Crystal Jordan

Walk on the Wild Side of Romance

Crystal Jordan

Walk on the Wild Side of Romance

Viking god of thunder and bear-shifter Thor has been married to the earth goddess Sif for millennia, but tragedy and betrayal tore them apart long ago. Now husband and wife in name only, they avoid each other when they can and barely tolerate each other when they can’t.

Too bad they’re still in love—though they’d never admit it.

But ancient prophecies are beginning to turn against them, leaving them no more room for misgivings. The apocalypse is coming, and unless they work together, they don’t stand a chance against the enemies they face.

Can they learn to trust again, or will the end of the world consume them both?

Note: this book was previously titled Viking Desire.

Excerpt:

“Sif.”

She froze at the sound of her name, one foot inside the door to the guest chambers she used whenever she stayed in her father-in-law’s home. No one should be here when she wasn’t, but her estranged spouse liked to think he was above such rules. “Thor.”

Arms folded over his brawny chest, he leaned back against the footboard, which was carved with ravens and falcons—symbols of his parents, Odin and Freya. The armoire, dressing table, and several tapestries on the walls featured the same animals. But Freya had designated this room for Sif, so the bed’s gold-and-bronze silk canopy and duvet were embroidered with her standard, a rowan tree.

The elegant furnishings only made Thor look that much more rugged and dangerous, the calm before a brewing storm. He was the picture of casual, yet his laser-blue gaze seared into her. One hand rose, his thumbnail rasping over his bearded jaw. “I understand you went over to Earth today.”

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Her heart skipped a beat at the leashed rage in his tone, but she raised her chin and stepped into the suite. How he always knew where she was and when, despite the fact that they rarely spoke anymore, was a source of constant annoyance for her. Why he bothered keeping tabs on her was a mystery she’d never solve.

“I go quite frequently. In fact, I practically live there.” She arched her eyebrows and shut the door. “This may have escaped your notice in the last few millennia, husband, but I’m an earth goddess.”

The sarcasm did nothing to appease his temper, but she had no real interest in appeasing him. As far as anyone in Asgard knew, they had a good marriage, were cordial when together in public, never spoke ill of each other, and had diverse interests that often kept them away from their home at Bilskirnir hall. In reality, they’d had a love-hate relationship for centuries and tried never to be at Bilskirnir at the same time, which was why she was currently “visiting” Valhalla.

Since they’d broken up, they’d mostly just gone about their lives as if they weren’t married—traveling where and when they pleased, spending time in their separate vacation homes, sleeping with whomever they wanted—and it had worked out well enough. They stayed out of each other’s way, but when push came to shove, they were technically still wed.

However, if the ancient prophecies were correct, their marriage was about to come to an end with his death in Ragnarök—the Twilight of the Gods—the apocalyptic battle between gods and giants that would destroy Earth. She’d gone to help those who wanted to stop it, but she doubted Thor would thank her for it.

For all she knew, he was now on the jötunn side, the giants she loathed with every fiber of her being. He wouldn’t be the first major god to switch sides—to decide he could change the prophecy through treachery, thus avoiding his death. Another of the major Viking gods, Frey, had done so, and there was no telling who else would make the same choice.

The bottom line was, she had no idea who she could trust anymore, including her husband.

It was just a shame she still loved him.

Not that she’d ever tell him but, hoping he’d remain loyal to the gods, she’d done what she could to make sure there were warriors to fight beside him when the time camea group of berserkers lead by Erik Siegfried, the one man the prophecy said would survive the coming battle. The World’s Chosen.

Though if she were completely honest, she’d admit she wanted the giants to lose the fight because one of their kind had murdered Thor’s and her daughter, Thura. Centuries ago, and yet the wound still felt fresh. Not to mention the one giant who’d felt free to put his hands on Sif while she was blitzed out of her mind—the memories of that incident still gave her nightmares. Since both of those events combined had made her marriage implode…why, yes, she’d like every single oversized bastard wiped from the known realms. Maybe a peaceful earth goddess shouldn’t think that way, but she was a Viking. Taking a breath, she tucked her fury away. The future was what she needed to focus on, not the past.

Thor’s nostrils flared and his gaze dropped to her midsection. “Is that blood?”

“Probably.” She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt, seeing a dried, dark smear across the fabric. “There was a battle, as I’m sure your terrifyingly efficient informants have told you. Frey and his giant friends kidnapped a valkyrie—Bryn, Siegfried’s lover—and nearly killed her. Siegfried wasn’t exactly happy about that, and Frey’s dead now. Most of the giants with him too.” Good riddance, but she kept that thought to herself and just provided a bare-bones report of events. “I brought Bryn here to be healed and then took her to the farm she owns in Virginia. Some of her blood must have gotten on me while we teleported.”

A low snarl issued from his throat, the sound more animal than man, the bear inside him coming to the fore. Vikings had often called him Björn or Björn-Thor when he appeared as a massive brown bear before them. Most never saw him shift between forms, but they knew him for who he was—a god, a warrior, a ferocious beast. One whose enemies quaked before him.

Maybe she should have been scared, but she wasn’t. Mostly, she was wired from having witnessed a bloody skirmish, stressed about the end being nigh, and just didn’t have the patience to deal with her irate, possibly treacherous spouse. Rubbing her forehead, she sighed. “I’ve had a long day, Thor. What do you actually want?”

The question seemed to make him even angrier, and his cheeks flushed red. He dropped the casual pose and was across the room in three long strides, backing her against the wall beside the thick wooden door. He loomed over her, his nose a hairsbreadth from hers as he got right in her face. “I want you to stay out of this. You’re no soldier—don’t act like you have any place in a battle.”

Did he want her out of the way because he was worried about her safety, or because he was worried she’d help the gods win? Which side was he on? Either way, her answer was the same. The end of the world was coming, and no one had the luxury of standing on the sidelines. Inaction meant annihilation.

She glared up at him. “I won’t stay out of it and you can’t make me.”

A bit of fang showed when he curled his lip in disgust. “You sound like a petulant child.”

Spank me, then. Another thought she kept to herself. He’d actually take her over his knee, and she’d no doubt enjoy it far more than she should. No matter how crappy their relationship became, the sex was amazing. Chemistry was a bitch that way.

Shoving aside the carnal awareness that filtered through her whenever he was near, she tilted her head toward the door. “If that’s all you have to say, you can go now.”

“Damn you, Sif.” And then his mouth slammed down on hers, an act of possession and dominance that wouldn’t change her mind.

But her body didn’t care about logic. No, her hormones went wild the moment he touched her, just as they always had. Two thousand years, and she still craved this man like an addiction. No matter how she’d fought it, the need was never ending, uncontrollable, consuming. His hard angles fitted to her softer curves, and fire danced over her skin everywhere their bodies met.

COLLAPSE

Bryn is many things—valkyrie, shieldmaiden, raven-shifter, horse trainer—but she’s only been a fool for love once. And it had cost her mortal life. She’d done her best to put that stupidity behind her when she’d died a thousand years ago and was reborn an immortal warrior who serves the goddess Freya. Now Bryn hides amongst humans, content with her quiet life in the stables. The goddess hasn’t called for her help in a century or more and that suits her just fine.

Her peace gets blown to bits when Erik Siegfried shows up on her farm. Of course, it has to be him. The man who’d turned her world upside down, betrayed her, and shredded her heart all those years ago.

Wolf-shifter Erik doesn’t want to be there any more than Bryn wants him there, but he has no choice. A prophetess had come to him the week before, telling him the end times are coming now—and he needs the aid of a shieldmaiden to win the battle. It’s always been his destiny to fight alongside the gods and defeat the monsters that want to rule Earth. So, he’ll take any advantage he can get, even if it means dragging Bryn kicking and screaming into the fray.

What he doesn’t expect is to fall as hard for her as he had so long ago. The passion explodes between them, a fire that time has never quelled. But no one cares about warriors’ hearts, not when the world is depending on them to win.

Even if they pay with their lives. Again.

Note: this book was previously titled Viking Fire.

Excerpt:

Ravencrest Farm, Virginia

“I need a shieldmaiden.”

Bryn was bent over, digging out a rock that had gotten wedged under one of her horse’s shoes. At the sound of that voice, deep and rich and so familiar, every muscle in her body froze. Pain and longing and a million other emotions she refused to feel twisted through her soul. Moving as slowly as a thousand-year-old woman—which was actually how old she was—she carefully set the mare’s hoof on the ground and straightened, but didn’t turn around to face him. “Well, you’ll need to keep looking, then.”

“Brynhild.”

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“Just Bryn, thanks. Go away, Siegfried.” The gods knew he’d never show up here unless it was to fuck up her life. No, thanks. She might once have been a shieldmaiden, a valkyrie. She might still be able to shift into a raven and soar into the clouds. She might be older than dirt. But all of that meant she had an even lower bullshit tolerance than she did back in the day when Siegfried was the love of her life. Also her betrayer, her tormenter, the man who cost her mortal life. The man who she’d betrayed in turn, a blood-soaked vengeance she’d never been able to cleanse from her stained, battered soul.

That was a long time ago, but some wounds never really healed, did they? She tried not to think about it. Ever.

She stroked a hand down the horse’s silky neck. Unhooking the crossties, she snapped a lead line on to the mare’s halter, and walked her to her stall.

No sound gave away the fact that he’d followed her, but she was keenly aware of his presence, his nearness, his ability to throw her off-balance. Tingles skipped over her skin and she tried to ignore the reaction.

His voice came from directly behind her when she latched the stall. “I’ve used Siegfried as my surname since I came to America. A hundred years ago. Maybe more.”

“Okay.” She infused as much disinterest into the word as she could manage.

“Erik is what you can call me now.”

“I prefer to call you gone.” She set off down the wide, concrete barn aisle. The sun would set in about half an hour, so she had to wrap up for the day. One more horse needed to be brought in. She whistled as she approached the paddock gate and Rogue’s Gallery came galloping up to the fence. The stallion slid to a stop just before he reached her, rearing up and whinnying.

She snorted. “Settle down, show-off.”

The stallion snorted back, shaking his head. The second she opened the gate, he shoved his nose against her shoulder, demanding petting. She scratched behind his ears and he nickered in appreciation. “Ah, now. That’s my boy.”

“He looks like my Grani,” Erik noted. “Same color, anyway. Gray as stone.”

Yes, and she hated to admit that she might have a soft spot for Rogue for just that reason. “Grani was a warhorse who died a millennium ago. Rogue here is a thoroughbred. He had a great racing career and now I keep him for stud.”

She clipped on the lead rope and then had no choice but to face her unwelcome guest.

Whoa. Her lips parted, surprise spurting through her. What a change. He was still enormously tall and built like a honed Viking warrior, a berserker who could conquer an army with one hand tied behind his back. It was his hair that caught her attention. Or rather, the lack thereof. He’d shaved his head, and the look was so different, she blinked. She’d seen him once or twice over the last thousand plus years, never of her own will, but when Odin and Freya had summoned them at the same time, there was nothing Bryn could do about it.

This was the most dramatic change he’d ever made to his appearance. He’d always worn his hair long, no matter what the current fashion of the time dictated. His silver eyes, framed by absurdly long lashes, somehow seemed even more dramatic, more intense. Before this moment, she wouldn’t have believed it possible.

That gaze pinned her in place like a bug under a microscope, and it took effort not to squirm. She wasn’t used to that. Most men she met were like spoiled toddlers, and it had been a couple of decades since one had interested her in doing anything other than yawn.

Decades. Shit, she might be regrowing her hymen at this rate.

And thinking about sex while staring at Erik was a mistake. She shook herself and glanced away. Somehow with the shaved head, it was easier to think of him as Erik instead of Siegfried. Though he was both now, wasn’t he? Erik Siegfried. The new name suited him.

“Why are you still here?” She brushed passed him—careful not to make actual contact—and led Rogue to the smaller stallion barn.

“Are you serious?” he asked, incredulousness dripping from the question. “You’ve seen the signs, Brynhil—Bryn. You have to know what they mean.”

Hurricanes, earthquakes, winters that lasted far too long, summers that burned far too hot. Mortals thought it was climate change, but a valkyrie could sense the difference. Signs of the end times. The Vikings called it Ragnarök—the Twilight of the Gods—but it had been given many names by many cultures. Armageddon, eschaton, apocalypse, Satya Yuga, the appearance of Maitreya—it was all the same, as far as she was concerned—a prophesized final chapter before a supposed golden era began.

She shrugged as she finished putting Rogue away, then she turned to Erik. “Ah, but you’re the dragon slayer who’s supposed to kill the baddies who want to take over the world. I suggest you quit bothering me and get to it.”

His smile was sharp and unamused. “Trust me, I’d like nothing more than kill the baddies, preferably before they do the kind of damage that will land us in Ragnarök. Unfortunately, I need a shieldmaiden’s help.”

“I’m not the only one left.” Though, it had been a century or more since she’d been in contact with any other valkyrie. Freya hadn’t summoned her in a long time, and Bryn was just fine with that. She had her farm, her horses, and a quiet existence she enjoyed. “Go pester someone else.”

“Damn it, Bryn.” He scrubbed a hand over his head, looking as if he’d like nothing more than to strangle her. Interesting. He’d always been so obnoxiously calm and patient back in the day.

It annoyed the shit out of her that she liked this less stoic side of him. She widened her eyes innocently. “What?”

“I need your help.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helpless frustration, his heavy brows snapping together.

“No.” There. Simple, easy. An idiot should get that message through his thick skull.

The growl he emitted was more wolf than man, reminding her that berserkers could shift forms as easily as valkyrie. Again, that less civil side of him was…too alluring, too tempting, tugging at something deep within her. Something she’d rather crush under her boot.

COLLAPSE

Pixie Parthon worked hard to make her music production company a success. Anyone who gets in her way gets the business end of her Fae magic. Her savvy business sense kept her family afloat for years, but now that her musician brother is mated and off on a world tour she’s feeling left in the dust.

Maybe it was a faint wish for a little love magic for herself, but she didn’t expect one night of cutting loose to leave her marked for life. A little love bite is one thing. Give up her hard-won independence to a pushy alpha werewolf? She’ll pass.

Malcon is just as shocked as Pixie, but for a different reason. From the moment he saw her, his desire went far beyond getting into her pants. When she agreed—begged—to be bitten, he believed she also sensed their destiny to be mates.

Now it’s too late. Nothing will convince Pixie that he has no intention of clipping her wings—not even a month’s worth of orgasms on call. Crazy as it sounds, love is all he wants from her. Even if it means letting her go...

Excerpt:

What the hell had I been thinking? This was like some kind of sick, twisted joke. I'd walked Stephen, Michael, and Candy into the airport for our little kiss and cry time, said good-bye, and been on my way out when one of the flat screen TVs they had constantly playing the news flashed my picture. That wasn't completely unheard of, especially if they were discussing Stephen's world tour, but the words that scrolled underneath my photo made my mind whirl.

Local werewolf Alpha finds his mate, music producer, Pixie Parthon.

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More words went by, and Malcon's picture flashed beside mine, but I'd seen all I wanted. More than I wanted, in fact. I was no one's mate. I didn't even want to get married. A few people turned to look from me to the screen and back again, so I spun on my heel and walked back out to the parking garage, growing angrier and angrier by the moment. Why would Malcon release a statement like that to the press? This was ridiculous. I slammed into my car as a thought made ice water flow through my veins. Malcon had bitten me last night. Not unusual when fucking a fanged race, but those bites didn't leave a scar like a mate mark would. My hand shook as I flipped down the mirror on my sun visor and pushed my hair back to see the side of my neck.

There was a scar. He'd marked me. Rage exploded inside me and I closed my eyes, letting my hair fall back into place. There was no way in fucking hell that I was going to give up my hard earned independence to be the queen of the wolves. And it was really sweet of him to mention he thought we were mated when he asked me to dinner. Thanks so much, jackass. I revved the engine on my car, left the parking lot in the dust, and was a block away from Malcon's office before I realized where I was going.

I still hadn't managed to quell my anger. Oh, well. He was going to get it now.

Fifteen minutes later, my three inch heels pounded a staccato beat on the marble floor of the huge building that housed the international organization owned by the wolf pack. It was a good thing I was wearing my usual backless blouse today because I was so pissed I couldn't have kept my wings in if I tried. The air crackled around me as I moved, and everyone in the vicinity either turned to stare at me or jumped out of my way. I somehow doubted I'd have that kind of effect on the Alpha, which just pissed me off even more. The wolf would be lucky if he didn't come out of this neutered.

A bony woman leaped to her feet when I entered the reception area of the pack leader headquarters. Her welcoming smile deflated when she got a good look at my face. "Ms. Parthon! What a surprise. Can I--"

I heard the low, sexy timbre of Malcon's voice coming through an open doorway and I walked toward it. The receptionist gasped and babbled some protest, but I ignored her. I was not giving Malcon a chance to refuse to see me. He was dealing with me right now. Period.

Storming into the room, I didn't even pause when I saw a huge meeting was taking place. Men ringed a long conference table with Malcon at its head. He had a look of calm control that just reminded me how out of control I felt, which did nothing to improve my mood.

"Pixie." He was on his feet the moment he spotted me and every other person in the room leapt to follow suit. His gaze cut to the woman trailing in behind me. "It's all right, Martha." His gaze moved back to me. "What can I do for you?"

I tilted my head to the side, widened my eyes, and propped my hand on a cocked hip. "Gee, I don't know, but did you hear the local werewolf Alpha was mated last night? I saw it on the news. I just wanted to come down and congratulate you."

And that's when it hit him just how pissed I was. I watched the realization flash in his eyes, but not a flicker of emotion crossed his otherwise contained expression. He looked at me while he addressed everyone else. "Gentlemen, give us the room. Now."

I'd never seen werewolves scatter and scurry so fast in my life. It would have been more satisfying if it hadn't been Malcon who made it happen.

He sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers and pressing them to his lips as he regarded me for a long moment. I thought a small smile quirked his lips, but it was gone so fast I couldn't be sure. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."

"What can I say?" My smile was saccharine enough to send him into sugar shock, and I gave a delicate shrug. "I'm in show business."

He sighed and dropped his palms to the table in front of him. "I'm uncertain why you're upset about our mating. Want to give me a hint?"

"I had to find out about it on the news, Malcon!" I threw up my hands and started pacing back and forth in front of the table. My wings swished every time I turned. "You have to be kidding me."

"Why are you surprised? I asked you before I bit you." Standing, he approached my end of the table cautiously, as if I were some kind of rabid animal.

I snorted and folded my arms, which drew his dark gaze to my breasts. "I've been bitten by werewolves and vampires during sex before."

His eyes closed as awful realization crossed his handsome face. He swallowed hard. "You don't need to be having sex for a mate bite to work. It's not like a regular bite anyway. It's a magical marking."

"I got that when I saw the scar on my neck. That was definitely not something I've had before." Like a magical STD I'd never be able to get rid of. I nearly snarled at the thought. He had no right to rope me into something like this. Being wolf queen had a million strings attached, and I'd only bee looking for a one-nighter. How had this happened? "This can't be real. I'm going to wake up any moment, I know it."

He sighed and opened his eyes again. "I thought you were willing, but…we are mated."

"According to you and your kind, maybe. Not to me and mine."

COLLAPSE

Every one of Candy's werewolf instincts tells her that Michael is her mate. He’s a lawyer—smart, sophisticated, and handsome. The catch? He’s gay. There is no way she's going to try to change who he is. Then she meets his lover Stephen, a seductive Fae-siren jazz singer, and she's positive she's got a screw loose somewhere. Mates with not one, but two gay men?

She's definitely doomed to be single forever.

Michael and Stephen know that their unexpectedly flirtatious advances have thrown Candy for a loop. But there's method to their madness—they're both serious about her. And they plan to make sure she never spends another birthday alone.

Six months ago, Andre St. James committed the ultimate one-night-stand party foul by turning Cynthiana into the spawn of Satan...also known as a vampire. He insisted he knew they were meant to be together forever and ever, so why wait for her to be on the same page with him to suck the life out of her?

What. Ever. The only thing the two of them share is chemistry that blasts off the charts. So she dropkicked him out of her life and told him to never come back. He listened.

Until now.

Andre knows Cyn has trouble dealing with his take-no-prisoners approach to life, and that turning her against her will was a mistake. But he's got patience born of centuries of immortality, and he'll do whatever it takes to get back into her good graces and stay there forever. Including wait until she has no choice but to turn to him.

After all, no one understands forever like a vampire. He's loved her from the moment he saw her...and he always will.

Excerpt:

That damn evil hellcat.

I was in the shower just as my day began, right at the crack of sunset, when a huge crash sounded through my teensy bathroom. I jerked back the curtain to see what the hell was going on, when Beezlebub streaked across the floor and tackled the overflowing trashcan, which spewed the contents everywhere. And still, he attacked the trash. Shit. A cold rush of dread made my stomach do back flips. I just knew he'd cornered a rodent. In my bathroom. With me trapped, sopping wet, and stark-ass naked in the bathtub. This was a hell of a way to start Valentine's Day.

So. I had to deal with the whole mouse situation, not the least of which because he was about to slaughter the thing on my landlord's cream-colored carpet. And who carpets a rental in cream? I hopped out of the tub and into the scattered trash. Wads of things I didn't even want to think about were stuck to the bottoms of my wet feet.

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Since I couldn't kill it, I had to get rid of it. What did I do? I caught sight of myself in the floor to ceiling mirror and tried to ignore the fact that all I could see reflected back at me were my wide blue eyes. What I couldn't see was the rest of me, the pale skin, the mile long legs, and too-generous hips and thighs. The dripping black hair sleeked to my scalp. The pointy fangs. None of it, because I was a walking spawn of Satan.

I tossed Beezlebub into the living room, grabbed the tallest glass from my kitchen, and played tag with the stupid mouse until I finally scooped it up and slammed a plastic dish over the top. No need to let it try and escape, right? Right.

Then I realized I was still buck naked, and I had to toss the mouse out into the yard. After I set the glass on my dresser, I snatched my nightshirt off the dirty clothes pile and pulled it over my head. With my Winnie-the-Pooh nighty stuck to my wet skin and the mouse in a glass, I jerked the door open and launched my uninvited guest...right into the broad, scrumptious chest of my worst nightmare.

Andre St. James, the man responsible for turning me into the undead. His large dark-skinned hand snapped out and caught the tail of the mouse. When he brought it up to his eye level, the hairy little guy squeaked in mad terror, prey before a predator. I could relate. I'd had those pale celery green eyes trained on me enough times to know that I melted into an orgasmic puddle within a few seconds. He dropped the mouse who, like a smart little rodent, ran like hell. Unlike me, who stayed where I was with my mouth agape.

"Cynthiana." The way he said my name, with an emphasis on the first syllable, made it sound like something naughty and sinful. His Noo Awlins accent made everything sound naughty. The man could read a phonebook, and I'd get turned on.

Heat flooded my body, and my nipples tightened. His eyes zoomed right in on the pointed tips. I swallowed.

Don't panic, girl! He's a bad, bad man who turned you without asking pretty please first. Even if he was gorgeous and had skin like yummy milk chocolate. Even though he tasted just as good as he looked. Oh, yeah…I really, really loved chocolate. Wait, what was I thinking? Bad, bad man. Remember? Shit.

"Yes, Satan?" I propped my forearm of the doorjamb and cocked a hip. My other hand kept a death grip on the doorknob. Right now, it was the only thing keeping me from flinging myself at him and begging him to shake me all night long.

His full lips quirked, and I swayed toward him. "Invite me in."

"No." The word escaped as a sigh.

His long finger lifted to stroke my elbow, the only part of me that stuck out of the doorway. Hot flashes rippled out from the touch, and I wanted to rip my jammies off and run around with my panties on my head. If I had any on. Which I didn't.

"Invite me to come inside."

"Come inside me." The words fell out of my mouth before I knew what I meant to say. Warmth rushed up my cheeks. Oh, shit on a stick. I had not just said that. I had not.

"As you wish, cherie." A full blown smile spread over his face. Damn, it made his already gorgeous features just…perfect. My stomach executed a slow flip. He stepped over the threshold.

I put up a hand and scrambled back. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. That's not what I meant."

"I'd always thought you were a woman of your word." He kept coming towards me. Stalked me. One step forward for him and two steps back for me. I couldn't let him touch me again. The night would start out with a bang. Literally. That would be a huge mistake. I'd done that before and look where it got me. One way ticket to Fangville.

COLLAPSE