Viking Warrior Rebel (2 page)

She smiled flirtatiously and tossed her wavy blond hair. The travel-limp tresses landed with a flop on her back. She hoped the hotel offered top-of-the-line toiletries, including bubbles for the hot bath. She'd grown up in squalor, and she now used only the best.

The clerk's gaze dipped low and swept up her body before meeting her eyes again. Astrid sighed at the predictability of the human male, but still increased the wattage of her smile.

The man's eyes widened. “Welcome. Are you checking in, Miss…?”

“Idrisdotter, but call me Astrid. It's probably easier.” She gently lowered her large duffel bag to the floor. Her smallsword was in its scabbard, wound up in layers of clothing. It wasn't likely to make a sound as the bag hit the floor, but the weapon was her favorite and had been with her for a long time. Plus, the guns might have shifted during travel, and there was no reason to call attention to how armed she was. She straightened and noticed the clerk's gaze had slipped to the V-neck of her plain cotton T-shirt.
Seriously.

The goddess Freya had blessed her with curly blond hair and curves that seemed to please the male eye. Astrid knew how to use that to her advantage, and her looks could be a great weapon. She quirked an eyebrow at the clerk, fished her driver's license out of her wallet, and threw it on the counter.

The bow tie of his uniform wobbled as his fingers tapped a keyboard. “I see you're with us for only one night.” He threw her a quick glance.

“I drove through the night and am really tired.” Astrid leaned over the counter, pretending to peek at his screen, while making sure her neckline dipped lower.

The clerk's glance moved to her cleavage as if pulled by a magnetic force. “Ah, let's see what type of rooms we have available.” He swallowed loudly.

One free upgrade and a short elevator ride later, Astrid unlocked the door of a luxury suite on the top floor. The expansive windows covered one whole wall and offered a splendid view of the Denver downtown skyline and the Rocky Mountains beyond. Snowcapped peaks rose dramatically against a clear, blue spring sky. It reminded her of the mountains at home, although their tops were more rounded, more worn down. The Scandes, the mountain chain between Sweden and Norway, had been old even when she was a little girl thousands of years ago. And still, they had appeared gigantic to that little orphan thrall girl who had almost no one looking out for her.

She shook her head to get rid of the memories of how powerless she had been when she was a slave. Thanks to excellent fighting skills, she'd earned her freedom and would never again be in a situation where someone else owned any part of her. She yawned. Although she didn't quite feel all the years of her age today, the long drive from Washington State had definitely drained her. Nothing a bath and a nap couldn't fix though.

She strolled into the bathroom, humming appreciatively to herself when she saw the large sunken tub with jets. She immediately turned on the hot faucet and let the steamy water fill the tub. A quick inspection of the sink revealed toiletries that met her approval. She dumped the whole mini bottle of bubbles into the bath. It had been a very long time since she was that dirty, little thrall girl who didn't even own the rags that covered her body.

She didn't go to excess now, but she made sure to appreciate the simple pleasures in life. Pleasures like expensive bubbles and high-thread-count sheets. These little luxuries relaxed her and therefore made her a better warrior. At least, that's what she told herself. There was probably some deep-seated psychological reason why she felt cleaner and prettier if the soap she'd used was expensive, but why waste time figuring that out? It was more efficient just to spend the money.

As the foam swirled and danced on the rising surface of the water, she fished her cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and tapped out a text to the queen. Astrid's lips quirked as she imagined how stir-crazy Naya would be by now.
Arrived in Denver
, she texted.
Will head to clinic tomorrow and be back with your brother soon.

She'd pulled off her T-shirt and jeans by the time the phone buzzed an answer.
Be careful and thank you.

Astrid's underwear joined the top and jeans on the bathroom floor, and she sank into the hot, fragrant water. A contented sigh escaped her lips as the warmth soothed her travel-worn body, easing the ache in her tense shoulders and stiff back. Driving straight from Washington to Colorado had seemed like a good idea, but now she regretted only stopping for a short nap at a rest stop instead of sleeping in a proper bed. Although, a roadside motel wouldn't have offered the luxury of the suite she was currently in.

She sank in deeper, fully submerging. As she blew out her breath under water, more tension left her body, but a small knot of anxiety remained in her stomach. She couldn't afford to relax fully. Couldn't afford to screw up. She'd seen the look on Ulf's face after their last patrol. Worse, she'd seen the look on her king's face. She knew they tried to hide their worry, but she'd been making too many mistakes lately. Even before that disastrous night, she'd gone too far over the edge into battle fury. Twice, one of the Vikings had to knock some sense into her before she had her rage under control again.

Her lungs ached and she sat up to draw in a deep breath, resting her head against her pulled-up knees. Then there'd been that night where she almost killed a human. It went against everything she stood for. She had been chosen by Freya to protect the people of Midgard. She shook her head. Couldn't think about that night now. Couldn't afford to go down the road of second-guessing herself. It was enough that her battle brothers had lost their faith in her. She had to remain strong.

If she didn't do this mission right and bring back her queen's brother, she might as well not return to the Norse fortress.

Astrid reached for the shampoo, and as she lathered her hair and massaged her scalp, she reviewed tomorrow's plan. She'd drive up to the clinic and pick up Scott. He had endured a long and painful recovery and would probably not be able to do the journey in one stretch, so they'd stop for the night on the way back to Washington. They might have to stop for more than one night, depending on how much the traveling tired Scott, but they would still be back at the Viking fortress in plenty of time for the wedding.

Instead of driving the interstates through Montana and Wyoming as she'd done on the way to Denver, they'd stick to small roads that would eventually lead her through Idaho back to the Viking fortress. That way, they'd be able to stay under the radar of the camp handlers and Loki's monsters. And if not, it wasn't like Astrid and her throwing daggers hadn't won fights where they were outnumbered before. However, she'd like to avoid a conflict if at all possible. Fighting had a way of drawing attention.

Thoughts of battle stirred her inner warrior, but she clamped down on the mental restraints she used to control her berserker. With any luck, it wouldn't surface during this trip. She finished washing her hair and rinsed off before reluctantly leaving the bathroom. Wrapped in a towel with another wound around her still-damp hair, she crossed the suite toward the bedroom. Sleep would help her control the berserker. She pulled back the blinding-white sheets and threw half the pillows on the floor before crawling into the king-size bed.

* * *

A few hours later, Astrid checked her reflection in the hotel elevator. She'd woken up hungry, but rather than ordering room service, she planned to visit a well-reviewed French restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. When she'd first returned from Valhalla to the human realm, she'd spent some time in France and still loved the cuisine. The Viking fortress was unfortunately located in a part of the United States where people preferred burgers and barbecue to beef bourguignonne. The clinic wouldn't open until morning, so she might as well enjoy to the fullest the hours she had to wait. Plus, having a meal at an expensive restaurant helped her cover story of being a wealthy professional woman on a business trip.

She smoothed down the simple black dress she'd brought especially for the restaurant. Made of a clingy knit material, it packed well and didn't take up much room in the bag. She might like dressing appropriately, but weapons would always be a priority and take up the most room in her luggage. The bulk of her arsenal was safely hidden in her hotel room, but she'd made sure she was adequately armed tonight, even for the short walk to the restaurant from the hotel.

She turned sideways to see if the dagger strapped to her thigh would show in profile. The short but full skirt hid her knife sheath perfectly. Twisting a few degrees more, she adjusted the silver belt she wore around her waist. Two throwing blades slid sideways into the back of the custom-made belt, their decorated hilts blending perfectly with the inlays of turquoise and lapis lazuli.

It took only a few minutes to reach the restaurant, and as soon as she stepped inside its doors, Astrid breathed in deeply, appreciating the rich smells of delectable food. The maître d' assured her the table she'd reserved would be available shortly and suggested she wait in the bar.

Astrid took his recommendation and walked the few steps up to the bar, which was raised half a level above the restaurant's main floor. She ordered a glass of her favorite First Growth Bordeaux and inhaled its aroma deeply before savoring her first sip. Sighing contentedly, Astrid perched on a high stool as she let her gaze roam over the patrons enjoying their dinners.

She went for another sip of wine, but froze with the glass halfway to her lips. One of the men across the room looked familiar. He was in half profile as he spoke with his male dinner companion. It couldn't be Holden. No way
he
would be here in Denver. She'd avoided him and his club ever since that night she'd been high on battle fever and, as a result, had gone down a wide road of poor choices due to lack of impulse control.

The memories of Luke Holden's calloused hands heating her skin had her suddenly blushing.

As if he knew she was looking at him, the man turned and their gazes caught across the room. It was definitely Holden. She'd recognize that blond hair and those steel-gray eyes anywhere. She knew how the one-day stubble of that square jaw felt against her own skin. How those arrogant lips could deliver the most scorching of kisses. Heat spread across her skin as other body parts perked up at the memory of her last encounter with the man across the room.

He quirked an eyebrow and raised his glass to her in a silent greeting, a cocky smile stretched across his lips.

Astrid turned her head away, tipped back her own wineglass, and drained it.

Luke couldn't take his eyes off Astrid. Even though he'd expected her to appear tonight—after all, that was why he was having dinner at this precise location—she still stunned him. The recessed lights around the swanky bar in this pretentious restaurant highlighted her many shades of blond. They ran from palest silver to a rich honey-gold. He remembered what it had been like to wrap his hands in those luxurious waves while he buried himself deep inside her and she clenched around him.

“So that's the mark.” Broden whistled appreciatively, forcing Luke's thoughts away from dangerous territory.

He reluctantly tore his gaze away from Astrid and glared at the man across the table. “Yeah, that's Idrisdotter.” He'd never worked with this guy before, but his reputation was solid, supposedly the best in the Denver FBI field office. Broden's job tonight was not too taxing. He just had to pretend to be Luke's business associate, which basically meant provide some conversation while they ate their food. Luckily, they were far enough away from the bar and didn't have to fake chatter.

“You're a lucky guy.” The way Broden's gaze traveled up and down Astrid's body made Luke want to reach across the table and rip his throat out. Why was he overreacting? Broden was simply sharing the thoughts of every other red-blooded male in the joint.

“It's just a job.” The words came out gruffly, and Luke slowly eased the grip on his fork. No need to freak Broden out by bending the silverware.

Broden raised his glass and winked. “Doesn't mean you can't enjoy the additional benefits that may come your way.”

Luke ignored the stab of guilt piercing his chest. He hadn't known Astrid was involved in the job when he'd slept with her. And it had only been that one time. Months ago. That he couldn't stop thinking about.

He cleared his throat. “Can we focus on what we came here to do?” Broden thought Luke was a fellow agent, just not from a field office. Luke did have an official special agent FBI badge, but his unit was one that few people knew about, even within the bureau. The Domestic Terrorism Unit, or DTU, specialized in counterterrorism work against citizens who thought violence against their fellow Americans was the best way to create change.

“If I had orders to get close to that chick, I'd get real close.” Broden smirked. “Know what I'm saying?”

Did the guy rile him up on purpose, or did being a complete pig just come naturally? “You've made your point. Can we concentrate now?”

“Fine.” Broden took a swig from his wineglass and then grimaced. “Fuck, how much are they charging for this shit?”

Luke smiled. “More than either of us can afford in real life.” He'd been undercover as Luke Holden, nightclub owner with a shady past, for eighteen months now. Knowing expensive wines was one of the many things he'd had to learn as part of his new persona. The real Luke preferred a crisp IPA.

“At least the food is good.” Broden took a bite of his entrecôte. “Even if the portions are small as shit.” He looked around the expensive restaurant. “And I guess the decor is okay, if you like pretentious paintings and white tablecloths.”

“You don't want to know how much the food cost either.” Luke tried to catch Astrid's gaze again, but she was not looking their way. Probably on purpose. He hadn't made the connection between her and his mission until she showed up at his club during a business meeting several months ago. He'd managed to become a security client of Naya Brisbane's—although that's not what she'd called herself—and Astrid had shown up to give Naya a message. After that, the only time he'd seen Astrid was when he managed to follow her around Pine Rapids. So far, all he'd seen her do was run errands. Until she all of a sudden headed out of town. He'd been able to track her through traffic cameras across states until it became clear she was going to Colorado. That's when he'd jumped in his own car and got the Denver field office to keep an eye on her until he could catch up.

“So, what's the deal with this woman?” Broden asked, lowering his voice as he kept chewing his very expensive steak. “All I knew was to watch for her name and find where she was staying. When I was told to meet you for a pretend business dinner, I only had enough time to read your cover profile. Why is she a mark?”

Luke would prefer to still be tailing Naya. Astrid messed with his mind too much, but the other woman rarely went out, and he had yet to figure out where either of them lived. The trail just disappeared whenever he tried to follow Astrid home. He couldn't figure out how either of the women managed to evade him. He'd placed trackers on both their vehicles, but the signal was always dropped. “She's more a person of interest.”

The smirk was back on Broden's face. “I can see that. You haven't taken your eyes off her since she entered.”

“I'm just making sure she doesn't bolt.” Luke took another drink of wine to cover the lie. The smooth Rhône slid down his throat, but he still wished it was a cold beer. “She and some of her associates triggered a few red flags.” Like not existing in any official databases and probably being part of one massive government cover-up. But he couldn't tell Broden that. The fewer people who knew the details, the less likely it was that the operation would be yanked out of Luke's hands. He'd hate for it to disappear behind men who had security clearance higher than his or, worse, see it buried altogether.

“That's all you're going to share with me.” Broden pretended to pout. “Some date you turned out to be. I'm not just some bimbo arm candy, you know. I have a brain.”

“Sorry, it's all I can tell you.” Luke tried to look apologetic. “Not my call.” The lies were coming easier and easier. He hadn't checked in with Whalert for a while. The special agent in charge was Luke's immediate supervisor. The guy probably thought Luke had gone rogue, but DTU agents were allowed more leeway since they were so deeply undercover. And Luke couldn't risk anything standing in his way. He had to find closure for his brother.

“Fine. We locals are used to being kept in the dark.” Broden nodded in the direction of the bar. “But since she's already seen us, don't you think you should go and talk to the chick?”

Luke tore his thoughts away from Donovan's lifeless body. “I'm just keeping her in suspense for a little while before I make my move.”

Broden glanced over at the bar and quirked an eyebrow. “You may want to hurry up, before that other dude gives her some of his suspense.”

Luke's attention snapped back to the bar. Astrid's back was now turned to them as she faced some smarmy dude in an ugly green suit. Who picked out a suit in that color?

The guy was leaning against the bar, his hand on her forearm. Luke pushed his chair out. Swearing under his breath, he strode across the room, struggling to keep his pace at a regular human speed. The chemicals in his blood gave him certain advantages, but they also tended to freak people out. By the time he'd cleared the steps up to the bar, he'd also forced his heart rate to slow down.

The Eurotrash talking to Astrid looked up as Luke approached them. Luke pinned him with a hard stare, and the guy's eyes widened as he quickly removed his hand from Astrid's arm. He mumbled something incoherently and scuttled off. Good riddance to both him and that ugly suit.

Astrid threw a glance over her shoulder and slowly swiveled around in her seat. She crossed her impossibly long legs and leaned up against the bar on her elbows, showing off her sculpted arms and shoulders. A tattoo of a snake head and partial body glimmered on her left bicep.

“Mr. Holden. What on earth are you doing here?” The tic in her jaw belied her calm voice. As did the flash of anger in her jade-green eyes.

Luke forced his eyes to remain on hers instead of taking in her body. “Surely we are on a first-name basis by now?” He flashed what was supposed to be a disarming smile, but considering how ticked off he still was about the fashion-challenged guy who'd dared put his hands on her, it might have come off more like a predatory grin.

“A one-night stand does not make us close.” She turned toward the bar and tapped her glass to signal the bartender for a refill. “Especially when the sex wasn't even that memorable.”

What the fuck? That night had been spectacular. And, judging by how she'd screamed when she came, he wasn't the only one who'd enjoyed himself.

He quickly checked his ego and took a silent deep breath. “Is that how we're going to play this?” Sitting down on the stool next to hers, he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “We both know that night was
very
memorable. You voiced your praise quite loudly at the time.” She smelled of some flowery soap, and underneath that, he detected a scent he remembered as uniquely hers. It was spicy and sweet at the same time.

Annoyance flashed in Astrid's eyes. She shrugged. “What can I say? I faked it. Didn't want to hurt your feelings.”

“There was nothing fake about how hard I made you come that night.” She'd milked him to the point where he'd exploded from somewhere so deep inside himself he thought he'd never get hard again. Which he had, only a few minutes after they'd finished the first time.

And for the record, there had been more rounds after that.

Astrid gave him a sideways glance, then turned toward the bartender who'd showed up with a bottle of Bordeaux. “Thank you kindly.” She gave him a full-wattage smile. The guy, who was barely old enough to drink himself, blushed to the roots of his hair.

Luke rapped his knuckles on the bar to get the young bartender's attention. It took a few seconds, but eventually the kid turned his way. “I'll have what she's having, and put hers on my bill.”

“Certainly.” The guy quickly hustled up a stemmed glass and filled it with the rich red wine.

Luke lightly tapped his glass to Astrid's before taking a sip. He closed his eyes, pretending to savor the taste. When he opened them again, Astrid was watching his lips intently. Naked hunger blazed in her eyes until she lowered her lids, shielding her gaze from his view. His groin tightened. She obviously wanted him as much as he wanted her. So why the attitude?

He knew why
he
should stay away from her. Sleeping with her would complicate his mission. But why did
she
resist the strong pull between them? Maybe she was still ticked because he'd bolted the morning following their night together. He should apologize, but he couldn't tell her the real reason he'd had to go. An informant had texted him with a tip. It had turned out to be nothing, and he'd hauled ass back to his apartment. By then, Astrid had already left. She'd even made the bed, as if she wanted to erase all signs of having spent the night.

“So, where's your tall, handsome sidekick tonight?” She sipped her wine, not looking at him.

Luke was busy watching the tip of her tongue catch a wayward drop. It took a little while for her words to register. “Who?”

She threw him a glance and quirked an eyebrow. “Your bodyguard.” She put the wineglass back on the bar.

“Oh, you mean Rex.” The massive man was actually the head of his club's security team but sometimes acted as bodyguard when Luke's nightclub owner persona had a meeting. “He's managing the club while I'm away. You'll have to be content with just me tonight.” Not able to resist her bare skin beckoning to him, he ran his index finger down her arm and watched goose bumps rise in its wake. He barely kept himself from giving in to the powerful urge to press his lips against her warm, sun-kissed skin. He cleared his throat to cover his loss of composure. It was ridiculous how drawn he was to her.

She pulled away and looked at him across her shoulder. “What the hell was that?” she asked.

“I just like touching you.” Inside, he cringed. He sounded like a lovestruck teenager.

Her eyes glittered dangerously. “You haven't earned the right to touch without asking permission.”

He flashed her a grin, the disarming one he used when questioning unsuspecting females. “May I?”

She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, she reached for her wineglass. She took a long sip. “That's not a good idea.” The tic in her jaw was back.

“I disagree.” He leaned forward, careful not to touch her, but close enough to share his body heat. “Come back with me to my hotel. I'm staying at the Warwick.”

“That's definitely a bad idea.”

“Okay, I'll come to your hotel. Where are you staying?” He already knew she was at the same hotel. That's why he'd booked a room there.

“Does that line ever work?”

“You tell me. I've never used it before.”

She shook her head. “I don't have time for your games.” She leaned away from him.

He immediately felt cold. “Let's start over.” He kept his tone light and friendly. “What brings you to Denver?”

Astrid went unnaturally still. She made a production of drinking the last of her wine and then pushed the glass away from her. “I'm here on business.”

“And what is it you do? We didn't have a chance to talk about our jobs during our date.” He willed her to look at him, but she kept her gaze straight ahead. From her profile, he couldn't tell her mood. He leaned down and lowered his voice. “Actually, there wasn't much talking at all.”

She turned to face him, her eyes flashing. “That was most definitely not a date.” Before she had a chance to say anything more, the maître d' approached. “Mademoiselle, your table is ready.” The slim man quirked an eyebrow. “Will monsieur be joining you?”

“No.” Astrid's answer cracked the air like a whip. She gracefully uncrossed her legs and stood. “Monsieur has already had his dinner.” She plastered a fake smile on her lips. “Thank you ever so much for the wine though,” she said to Luke before following the maître d' down the steps and into the main part of the restaurant.