You Both (Vampire Assassin League Book 29)

by Jackie Ivie

  The thought was patently ridiculous. As was the entire episode. She was dreaming here.

  Obviously.

  But the look he was giving her...

  Wow.

  She tried to return his gaze or a reasonable facsimile of it. But something was really amiss. She couldn’t do it without reacting, severely and without one hint of warning. The man was absolutely shiver-inducing. He’d been the one on the bottom, the one with the unbelievably defined legs. She grasped the stupidity of that thought the moment it occurred. They both had defined legs. Arms. Just about everything. They looked identical. Massive. Muscled. And, if she had to admit it, they were both unbelievably handsome. Their hair was a light-honey shade, worn a little longer than shoulder length. They had a nice amount of light brown stubble defining their lower jaws, and both rocked some pretty spectacular blue eyes. Not just any blue. Theirs were dark neon blue. Dramatic. Absolutely riveting.

  The amount of time they’d spent toning physiques was completely wasted. Nobody needed to be as fit as these guys, especially if they looked like these guys. They were both big. Blond. Blue-eyed. And totally babe-gorgeous.

  That cinched it. She was dreaming. She had to be.

  “My name is Rod. Remember? Or do I need to jog your memory some more?”

  The speaker on her left interrupted her mental observation with his words, and then sent a fist into the other’s shoulder. It had a lot of power behind it if his arm was an indicator. It should have keeled his target over. Broken flesh. Something drastic. It didn’t even make him flinch.

  Or blink.

  And then he lowered his chin. Her heart stuttered, making her gasp. And then the beat ramped up. She caught a glimpse of movement as the one on the left glanced at his companion and then at her again. The one on the right didn’t move.

  Well. She could sit here and watch what developed. Or she could be proactive. She’d been hired by New York’s Streetwise gossip-paper because of her interviewing skills...although, at the time, the editor had likened them to interrogation tactics. Fair enough evaluation. It was time she started using them.

  “All right, I’ll start. Who the hell are you guys?”

  “I am Rod. That is Stone.”

  Stone? The guy was emitting vibes that she could physically feel. He didn’t remotely resemble a rock. Good thing she’d changed to a thermal shirt before checking on her basement window. It was comforting and warm and it hid telltale goosebumps.

  “Rod? And Stone?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. The guy on the right responded. Shit. He had a voice that made her throat catch. And just why wasn’t it in the same pitch as his twin, anyway?

  “I am Ethelstone. He is Athlerod. My brother.”

  The last was obvious. She would have smiled, except she was afraid anything she did might come out as a giggle. She was that affected by this guy? And just why him? She tightened her fingers on the chair and hoped it wasn’t noticeable.

  “What’s um...your last name?” she asked.

  Ethelstone answered. “We don’t have one.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I suppose you can use Thoransson, for we are Thoran’s sons. But we didn’t need a last name. Everyone knew who we were.”

  Stephanie swallowed. She needed to moderate her voice. Keep it even. Calm. The words still trembled. “Every...one?”

  “Ja. Everyone.”

  “How...is that possible?” Oh shit. Now, she sounded breathless. Unfortunately, that matched how she felt.

  “We’re from Iceland. Duh.” Athlerod answered.

  “Stop being a rasshole, Athlerod. Now.”

  “You gonna make me, Pokker?”

  She didn’t need a translation of either term. Athlerod’s expression showed the probable meanings. His face turned ruddy again. Steph instantly continued her questioning.

  “You don’t have Scandinavian names,” she pointed out.

  “You know that?”

  Ethelstone asked it as he fielded his brother’s blow to his shoulder, catching the oncoming fist without even looking. He didn’t look like he expended any energy, either.

  “Well, I...didn’t study Icelandic history if that’s what you’re asking. Does anybody? But I did take courses on Britain. Your names are...English-origin. Right?”

  His mouth quirked. A swell of warmth loomed through her chest, hitting her mid-section and throat in tandem. Steph couldn’t prevent the reaction. She gasped. Her eyes widened. He looked like he’d seen and noted every bit of that, too.

  “You are right. Our father was so proud at our birth, he allowed our mother to name us. She was from Angle-land. Our father was...taken with her beauty.”

  “Tell her the truth, Stone. Our father was a Viking. He was raiding. Our mother was among the captives. And she was just taken. That is what happened.”

  Steph’s mind whirred. What had that Akron Profit told her? Her last memory was of something he’d said. She’d find the answers to her questions. Had he been talking about vampires? Immortality? Was that what she was learning? Because what she’d just heard described hadn’t happened in centuries. And that just wasn’t possible...unless these guys were vampires. Real ones.

  Oh. That was off-the-chart unbelievable. It sealed the deal. She was definitely dreaming.

  “I’m not warning you again, Athlerod.”

  Ethelstone pulled upward with the arm holding Athlerod’s fist, hefted him with a forearm and smacked his brother’s back into the ceiling. A sprinkling of debris filtered through the lighted area, dusting them. He slammed Athlerod back onto his feet and let him go. Athlerod staggered slightly. The maneuver had taken a second. Maybe two. Stephanie’s eyes couldn’t take it all in. They felt like they were as wide as her mouth as she stared.

  “What the hell?” Athlerod asked.

  “Final warning. Remember?”

  Athlerod dusted himself off. Looked over at her and glared, as if this was her fault. He turned back to his brother. “You are acting very strange, brother. Almost as if—”

  Athlerod looked over at her again. This time his eyes were narrowed. His nostrils flared. And with the coating of dust he looked especially sinister.

  “No,” he finally said.

  The movies had it wrong. Swords didn’t make any noise when getting pulled from their scabbards. Nothing did. Or she was in a vacuum of space that sound couldn’t penetrate. In extreme slow-motion, she watched Athlerod pull his sword out and back a few steps. He bent slightly at the knees and slashed at the space between the brothers.

  “You break a vow, you pay, brother.”

  The words sounded like they came through set teeth. The result could have been instantaneous, but it felt like long minutes later, that Ethelstone pulled his blade, too. He stepped back farther into the shadows and then bent at the knees, matching his brother in stance as well as everything else. His sword filled the area he’d been in. Light glinted off sharp edges as he twisted it. And –

  There wasn’t enough room in this jet for a sword fight. She had to do something!

  But what?

  Her mind was shoving options at her. Wake up! Scream. Struggle. At least unfasten the belts, Steph. Get to the floor. Hide.

  This wasn’t a dream anymore. It was a nightmare. And nothing on her body worked right.

  “We don’t have to do this, Athlerod!”

  Athlerod’s sword slashed into the space in answer. It didn’t have a delay. Their words and motions appeared to be catching up with real time. Thank goodness. Sound was coming back, too. Steel smacked against steel, sending a ringing sound through the cabin. It came with increasing frequency as they hammered at each other. Over and over again. Steph’s breath caught on the image of power, might, and muscle. She’d never seen anything to compare with this. And with the force of blows these two were exhibiting, there should be some damage to the blades. Wasn’t that what the movies always showed?

  Damn Hollywood. Must have gotten that wrong, too.

  “You ca
nnot kill me, brother!”

  Ethelstone leapt a chair and shoved his brother into a flimsy partition. Athlerod rolled back to his feet. The section of wall wavered warningly. The upper portion came loose on one side, and the bottom half fell. Athlerod strode onto it, rocking atop it as if he was surfing.

  “Who said...anything...about you?”

  Stephanie watched with absolute terror as Athlerod matched deed to word. He lunged toward her, his sword arm raised. The blade intent on one thing: Her.

  And she couldn’t do a damn thing about any of it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  She’d always heard your life flashed before your eyes when facing death. That was wrong, too. Her heart leapt into her throat, her breath froze, her eyes wouldn’t shut despite how she ordered it, and then Ethelstone’s blade appeared in front of her, slashing in to deflect Athlerod’s blow.

  Her throat worked. She screamed.

  Ethelstone slammed his left fist into his brother’s chest, sending Athlerod careening backwards. The sound of ripping fabric combined with a wrenching metal sound as he landed. Stephanie couldn’t see what damage his landing had done. Ethelstone had turned to her, slipped the tip of his blade beneath her straps, and sliced her free. And then he met her shocked gaze with one that sent all kinds of messages.

  Everything halted. Sound. Movement. Her heart even stopped.

  Athlerod’s blade flicked through the spot behind him. Steph saw it an instant before Ethelstone, and he must have read her expression. Nothing else made sense. But their movements were almost too quick to follow. Ethelstone spun, met the oncoming blade, as well as the next several blows. While Stephanie sat. Locked in place. Immobile. Transfixed.

  “Hide!”

  Ethelstone shot the word over his shoulder at her. It shouldn’t have been necessary. That was the obvious action she should be taking. She’d even thought of it first. She slid off the seat. Her limbs were shaky, but they worked enough to crawl behind the seat she’d been in. Squeeze between it and the cabin wall. Try to disappear.

  “I cannot believe this!”

  The words were hissed. Angered. She didn’t know who said them. They were followed by a flurry of blows, and then the unmistakable sound of an intercom coming to life came through the cabin.

  “Greetings! This is your fantastic pilot speaking. The beautiful lights of Reykjavik are just coming into view, and—what is that noise? Athlerod? Ethelstone? Please tell me you are not sword fighting back there.”

  They didn’t answer, but the sound of steel ringing against steel was loud. As was the grunt, followed by a crashing noise as something else got uprooted. Stephanie didn’t even peek to see what it was.

  Or who.

  “Somebody better answer me, and I mean right now. Boys?”

  Nobody responded. Again.

  “Oh shit. This is one of Takashi’s new stealth jets. I’m warning you guys—”

  “Just get us on the ground already!”

  Stephanie stuck her head up and yelled it. Neither combatant noticed her. They were locked in some sort of strength contest, their blades smashed together at the hilts while they shoved. A lot of bicep muscle was bulging, showing just how hard they were shoving.

  “You got it, miss.”

  Oh. Shit.

  She didn’t even have time to say it. The intercom went dead and the plane instantly went into a steep, stomach-lurching descent. The jet all around them rumbled and groaned with stress. Just about everything that was loose in the cabin rushed forward, Stephanie included, although she managed a staggered crawl that would shame many a toddler before somersaulting to an awkward finish. Her back smacked into the side of what was probably a restroom. The incline hadn’t done a thing to stop the fighting. She could still hear all kinds of thuds that could be hits on flesh, clanging that was probably swordplay, and grunts that could mean anything. Stephanie got on her knees, peeked over the top of a chair...and went cold. Everywhere.

  “Oh. No way, Steph,” she said aloud.

  Both guys were the only things in a vertical position. Their bodies looked sickeningly incongruous against everything around them. The ceiling. The walls. The remaining seats. And why? Because they weren’t on the floor.

  They were hovering just above it.

  Stephanie rubbed her eyes. The view didn’t change. This nightmare just kept getting worse. Somebody needed to end this nonsense. Right now. She needed a weapon. The partition the guys had knocked apart had shielded a galley area. The lights were flickering in semi-defeat, illuminating all kinds of kitchen paraphernalia. Everything was secured. Clamped into place. They even had a fire extinguisher at her eye level. That was interesting. And thought-provoking.

  Stephanie lurched to her feet and stumbled across the aisle, going for speed rather than stealth. Neither twin seemed to notice. But she didn’t check, either. She had to go by the sounds of continual swordplay. She pulled the extinguisher free. Yanked the tag off the nozzle. The plane was leveling off slightly. Good. That might mean they were getting close to land. And it sure helped her mission. She stepped forward into the corridor, stood with her feet wide apart. For balance. Stability. Her shoulder knocked against the partition wall more times than not. That would probably leave bruises if this wasn’t a nightmare. She’d worry about it when she woke up from this mess. She sucked in a deep breath and gave her loudest whistle.

  Both men stopped. Turned toward her. Stephanie lifted the extinguisher and started spraying.

  Fog filled the cabin, obscuring most of it. She let off the nozzle, and everything almost instantly cleared, leaving both men regarding her with identical quizzical expressions and not one speck of residue.

  What the hell? Where was the foam? The powder? The liquid? And why were the movies wrong about fire extinguishers, too?

  One of them tucked his sword blade down as he folded his arms. She knew it was Athlerod. The other one didn’t move. He didn’t have to. She was unbelievably aware of him. Attuned. As if electrically stimulated by some weird force she didn’t dare look into closely or try to define. Stephanie held the extinguisher in front of her like it was some sort of shield.

  “What. Was. That.”

  Athlerod spoke. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of failure. That made it feel worse somehow. Stephanie lifted her chin.

  “It worked, didn’t it?” she replied.

  “For what?”

  “Stopping your fight.”

  “Fight? This?”

  “You were trying to kill him!”

  “No. I was attempting to kill you. He was stopping me.”

  “Back off.” Stephanie lifted the extinguisher again. Her hands were shaking. It spread until her entire body had the problem. Athlerod took a step toward her. He didn’t lift his blade. He didn’t have to. The intent was clear. His entire form was focused. She was going to die. And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  They landed. The plane didn’t touch down nicely. It bumped against the ground, soared upward, and then smacked down again. Stephanie lost contact with the floor. Light glinted off Athlerod’s sword as it came for her, the blade looking beyond lethal. Sharp. But it didn’t reach her. Ethelstone materialized before her. Shoved her behind him. And took the full hit of the blade into his shoulder and chest.

  Somebody started screaming. And wouldn’t quit. The cacophony added to the sound of Athlerod’s horrified cry. Ethelstone’s grunt of pain. And the sound of the loudspeaker coming to life again. The pilot’s voice started out loud. But the sound faded. Everything did.

  “All right! We’re down. Welcome to Reykjavik!”

  And Stephanie didn’t hear anything more.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He’d forgotten how pain felt.

  Ethelstone’s knees wobbled. His thighs shook. His gut churned threateningly. He backed clumsily into the wall behind him, sliding Stephanie to his good side, while his sword hilt filled that hand. He ignored his other arm. It didn’t respond. It dangled as though unattached. The tunic
had been sliced open as well. It was glued to him with blood. And everything hurt like he’d taken a dive into the lowest realm, Nifleheim. All kinds of hellfire branded his flesh and the area thumped repeatedly, as if Thor were repeatedly hitting it with his hammer, Mjolnir.

  All told, it was far better to ignore it.

  Athlerod dropped his sword and yanked open an overhead compartment. All kinds of things dumped onto the floor, forming a mountain of items. He kept two blankets. Ethelstone lifted the sword tip as his brother slammed the compartment shut and looked him over.

  “Good thing we haven’t fed lately.”

  “What?” Ethelstone didn’t need to feign ignorance.

  “That would bleed like a stuck hog. Here. Hold this. Compress.”

  “You are...helping me?”

  Athlerod dropped the blankets onto Ethelstone’s shoulder, pressed them until blood started seeping through, and then stepped back. His brother was flushed, and wouldn’t look him in the eye. “You should have blocked the blow. Or moved quicker.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have tried to kill her.”

  His brother flashed a glance to the woman in his arm before he answered. “We swore a vow.”

  “The blood feud is satisfied, then?”

  “I think I like her. She’s a feisty one. Well...she was before the screaming and fainting part, anyway.”

  “Athlerod—”

  “I know. Shut up.” His brother flashed him a grin and then sobered. “She is very pretty. You are very lucky. And I am very envious. You have no idea.”

  Ethelstone swallowed. Nodded. His brother retrieved his sword and secured it back in his scabbard. Ethelstone watched. He didn’t lower his blade. Or his guard.

  “I’ll be in the ice cave,” Athlerod told him.

  “I will join you.”

  His brother yanked the door off its hinges, flooding the cabin with more light than seemed necessary, and a lot more ice-filled ache than anyone needed to feel. Ethelstone didn’t remember that dimension about the elements, either.

  “Don’t you mean, you both will join me?”