Free Viking's Fury by Saranna DeWylde

reminded her of the Great Dark. No light. No hope. Endless nothing. “You’ll be an interesting addition to my harem. I’ll put you in a cage with my other Valkyrie. Maybe I’ll let you fight to the death for the honor.”
    She snarled.
    “I like that fire. You didn’t have that last time I was on Hel. I would’ve accepted when your father gave you—”
    Magnus cut him off with the deadly song of his war hammer. He swung the beast through the air in a killing arc, but Rollo, for all his theatrics was a hardened warrior. He would’ve had to have been, to have defeated Boudicea. He met the blow with one of his own.
    The clash of war hammers echoed throughout the great white-pillared halls.
    But Mercy wouldn’t be just an observer to this battle. She was engaged with a cool hand closed around her throat from behind.
    She had no training, but the something that flowed hot and volcanic through her blood spurred to life and guided her movements. She grabbed the restraining wrist and used her own body to leverage the other woman, so that Mercy threw her forward and evened the playing field.
    Anae scrambled to her feet and produced a thin silver blade from her armlet. “Time to die, princess.”
    Mercy didn’t bother to respond. She didn’t need to threaten the other woman, didn’t need to enumerate the ways in which she would dis-articulate all her moving joints. No, Mercy was about action, not promises.
    It didn’t matter why Anae had joined with Rollo. It didn’t matter what her evil plan was. All that mattered was that Mercy knew that she’d learn what it meant to take a life.
    There was a moment when it seemed as if time stopped. Everything slowed down as if they were all moving through anti-gravity. Her vision narrowed, so all Mercy could see was the priestess’s neck and the thin blue veins under the ivory skin. So fragile.
    So breakable.
    The priestess drew her blade, held it high, and launched herself at her opponent.
    Mercy saw her coming in slow motion, her muscles and ligaments moved without any conscious instruction and her left fist extended with so much force, bolstered by Magnus’s strength, that she punched through Anae’s throat.
    In one fluid motion, she dropped the priestess, caught the silver blade and spun through the air, her body guided by instinct, passion, and the connection to her Berserker.
    She put that silver blade through the back of Rollo’s head and he dropped like a stone.
    Mercy ducked just in time to avoid losing her own head to Magnus’s war hammer.
    The look of horror on his face told her just how close she’d come. The war hammer dropped from his hand and instead, his arms were full of her.
    “Sweet fucking Valhalla, what the hell were you thinking?”
    She clung to him, unmindful of the blood and sweat on them both.
    “I wasn’t thinking. I was being a Valkyrie.”
    “You are certainly Eir’s daughter.”
    “Mercy Eirsdottir. I like it.”
    “Then wear it. You’ve earned it.” He kissed her hard.
    “You’re not angry I took your chance at vengeance?”
    “You’re safe. That’s all that matters. That’s all that’s ever mattered.”
    “You say the prettiest things, Berserker.”
    “Yeah, but you’ve got other uses for my mouth.”
    “That, I do. And I intend to work you hard, once we’re somewhere safe.”
    “And where is safe, do you think, Mercy?”
    “Is that your way of saying you want to stay here?” She put her hand on his cheek.
    “The Acadians are my people. Your people. You’d be a queen.”
    “My father raised me for a life in politics. I could do worse.” She shrugged. “We’ll have to get a contingent of soldiers here, until we’ve rooted out all of Rollo’s supporters.”
    “And here you thought you didn’t think like a Valkyrie. I have you almost naked in my arms, post battle, and there you go talking about strategy. It’s kind of sexy.”
    “Only kind of?”
    “Yeah, I like it better after the talking.” He nuzzled her