Free Master of Umbra (The Valhalla Series) by Poppet

rubbing a hand up and down her spine.
    “ But... I didn't want to... I mean... fuck Ewan! You ensured Dias could never come after me and this is how I repay you?”
    Plus you're a fucking badass murderer, what if you chose to retaliate?
    Gritting my teeth at her thoughts, I fold my arms around her shoulders and stoop my head to her ear, “I am your chief. I will never hurt you. Ever.” Giving the mite a little squeeze of reassurance, I murmur, “You are safe with me, Deliah. You can go ballistic as often as you want and we'll cheer you on, not berate or discipline you. We understand, because this is our way of getting rid of negativity and neutralizing drama. You can't hurt me no matter how hard you try.”
    Not physically, my heart's another matter altogether.
    Fuck, why the hell is everything so damn complicated.
    Digging in my pocket I pull out the handkerchief I placed in it this morning, just in case this scenario arose.
    I dab under each of her eyes and give her a little peck on the cheek, “There, don't you feel a little better?”
    She nods, laughing in a mildly hysterical pitch.
    I gesture for her to take the hankie, “Deliah Cotton you are one of us, welcome into the fold. Now, let me show you around this joint. It'll give you time to calm down before we go back and harass Lloyd for a fresh plate of eggs.
    She leans in again, drying her eyes, two beautifully hard nipples pressing into my waist with the soft bulge of a delicious woman. Surprising me she inhales deeply, her forehead leaning against the bottom of my pec, as if she's trying to burn me to memory.
    Well look at that. Ha!
    Keep that up little lady and I'll be kissing you up against that pillar to next Tuesday, and your shirt will be history in seconds.
    Harnessing courage she pulls away, giving me a self-deprecating smile. “Thank you.”
    “ Anytime. Let's walk,” I say with a smile, taking liberties and walking her with my arm around her waist. “I'm sure you are wondering why our home is so dark.”
    She nods, clearing her throat of the emotional clog, “Yes akshly, I did. I thought I was in hell when I woke up here.”
    “It's dead simple. Granite is the most common stone in Scotland, and for good reason because it's comprised of hardened magma. Where we are was the site of a massive prehistoric volcano. Now you must know how damn hot a volcano gets if it can melt granite at 1260º centigrade.”
    She looks up at me, her vulnerability enough to derail my good intentions. Clearing my own throat I put on the business voice, desperate to shut this attraction down before Gunn's even met her, saying, “The result of those temperatures made the silica in the rock as liquid as blood, and these catacombs are the result of melted rock which rapidly cooled. We're on the edge of an ancient glacier and during the ice age many air pockets were frozen inside the mountains of Caledonia, lined with this jet black obsidian. It's volcanic glass which we could re-melt if we had to because it comprises seventy percent silica.”
    “It's glass?” she exhales, sounding shocked as she reaches out to touch it, her lithe graceful body bending in a distracting manner.
    Leaving my side she examines it closely in the gloom, wiping her hand right down it, bending at the waist, and I turn away to prevent the urge to give her a hip jack.
    Distracting myself I recite facts, anything to get my mind off where its headed, “Once this entire region was toxic because of the radioactive plutonium and thorium trapped in the granite crust, and the radon gas pockets which slowly escaped to the surface. Thorium remains radioactive for fourteen billion years, and this little shelf of the volcano is only 1.5 million years old. We're just fortunate that the last ice age which formed a glacial dam between here and Scandinavia put paid to the region's volcanic issues, being an antidote as it were, which left the bulk of the British isles and North sea a tundra; it was only 18000