Valkyrie's Harem (Academy of Immortals 1)

The legends of Marshal’s terror are widely documented. I looked up everything that I could about these men in Dylan’s extensive library at the Nead when they’d first moved in. Marshall is a known predator. A pillager of villages, riches, and women. That being said, there’s something about him that is very desirable. It oozes off of him and despite my immense willpower, I reluctantly admit many women probably did choose to sleep with him.

“I don’t like being underestimated,” Rupert says, going back to his original topic. “My father made the same mistake and came to regret it.”

There’s no time to try to assure him that being a student isn’t a slight in this situation, because the instructor walks in the room and he immediately has my attention. Miya strolls toward the podium with a commanding stance. No one would mistake this man for a student, that’s for sure. He’s no longer in his stuffy instructor coat and tie, but in something more suitable for warfare. His shirt is sleeveless, revealing lean, sculpted arms. His pants are baggy, tied at the waist with a length of rope. His eyes skim the classroom, assessing for enemies. They land on me and hold for a second, making the hair on the back of my neck rise, before skipping across the room.

“This class is a study in the classic art of swordsmanship. Part history, part skills. The sword is not just a weapon—it’s an instrument—a tool that requires balance and purpose.” He reaches behind his back and unsheathes his sword. As he brings it over his head it glints in the light. His arm muscles bulge, and Marshal snorts next to me.

“Show off,” he mutters.

“You,” he says, pointing to Marshal. “Come here.”

“Me?” he asks innocently. Miya nods. Marshal slides out of his seat, taking his time to get to the front. I see the wide-eyed fascination of my classmates. Even Rupert stops his reading to watch the scene unfold. Miya tosses him a sword from a rack against the wall.

“Show the class why you were selected for the academy.”

It’s a ruse, obviously. Marshal wasn’t selected for this school, but no one else needs to know that and, like Armin said, Marshal can’t resist a challenge.

He flips the sword from one hand to another, showing a level of competency that only comes with innate ability and centuries of experience. Miya watches him closely—carefully—waiting for his fellow Immortal to make the first move. He does, and their swords hit with a vibrating clang.

Their moves are swift, two skilled warriors testing one another, but even to an outsider it’s obvious that Miya’s abilities are unparalleled. The two dance around one another, the only sound their deep grunts of exertion and their blades as they meet. It only takes him a few moments to disarm Marshal, his foot pressing down on the fallen blade and the tip of his own pressed to his opponent’s throat.

Dark rage simmers in Marshal’s eyes. It’s a contrast. He doesn’t like to lose but he also knows his place. He’s a student and like he said, he’s not going to give away his tricks for the school to see. The anger fades and Marshal wipes his brow after they shake hands.

He doesn’t look at me as he returns to his seat.

I lean over to Rupert, catching a hint of his warm, clean scent.

“That was quite the show for the class.” My heart beats from watching the display.

He shuts his book. “That show wasn’t for the class.”

I frown. “Then who was it for?”

“That display of manliness and testosterone? That was for one person.” His eye brow raises. “You.”

18

Armin

My first lesson isn’t until later in the day, and I take the opportunity to watch Miya command his class. It isn’t a surprise he’s a good instructor. He’s always been patient, willing to share his insights with the rest of us. He’s definitely the type that can separate knowledge from warfare—compartmentalizing the two. There is one thing I know for certain; I’d never want to be on the opposite side of his calm, collected wrath.

Although most of the eyes in the class are on Miya and Marshal, I focus my attention on Hildi. She watches the Immortals spar at the front of the room, engrossed. I didn’t expect to find myself protective of her in this realm. Sure, I alwa

ys have the back of my fellow warriors, but there’s something about the Valkyrie that draws me in. It may be the simple fact that she’s vulnerable—it’s been a long time since we’ve been around a non-immortal. It’s been a very long time since I’ve found myself caring about someone else. Even considering them at all.

But that isn’t all that draws me to her. Hildi is beautiful—shatteringly so. Odin built her as a weapon, one that is deadly on the battlefield and likely in bed. Her legs are long and conjure ideas of what they’d feel like wrapped around my waist. Her hair long and shiny, eyes bright and bold. And her breasts—

“Excuse me,” a voice says behind me. I start, so consumed with thinking about the Valkyrie that I didn’t sense someone walking up on me. I shift uncomfortably and glance back to see a small girl with short pink hair. She looks vaguely familiar. “You’re Instructor Armin, right?”

“I am.”

She smiles with relief. “I’m Elizabeth. I’m taking your class on mythology, and I’m super eager to learn more about it.”

I appraise the small girl, she’d been there when we fell through the portal, approaching Hildi as she lay sprawled on the ground. She’s a teenager, like the others. Her scent is fairly sweet. I can’t quite figure out what her breed is. Something containing a slippery magic if I’m reading her correctly.

“I’m sure it stinks to take time away from looking for the Talisman.” She eyes me. “That’s why you’re here, right? To find the stone?”

“The gods sent me here to join the crusade, and yes, I’d much rather be searching for the stone than teaching a class.”