Valkyrie's Harem (Academy of Immortals 1)

12

Marshal

The basement—the entire Nead—is finally silent when I hear the shift of a mattress and the creak of a door opening and closing. I wait a beat, making sure no one else is awake, and follow the echo of soft footsteps as she climbs the stairwell. The route is familiar, four flights of stairs leading to the solitude of the rooftop.

She stands in the moonlight, hair shining like a halo.

Much like the first time I found her here.

That time she’d been a shadow of herself—a few weeks past the battle with the Morrigan. Her disdain for our existence was obvious. I didn’t care what she thought. I did like looking at her ass. Her tits. Her scent kept me in a constant state of arousal. The same could be said of nearly every other woman I passed. My appetite for the flesh is written in history books.

Even so, I might be a cad, but I wasn’t suicidal. Clinton told us to keep our hands to ourselves, or we wouldn’t have hands at all. I believed him.

There was a shift that night—I came to the rooftop to smoke, catch a glimpse of the expansive city, and catch my breath. I didn’t approach her.

She made the move. Gods, she needed affection, somewhere to channel that grief and pent-up emotion, and I’m not one to let an opportunity pass—broken hands or not.

Tonight, I light a cigarette and take a long drag before strolling across the lush garden, keeping my eyes on the woman by the rail. I have little doubt she knows I’m here, but I make my presence known. The last thing I need is a swift kick to the balls. A man learns after sneaking up on a woman this powerful.

She tilts her head in my direction, her neck a long, pale column. I ease up to the railing and look ahead. The park is directly in front of us and the majesty of the city beyond that. After so many years in captivity, this modern city overwhelms me. It smells better than the cities of our pasts. It’s brighter too—the glare painful to the eyes. I can still appreciate its beauty—much like the woman next to me. This place is lovely from afar, volatile up close. If only I didn’t have the fire of recklessness.

I offer her the cigarette, and she shakes her head.

“You know I can’t smoke that.”

“Why not?”

“Some of us aren’t immortal—at least not anymore. It’s not a good habit to poison our bodies.”

I laugh. “You have longevity. I doubt a few hits will kill you.”

She turns to face me, and I get a good look at her breasts. Her top is thin and they’re firm and round with peaked nipples. My pants tighten, and I take another drag while swallowing my desire.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks.

“Thought I’d get some fresh air.” It’s a stupid statement, but the truth is that I’m not sure why I am out here. The easy answer is because I’m looking for some pussy. The harder one is that I’d come to check on her. Roland was a dick today, and the challenge ahead? It’s not going to be easy for any of us, especially her.

The wind blows and her hair wafts in my direction, sending over a burst of her scent. I don’t know if it’s the fact I’d spent so long isolated from women while we belonged to the Shaman or if it’s something particular about Hildi, but just being near her makes me horny as fuck.

“You know Roland is—"

“Seriously? You came up here to talk about Roland?” She licks her bottom lip and my loins tighten. I shake my head. No. We don’t talk.

I take a final drag and stub out the cigarette, then I reach for her hip, pulling her to me.

“It may be hard doing this on the battlefield,” I say, pressing my body to hers. Her breath catches, and I know she feels my arousal. Her hand moves to my chest. “I thought maybe we could—”

“Shut up, Marshal, you talk too fucking much,” She cuts me off again, this time with her mouth. Her tongue pushes between my lips, and I taste a hint of the wine she had earlier. I know the Valkyrie doesn’t want it gentle, and neither do I. That’s why this works. It’s about want. Desire. Lust. Sex.

All of our emotions are left at the door. Well, hers are. I’m not sure I even have emotions anymore. They’re lost in years of blood and ash.

Her hands push at the waist of my jeans, thumbing my button loose. She feels my cock—I know she likes it and is impressed by the size. The first time she saw it, she’d gasped and stroked it eagerly. I almost came like an adolescent, barely in control of my body. In a swift move, I yank down her leggings, taking her panties with them. I push her shirt up over her chest and kiss her tits, sucking her nipples. I smile at her moan floating through the night air. I reach between her legs and feel the warm, slick heat, checking to see if she’s ready.

She may not care about me, but her body reacts to my touch, and that’s all that matters.

She spins around and presses her stomach against the railing, the New York skyline twinkling ahead. She surprises me, every time.

Her ass rubs against me, making my already hard cock impossibly harder. “Since this is our last time doing this,” she says, “make it worth it.”