Dreams of a Dark Warrior

“Wh-where?”
    “Were—you—there?”
    “Aidan or not … I am going to serve it to you!” Her leg shot up to punt his groin, but he deflected her kick with his other hand.
    “What did you call me?” His grip tightened.
    She wheezed in a breath. “Prick!” What night was Chase talking about? She couldn’t think!
    Squeezing harder, harder. “Why did you call me Aidan?”
    Losing consciousness. Heart pounding wildly. “Want to know? Bring me … to your office tomorrow. Just you and me. I’ll tell you . …
everything
.”
    When her head slumped forward and her glowing dimmed even more, Declan left her in the room, barreling to his quarters.
    He just reached the toilet before vomiting the contents of his stomach. After heaving over and over, he eventually lurched to his feet. Hands gripping the edge of the bathroom counter, he waited for his balance to return. For his control to return.
What is happening to me?
    Administering that poison had affected him nearly as much as her. Though he’d done the same to hundreds of other prisoners.
    When he’d tortured Lothaire yesterday, he’d regretted ending the session, wishing there’d been more flesh left to torment.
    After Regin, Declan felt like
he’d
been tortured.
    And she’d called him Aidan. As had the berserker. If they’d intended to make him paranoid …
    It’s bloody working.
    Staring into the mirror, he muttered, “I fuckin’ hate her.” Yet he still felt that pull toward her.
    Even as I was ready to squeeze the life out of her.
    A mortal hunter and his immortal prey.
But then, perhaps I’m not quite mortal.
He shuddered.
    She wanted to meet with him in his office? What was she planning? They were
always
planning something, living and breathing deceit.
    He removed his gloves, then scrubbed his face with two handfuls of water.
    To do as she asked was madness, but he needed the answers he’d promised Webb. And Declan knew he wouldn’t be able to torture her again.
    Why not try meeting her? Having a female prisoner alone in his office would raise some eyebrows, but Declan couldn’t care less about that. No one would dare naysay him in his own installation.
    I need to know why she called me that name.
    After rinsing his mouth, he staggered into his room, sinking into his chair at the console. He pulled up the Valkyrie’s cell on the screen.
    Vincente and another guard were just returning her, wearing thick gloves because the poison seeping from her skin was lethal to mortals. Vincente laid her on the floor with more care than the other guard would have.
    The Valkyrie’s body convulsed with each wave of pain, her glow nearly extinguished.
    Declan should be observing her impassively. Instead, bile rose in his throat.
    As soon as Vincente closed the cell, the male halfling yanked off his shirt to wipe the blood from her. Thefey knocked his hand away before he touched Regin’s skin and got himself poisoned. Then she punched the Valkyrie’s shoulder directly below the joint, forcing the ball back into the socket.
    Before Regin passed out, she whispered something to Natalya in that unknown tongue, the maddening language he couldn’t even identify.
    Whatever Regin said made the fey appear
relieved
. Declan had just put his head in his hands and started to squeeze when he received a screen message from Webb:
    Let me know how your session with the Valkyrie
went. Productive, I'm sure. Update: information
about their weaknesses takes precedence over
all other inquiries, i.e., her source of energy or the vampire’s ring. …
    Then Declan’s path was fixed.

FOURTEEN

    A gain,
Valkyrie?” Carrow the witch said as Vincente escorted Regin once more.
    When the guard had shown up to cuff and retrieve her and she hadn’t been gassed first, she’d known.
    Chase had taken the bait.
    “What can I say, Carrow? The magister loves my company.”
    In an urgent murmur, the witch said, “I saw how you fared his
company
yesterday. Maybe attempt
not
to enrage him tonight?”
    On it.
“I go with a peace offering. Check it”—Regin leered down at her own chest—“I’m braless.”
    Carrow shook her head. “Crazy ass Valkyries.”
    When they passed Brandr’s cell, Regin told him in Old Norse, “My time here grows nigh.” Though her attitude was confident, she knew several factors would work against her.
    First, she wasn’t a golden-tongued and persuasive Valkyrie; in fact, she was considered just the opposite—abrasive and smart-assed.
    Second, she