Master of Miasma (The Valhalla Series) (9 page)

Many will rejoice and many more will cry, not understanding it's natural to move on when the heart has had enough pain for one lifetime, when the struggle to breathe is a mountain crushing the soul in the eyes of the suffering.

Unbuttoning my shirt, getting ready to wash away the woes of the parting, I stop walking at the sight of Arghin standing reading the book, making sure everyone who was meant to go, did. We intervene if anyone was forgotten in the harvest because right now they are at death's door, vulnerable and broken and in dire need of assistance.

He glances at me, pausing just long enough to give me his mischievous smile.

“
What?” I demand, changing trajectory, ambling towards him.

“
Nothing. Go wash up. We'll talk in the morning.”

“
Arghin, what are you hiding?”

He turns to prevent me from seeing the pages, “Mac, go away. If your foresight doesn't see what's coming I refuse to let you see it in the Truth.”

Punching his shoulder, shaking my head, he's the antidote I needed to clear my misery away, “Thanks brother. I'll hold you to that morning chat if it's the last thing I do.”

Laughing under my breath I walk back down the tunnel to my rooms, shedding the shirt and unbuttoning my jeans.

Odin it's been a long night. I am weary.

Walking into my bedroom I remain stealthy until I'm at the foot of the bed, delighted at the sight sleeping in it.

She is becoming. Nothing will wake her now, I can safely shower in my own bathroom. Thank Odin for small mercies.

Sitting down on the chair beyond the bed I take off my boots, laughing out loud at the comparison between them and her discarded Chuck Taylors.

Too damn cute for words.

Slipping to her side I bend down and place a soft kiss on her hair.

“Sweet dreams, Emma.”

Chapter 11

Macala
:

We may be hermits but we still enjoy the conveniences of the modern age. When I place the coffee down on the bedside table the ruffled head doesn't even stir.

Taking mine to the wide chair beyond the bed, I sit, watching her while sipping my coffee. I like it scalding and it's promptly consumed. She rolls onto her back, throwing a dramatic arm over her eyes, exposing the sight I longed to witness.

Yes! It's true then, the drink of the gods is truly a miracle elixir, unleashing the latency in her genes. It's prudent that we do not become our true size when we need to blend in, until it's safe to expose our nature. The gods thought of everything.

Smiling wider I note her palm has healed, her mark now identical to mine. Desperate to test it, I get comfortable, slowly tracing the triangular outline on my own hand, glancing over to her often, greedy for a reaction while her guard is down.

She moves, holding the palm lazily over her heart, mumbling incoherently in deep REM. I apply more pressure to the tracing on my palm and she moans so loud she sits bolt upright in bed as if I just bellowed a foghorn in her ear.

Frozen, I dare not touch the sigil with her staring right at me. “Good morning,” I say as graciously as I can, caught red handed.

She frowns at me, pawing the hair off her face in agitation.

I point at the waiting beverage which should still be hot, “I made you coffee.”

Her grumpy morning face softens as she glances to the waiting mug and then back at me, “Supersized? Am I that grouchy in the morning?”

Grinning at her endless repertoire of quick humor despite only just having woken, I smirk, “We take our coffee seriously.”

“Not with sugar?”

Laughing now, I incline my head, “Touché.”

I love watching her eyes half close seductively every time she hears me speak. It makes my blood go crazy, heating with anticipation.

She squirms up the bed still looking out of sorts, lifting her mug with both hands and holding it carefully for her first sip. Shaking her head she puts it down, “I have to pee.”

“Want me to leave?” I offer, ready to stand.

“
Nah, I'll be quiet,” she laughs, sticking her tongue out at me, oblivious to her arms and legs poking out of the clothes she outgrew in her sleep.

I can't help but grin at her padding across the room in her white socks looking like an imp up to no good, the craving in me growing to examine her eyes after a night of rebirth.

I would stake my life on the certainty that I shall never tire of the woman with straight black hair which shrouds her body, or the elegance of the proportions beneath it. She's heart stopping and I was wise to mark her palm with my own mark before the bachelors got to see her.

*

Emma:

I feel like I'm about to burst. My jeans and tee feel too tight which is how I know if I don't pee I'll end up breaking a zip or popping the button off.

It doesn't happen often but I know the feeling of my clothes becoming restrictive if I eat or drink too much.

Unzipping, I squirm out of my jeans with more difficulty than usual, sitting down on the loo and relieving the bloat in my bladder. Knowing what I'm doing this time I'm confident when I stand, telling the toilet to flush, then attempt to pull up my jeans.

Lordy, why do things always come down easier than than they go back up?

Getting hot and flustered, my chest feels strangled. “Aaargh.”

I grumble, battling with the denim, unable to pull them over my hips. Shaky with the effort I waddle to the sink to wash my hands, pressure squeezing into my chest when I bow over the basin.

It feels like the space shuttle is parked on my ribcage, I am smothered.

Screw it. Taking the hoodie off with ease I stare shocked at my image in the mirror. My tee is suctioned over my torso and chest as if everything I am wearing shrunk last night. No wonder I can't breathe!

Determined to pull it off and just wear the loose hoodie, I grip the bottom, tugging it up to my boobs when it refuses to budge over them. For fuck's sake! Maybe he has a pair of scissors or a razor in here?

Looking in the cupboard, then the shower, I can't locate any such item.

Wheezing with the restriction, overheating because I've been vacuum sealed, I sit down on the toilet lid with my jeans still stuck below my hips. I feel tied up and frustrated with the bondage. Desperate, I grip the neckline of my shirt, yanking for all I'm worth, trying to get the resilient thing to tear.

My heart is pounding and the only result are two hot cheeks radiating my spent energy.

What the fuck happened last night? Who shrunk my clothes to torture me more. Isn't this ordeal enough without adding insult to injury?

“Em?” calls carefully to me. “You okay in there?”

Shit! Triple shit shit shit!

Panting from effort and mild asphyxiation, I wheeze, “Not really.”

“
Do you need me to get you anything?” speaks the vibrato of a man plucking heart strings with his vocal harmonies.

Closing my eyes I wallow in it until I relax. I need a voice like that. It's incredible.

“Mac, do you have scissors?”

“
Why?” Now he sounds all fierce, like he's going to storm in here to battle my demons.

“
I can't breathe!” I yell, instantly lightheaded with the loss of oxygen from being forceful.

“
I'm coming in,” he announces, firm and decisive, immediately filling the doorway. “Hang on,” he smiles, reaching me in a blink, seeing my hands still stuck inside my neckline.

He joins his hands to mine and a searing rip echoes around the stone chamber. Looking down, my boobs are spilling out of the push-up bra, it's cleavage that doesn't belong to me but some pin-up model instead.

It's automatic to fold my arms over them defensively when he looks at my jeans, grabbing hold where the zip joins to yank the seam so hard it quivers the ripping up into my tender bits. Blushing now, I'm stuck in the Macala tornado when he lifts and flips me, supporting me easily while tearing the jeans asunder all the way around from button to back, then flips me back in his gigantic strength, returning me to sitting on the stone toilet lid.

“
Hold tight,” he orders, forcing me to unwrap modesty to hold onto the rock under my tush. He hauls down my jeans, pulling the legs off separately, tugging them in aggressive spurts over my ankles.

My cheeks are burning with humiliation. I'm overexposed through no fault of my own.

With his single minded focus now given flight he looks at me, his serious expression breaking into a pleased smile. “You are growing. Hang on and I'll get you a shirt, we'll go looking for a new wardrobe for you after breakfast.”

Spinning with purpose he goes striding the way he came, leaving me alone with my senses reeling.

Curious, I stand, stalking the bathroom mirror to compare heights to yesterday. It's true. I have to stoop down further to wash my hands.

How the hell did this happen?

Jesus, he stripped me faster than a rapist. It's unsettling. If he wasn't so gallant and had malicious intent, I wouldn't have stood a chance.

The knock on the rock grabs my attention, “Em?”

He's dangling his long arm into the bathroom, holding out a cord, a t-shirt, and sweatpants. I stare at it for a moment, loving the definition caused by the flexing.

“
Thanks,” I mumble, mortification setting in when I take them from the extended hand.

Scrambling back to the safety deeper in, I tug the shirt over my head, snorting at how miniscule I am in it. Scrunching it up over my face I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with his evocative smell. Heat blizzards through my loins and I laugh under my breath.

Shameless.

It makes my cheeks heat up all over again.

I don't even need the pants as the shirt is so long, but pull them on anyway, sitting down to roll the legs up, then fold the elasticated waist down and secure it in place with the cord. They're cozy, fleecy on the inside and perfect for slouching around with a good book.

Exhausted from the drama, I shake my head. This is unbelievable. Still disconcerted I walk into his bedroom, seeing it properly for the first time. At intervals in the ceiling are round hollows that must be vents, light comes from deliberately placed crystals wedges into the roof of the cave, acting like skylights which splinter light in every direction. Rather effective and pretty. It lends a whimsical vibe to an otherwise earthy environment.

It's spacious, bland brown rock, polished on the floor, matching the mud brown of his bed linen and the suede headboard, the chair chocolate dark, and cupboards and drawers fashioned from stone that looks like it could be tiger's eye.

“
Breakfast is waiting,” he says, popping his head around the corner to his private eating nook.

I'm reminded of him as I nod at the pleasant expression aimed my way. I had a good look at his body tensing and bunching while he was stripping me. He's gorgeous in his deep blue t-shirt that molds to his body, and he's also wearing sweatpants on those delectable long legs.

Picking up my coffee I walk around the bed, watching him recline at the table as I advance, tapping it idly, rippling muscles up and down his arm without awareness that my stomach jigs around at the sight.

Sitting opposite him I note he's wearing contact lenses again. He's smiling, gesturing to the waiting wooden board, “Cheese and flatbread okay?”

I  nod, self-conscious, taking a long gulp of coffee to hide my face away in the huge rim of the mug.

“
Emma,” he says in a soft sultry tone, putting a hand on my arm, forcing me to relinquish my barrier and put the mug down.

“
Yes?”

“
Are you okay?” He's looking deeply into my eyes, seeing right through me again, delving into the farthest recesses of my soul.

Every inch of my body tenses in reaction, my pulse pattering a wild throb in my chest, “Yup.”

I roll my lips in, feeling shy under his scrutiny.

Giving me his dashing smile he pats my arm, using the same hand to lift the knife, meticulously slicing the cheese into wedges.

He indicates the jars, “Cloudberry, and lingonberry jam.”

“
What?” Derailed I look at the jar of yellow sweetness, lifting it and giving it an inspecting whiff.

“
That is cloudberry from Norway. We grow it here too because it's nice to keep home close to the heart.”

“
Cloudberry? What a stunning name for it.”

Glancing at me between the slicing of pale cheese, he grins, “We aren't barbaric, Em. We're good guys with poetic minds.”

“Yeah I know, you're the dude who sang to me remember.” I stick my tongue at him again.

This time he looks like the coy one, ducking his head, hiding a chagrined smirk.