buys, trades, and sells souls. He organizes fights among warriors using tricks and illusions. I’d fought in the ring for many years. It’s how I met the Guardians. The Shaman owned the Immortals.

  He walks in the shadow between good and evil.

  I’m definitely curious about this kid.

  “You’re a badass fighter. Maybe we could spar sometime?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe so.”

  “You don’t like committing, do you?”

  I look into his eyes, dark brown and never ending. “Not when we’re on the cusp of a war, and I’m not sure who’s on what side.”

  The expression on his face tells me he’s like his uncle—skating the shadows.

  “It was nice to meet you, Darius.” I look over at Rupert, still sitting alone. “Perhaps I’ll see you in the gym.”

  “You can count on it.”

  I pass him, feeling his eyes following me across the room as I walk toward Rupert. I’m ten feet away when a female beats me to him.

  The girl has long, shiny black hair and has on a strapless, tight dress. Her eyes are violet, her incisors sharp. I’m not the best at identifying the different beings at this school. Fae? Vampire? Shifter? Banshee? Her hand runs languidly down Rupert’s arm, and she bends over, whispering in his ear.

  A flare of emotion swirls in my stomach, undefinable but strong.

  Sweat breaks out on his forehead, and he looks up, his eyes meeting mine. They hold for a beat and the world disappears around us. I feel a tug between us. A call.

  Thump, thump.

  Our hearts beat.

  I lick my lips, tasting the champagne. His jaw tenses, and he stands suddenly, disentangling from the girl. A look of panic plasters over his face, and he bolts from the room, leaving the girl confused, and watching his back as he vanishes.

  What the hell was that?

  Dammit. Everyone on my team needs to be strong. Whatever is going on with Rupert needs to stop. I drop my glass on a waiter’s tray and head toward the door.

  Just before I exit, a body blocks my way.

  A long, lean body that I know very, very intimately.

  “Leaving already?” Marshal asks, obstructing the exit. “It’s not very gracious to leave the party without thanking your host.” He bends, and I feel his mouth, warm and wet, near my ear. His tongue grazes the shell of my ear. “I can think of a few ways you can thank me.”

  “Gods, you’re a pig. A filthy, traitorous, pathetic pig.”

  He accepts my words like they’re a compliment.

  “Are you mad? You seem mad.”

  “Marshal, I swear on Odin’s good eye…”

  His hand skims around my waist, landing on the curve of my ass. It feels good—so good—and it makes me hate him more. “I’m not sure why me siding with Roland means what you and I were doing has to stop.”

  I look up at his face. It’s uniquely and unnaturally gorgeous. He’d admitted that he didn’t just pillage his way through villages during wartime. He fucking charmed his way into homes, convincing them to hand over the family jewels and down the pants of thousands of women. Seduction is his power, and I feel it ebbing between us.

  I hold up a hand, as if I can block the attraction. “Get out of my way, Marshal.”

  His eyes narrow, and he grabs my wrist, running his thumb over the ring. “Where did you get that?”

  I snatch my hand away, before my skin combusts from his touch. “None of your gods-damned business.”

  “Cut the bitchiness and answer me, because I know you’re not stupid to put on a charm or a piece of jewelry you found lying around this infested hellhole.”

  Rage ripples through me. “Marshal, I swear on my life I will rip your balls off and shove them down your throat one at a time if you don’t get your hands off of me and get the fuck out of my way.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be between us from now on?”

  I glare at him.

  “You know I didn’t have a choice, right? Roland showing up changed the game. He’s strong and ruthless, more so than any of the Immortals. I’ve fought by his side for a thousand battles. He’s going to win, Hildi, and he’ll kill you to do it.”

  “Is that a warning?”

  “It’s a fact.”

  His eyes flick over my shoulder, and I get the strong sense we’re being watched. I glance behind me and sure enough, dozens of eyes are on us. It’s an unnerving sensation, and I’m overwhelmed that everything about this moment, this party, is for show.

  Whatever the hell is going on, I’m not going to be part of it.

  “Move.”

  With causal ease, he steps out of my way. I enter the hallway and see Rupert heading back toward the dorms. A strong hand clamps around my upper arm.

  “If you think you’re going to use him as a replacement fuck-buddy, don’t bother. He’s too fucked up to get his dick hard. Stick with Armin. He may be filled with guilt, but at least his cock still works.”

  I spin on my heel and march up to him. I’m tall, but Marshal is taller. “Shut up. You lost any right to speak to me ever again. You betrayed me, the Immortals, and the Guardians. You will not win this battle. There is no battle. I’m going to see to that.”

  “How? By keeping the key hidden? It’s only a matter of time before Roland or one of his lackies find it. After that the door will be opened, and the temple breached. War is coming, Hildi—there’s no stopping it.”

  I search his eyes, hoping to find something solid behind them. All I get is cold cruelty. I’m sure countless women have seen the same glint before he destroyed their lives.

  That’s not happening to me or the people I care about.

  2

  Rupert

  My heart pounds like the beat of the party music, hard and pulsing through my veins. Sweat coats my neck and forehead, and I loosen my collar. I know what this is. It’s a panic attack. I’ve had them since childhood. Mostly in social situations—parties or extravagant meals. I don’t like the eyes of people on me—women in particular. Their skin, their lips, their hands. Guilt consumes me when I think of how I want them on my body. A fractured line keeps me from taking what I want and receiving what I need.

  I blame my father. The priests. The whores they brought to me to keep me focused on winning wars and acquiring land. Women were not something real, just objects. Like the raven-haired girl fawning over me tonight. That’s the kind of girl I was accustomed to, not the kind of woman I want.

  Like Hildi.

  She’s a woman. A real woman.

  Exactly what my father warned me about, nothing but a distraction.

  I turn down the hall, toward the one place that makes me feel at ease. I’m at the library doors when my name echoes against the narrow stone walls.

  “Rupert!”

  I pause, heart hammering. I should
have felt her—I did, really. The constant twist in my stomach. I’ve been nauseous for weeks. Then there’s been that moment in the party—when our eyes locked and a sense of connection yanked between us.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, eyes sweeping over me. “I saw you run out of the room. Did you have a vision?”

  “No.” I swallow, forcing my gaze away from the tight, leather pants that leave little to the imagination. “I don’t like parties.”

  “Yeah, that one wasn’t my jam either.”

  I frown. “Jam? Like what you spread on toast?”

  She smiles. “No, like, my scene? My kind of event? I forget you’re like a nine-million-year-old man in the body of a twenty-year-old.”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” I swallow. “Also, I’m twenty-one.”

  “At least you’re not jailbait,” she mutters. I’m not sure what that means either, but I get the idea. “What are you doing down here?”

  “Looking for some peace and quiet. It was very overwhelming up there.”

  “Tell me about it. I got cornered by Marshal on the way out.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Did he say anything?”

  “He said a lot, but none of it informative.” Her ears turn pink, and I can only imagine what their conversation was about. “I don’t want to talk about Marshal. I want to talk about you. I’d like to help you.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “You’re anxious, and you obviously don’t feel well, and it’s pretty clear some of that has to do with the connection between us.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” I lie.

  “You’re pale and sweaty. All the time. The visions are doing a number on you.”

  I stare at the Valkyrie. Her concern is genuine—as far as keeping our unit together. Beyond that, she has no real clue what she’s getting into with us individually. We all carry baggage. Mine is probably more fucked up than the rest. I’m not weighed by guilt like Armin, or fueled by rage like Agis. Miya is lost in a world of self-reflection, and Marshal—well, Marshal is a gluttonous, traitorous pig. That’s not so much baggage as a personality defect. Me? I’m good for one thing only: plotting destruction.

  Whatever crosses my path will fall, and I can’t let that happen to Hildi.

  “You’re right. Ever since we arrived at the Academy, my visions have intensified. I’m learning how to control them. The best thing you can do for me is give me space.”

  Her shoulders square and her hand rests on her hip. She’s an exquisite creature—I understand why Marshal and Armin can’t stop playing with fire. She’s also a bundle of energy—toxic to my soul as much as I’m toxic to hers.

  “But what if I can help you work through it.”

  “I said no, Hildi.”

  “But—”

  “No!” The word rips through me, echoing down the hall. “You can’t help me. You can only make it worse. Leave me alone and let me have some peace.”

  Her expression falters, just for a second, before it rearranges into a blank canvas. Whatever she’s feeling; anger, humiliation, annoyance…she hides it well.

  “Fine,” she says, her voice impassive. “Whatever you want.”

  What I want has never been an option. Not in any of my lifetimes.

  I don’t tell her that, instead opening the library door. As I step away from her, I’m well aware that the less she knows, the better.

  3

  Hildi

  The city stretches before me, bright and sparkling—like jewels glinting under a light. The smells is intense—a combination of the earthiness of the park, food from the vendors on the street, then the general scent of humanity. The blare of two car horns echoes in my ears and I wince. I don’t think I ever realized how much it smells here. How loud the streets are. Humans are…a lot.

  The sound of something unfurling forces me to turn around. I expect a Raven. Or Five. But that’s not who stands before me. I can’t see his face, not in the shadows of the massive wings protruding from the man’s back. They aren’t bird wings. They’re thick, like leather, scaled. He’s shirtless, leather fighting pants hang from his hips. He’s pure sex and my body aches. I step closer, drawn like a magnet.

  This, I realize, is all a dream.

  Where had I conjured up such a fantasy?

  “Is this where you bend me over and tease me with your massive cock? And then I’ll wake up horny and have to get myself off quietly under the covers so I don’t wake up Elizabeth?”

  “You think I’m a dream?” I smell his breath; sweet, seductive. His hand grips my hip, pulling me to him. I feel the strength in his arms. I feel the strength of him.

  “A very vivid one, but yes.” Why I’m talking myself out of this is ridiculous. Just ride it out, Hils. Ride it out.

  Usually, in my dreams I can override most situations. Force myself awake, push myself into it further. This time I don’t seem to have any control, because I’m telling myself this isn’t real, but the man in front of me has a mind of his own. He bends, revealing the curved muscles of his shoulders, and picks me up.

  “Uh, where are we going?”

  “If this is your dream, shouldn’t you know?”

  “I should be able to see your face, too.”

  I do catch the hint of a grin underneath the shadow, which I realize now is less shadow than a glamour.

  “Maybe your subconscious isn’t ready, but your body is.”

  My body is ready, let me tell you. Aching.

  He walks across the rooftop, stars blazing overhead. I’m carried to a white, fluffy cloud. A bed and he gently sets me in the middle.

  I look down and see that my pajamas are gone. I’m in a flimsy piece of black, lace lingerie. Similar to what Morgan tried on at the store. I blink down at it, confused. I look back up and see the spread of the dark wings and the magnificent body attached to it. My stomach flutters with excitement. The thin scrap of material between my legs turns damp.

  “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he says with a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

  I prop up on my elbows and his eyes flick to my breasts, barely contained in the lace. I haven’t felt this horny since the vampire venom.

  Fuck.

  “Is this just some side effect from the venom?” I ask, clarity settling in. That has to be it. Figuring there’s no way this dream-man is ever going to really get me off, I slide my hand down my stomach, toward the heat between my legs.

  I lay my head back on the soft pillow and close my eyes, at least my mind is giving me some good material to work with. I start to push aside the panties when a large hand grabs my wrist and my eyes fly open.

  The man hovers over me, wings spread. He starts at my toes, kissing, licking, sucking. He moves up my calves and over my knees. His teeth, sharp and pointed, graze the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs.

  “Who are you?” I ask, halfway a moan.

  I feel the warm of his breath, just above my pussy, then his lips on my abdomen, traveling to my breasts. His tongue flicks my nipples and I writhe on the bed. My imagination has never been so good.

  I finally reach for him as he sucks my neck.

  His body is rock hard. Solid. Just like he looks. I’m shocked when he doesn’t vanish into thin air.

  “I’m going to fuck you, Hildi.”

  “Please.” I run my hands down his arms. He steps back and drops the leathers, revealing his thick, throbbing erection.

  Seriously. My imagination is epic. This mystery guy—his body is perfection. Cut. Lean. Muscle on top of muscle. My tongue flicks out, wanting to lick his skin.

  I may need to thank Marielle for that extra dose of venom. Yowza.

  He grips my hips and drags me to the edge of the bed; he doesn’t hesitate before angling his cock and plunging it deep inside.

  “Hard,” I tell him. “Fuck me hard.”

  I may be giving commands, but he’s fully in control, slamming his body into mine. I feel his size, his girth, his length. The air knocks out of my bre
ath and my brain fights to stay focused. I’m overwhelmed with how it feels. The heat. The sweat. The sticky skin between us. Each thrust a wave of heat that rolls across my flesh. Sparks a flare of desire. A flicker that threatens to ignite. A bomb waiting to explode.

  Not even Marielle’s venom is this good.

  The grunts from my lover grow impatient, erratic. His hands demanding, his movements rough. He lifts me, yanking me off the bed like a ragdoll, too lost in my own euphoria to even care. He pulls me in his lap, fucking, cradling, holding me in the strength of his arms. His mouth hovers close to mine.

  The spark catches, spreading, spreading, spreading across my nerves. He holds me, his own climax building, building, building, until he buries his head in my shoulder, his teeth in my flesh.

  My cry and his grow combined.

  Dazed, sweaty, confused, blissful.

  He kisses me. Gentle. Strong.

  I cup his face in my hands, and for a blink, the fastest of seconds, the glamour wavers. It’s not enough for me to identify him, but gods he’s beautiful.

  An instant later, the shadow is back. The wings spread with a snap, lifting him in the air, into that brilliant night sky, and he’s gone. Off, over the city.

  I close my eyes and wish--no, pray--for this not to be a dream. I open them, and my heart falls. I’m back in my room.

  Alone.

  Two days. That’s all it takes for the atmosphere to change at the Academy. The shift is slight, but noticeable. Like the guy that passes me and Elizabeth on the way to breakfast. He’s not wearing the tie for his uniform. Or the increased volume that comes from the dining hall. Students mill around instead of sitting at the long tables. They’re clustered in groups, most animatedly talking about Marshal’s party the night before—a party that under Garland would have been a secret. That no longer seems to be the case.

  Debauchery rules.

  “I heard that Marielle started drinking from people and there was an orgy,” Elizabeth says as we pass through the dining hall doors. “I also heard that Marshal and Luke tore off their shirts and fought, bare knuckled.”

  “That would have been a sight. Did you hear who won?”