Bjorn Cursed Read online

  “I’ll tell her, but first my wife needs a shower, some clean clothes, and a meal.”

  That sounded like perfection. She had no idea when she’d last eaten or bathed. Even more, she needed to get away from these strangers, if only for a while. It was all so overwhelming. Her head pounded and her stomach was unsettled. It was taking everything she had not to scream or cry or laugh uncontrollably.

  She needed to be alone with her husband.

  “There’s a guest room, second door on the left,” Morrigan told them. “I’ll bring in some clothes. We’re about the same size.”

  Bjorn lifted her off the comfortable seating and carried her to their assigned quarters. She should protest, should make him put her down so she could walk, but she didn’t want to. And, honestly, she wasn’t sure she could. She was weaker than she’d like to admit.

  “I’m sorry.” When he pressed a kiss against her forehead, she gave in to the need for comfort and rested her head on his shoulder. “This must all be so confusing.”

  “Everything is different here. The buildings, the clothing, the furniture.” He carried her through a clean, bright room with a huge bed with plush coverings. “Is Maccus rich?”

  “He is, but many people have what he has, just not as good a quality or as much of it.” He kept going into a smaller chamber. There was a large white trough, a space covered in thin white blocks that went from the floor to the ceiling, a seat with a hole in it that seemed partially filled with water, and a long workspace with a washing vessel in the center. A bathing chamber. No, bathroom. That’s what it was called. How she wished she’d paid closer attention to those who had come after her. Still, she’d learned plenty listening to the stories told late into the night or overhearing conversations while she’d worked.

  Things were basic in the afterlife, much to the disgruntlement of some of the newer arrivals. There’d been talk of modifications and improvements in Valhalla, but Freya’s Hall continued on much as it had for centuries.

  He set her down on a countertop, and she ran her hand over the fine stone. She didn’t belong in a place this grand. Bjorn turned a handle on a wall of tile, and water shot out from above. The sparkling tiled area was a shower.

  The corners of his mouth twitched as he pressed his index finger to the base of her chin and pushed her mouth shut. She glowered at him. “It’s impressive.”

  “That it is.” He gripped the hem of her tunic and eased it over her head.

  She touched her fingers to the area where the wound had been, a few flecks of dried blood the only reminder of her injury. “I still don’t understand how this is possible.”

  “Maccus healed you. He’s more than a man.”

  She wanted to know everything but bit back her questions. Talking would come later. Her headache was easing, but other parts of her ached now, more intimate parts.

  She eased off the marble top and reached for the ties of her pants.

  “Let me.” His voice was hoarse with need, the tone one she’d heard many times. Her blood thickened and her pulse pounded.

  He snapped the knotted ties and dragged her pants down, more concerned with haste than finesse. On his knees, he buried his face against her bare stomach. “My Anja.” His big body began to shake.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d been dealt a shock. To him, she’d done the impossible—come back from the land of the dead. She ran her fingers through his thick hair and held him close.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.

  Even if it made him hate her.

  For she would not allow him to defy the gods. At best, he would end up disgraced and in Helheim. And at worst? A shudder racked her. Total annihilation. He deserved a much better fate.

  “Let us wash away the pain and anger of the past,” she whispered. It would take more than a shower to accomplish that, but it was a start.

  When he raised his head, she traced the tips of her fingers over the markings on his forehead, temple, cheek, and down to his jaw, as she’d done so many times before. He tilted his head toward her, allowing her to touch him, silently asking for more. That was her Bjorn, too proud to ask for what he truly needed. She had to be smart enough to see beneath the surface to the man within the mental and physical armor.

  The heat from his skin warmed her. His beard brushed against her fingers in a sensual caress. When she inhaled sharply, his gaze darkened and his nostrils flared. In one lithe motion, he surged to his feet and stripped away his remaining garments.

  Naked, he stood before her, bigger and stronger than he’d been during their time together. His long hair fell to just past his massive shoulders. His biceps rippled. But it was his cock that drew her eye. He was fully erect, long and thick. Her core rippled in anticipation.

  “It’s been so long.” She knew his face as well as her own, had seen it in her dreams every night, but he was different somehow—harder, feral.

  Life had not been kind to her husband.

  He swallowed, his throat moving up and down. “For me as well. There’s been no other woman. There could never be anyone but you.”

  For a man as virile as Bjorn, that was unthinkable, yet she believed him. He would not lie to her.

  He took her hand in his. “Come,” he urged, leading her past a see-through wall and into the shower.

  “It’s hot.” Delighted, she raised her head and let the heated water cascade over her. “This is miraculous.” It was like being under a warm waterfall.

  But Bjorn wasn’t watching the water. He was staring at her.

  “No, you’re the miracle.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he dragged her against him. Her breasts pillowed against his firm chest, their hardened tips pushing into his muscled pecs. He caught her chin with his free hand and tilted it toward him.

  She went up on her toes and kissed him. They were safe and alone, for the time being, but fate was fickle. She knew all too well how easily everything could be snatched from her.

  Their lips met. This was no tender reunion but a fierce joining. His mouth was hard and hungry, his tongue plunging inward, tasting and claiming. The groan ripped from his throat was raw and uninhibited.

  She gave and took in return, tasting passion and love, familiar, yet different. Maybe because they’d lost everything they understood how precious love was.

  “You are so beautiful.” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, his gentle touch a contrast to his rough voice and harsh breathing.

  She swallowed heavily. “And you are so handsome.” Her lips tingled from his kisses, her breasts ached for his touch, but the emptiness inside her was the worst.

  “Take me,” she told him. “I’ve been so cold, so lonely.”

  Water trailed over his head, flowing down his broad shoulders and over his sculpted chest and abdomen. She leaned inward and licked some droplets from his skin, letting her tongue stroke the tattoo of her name that resided over his heart.

  His big body shuddered.

  “I’m thirsty for your kisses. Hungry for your touch.” She’d never been shy about asking for what she wanted.

  His eyes glowed with some inner fire, burned with a fierceness that was both reassuring and frightening.

  In one easy motion, he plucked her off her feet and pressed her back against the wall. The cool tile did little to diminish the heat burning inside her. Steam rose around them, secluding them in their own private world.

  She wrapped her legs round his flanks and her arms around his shoulders. Every muscle in his body was rigid. “Why are you waiting?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Her heart ached at his confession. “I should feed you, see to your care.”

  “The only way you could hurt me is to not love me.” She kissed him and lost herself in the softness of his lips. The rest of him was so solid and hard. She rubbed her breasts against his chest, moaning at the exquisi
te friction.

  The tip of his cock probed her opening, then he was pushing inside. She threw back her head and gasped. “Yes.”

  …

  Bjorn feared he’d come before he got all the way inside her wet, welcoming heat. Most women would have called him a liar when he’d stated he’d had no other women in all these years. Not his Anja. Her trust was absolute. He prayed he was worthy of it, that she wouldn’t turn away when she discovered what he’d done, what he’d become.

  His hand had been a cold, poor substitute all these years, his fantasies no more than a pale imitation of reality.

  Go slowly.

  The reminder was lost as his cock forged a familiar path. It was like coming home. No, it was coming home. Anja was his home, his everything.

  Leaning his forehead against the tiles, he pulled air into his starving lungs. His balls were practically crawling into his body. They were so full, so tight they hurt. But it was a good pain, the kind that meant he was truly alive for the first time since he’d lost her.

  It can’t last. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, unwilling to give in to the fear that threatened to steal this precious moment.

  She yanked on his hair, pulling his face close, and kissed him, driving back the shadows. He loved the way she thrust her tongue into his mouth and challenged him. Blood thundering through his veins, he began to move, flexing his hips slowly at first and then with greater speed.

  Inside him, his wolf howled, his happiness spilling over to the animal side of nature.

  “Harder.” She nipped at his mouth and bit his lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to let him know she meant business.

  Holding nothing back, he thrust again and again. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. The heels of her feet thumped against him as she met him stroke for stroke, grinding her pelvis against him.

  “Anja. Anja.” Her name fell from his lips, both a plea and a prayer.

  Her pussy rippled around his cock. Fuck, he was going to lose it. She had to find release first. “Come for me.” Leaning inward, he bit the curve of her neck.

  She cried out, the sound more glorious than any music ever composed. Her sheath squeezed his shaft, pushing him over the edge.

  With his face buried against his wife’s shoulder and her arms wrapped around him, he came. The base of his cock swelled, locking him inside her—a little gift from his wolf side. He prayed she wouldn’t notice and ask questions before he was ready to explain.

  The water continued to pour over them, washing away the lonely years, the days and nights spent longing for what he’d lost. It was starting to chill by the time he raised his head. “We need to get cleaned up before we lose the hot water.”

  A tiny smile played at the corner of her lips. “I’ve bathed in the river in spring with ice from the winter thaw still swirling in it. I don’t mind a little cold.” His shaft had gone down enough that he could finally pull out, but it wasn’t easy. It was tempting to stay. This was the first peace he’d had in centuries. For once, the demons that haunted him were silent. Maybe after he’d had her a few thousand times the edge of his need might ease back slightly, though he doubted it.

  She swayed when her feet hit the floor, a sharp reminder that no matter how willing and eager she was, she was still only human and had been through an ordeal that would have flattened most people.

  Using the shampoo and soap provided, he hurriedly washed her from head to toe, ridding her of the sweat, grime, and blood that stained her skin. “I promise I’ll do this again and take my time.”

  The thought of spending an hour running his soapy hands over her warm skin, hearing her sigh and moan, watching her find release over and over had him as hard as stone.

  Her eyes were hot, her lips curved upward. “I’ll hold you to that.” The sultry promise had his dick flexing toward her.

  Not now. He’d already pushed her harder than he should have. It was his responsibility, his privilege to take care of her. A quick fuck in the shower wasn’t a great start, but it was something they’d both needed.

  Being with her made him whole.

  The water was fully cold by the time he finished. He grabbed one of the large, plush towels and wrapped it around his waist before grabbing another to dry her from head to toe. Her hair was knotted in places, the braids long gone from where he’d unwound them in the shower.

  “Is there a comb?” She glanced at the vanity.

  He pulled open a drawer, rummaged around, and came up with one. “Let me.” In their other life, he’d often done this for her when the children were in bed and it was just the two of them before the fire. Something about sitting naked together while he drew a comb through her hair and they talked about nothing of consequence was one of the things he’d missed most.

  Positioning her in front of him, he stared at their reflection in the mirror. She appeared almost petite with him towering behind her. With the tattoos flowing over his face and body, he was like something out of a nightmare rather than anyone’s idea of the perfect lover. He’d always been a warrior, more at home on a battlefield than trying to broker peace talks. Now he was even deadlier. People feared him—humans and paranormals alike. Only she’d ever looked at him with love.

  “It’s so real,” she whispered. She put out her hand to touch their image. “I’ve heard of mirrors. The clarity is amazing. So much better than polished metal.”

  She tilted her head back, raised her hand, and touched the side of his face. “Bjorn, whatever it is that worries you, we will get through it.”

  He captured her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm. “I pray you are right.”

  Releasing her, he began to work the tangles from the tips of her hair, steadily moving upward to her scalp. It was soothing; the simple task grounded him.

  By the time he’d finished, her eyes were closed. She was almost asleep on her feet.

  He tossed the comb aside and scooped her into his arms. Her eyelids fluttered open. “Where are we going?”

  Someone had come into the bedroom while they’d been in the shower, and a stack of clothing was set on the end of the bed. “What are these?” Anja held up a garment.

  “Leggings. Women seem to find them comfortable.” He yanked on the jeans. The fit was almost perfect. He went back to the bathroom to collect their footwear and their discarded clothing.

  “Will they stretch enough?”

  “Try them on,” he urged as he sat at the end of the bed and pulled on his boots. “If you don’t like them, we’ll get you something else.” He dug out his phone, wallet, and keys and stuffed them into his pockets.

  She pointed at his pants. “What are those?”

  “Jeans.” There was so much she needed to learn about this world.

  “I’ve heard much about them from those that have joined Freya’s Hall this past century. They look sturdy and comfortable.”

  He grinned and laced up his boots. “We’ll get you some jeans. New boots, too.”

  “Excellent. I do not mean to seem ungrateful.” She sat on the side of the bed and shoved her feet into the leggings. He bit the side of his mouth to keep from laughing aloud as she tugged and struggled with the unfamiliar clothing.

  When he couldn’t stand to watch any longer, he went to her side. “Let me help.”

  She glared, her expression one of pure frustration. He burst into laughter. It shocked him so badly, he stopped.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t remember the last time I laughed.”

  “My poor Bjorn. Seems all you needed was me making a fool of myself to find it again.” It was said with a smile, so he knew she wasn’t upset with him. She’d always been able to see the humor in life.

  He went down on one knee in front of her and straightened the leggings. “Pull them up.”

  She stood and d
id as instructed. Then she moved from side to side, lifted one leg and then the other. “These are comfortable. Not very sturdy, but they do feel good.”

  Wearing nothing but the leggings, Anja was a vision of natural beauty with her breasts bare and her hair flowing around her.

  His cock, which had never gone down, was doing its best to escape the confines of his jeans. He was all for it, except the others had to be getting impatient. Maccus had never not been impatient.

  “Try one of the tops.” Leaving her to it, he went back to the bathroom and dug through the drawers again, coming up with an elastic tie for her hair.

  When he returned, she was wearing a short-sleeved cotton tunic that fell to her upper thighs. She’d slipped her feet back into her own sturdy leather ankle boots and laced them. They were worn and dirty, but they fit.

  He cleared his throat. “Let me braid your hair. The others are waiting.”

  And they wouldn’t wait much longer.

  Chapter Five

  Cleaned and dressed, her body still humming from their frantic lovemaking in the shower, Anja was ready to face Bjorn’s friends.

  Her husband had a life she knew nothing about. A pang of anger and loss made her heart ache. So many years had been taken from them, and she was no closer to understanding why he was here instead of Valhalla.

  Still, the gods had been generous. She would not allow past hurts to keep her from appreciating the gifts she’d been given. Whatever hardships she’d faced in order to get to this place were worth it.

  But the gods were fickle, and they were still in big trouble.

  Thirst and hunger plagued her, but she assumed they’d eat soon, as delicious smells drifted toward her as they left the bedroom. Shoulders back, she strode proudly beside her husband, ready to face whatever awaited them. Their lovemaking should have exhausted her, but adrenaline had given her a burst of strength, steadying her.

  They had much to discuss, but that would have to wait until they’d dealt with more pressing matters. She prayed there would be time, that nothing would befall them before they had the opportunity.