Sleipnir

"I am not Odin!" she said sharply.

I gave her an equally sharp stare. "Meaning... ?"

She looked as if she wanted to lower her gaze; but she was too proud to look away.

"I do my job. I do it well, even when I do not like it. All soldiers face this; do they not? But I am not Odin, and I do not wish your death, and it is not I who will collect your life on the field of battle tomorrow."

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Rangrid's expression shifted, then, into a terrible fear which chilled me. What could frighten a valkyrie? Whatever it was, it scared hell out of me.

She whispered, "There are so few like you... ."

Her eyes met mine. A cloud of soft gold framed her face. Her voice was velvety, persuasive. "You are safe so long as you remain with me. And we have the night to enjoy. Please, for a few hours, at least, try to put aside your suspicions. You have a right to them; I will not argue that. But I am not your enemy. I never have been. Tonight I wish only to enjoy your company. As I hope you will enjoy mine."

I don't normally sleep with the enemy. But she was soft and warm, and my skin remembered the feel of her, and wanted more. And there wasn't much use ruining what might well be my last night as a living, breathing man. Even condemned murderers get a last meal. Besides, I wanted to believe her.

So call me a fool.

I nodded, unsure how to break the tension that had flared between us.

Rangrid took care of that. "Come, lie down. Please. Let me rub your back and shoulders. You look like stone."

"Huh. I feel like it." My shoulders were so knotted, I could've earned a merit badge with them.

I crossed to the bed—one eye still on her—and lay down, slowly. She knelt above me. Then, as promised, she went to work on my shoulders. She kneaded and stretched out the hard knots, slowly working her way up my neck, down my back, across my hips, and down each leg, until I lay relaxed and glowing beneath her touch. She could've gotten a job at any whorehouse this side of the planet Neptune, just giving backrubs.

"Mmm," I sighed. "Nice."

Her lips touched my shoulder blade, like sun-warmed rose petals. Lazily, I hoped this boded well for the rest of the evening. Rangrid was a lady I wanted a long time to get to know. More time than Odin might give us.

"Shh..." she urged. "Don't think of tomorrow. Think of my hands, and lazy, sunlit afternoons... ."

She continued on in that vein for several minutes. As she worked over me, her breasts tickled and teased my sensitized skin. Her hair brushed my back with the softness of butterfly wings.

She even rubbed my feet.

Then she worked her way slowly back up my legs, running her thumbs up the insides of my thighs, stretching the sensitive skin in rhythmic circles. I hissed softly.

"Keep that up," I murmured into the bedding, "and you'll undo all your good work."

"We mustn't let that happen, then, must we?"

There was low laughter in her voice. When she turned me onto my back, I rolled willingly, returning the smile she sent from beneath a cascade of golden hair.

"Now," she said with a wicked smile, her fingers doing soft, tantalizing things, "what was it you said out there about your coming depending on me?"

"Oh, no," I groaned.

"Oh, yes," she replied, leaning over me until her hair tickled my chest. "Really, you should never tease a valkyrie; especially not where the Einherjar can hear."

Her hair trailed tantalizingly downward... .

My eyes crossed and I moaned. When I could speak again, I croaked hoarsely, "Really, I didn't mean it that—"

I grunted when she sat on my chest. The witch leaned over my face until her breasts just barely skimmed my lips. "Oh, yes you did!"

I was too distracted to deny it. It was true, anyway.

Eagerly I licked. "Mmm," I said in my throat, nursing and nibbling with my teeth.

She pulled back, smiled demurely; then turned around.

I gasped; my torture had begun.

For the first half-hour, she never even touched the one part of me that demanded to be touched; by the end of that time I was thrashing and grinding my teeth. Every time I reached for her, she moved my hands aside, and continued tantalizing me.

"For gods' sake, Rangrid," I gritted, "have a... little mer-cy... !"

My voice hit soprano. Cold air a moment later was a shock.

"Mmm," was all she said.

"Oh, god..."

When she started a slow, rhythmic dance my eyes rolled back into my head and I convulsed. "Oh, god!"

My whole universe contracted, centered on the exquisite agony at my hips. I could endure no more, and did, and cursed and begged. Warm breath from her low laughter teased me as much as her actual touch. I lost all sense of time. When she finally turned and slid down over me, I actually lost consciousness in the throes of orgasm.

When I woke, the room was dark. The scent of her filled my nostrils. This time I took the initiative, and before I was even halfway finished with her, she was crawling backward up the wall, clutching my head and screaming with every shudder.

I brought her down, took her up again, and brought her down until she quivered. When I slid inside, she gasped, pulling me close and raking my back with her nails. She was reduced to little more than panting groans when my mouth sought hers.

And then we fought a battle few—if any—other mortals had ever fought with Rangrid, and survived to tell the tale.

This time she was asleep before me.

When I woke the second time, I found her gazing at me. Her long hair spilled across both our bodies. I smiled, and she answered. Then she leaned closer to kiss me.

Ahh, what I wouldn't give...

But I was utterly relaxed, my body warm and tired, and I didn't want to move again for the rest of my life.

Her eyes crinkled nicely when she smiled. "Are you hungry?"

"Mmm; but I don't think I could manage it again."

Her eyes twinkled. "Not that, silly. I meant, would you like some dinner? Gerta did bring in a platter of food while we slept."

"Oh, so there really is a Gerta? I thought she was a convenient fiction."

She laughed. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy every second."

I held up three fingers of one hand in a Boy Scout salute.

"I cannot tell a lie."

She kissed my fingers; then rolled over and sat up.

I groaned. "God, how can women have so much energy?"

"Lie still, then, and I'll drop grapes into your delightful mouth."

I grinned. "That sounds good." Every great hero is entitled to a couple of grapes from a beautiful woman; isn't he?

She reappeared with a heavy tray, and proceeded to fill my "delightful mouth" with all sorts of wonderful delicacies. I fed her in turn, and we laughed like children and drank strong, dark mead until we were both tipsy.

Then I surprised myself, and made love to her again, slow and gentle; and we made it last for more than an hour.

Sometime thereafter I gradually awoke to a sensation I hadn't experienced since I was four years old. The mattress was cold and wet. I struggled up onto one elbow.

"Oh, no." I flopped back down.

"Mmm?" Rangrid opened her eyes, and looked worried. "What is it?"

"Somebody spilled." My mother's favorite phrase returned to haunt me.

We had managed to spread the contents of the dinner tray with remarkable thoroughness across the bed. The overturned pitcher had been responsible for waking me; mead was soaking its way coldly beneath us.

Rangrid rolled over, and eyed the mess askance; then turned and unexpectedly licked the inside of my right knee. I jumped. Her tongue tickled. Especially after... what... three? Gad, a personal record... .