One Night With The Valkyrie

Falling for the immortal warrior princess...

While tracking down his beloved brother, billionaire Adam Lyon is struck dumb by a vision of a beautiful woman in armor. But when this vision comes to life, she turns his entire world upside down. Adam soon discovers that valiant Valkyrie Maja is a dream come true, but their passion violates the gods’ laws.

Maja brings heroic souls to Valhalla, so why did she spare one mortal man’s life? Not only does that violate Odin’s orders, but she soon finds herself swept up in an illicit desire for sexy Adam. Battling to save their very lives, the CEO and the shield maiden find their forbidden love hangs in the balance—as does the fate of the world...

“I am not a figment of your imagination, and I do not steal souls,” Maja protested angrily.

Leaning over the bed, she prodded him in the chest with one finger. “I escort the fallen to their next destination.”

Adam appeared to find her anger amusing and pulled her closer. “I don’t care what you do. Let’s leave my brother out of whatever the hell is going on in my screwed-up head.”

Squirming to break free of his hold, she was conscious of his superior strength.

His nearness was having the strangest effect on her. Although she was still struggling to escape, she was no longer sure getting away from him was what she wanted. A strange sensation was sweeping through her as the warmth of his touch seemed to seep into her bones. Adam drew her toward him, and she faced a decision: keep fighting or give in. His lips were inches from hers.

Slowly, enjoying the flare of surprise in his eyes, she lowered her head and kissed him.

JANE GODMAN writes in a variety of romance genres, including paranormal, gothic and romantic suspense. Jane lives in England and loves to travel to European cities that are steeped in history and romance—Venice, Dubrovnik and Vienna are among her favorites. Jane is married to a lovely man and is mum to two grown-up children.

One Night with the Valkyrie

Jane Godman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I love paranormal romance. It’s a genre in which everything is supercharged—including the romance. Additional powers, other worlds, magic and danger... All those things provide both readers and writers with a minivacation from reality.

This story is dedicated to my fellow paranormal-romance lovers, who encourage me to keep building fantasy worlds and creating larger-than-life characters. Thank you for your support!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Adam Lyon had dodged many bullets in his life. Until now, they had always been of the conversational variety. For the first time ever, the fire and fury being unleashed around him was not in a boardroom...and it was not of his own making.

He thought of his time in Syria in numbers. Two weeks. Seven towns. Ten uncomfortable hotel beds. Fifteen thousand dollars. One question his guide had asked over and over.

“Where is the American called Lyon?”

Despite its seriousness, the question had become a source of amusement between Adam and his guide, Yussef. Something to lighten the darkness of their mood. As they toured the Damascus bars with Danny’s picture in one hand and a wad of American money in the other, Adam had joked that at least Yussef had made it clear they were seeking a Western mercenary, not a man-eating beast from the United States.

The answers—or half answers and hints—he got in one of those bars had brought him north to this desolate, shelled-out town called Warda. They were the reason he was now crouched in the corner of a half-ruined, empty office building with all hell raging outside. His arrival had coincided with an intense new outbreak of fighting.

Yussef had brought him to this building, the deserted workplace of one of his friends. The terrified guide had advised Adam to hide here while he attempted to negotiate a way out of town. He explained that Warda was the center of an ongoing battle for supremacy between ultrahardline government fighters and radicalized rebels.

And you walked into the middle of this place before you checked that out. Nice going, Lyon.

That had been an hour ago, and Yussef had not yet returned. Adam might have known the guy for only two weeks, but Yussef didn’t seem the type of person to run out on his responsibilities. Apart from anything else, Adam hadn’t paid him for his services, and he knew Yussef had a young family to feed. No, he had a horrible feeling about the reason why Yussef had not come back. His only hope had been killed, injured or captured. Which left Adam on his own. Not a new situation, but not one he had ever faced with bombs and bullets going off all around him.

As an American in Syria, Adam had known all along he was kidnap fodder for both sides in the ongoing conflict. He hadn’t entered into this trip lightly, and hadn’t gotten into this country easily. It had been a question of weighing his own safety against the need to find his brother. In those circumstances, Danny would always come first. A year ago, Danny had volunteered with a medical charity and come to Syria. Now, as the ground beneath his feet shook in time with the explosions just outside the building, and his ears rang in protest, he realized that kidnapping wasn’t his most immediate problem.

I am in so much trouble here. Now there are two missing Lyon brothers, and no one back home knows where either of us is.

The thought galvanized him and he got to his feet, pleased to find his legs were steady. There was no point sitting here waiting for death. May as well head on out and meet it face-to-face.

As he staggered toward what remained of the front door of the building, the shooting outside intensified. Something else happened at the same time. Everything got suddenly darker and a whole lot weirder.

Automatically assuming the change was caused by dust from the explosions, Adam rubbed his eyes to clear them. It didn’t help. If anything, his vision darkened even further.

This is it, he decided. I’ve been hit. They say you don’t always feel pain.

He was about to grope around his body for a bullet wound when the door flew inward and a black cloud filled the foyer.

“What the...?” Chemical weapons. I am so screwed.

The amorphous mass of darkness that had poured into the space began to shift. Within the quivering cloud, Adam could make out three winged figures. Although their features were indistinct, they were female and they were on horseback.

Hallucination. But what a way to go.

One of the figures moved slightly ahead of the others, materializing more fully. Her voice echoed in the small space. “I seek the American Lion.”

Adam decided he may as well go along with his own delusion. That whole lion joke between him and Yussef had clearly taken a grip on his imagination. “That makes two of us. If you find him first, tell him his brother said ‘hi.’”

Fascinated, he watched as the forms manifested themselves completely. His senses seemed to be heightened to the point where he could observe every detail of the illusion in front of him.

The horses’ coats shone like satin as they plunged and reared with restless energy. Adam was only mildly surprised when each animal unfurled giant wings at the same time as it snorted steam and pawed the ground. This was all going on inside his head, after all, so why should anything that happened come as a shock to him?

The woman who had spoken dismounted and took a step closer to him. Adam took a moment to congratulate himself on the quality of this fantasy. Two weeks of enforced celibacy had clearly done wonders for his imagination. It also seemed he might have a previously unexplored warrior-princess fetish.

This tall, slender vision possessed silken skin, impossibly blue eyes and flowing, gold hair. She and her companions were dressed in identical silver helmets adorned on either side with decorative wings, and a tight scarlet corset over which was fastened a fish-scale breastplate. Each of them wore a cloak made of feathers so pure and white they could only have come from the breast of a swan. They carried shields and spears, and had short swords in sheaths strapped at their waists.

In other circumstances, Adam might have spent more time enjoying this visual feast. Since Armageddon seemed to be unfolding in the street outside, he didn’t have another minute to waste. It couldn’t be wrong to barge past a figment of your own imagination, could it? As he took a step forward, the woman placed an unexpectedly solid-feeling hand on his chest, halting him.

“I am Maja, Valkyrie shield maiden.” She spoke clearly enough to be heard over the sound of automatic gunfire. The echoing note had gone and her voice sounded almost normal, although her accent was hard to place. “I must take the bravest of the fallen back to the great hall of Valhalla.”

As Adam gazed into Maja’s incredible eyes, trying to decide how his mind had endowed a make-believe creation with so much detail, one entire wall of the building collapsed.

Although his body was intact—there were no bullet wounds, after all—this shock-induced delusion hit him hard. Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision as dizziness overtook him and the dust scented floor rose up to meet him as he sprawled at Maja’s feet.

* * *

The man facing her with an expression of bewilderment clouding his handsome features was not a warrior. He was clad in pants made from a faded, heavy-duty blue cloth and a lightweight, khaki jacket, under which he wore one of those garments she had heard described on other earthly visits as a T-shirt. On his feet were scarred and dusty boots. Not combat clothing, Maja decided. He carried no weapons. More importantly, he was alive.

Maja wasn’t interested in living people. Her task was simple. Odin the Allfather wanted the souls of the bravest warriors who died in battle. They would join his army-in-waiting. The role of the Valkyries was to swoop into the scene of conflict and escort those souls to Valhalla, the great Hall of the Slain, within which Odin’s elite fighting force lived.

This land called Syria had recently become a scene of such great strife that even the Valkyries had turned their attention in this direction. Although their chosen warriors were usually Norsemen, Odin wanted the finest for his army. If that meant widening their search, then his shield maidens must follow the Allfather’s will. Brynhild, the Valkyrie leader, who was also Maja’s older sister, had been at the end of her wits as she planned this mission. There was desperate fighting going on in two places at the same time and Odin’s demands were becoming more difficult to fulfill.

“The American Lion.” Brynhild had shaken her head as she pored over her charts. Finding the bravest warriors wasn’t an exact science. Brynhild could predict where each fighter would be; she had an idea of the danger they would face, but she couldn’t be certain who would die. Odin remained insistent. Only the best would do for his army.

“One name crops up over and over in the stars. The Allfather is determined to have the warrior known as the American Lion. The Norns tell me he will be here in the town of Warda—” Brynhild had pointed to a dot on her map “—and there will be intense fighting there today.” She had moved her finger to another location, also in Syria, but many miles away. A frown descended on her face. “Yet there will be ten other warriors, all of whom Odin wants, in this other town at the same time. Each of them is less likely to survive than the American Lion. Do I risk the chance at ten warriors on the gamble that the American Lion will die today?”

“Why don’t I go to Warda, while you take the other town?” Maja had said.

It would be a chance to prove herself. To step out from beneath the shadow of her older sisters. The skepticism in Brynhild’s eyes as Maja had made the suggestion told her everything she needed to know.

I am still seen as the baby of the family.

It was always the same. Maja was the youngest of the true Valkyries. The twelve true daughters of Odin made up the group of female fighters whose job was to claim the finest souls for their father.

There was a hierarchy among the ranks of the Valkyrie. For many centuries Odin’s daughters had been the only ones considered worthy to bear the title of shield maidens. As the population of the mortal realm grew and humans became more adept at finding ways to kill each other, Odin had widened the numbers of Valkyrie to include faeries, dryads and nymphs. Known as his stepdaughters, these new recruits were of lesser rank than Odin’s own flesh and blood.

Yet I am treated like a new recruit! Like a stepdaughter, rather than a true daughter.

Maja knew she was seen as a problem to be solved. She was that unheard of a rarity...a disobedient Valkyrie. Most of her rebellion took the form of minor insurgencies, such as wearing her helmet at the wrong angle or arriving for training a few minutes late. Now and then, however, she had been known to use the worst word of all. She had asked why. There were regular how-do-we-solve-a-problem-like-Maja conversations between Odin and Brynhild. They didn’t know what to do with their bad Valkyrie.

Maja had no idea why she was different. One of the difficulties about being the daughter of gods was that her parents were not exactly approachable. Growing up, she did her best to conform, tried to fight the desire to question why the Valkyrie way was the best way and accepted her punishment when she inevitably failed.

She was never given the same level of responsibility as her sisters, even though she had demonstrated her capabilities over and over. It made her more determined than ever to show them what she could do.

After some intense debate, she had worn Brynhild down. Even as she mounted her great winged steed, Magtfuld, Maja got the feeling her sister was indulging her, allowing her to have her own way, but not expecting anything of her. It infuriated her that Brynhild might think she wasn’t up to this simple task. She had arrived in Warda fired up and ready to take this American Lion back so she could lay his body in triumph at the feet of the Allfather.

It was intensely annoying to arrive at the location Brynhild had given her to be confronted by the wrong man. A living, breathing man. A man who, now that she looked more closely at him, dared to have a hint of amusement in his dark brown eyes alongside the perplexed expression he wore. It was as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

Those eyes made Maja pause. Maybe it was because she had never interacted with a living human being until now. Maybe it was because they were so incredibly beautiful. Whatever it was, she wished she had more time to spend looking into them.

When he fell, she experienced an unexpected dilemma. Her hand had actually twitched with the impulse to reach out and help him up. Luckily, he had hauled himself to his knees before she had forgotten herself and touched him.

“This has been fun.” He had to shout to be heard above the chaos around them. “But I think it’s time I was going.”

As he spoke, a group of men wearing dark clothing and carrying machine guns burst in through the damaged wall. They carried a white flag that bore a painted image of a hooded, grinning skeleton carrying a scythe. Putting his words into practice, the man darted out the open front door and into the main street of the small town. His action left Maja with a scant second in which to react. Since the American Lion was not where he was supposed to be, she should probably leave Warda right now. That would be the Valkyrie way. But the man had mentioned his brother. Did that mean he had further information? Was his brother the American Lion?

“Go to Brynhild.” She issued the order to her companions, ignoring their disapproving looks. She was the shield maiden in charge on this mission. They would not dare voice their reservations out loud. “Tell her I have been delayed, and that I will rejoin her at Valhalla later.”

Obediently, the two Valkyrie departed. The fighters who had entered the house paused in astonishment to watch the winged horses rise into the air. Within seconds, the Valkyrie and their steeds had become a swirling cloud. Less than a minute later, they had disappeared. Maja’s own horse would remain hidden in the shadows until she needed him.

Maja cast another glance around the damaged foyer. How could Brynhild have been so mistaken about this location? With a shrug and a swirl of her swan feather cloak, she ignored every prompting of her Valkyrie training and followed the man who had spoken of his brother out into the street. As long as she didn’t interact with him, or—the Norns preserve us—interfere in his future, what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Adam glanced left and right as he exited the office building. Although he’d believed he’d blacked out back there, he now knew he hadn’t. In the same way, he knew his body hadn’t suffered any physical damage. He had been fully conscious when he’d imagined the Valkyrie, clearly suffering the effects of shock.

This was a living nightmare, and his subconscious was clearly responding with a subliminal message. Don’t worry. We’ll send a beautiful Valkyrie to the rescue. Just as he had been coping with that little treat for his senses, the arrival of a group of armed men bearing the dreaded Reaper flag—probably the most feared symbol in the world—had brought him sharply back to reality.

The terrorist organization known as the Reapers had risen to prominence in recent years, spreading its brand of hatred and fear across the globe. The Reaper himself, the shadowy leader of the group, was the most wanted man in the world.

Captured by the Reapers, the most feared killers on the planet? I don’t think so.

Now, Adam’s heart pounded against his rib cage and the hairs at the back of his neck stiffened until they felt like pins being driven into his flesh. The car in which he and Yussef had arrived was ablaze in the middle of the street. The roar and crash of grenades and the staccato sounds of gunfire were deafening. As he tried desperately to find a way out of this living hell, a small figure caught his attention and he paused, his eyes narrowing as he followed its progress through the dust and smoke.

The boy—Adam decided it was a boy—was bent almost double as he ducked inside a drainage ditch at the edge of the road, clutching something tightly to his chest. As he drew level with Adam, with only the span of the street separating them, another grenade went off, throwing the fleeing child off his feet.

Adam moved swiftly, closing the distance between them, sliding into the ditch and crouching beside the boy to inspect him for injuries. The child seemed stunned rather than maimed, and he gazed up at Adam with wide, uncomprehending eyes. As he checked him over, Adam saw that what the boy was carrying was a small dog. Despite the mayhem going on around them and the strangeness of the situation, the bedraggled canine licked Adam’s hand and wagged its tail.

Cradling the boy against his chest, Adam shielded him and the dog from the gunfire with his own body. From his size, he judged the child to be about eight years old.

“Where are you going?” He mimed a gesture to go along with the words.

“I speak English.” There was a trace of pride in the words. The boy pointed in the direction of the road out of town. “I go to the mission.”

Another grenade hit close by and Adam decided waiting around in a ditch wasn’t the best idea for either of them. Scooping up both the boy and his dog, he stayed low as he broke into a run. He had gone only a few hundred yards when the bullet hit him. Even though there was surprisingly little pain, he recognized what had happened instantly. It felt like someone had punched him hard in the back of his left shoulder.

I’ve really been shot this time. There should be more pain.

Blood, hot and sticky, began to pour down his back. The pain did hit then. Like a demon digging its claws gleefully into his muscles and sawing on his flesh with razor-edged teeth. As his vision blurred, Adam staggered and veered wildly across the road. Determinedly, he kept going. Getting the boy to safety was all that mattered.

“Let me help you.” The voice was cool, feminine and vaguely familiar. It sounded like the speaker was used to giving orders. As an arm slipped around his waist, he gazed into the clear blue eyes of the woman who had burst in on him as he sheltered in the ruined office building.

Her name came into his head through the mist of unconsciousness that was trying to claim him. Maja. Since leaving the house, she had disposed of the horse, helmet, cloak and weapons. Even without those items she was still the same unmistakable warrior princess.

Great. Just when I think I’m being rescued, it turns out to be a figment of my pain-filled imagination.

“Lean on me.” For an apparition, she was surprisingly strong, and Adam was grateful for her support. With her arm around his waist, he could drag his feet along with her in something that resembled a walk. Somehow, he was still able to carry the child and the dog.

“This way.” From within Adam’s protective hold, the boy gestured to a large, run-down building, half-hidden behind a drystone wall lined with dusty olive trees. “The lady will help us.”

The next few minutes passed in a blur. As Adam staggered into a tiled courtyard, Maja vanished. At the same time, a tall, gray-haired woman came out of the building and issued a few commands in English. Three men in local dress emerged and followed her instructions. One of them took the boy from his arms, then Adam was carried inside and strong hands lifted him onto a portable examining table.

Exquisite pain followed as the woman probed the wound in his shoulder. After that, he dipped in and out of consciousness. He was aware of her clipped English tones telling him how lucky he was. He tried to laugh, to make a joke about the sort of luck that had brought him to Warda on this day. He wasn’t sure his voice had worked, but it didn’t matter because sweet, blessed darkness swept over him once more.

When he regained consciousness, he was in a small room. He took a moment to assimilate his surroundings. He was lying on a narrow bed with a broken ceiling fan above his head and a window with cracked shutters painted a faded shade of green. Oh...and his shoulder hurt like a demon.