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CHAPTER 1

Erik Harrison was a dead man.

Blood dripped down on his shirt from the gashes on his face, blending with what was pulsing out of the many small shrapnel wounds, his flak vest shredded and now useless. The weight on his chest pushed the air out of him, making it hard to breathe. Short puffs were all he could manage, drawing in a mouthful at a time. He spat out a glob of blood, watching as it sank into the hot sand.

He wasn't walking away from this.

He glanced around at the others around him, struggling to remember the past few minutes.

The frantic call for help had come in over the radio — a small convoy under attack and pinned down by insurgents, taking heavy casualties as they yelled for assistance. They'd come and gone before without any problem, the charity offering medical aid to anyone who asked. Except this time someone had taken offense and now the unarmed civilian group was under fire.

There was no time to lose. He'd called for his squad, and they'd responded, snatching up their gear as a series of Humvees pulled up, ready to take them into battle.

The plan had been to go in, take the pressure off the embattled medics so they could escape. Then they'd pull back in a strategic retreat while waiting for reinforcements to catch up.

It'd gone sideways in the worst way possible.

An IED went off behind them, trapping his people. The entire enemy force spun away from the convoy and focused on them. The medical staff and personnel had escaped, but as for him and his people ...

He blinked through the pain, his memories dribbling away along with his life.

April lay on the ground, sobbing as the blood from her head wound trickled down her face. Her helmet was gone, bare bone exposed to the hot sun. She'd managed to claw the picture of her husband and son out of her pocket, holding the color photograph close to her heart.

Scotty moaned as he tried to put a tourniquet on his leg, jagged metal still sticking out of his thigh. His blood-smeared hands slipped again and again as he struggled to stop the bleeding, tugging at the torn fabric.

The others ...

Erik couldn't remember their names. After months spent training and working and fighting beside them and now he couldn't —

The pain increased, choking out his thoughts.

A raven landed on the nearby remains of a smoking Humvee on its side, claws curling around the edge of the broken metal door. It stared at him, the cold black eye never wavering.

Erik eyed the sleek black bird.

I should be praying.

I can't remember the words.

Father ...

Mother ...

His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he listened to the explosions, the gunfire coming closer. Someone shouted something incoherent through his earpiece, distorted by the static.

It could be his own people, trying to rescue them.

But it was too late for him.

He coughed, choking on the blood filling his mouth. This was it. Game over.

The noise stopped as if someone had thrown a switch.

Everything, his pulse, the screaming and crying and yelling, paused.

He drew a deep breath. It was like a cool drink of water, washing away the burning in his throat.

Erik looked at Scotty and April. They didn't seem to notice the change, ignoring him as they dealt with their injuries.

A sound caught his attention, pushing to the front of his mind.

Music.

There was a classical feel to it, a sweeping arc of trumpets and violins weaving in and out of each other. It reminded him of the soundtrack to a movie he'd seen years ago, some medieval epic. The king and queen appearing at the top of a tall staircase, waving at their faithful following before descending to bestow their blessings.

He tilted his head upward, seeking out the source. The sun shone down, but it didn't burn his eyes as he stared straight at the glowing orb.

A dot appeared in the center, growing to blot out the bright orange circle, shifting and changing as the music climbed to a crescendo. It morphed into a figure, causing Erik to edit his imaginary scenario.

Not a king or queen.

A warrior princess.

She settled on the sand, not far from him. Her breastplate was unmarred and shiny, reflecting the carnage around her. Greaves covered the lower part of her legs, the leather boots protecting her feet. The shoulder armor lay on her arms in layers, stopping above the elbow. The long spear she held in her right hand was long and deadly, the sharp point catching the sunlight.

If I'm going to hallucinate something, it should be a beautiful woman like this.

He smiled, seeing the blond hair peeking out from under the brightly polished helm. The bird-like wings extending out from her shoulder blades were magnificent, a rainbow of shimmering color. She radiated power, startling and silencing him.

The woman didn't look at him. She turned and walked toward the remains of a wall where Scotty sat, propped up against the shattered stone. He didn't react as she approached, still focused on his leg.

She murmured something and touched Scotty's head with the tip of the spear.

The young man's eyes rolled up, and he slumped forward, his hands falling away from the useless tourniquet.

Erik's smile disappeared.

"No."

Erik coughed the word out, covered in blood as a white, ethereal image rose out of the body.

Scotty grinned, a peaceful look on his face. He was uninjured, looking as if he were about to go on patrol.

"Your fight is over. Rise and take your rightful place among the honored dead." The words were as soft as silk. "Valhalla awaits, my brave and valiant fighter. Come feast with your fellow warriors."

Scotty flew up and out of sight, into the bright sun.

She crossed over to April, leaving no footprints behind her in the sand. She readied the lance, tilting it toward the wounded woman.

"No." Erik found his voice again. "You can't have her. You can't have —" He stopped as the mysterious woman froze in place. She slowly turned and stared at him.

"No," he said again, emboldened by the lack of pain. "You're not sending her anywhere." He raised a finger and pointed at the celestial visitor. "She's got a family, a little boy waiting for her to come home." He put all the strength he had left into his words. "Leave her alone. You touch her, you're going to answer to me."

She cocked her head to one side, assessing his threat. One edge of her exposed mouth twisted upward into a sad smile.

A few seconds later, she turned away and grazed April's forehead with the spear point, speaking under her breath.

The petite woman collapsed, her final battle over.

The photograph fell from her lifeless fingers into the blood-soaked ground as her spirit lifted into the air, smiling and radiant.

"April!" he shouted. "April!"

She didn't look at him, only up into the sun as she faded out of sight.

Erik watched helplessly as the armored woman moved to the side, out of his line of vision. There were others nearby, injured and already deceased. She was continuing her assignment, sending other souls to ...

Heaven?

He corrected himself, remembering the words she'd spoken.

Valhalla?

He wracked his mind, digging through his muddled memories to find his familiar childhood tales. Where was Valhalla anyway? Was there something he could say or do to bring his people back? What were his options ...

She appeared to his left, coming toward him with a slow, measured pace.

I'm next.

He steeled himself, searching for a way to fight her off, to somehow save Scotty and the others.

She stopped in front of him and studied him. The edge of the lance in her right hand poked a hole in the sand, digging in deep. The very tip of the weapon was stained red — showing it'd touched blood but hadn't been driven through a body, hadn't inflicted a fatal wound in the last few minutes on any of his people.

It provided slight relief.

"Can you bring them back?" Erik asked. "Can you heal them?" He put as much command into his voice as he could muster. "I'm asking you a question — the least you can do is answer me!"

She pulled off her helmet and tucked it under her arm, letting her blond hair fall free.

He blinked, taking in her gentle features. The high cheekbones swept up over milky-white skin, unmarred by any blemishes. In another time and place, she would be his dream woman.

Here she was his executioner.

She frowned as her blue eyes caught his, held him in place with a mixture of shock and disapproval. There was sadness in her gaze but something more, something calling to him.

He struggled to move, his limbs too heavy to lift. His tongue was thick, filling his mouth and choking off his words, his arguments for saving himself and his comrades falling away as he gazed at her.

If I'm going to heaven, I want it to be holding this angel. You're beautiful. So damned beautiful ...

Another thought crept in. I might just believe in love at first sight ...

She leaned down to stare into his eyes. Her forehead furrowed, marring her features.

I'm not going with you, he whispered in his mind. Not until you tell me who you are and how I can be with you forever.

Her eyes went wide.

She bent over and kissed him. It was only a brush of her lips on his, hardly worthy of the name, but his heart soared. He wanted to lift his arms, take hold, and pull her closer, but he couldn't move.

The woman stood and took a step back, staggered as she put her free hand to her mouth. The reaction encouraged Erik, fed his urge to demand answers.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

She shook her head before putting her helmet on. She lifted the spear skyward and rose into the air, the multicolored wings pulling her aloft with a few powerful strokes.

He was tired, so tired. He struggled to raise his head, to watch her ascend.

Why ...

He closed his eyes. The world rushed back in with a loud roar, the gunfire and yelling blotting out the last of the music.

But the taste of her on his lips stayed behind, carrying him away.

* * *

One year later ...

The San Diego VA drop-in center was quiet, men and women wandering in and out through the various rooms. Some gathered in casual groups, laughing and joking with each other. Others sat quietly, watching television or playing video games. Therapy sessions, both private and group, were going on in different areas.

Safe havens for veterans who needed a place where they were understood and accepted.

He wasn't here for that today. Usually he avoided them. But Ken always chose this as the place to meet, and Erik couldn't convince him to switch to a donut shop, a diner — even one of those fancy over-priced cafes would be better than the center. All it did was remind him of one of the biggest failures of his life.

It was Ken's attempt to keep him grounded, remind him there were people willing to help him out. But it hadn't worked so far and was becoming more of an annoyance with every visit.

He helped himself to a morning cup of coffee, wincing as the bitter drink burned his throat. A few steps to the side took him to the bulletin board filled with job listings and advertising.

"Erik," the familiar voice rumbled. "Been awhile. Good to see you here."

He turned to the man beside him, the former Ranger dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans.

"Ken." He took the outstretched hand, noting the strong grip. "How are you?"

"Good. How about you?" The tall African-American gave him the once-over, a frown replacing the smile. "What happened to your face?"

Erik reached up and brushed his knuckles along his right cheek, the bruises a week old and fading. "Walked into a door."

Ken's disapproving glare showed he wasn't buying the cover story. "Bullshit. You still floating around?"

"Yeah. Grabbing work here and there, whatever catches my eye."

"Like someone's fist." He shook his head. "You can't keep on doing this. It'll eventually get you killed."

"It's a job."

Ken snorted. "Bullshit. You got skills. Don't need to be fighting for a paycheck." He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Hold on. I'm going to grab a cookie and coffee. Not going to start this on an empty stomach. You stay right here."

Erik sipped his drink as Ken went to the refreshment table.

His phone beeped, and he dug it out of his back pocket, feeling the familiar rush of anticipation. If this was what he thought it was ...

Tomorrow night. San Francisco. Let me know if you're interested. Good chance to move up the ranks.

The text was from Steve, his manager. The man took a good cut of the pay, but he hadn't steered Erik wrong yet when it came to finding work. A previous email had asked Erik to come to the West Coast, suggesting a lead on some upcoming events. Stopping in to visit Ken in San Diego had been a welcome bonus as he waited for news.

Now it'd paid out in a big way.

Erik didn't hesitate, tapping in a one-word response.

Yes.

Ken returned. "What brings you into town? Was surprised to get your text — last time we talked you were over in Texas, wrangling whatever they wrangle over there."

Erik showed him the cardboard cup. "Just needed some free coffee."

"You're full of shit." He laughed. "Still glad to see you."

Erik glanced around. "Kinda quiet. Hoped to see some familiar faces."

"Janey went back into the hospital to adjust her meds. She's having a rough time. Phantom limb syndrome." Ken took a sip and winced. "God, that's bad."

"Nothing but the best turpentine for our wounded warriors." Erik forced a smile. "Give her a hug from me. She's tough. She'll make it."

He nodded. "Will do." Ken sloshed the coffee around in the cup, bringing the dark liquid dangerously close to the edge. "Doctor has her in a new group. Helps her keep going." He paused. "Like the rest of us."

Erik flashed back to a saying overheard in a therapy session.

Keep fighting. Keep sane. Keep loving who you can.

He was still working on the first and second.

Every night when he tried to sleep he saw the carnage, the blood soaking into the sand as people died around him.

April. Scotty. The others from the ambush. It was a long invisible scroll in his mind, spilling out across the sky every single time.

He recited each name like a prayer, a reminder of debts owed.

But afterward, after the painful exercise, his thoughts would wander elsewhere, to a more intimate encounter.

She stood in front of him, the blond hair tumbling free over her shoulders as she removed her helmet and stared at him. Those blue eyes, those hypnotic blue eyes. And those lips ...

"Hey. You okay?"

He blinked, coming back out of his introspection to see Ken watching him intently.

"You okay?" he repeated.

"Yeah." Erik swallowed hard. "Just faded out there for a second, thinking." He forced a grin. "Trying to make a habit of it."

Ken chuckled. "Not a bad idea." He hesitated, glancing at the bulletin board. "Job fair's happening at the convention center over the next few days. Got a special focus on vets this time 'round." He eyed him. "You going to be in town for long? If you don't want to do the fair, I could always ask around at the factory, put a bug in the supervisor's ear to let me know if a temp position might be coming open soon. Give you a chance to set down roots, stop wandering." He cocked his head to one side. "Hannah would love to have you hang out for a bit. Couch is yours however long you need it."

Erik thought about the text message.

"I'm fine for now. Got a quick job in San Francisco tomorrow night. Heading out after I leave here."

Ken hesitated a second before nodding. "Just be careful." He gestured at Erik's healing bruises. "Don't forget to duck."

Erik threw a gentle punch, hitting him in the shoulder. "I'll make a note."

Ken's smile twisted into a stern but supportive stare. "Remember, you're a survivor. You made it through for a reason."

"Yeah," Erik said. "Still trying to figure that one out."

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Her Alpha Viking"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Sheryl Nantus.
Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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