To Wish Upon a Viking: To Wish Upon an Ancient, #3

By Ishabelle Torry

An ancient Norse god. A modern-day archeologist. One damning scheme.

 

After Dr. Lana Clarke's parents die in a tragic drowning, she's determined to finish their work and discover the ancient Viking settlement of Finlr.

 

Problem is, Finlr never existed. At least not according to any historical records.

 

Despite her colleagues' ridicule, Lana sets out to clear her family's name. She never imagined the trail would sweep her across time to the 10th century, and into the arms of an ancient Viking god.

 

Baldur the Beautiful is tired of the mundane task appointed him by Frigg and Odin to watch over Idun's garden. It's the same dull existence, and another midwinter come to pass. That is, until Loki arrives bearing gifts.

 

Lana is the perfect solution to Baldur's loneliness, an escape from the everyday he dreads. But he's no fool. Her presence can mean only one thing…

 

Loki's scheming to steal the golden apples. Again. And it's Baldur's duty to keep the frost giant at bay. No matter how tempting the future time's woman be.

 

Desire and duty collide as Baldur and Lana are forced to face off against the trickster god.

 

If you're a fan of time travel, magic, ancient heroes, and steamy romance, you'll love To Wish Upon a Viking, the third book in the To Wish Upon an Ancient series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ishabelle Torry
• Release date: Sep 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201236762

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Jarl Baldur stared at the blazing fire pit, lost in the hiss and crackle of the dancing flames. When he’d agreed to his father’s task nearly two human decades ago, he’d never imagined it would entail sacrificing his power and becoming mortal for the duration. For reasons unknown, his parents had decided he should be the one to guard the golden apples while the goddess Idun savored a divine retreat from duty.

As if he’d not had better things to do than watch over a godsdamned fruit tree. He snatched up the cup of ale and gulped the remainder down in one drink. Bah! Even the booze had lost its luster after all this time. What he wouldn’t give for a horn of Aegir’s spicy mead as he feasted at Odin’s table in Valhalla.

Helga! Fetch me more! he hollered and waved the empty cup in the air.

Methinks you’ve had enough already, Helga chided as she came up from behind where he sat and jerked the empty cup from his hand. If ye ask me, it’s best to be getting rested for the midwinter festival, milord. You’re needed to lead the hunt in three days’ time, or there won’t be enough time to prepare the feast for solstice eve.

Baldur lurched from the chair and stomped his foot like an errant child. How in the nine realms did he get stuck with his mother’s most stubborn Valkyrie? I did not be asking, woman. Now fetch me some more ale before I have you dragged off and beaten!

Helga tsked her tongue. Pfft… You’ll be doing no such thing. Off to bed, milord. You’ve had your fill and then some. When Baldur narrowed his eyes at her, she pointed toward the mattress a few feet away. I said, off to bed.

Baldur’s shoulders slumped as he stomped toward the bed and plopped down on the mattress’ end. My mother, the blessed Frigg, entrusted you ensure my comfort on this accursed task of Odin’s, not be my keeper. Though even as he cursed beneath his breath, he untied his boot lacings and belt before stripping down. He’d lost too many arguments to the ornery matron to think he had a fighting chance this time.

The elder woman pulled the covers down and waited patiently for him to climb into the bed before covering him up. ‘Twould not need a keeper if ye had a lick of sense in your head. Now hush, and may your dreams be full of pleasant thoughts this eve. I shall wake ye with the rising sun, so we can make preparations for the coming Yule festivities. Good sleep, Jarl Baldur.

Bah! Jarl Baldur! Nothing in comparison to my godhood. I be the jarl of nothing. I fear my father is playing a cruel joke upon my head. Surely, one of the lesser gods would have been more suited to the task of guarding a tree. He stubbornly thrust out his chin as he stared up at the thatched ceiling of his bedchamber. Almighty Odin! When will this cruel torment cease? Why have you forsaken me, oh celebrated Father!

Helga harrumphed loudly as she blew out the candles along the back walls, and then the ones beside his bed on the stand. Forego the whining, milord, for ye need to rest up. There is much to do on the morrow…when you’re sober.

You act as if I am some drunken fool, Baldur growled out.

If the tunic fits, she replied with a snort. Sweet dreams, jarl.

Bah! he groaned and pulled the covers up over his chest before turning over.

Upon hearing Helga’s footsteps retreating and the heavy wooden door close, he tossed the covers aside and returned to his chair before the fireplace. It was another Yule come to pass, and another year trapped in the mortal realm amongst mere men. Not that he harbored any ill will toward humankind. In fact, he revered their existence as many of the Norse gods did. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wanted to be one. Nei. He was born into greatness, the son of Odin himself. He was not meant to live as one of the gods’ creations, but a ruler of men, someone to be worshiped and praised—like his brother Thor.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought about his grandiose brother. Oh how the humans loved their protector of mankind, and for good cause. Without Thor’s constant overlooking, many of the other realms’ creatures would have devoured them eons ago. And then there was Loki—a mischievous frost giant whose trickery knew no bounds. For whatever reasons were his own, Loki despised humanity and its very existence in Midgard. It was him and his cult following which made protecting Idun’s precious apples so important. They were, after all, the mystical power which kept the gods young and immortal.

In the last two decades, there’d only been one attempt to steal the sacred fruit—a man and a woman from what Baldur believed to be a faraway land. Although, by the time he’d discovered their presence, they’d already met their fate in the icy clutches of the Norwegian Sea. He’d often wondered how they ended up in the frigid water so close to the docks unnoticed. Closing his eyes, he recalled watching them be carried away by the currents farther out into the icy water. Although their faces held little identifiable features, their strange attire caught his attention.

The male wore a deep blue pair of trousers that covered the entire length of his legs, while the female wore formfitting breeches beneath a long gown decorated with what appeared to be miniature sapphires sewn into the hem. They both wore heavy cloaks that fit more like a tunic with thick, long sleeves. He remembered wondering how they had stayed warm as there was no heavy fur to ward off the cold. Not that it had mattered. No amount of layers could protect them from the freezing waters of the Norwegian Sea.

The fire kindling crackled loudly, drawing Baldur’s focus. He stared into the dancing flames and let his imagination create pictures out of the flickering orange and blue hues. He chuckled as the first image showed a fox chasing a rabbit. It proved amusing to behold, as he considered himself a fox of sorts. Clever, cunning creatures that they were, he held little doubt the fox would indeed catch his frightened rabbit in the end.

The pattern of the flames altered as the wood continued to burn down. This time, he saw the figure of a woman swaying back and forth. She undulated her hips to the sound of a hidden drum; her arms stretched before her as they snaked up and down, as if she were dancing solely for him.

Baldur grunted. You’ve been alone too long, he muttered to himself and tried to blink the image away. He’d much rather watch more of the fox than be reminded of his solitude. Not that he had a lack of interest from the opposite sex when his needs became too much to bear. Nei. In fact, he had too many options as jarl. However, he had his favorites, such as Nola and her younger sister Inga. Those women together…the idea stirred his imagination.

Smacking his lips together, he wished he had something wet to drink. He snatched up the empty cup Helga refused to fill sitting on the little stand beside his chair and grunted. Perhaps he’d seek out his own ale and the company of both sisters this night.

As he was about to push himself up, the fire blazed to life again as if a freshly cut log had been dropped into the pit. The fierce heat spread out and hit his skin, forcing him to remain seated. He eyed the fire warily, gasping as the flames came forth. What in the nine realms…

A fire silhouette of a woman walked toward him, her arms outstretched as if she meant to embrace him. She stood before him; tendrils of fire snaked out from all around her, several snapping against his exposed skin. The flaming figure bent over Baldur, placing a hand on either side of the chair and trapping him. A pair of cobalt blue eyes shone through the flames. So full of pain…and tears?

What trick is this, creature? Baldur demanded through clenched teeth. Who sent you? Are you a creature of Hel’s? Tell your she-demon, I am not interested in whatever deal she has to offer.

Flames once again claimed the figure’s eyes. She stepped backwards until she reunited with the fire pit once more and dissipated into nothing but a pile of smoldering cinders. Baldur blinked several times, staring stupidly as he replayed the instance in his mind.

Bah! he mumbled before tossing the empty cup still clenched in his hand into the fireplace. Perhaps Helga had been right—he definitely didn’t need more drink this night.

CHAPTER 2

Dr. Lana Clarke held the dull end of the tarnished blade as she scrutinized the cracked hilt of the fractured sword she’d unearthed from the frozen earth only moments prior. What do you make of it? she called out over her shoulder.

Her longtime partner, Joel McLaren, moved to stand beside her, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. Its intricate carvings suggest it’s early Viking era all right, but I’m not quite convinced yet. However, location, materials used, and the craftsmanship all indicate so. I can’t think of one logical reason to say it doesn’t fit. At least not until we get it back to the lab for further analysis.

Lana motioned around them. How about the fact that there is no record of a settlement ever existing here, nor does there seem to be any other remnants but a single sword and what’s left of a battered dock to prove otherwise? This isn’t exactly a friendly environment for pre-modern humans.

He snorted as he laughed. Norway herself isn’t exactly friendly toward any life. Just saying. He glanced at his wrist watch. It’s nearing five. Wanna call it quits for the evening, ya know, before the real cold gets here and I freeze to death?

Lana rolled her eyes and patted his shoulder, making a show of petting the thick fur around the collar of his coat. I’m pretty sure you have more fur and layers on your body than an Arctic bear. But yeah, let’s pack the sword up in a protective crate. We can get one of the locals to ship it out to the lab first thing in the morning.

Sounds like a plan, boss. Wanna try that little pub next to the hotel, my treat?

Only if you stop calling me that, and if they have a steak dinner, with mashed potatoes and a shit ton of gravy. I’m not sure how much more fish I can take.

They walked the short distance to the snow jeep and carefully crated the artifact before securing it in the hatched trunk. I’m driving! Joel insisted, and raced to the driver’s side and climbed into the seat before Lana could protest.

Suit yourself, she said as she rounded about