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  • Writer's pictureLaurel Knight

Valkyrie Fallen - Chapter 6



As it turned out, Skarde did have beer, and plenty of it.

Which was a good thing, because the thirst was on me.

When I was banished to Midgard the first time, I developed a taste for alcohol. Beer, Meade, and eventually the stronger stuff. I spent entire years in a state best described as drunk, thanks to my misery at the hands of Odin.

Eventually, I got my act together and realized I was much more capable as a functioning adult. I still seemed to circle back around to it from time to time. No good reason, just because life became more difficult, and I struggled to find reasons I should do anything. I had entire years I passed as a lush that never left her house/apartment/condo save for partying or purchasing alcohol. Total party girl personality, which could be fun depending on the decade.

And why shouldn’t I? When you’d lived as long as I had, it wore on a person from time to time. I had all the money I could want, and disguising myself as a ditzy party girl with daddy’s money in Beverly Hills was genius—Odin wouldn’t imagine I’d be that peroxide blonde, over-tanned barbie girl in a hundred years.

So I’d have my periods of debauchery, and then one day I’d be ready to move on to becoming someone else. Maybe a bookish college girl studying psychology at Oxford, or a starving artist in Paris.

It had been a couple of decades since the thirst took ahold of me, but the dramatic turn my life had taken in the last few hours brought it on with a vengeance.

Fortunately for me, as a valkyrie I had a robust constitution. It took a lot to get me drunk.

Two beers in and I was willing to listen to Skarde’s version of the story. Apparently, he did not agree that he’d cheated in the fight with Leif’s brother. He was cocky and not what I would call ‘smart’, but he wasn’t horrible.

I finished my third beer during his explanation.

After a fourth, I’d shrugged off his half-hearted attempts to learn anything about me aside from my name.

After my fifth, I started feeling a little more relaxed, and helped Skarde clean the blood from his face. He’d removed his armor when we walked in, and now just wore a simple woven shirt and pants, but hadn’t bothered cleaning up. 

He wasn’t too unfortunate looking under the gore. In fact, once clean, he was almost attractive. Light blue eyes, a flat brow, thick reddish-blonde hair with a dense, wiry beard. And the man was muscular; not as large as the one he’d been fighting, but not small. Not hot by any means, but doable.

And fortunately, I’d had enough alcohol to make that seem like a good idea.

I straddled his lap and moved in for the kiss—Skarde was more than willing, the appreciative groans that rumbled in his chest encouraging.

He was a rather sloppy kisser, but I’d had worse.

Fortunately for me, Skarde was the type of man who liked to get right to business. 

Personally, I was not interested in a romantic experience. I had enough drink in my system that a nice orgasm would help to knock me out and give me a few hours’ release from reality.

I just really needed to fuck, and Skarde apparently felt the same way.

I freed his dick from the rough-spun pants and was pleasantly surprised by what the man was packing… I knew from experience the size of a man was not necessarily a clue to the size of his equipment. I slid myself onto him in the seated position and groaned my enjoyment of the sensation… this was definitely the distraction I needed right now.

Unfortunately, this position was clearly a novel experience for the man. He kept trying to move his own way and didn’t understand this was meant to be my show.

Our movements were so disjointed, it was almost humorous. He kept trying to pull my hips closer when I was moving away to my own rhythm.

Finally, I was frustrated enough to stand and tug him to his feet, asking how he wanted it. If he needed to be in charge, it was probably better to let him do his thing.

Skarde definitely took the invitation to lead, pushing me toward his fur-covered bed with a grin.

Sigh. Missionary wasn’t my favorite position, but hopefully it was one he could master.

I stripped off my dress and settled back into the soft furs to wait while he pulled off his shirt and shed his pants. 

And when he finally joined me in the bed and slipped back inside me, his performance did improve. Skarde was an aggressive thruster, and I could work with that. I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts and, finally, I felt the building sensation that would bring on my orgasm and eventual release. I shut all mental activity down and focused on the purely physical moment, which was the point of the entire exercise.

Take copious amounts of alcohol, mix with physical pleasure, and create a circumstance in which it’s impossible to focus on the dire reality of my life.

But, of course, I should have expected disappointment. Skarde started moving in a frenzy, and I’d experienced enough male orgasms to know the end was near.

“Fuck, don’t finish yet! Think about baseball or something.” In my distraction, I slipped into speaking English. I tried to wriggle a hand between us and help myself along.

“Hvat er ‘baze bol?’” He grunted, then with a final thrust, groaned and poured his Neanderthal seed into me. 

Skarde collapsed on top of my body, panting and sweating and supremely pleased with himself.

Great… all of that and I didn’t even get an orgasm out of this deal. I tried to work my fingers, but my arm was pinned between us, and the budding sensation of pleasure died.

This was officially the worst day of my several-thousand years-long life.

I lay as still as possible and tried to pretend this wasn’t my new reality.

After a few moments, Skarde rose and climbed from the bed, heading directly to his impressive supply of home brew to pour himself another horn mug. Some of the liquid escaped his mouth and dribbled through his beard onto his chest, which he pummeled with a fist when he finished.

“This turned out to be a great night, after all. I’m happy I met you, Brenna.” He grinned at me.

Well, if I was out of luck on the orgasm, at least I could drink some more.

Rising, I strode naked over to where he stood and helped myself to another mug as well. I clanked my drink against his and downed the cup in one pour.

To your health, Skarde.

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