Valkyrie's Harem (Academy of Immortals 1)

“Yeah. Tired. Overwhelmed, I think.”

“That news seemed to hit you hard.” He crosses his arms over his chest. His muscles bulge. “You don’t think they’ll be successful?”

I remove my sweater, revealing a black tank. My hoodie hangs on a hook by the closet, and I reach for it, pulling the soft cotton over my head. I sense Armin’s eyes on me. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. I try to be respectful of their needs—wants. But we live in close quarters, victims of our circumstances, and I’ve made it clear I’m not looking for any sort of relationship. They keep their thoughts to themselves, most of the time at least.

“I have no doubt they’re capable of completing and winning the challenge,” I say. “I’ve never known such disciplined warriors. They are smart and clever.”

“But?”

I sigh. “But they’re different now. Distracted. In love. Deliriously happy about the baby. They could make mistakes, get hurt or do something rash or stupid.”

He watches me carefully, taking in my thoughts. “You think they’ll let their emotions interfere with their task.”

“I do.”

“That’s a risky assumption. Do you think the gods know?”

“I don’t think the gods care about the trivialities of our daily life. I know Freya and Odin don’t. They’re calling on their strongest warriors. Loyal and true. Love and family aren’t something the gods understand.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t either, do you?”

He considers my question for a moment before speaking.

“Long ago, I had a mother.” He leans into the doorframe. “She was a whore and sold me to a slave master when I was eight. At twelve, I snuck into the military camps and worked my way up. My commander and unit were the closest thing I had to a family. They all died on the battlefield, slaughtered like lambs.” Armin’s eyes hold mine. “So, no, family is something you lose like everything else. It doesn’t keep you from your duty.”

I step closer and get a whiff of his soap. Of the manly scent that lingers on his skin. He’s tan, bright-eyed, and blond. German through-and-through. “Dylan and the others want to break that cycle. They want to live like the men in this world. Give Morgan a human life. Along with their child. Is that so wrong for me to wish that for them, too?”

To my surprise, he reaches out and gently touches my chin. “It’s a privileged life to make wishes, Hildi.”

He’s right and I know it. The guardians have no such privilege and neither do the men in the Legion. They’ve spent their lives bound to someone else. No better than slaves. No better than a woman beholden for sex and service like his mother.

I swallow and say, “I want better for Morgan. For the men that have taken me in these past few months. We’ve fought together, and I’ll do whatever I can to help them.”

Armin gives me the lopsided smile I can’t help but think is adorable. “You don’t owe another your life,” he says.

But that’s the thing, I think, looking at this mythological man in front of me. Maybe I do.

I sleep like the dead, waking around midday. My stomach rumbles with hunger and I dress quickly to head upstairs for food. I’m not the only one moving slowly, because I find Rupert in the kitchen scarfing down breakfast.

“Good morning,” he says, barely looking up from his meal.

“Morning,” I reply, heading to the stove. Sue left egg and sausage casserole out, along with a basket of bread.

I fill my plate and grab a cup of black coffee before sitting across the table from him. A buttered biscuit is in his hand and an empty glass of milk sits on the table.

We eat in peace for a moment before he breaks the silence. “I know what you’re thinking.”

I look up from my plate and raise an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“You’re going to try to stop the guardians from going on this mission. You’re trying to figure out a plan.”

“Hmm,” I reply, shoving the greasy but delicious casserole in my mouth. “That seems a little foolish to interfere with the wishes of the gods. Do I look foolish to you?”

“Not at all.” Rupert’s hair is wavy and a little shaggy. He speaks in a formal tone and his moves are confident and aristocratic. He was young when he left home and fought brutally on the battlefield. He was young when he died, his face still boyish, but I sense the power beneath his skin. He’s not to be underestimated. “Armin told us what you said last night. About your concerns about the guardians being distracted. It’s valid.”

“You think so?” Armin had basically brushed me off. Or at least, it seemed so.

“Yes. Agis is talking to Dylan right now.”

I drop my fork. “About what?”