Valkyrie's Harem (Academy of Immortals 1)

Agis, leader of the Spartan army, that although he was severely injured refused to stop, allowing his soldiers to push through to victory. Camulus waited eagerly for him to pass and proclaimed him the God of Death. He then gave him the reaper’s scythe to kill and terrorize.

Roland, a peer of Charlemagne, was simply known for being a ruthless general. He’s nothing less than a bad-ass warrior who is willing to take on an army alone.

Marshal, known for his easy good looks and charming grin, bested over 500 knights and conquered large swaths of land for his kings. His kills were brutal, merciless, and he left the villages and towns pillaged of worth, wealth, and women.

Armin, the German strongman that rampaged through the countryside. Muscles upon muscles. Little to no fear. He brought terror into the heart of his victims.

And Rupert, a young prince and war enthusiast. He secretly joined his father’s army and was so good at strategy and missions, defeating enemies, that rumors followed him that he had supernatural powers.

Camulus finally agreed to release them from their contract, but he didn’t undo their immortality. He cursed them with it instead, adding the guilt of their past deeds, and sold their contract to the Shaman for a different life of blood and sport, chaining them to the fighting rings. There, they became known as the Legion of Immortals.

They lived this life for centuries, until the Raven Guard won their contract and used them for their own battle and subsequently set the six damaged, restless warriors free.

Now, we all live here together.

I stand at the bar and watch the men I left at a table across the room carefully. I assess them one by one, keeping track of them. Six. They’re a lot to handle. Impulsive, socially confused by modern life, and uniquely dangerous. There’s no way around it. They’re terrifyingly dangerous, but for some reason, they listen to me.

Sort of.

It helps when I slap on my bitch face, which, to be honest, is most of the time now. I just don’t have the energy to do much more. Grief is an energy-sucking bastard.

“Risked bringing them into public, eh?” Circe the bartender asks. The girl wipes down wet glasses and places them on the shelf behind the bar.

“Anniversary gift to Morgan and the guys.”

“It’s been a year already?” Circe’s eyes widen at the thought. A lot has happened in the last year.

“Yep. I figured they could use a little time without us around.”

“I doubt you’re much of a problem,” she says, then glances over at the men. “Them, on the other hand…”

“They’re a handful,” I concede, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. My Viking-blonde hair shines even in the dim light and my eyes are crystal blue. I’m tall, extremely so, and I know beneath that beneath my clothes there’s nothing but a fit, lean body. Everything about me is fit for battle. “I couldn’t take them to the fights—too many bad memories. And all-human events are still out. They don’t have the manners. I figured at least with the wards in place, they couldn’t sneak weapons in the bar.”

“Good idea.”

The guys hang around the table, mostly happy to just be out and about. Empty bottles line the table that looks too small compared to their massive, well-defined bodies. They sprawl over every surface. Long legs, broad shoulders. Armin’s long blond hair is tied behind his neck and his arm hangs over the back of the chair next to him. Roland animatedly discusses something using his hands. His shoulders tense and expression is angry.

“Is that a problem?” she asks.

“I don’t think so. He’s just…intense?” I run my hands over my hair. “Dylan said once Camulus released them from their contracts, they regained their souls. They’ve adjusted to the sins of their past differently. Roland? Seems like he carries a lot of pent-up anger.”

“Maybe he should go back to the fights.”

“Without the Shaman’s hold, he’d tear the place apart. I’ve watched them spar in the training room at The Nead. These guys are vicious.” And very skilled. Fast. Disciplined. No wonder they eliminated the Morrigan’s army so quickly.

Next to Roland is Marshal, who keeps looking at one of the female fae hanging out by the pool tables. He’s the most flirtatious of the group, a trait that is harder to resist than I’d like to admit. He’s handsome with a strong jaw and pretty green eyes. I watch him closely.

Circe notices.

“That won’t end well.”

Fae are notoriously temperamental; especially when it comes to the opposite sex.

“I told him. I told all of them,” I grumble. I mean, I get it. They’re horny. They’ve been chained up for decades with little or no release. Before that? They took what they wanted, when they wanted. Barbarians, really. I’ve been trying to teach them slowly how to acclimate to current society, but it’s hard. They spent many years as entitled warriors. It’s not like that here.

The men all stopped aging around the same point of life—mid-twenties. All probably in their peak physically, which is how they came to such leadership in their various armies. Rupert is a little younger, looks about twenty-one with his reddish-blond hair that curls over his ears. I know physical appearance is a trick with immortal beings. I’m in a similar situation, definitely older than what my body and face present.

The fairy, thin and svelte, leans over the pool table to line up her shot. Her butt is wrapped up tight in the denim of her skinny jeans, and Marshal hasn’t stopped staring for a full minute. He stands, and I’m on the move before he can get us all in trouble. I skirt between him and the fairy.