by Kris Tualla
Also By Kris Tualla:
Medieval:
Loving the Norseman
Loving the Knight
In the Norseman’s House
Renaissance:
A Nordic Knight in Henry’s Court
A Nordic Knight of the Golden Fleece
A Nordic Knight and his Spanish Wife
18th Century:
A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery
A Discreet Gentleman of Matrimony
A Discreet Gentleman of Consequence
A Discreet Gentleman of Intrigue
A Discreet Gentleman of Mystery
and
Leaving Norway
Finding Sovereignty
Regency:
A Woman of Choice
A Prince of Norway
A Matter of Principle
Contemporary:
An Unexpected Viking
A Restored Viking
A Modern Viking
*****
For Aspiring Authors:
A Primer for Beginning Authors
Becoming an Authorpreneur
An Unexpected
Viking
by
Kris Tualla
An Unexpected Viking is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
© 2015 by Kris Tualla
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1517769987
ISBN-10: 1517769981
This book is dedication to my partners in crime,
Morgan Kearns and Deena Remiel,
my co-chairs for the Dreams Convention.
If it wasn’t for their creativity,
I never would have been pushed into
writing a paranormal story.
I love you ladies.
I also dedicate this book to Ashley M. Smith,
Collections Registrar at the
Arizona Historical Society Museum
in Tempe, Arizona. Her help in creating an
accurate museum environment was invaluable.
Chapter One
Saturday
September 5
Hollis McKenna walked into the hotel foyer and spotted him across the space, leaning casually against the wall. His eyes flicked back and forth, examining the largely female crowd with unexpected seriousness. She assumed he must be one of the cover models, dressed as he was in costume—though fur and leather were unfortunate choices on this roasting Labor Day weekend in Phoenix.
“Thank God for air-conditioning,” she murmured into her chilled glass of complementary Chardonnay. Even with the cooling system blasting, the large gathering of attendees made the ballroom foyer uncomfortably warm.
Hollis was attending this convention alone at the urging of her boss, who insisted she needed the break from work. The museum’s unexpected bequest of a literal hoard containing uncounted European artifacts made the hiring of an additional collections manager necessary—and was the reason Hollis was in Arizona.
As far as she was concerned, work was the point. Not some stupid romance novel event.
Miranda insisted quite strongly, however, claiming that a weekend spent with a bunch of fun authors and hunky guys was just the thing Hollis needed.
It was true she hadn’t taken the time to make friends outside of the museum because she worked such long hours. That, plus she was only here on a one-year contract, so why bother?
While that did limit her social options, Hollis was actually okay with that; but she gave in eventually rather than waste any more time or energy arguing about it.
Besides, Miranda paid for her non-refundable ticket.
What she really needed, Hollis grudgingly admitted to herself, was a break from the monotony of what her life had become now that she was thirty and single. This was one reason she accepted this job and moved halfway across the country.
The other reason was Matt.
After spending a decade of loving and living with her college boyfriend, Matt ended their relationship almost two years ago. Said he wanted time to ‘rediscover’ himself. Become ‘a better man’ for her. What he discovered, however, was a sudden fiancée and quick, yet enormous, wedding.
And he never even left Milwaukee.
Realizing she had been a fool, Hollis’s life soon became an endless round of alarm clocks, pre-made dinners from the deli, and online dating failures. She seemed destined to be alone and was seriously contemplating adopting several feral cats to seal that fate.
Speaking of alone, Mr. Fur-and-Leather remained rooted in his spot, completely ignored by the otherwise friendly and enthusiastic crowd. The sound bouncing around her was impressive: two hundred women and a handful of gorgeous men, all talking at once in a happy cacophony of excitement and reconnection. As she watched Mr. F-and-L, his skittish gaze eventually landed on hers.
Hollis sucked a quick breath and held it. His eyes were an ocean-clear blue, but no less penetrating than if they had been solid black. As he watched her watching him, his eyes widened and he straightened, eschewing the wall’s support. His hands rolled into fists.
What should I do now?
Hollis looked away, but could not stop herself from looking back. He still stared at her, his expression somber.
She took the first step without thinking about it. As she approached him—eyes fixed on each other’s—the ladies in her path stepped aside with crooked smiles and puzzled expressions.
She didn’t pay attention to them—she was being pulled toward the handsome stranger as if he had caught her on a hook and was reeling her in. She stopped in front of him and looked up into his eyes. He was well over six feet tall with dark blond hair hanging below his shoulders.
Hollis spoke first. “Hello.”
His gaze shot around the foyer before returning to hers. “Do you have one of those lighted rectangles to press to your ear?”
She made a skeptical face, reached into her hip pocket and pulled out her phone. “Do you mean this?”
“Yes.” He wagged a finger, indicating that she should lift the phone to her ear. “Hold it up while we speak.”
Hollis complied with the strange request because she was too curious not to. “Are you one of the models?”
He frowned. “No. What is a model?”
“The Men of Our Dreams contestants.” Hollis noticed he had an odd accent which she couldn’t place. “If you aren’t one of them, then why are you wearing a costume?”
His hands stroked the laced leather vest over his long-sleeved linen shirt and then his palms slid down the sides of his leather pants. “These are my clothes.”
“But it’s over a hundred degrees outside.” She waved a hand at the surrounding glass walls. “Aren’t you hot?”
He looked a little embarrassed. “I do not feel heat. Or cold, anymore.”
Her hand sagged away from her ear, incredulous at his claim, and he gestured urgently for her to put it back in place. “Keep your lighted thing there.”
Frustrated, Hollis held the phone in front of his unshaven face instead. “Why?”
“I don’t mean to interr
upt, but… are you okay?”
Hollis turned to her right to face a woman wearing a cowboy hat made of purple straw, and one of the surprisingly cute event t-shirts that came free with registration. The woman’s concern for Hollis, however, was much more obvious than the reason for it.
“Yes. I’m fine. I’m just talking to this guy.” She gestured with the hand holding her phone.
The other woman’s eyes flicked to the phone. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She flashed an embarrassed smile and backed away slowly, waving her hands in a go on sort of motion. “Sorry.”
Hollis returned her attention to Mr. Hunky Fur-and-Leather, who now had a first name. “As I was just saying—”
He flicked his finger. “To your ear. Now.”
She grunted and smacked her phone against her ear.
Ouch. She should’ve worn smaller earrings. “Why do I need to have my phone against my ear for you to talk to me?”
He leaned close enough that his hair should have ticked her cheek. “Because you are the only one who can see me.”
Hollis’s eyes rounded and she whirled around to face the gathered attendees, sloshing wine on the carpeted floor in the process. Her sudden movement garnered brief flashes of friendly attention, before the participants shot puzzled looks in her direction, and then returned to their momentarily interrupted conversations. Not a single one of them so much as glanced at the tall, leather-clad stranger by her side.
“How is this possible?” Her head felt woozy, like it might float off her shoulders and go bouncing against the ornate ceiling like a stray balloon.
She raised her phone to her ear once more—more slowly this time—but it felt as heavy as her battered college-graduation briefcase. She turned back to stare at the tall man. “Are you a ghost?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” Hollis squeaked, her anger growing. “Perhaps?”
He looked inexplicably stricken. “To be honest, I am not sure what I am.”
“Well if you don’t know, then what am I to think?” she shouted. “Have I gone crazy?”
His gaze lifted over her head and his brow lowered. “Do you have a private chamber?”
“I have a suite in the hotel, if that’s what you mean.” Hollis recoiled, shocked. “Certainly you don’t expect—”
“My lady, you are garnering an overabundance of unwanted attention.” He moved to take her elbow and she imagined that she felt his touch. “I do suggest that we retire to a private setting to continue this discussion, if only for the benefit of your own repute.”
Hollis blew an exasperated sigh and slammed her wine glass on a marble side table hard enough that she was relieved the stem didn’t shatter. Turning on her heel, she strode through the foyer, past the crowded bar, and toward the elevators.
She didn’t dare look behind her. She could feel the weight of inquisitive stares on her back and wondered if she might be better off spending the rest of the weekend in her suite, watching cable and ordering in copious amounts of Chinese food.
When the elevator doors opened, Hollis stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor. She moved to stand against the back wall, as is correct in polite society. She was alone in the car.
“Of course, I’m alone,” she muttered. What did she expect?
Obviously Miranda was right. Hollis had been working way too hard, to the point of hallucinating after a couple glasses of wine. Okay, three. What the heck—they were free.
When the elevator doors opened, she gasped, sucking the air from the car. Her mysterious man waited on the landing.
“How did you do that?”
“I do not know.” He extended a hand. “Come out before the panels slide closed.”
Hollis rolled her eyes, stomped out of the elevator and turned right, then right again. Her suite was halfway down the hall and had a very lovely view of the swimming pool below and golf course beyond. If she made the cable and Chinese food decision, at least the weekend’s classy scenery would be enticing.
She fumbled for the room key, hands shaking, and slid the card into the electronic lock the wrong way.
“Damn.”
She flipped it over and inserted it again, receiving a condescending beep for the effort. Hollis pressed the handle down and shouldered her way into the room. She let the heavy door fall shut behind her, reasoning that a ghost wouldn’t be affected by a mere steel portal.
Stopping in the middle of the living room, she turned to face the—whatever he was—who had successfully passed through the door behind her.
His gaze roamed around the room, taking in details. “It is very clean.”
“Yes. The maids come every day.”
He nodded. “You must be very wealthy.”
Hollis laughed at that. “If I was wealthy, I’d be staying at the Phoenician.”
His brow wrinkled. “In Egypt?”
She waved his question away; that answer was far too long and pointless. “Who are you?”
He pressed a fist to his heart and bowed at the waist. “My name is Sveyn Hansen. I come from the home of my father and my father’s father, Arendal.”
Though the name sounded vaguely familiar, she shook her head. “Where is that?”
Sveyn straightened. “On the southern coast of Norway.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you a Viking?”
“Not any longer.” He motioned toward the sleeper sofa. “Will you sit?”
Hollis sank onto the sofa, kicked off her sandals, and tucked her legs under her. She grabbed a throw pillow and clutched it to her chest for protection.
Against a ghost?
She grunted and tossed the pillow back in place. If she was having a hallucination, she might as well be entertained by it. Once the weekend was over, if she still saw it she might very well be checked into the loony bin.
They probably don’t have free Chardonnay there.
She drew a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll play along. Tell me your story.”
Sveyn paced back and forth, his long legs eating up the carpeted space with ease. “It was the year ten-seventy. The new religion had come to Norway and the old religionists were fighting against it.”
“New religion?” Hollis interrupted to be certain.
Sveyn paused and looked at her. “Christianity.”
Of course. She nodded and waved for him to continue.
Sveyn resumed his caged movements, gesturing as he did so. “Young Magnus Haraldsson had just died, and his youngest brother, Olaf Haraldsson took his place as king. He was the one who decreed that Norway was now a Christian country.”
Sveyn stopped his pacing once again and regarded her with an intense blue gaze. “The viking—raiding—must stop. Do you understand?”
Hollis was admittedly entranced. As impossible as this tale was, it was historically correct. “Yes. Viking is a verb.”
He waved an approving finger in her direction. “But not everyone agreed with this decree. When the pagan halls were converted to Christian churches, there were fights between the men. Violent battles, with strong beliefs on both sides.”
“Were you killed?” Hollis slapped her forehead.
What the hell am I asking?
Sveyn Hansen squatted in front of her. Though it wasn’t actually possible for him to really be there, he looked incredibly real, so enticingly solid, and so unbelievably handsome with his dark blond hair, icy blue eyes, and strong jaw line.
At least her psychotic episode was an enjoyable one.
“I was impaled by a long sword through my gut. I was lying in the snow, my life’s blood running from my body.” His eyes pinned hers as his hand moved to the bloodied gash in his vest, which she had been too stunned to notice before.
Hollis felt the unexpected prickle of tears. “And?” she whispered.
“The priest had my head. He was giving me last rites.” Sveyn mimed his narrative. “But Old Eric had my feet.”
“Old Eric?” Hollis shrugged; her knowledge of a
ncient Viking lore was limited because, up until the last half hour, she hadn’t been that interested. “Who is he?”
“Tunrida? Loki?”
Her blank expression spoke volumes.
Sveyn leaned forward. “The very devil himself.”
“Oh! Like a tug-of-war?”
Now his expression went blank.
“Each one had hold of you and they were trying to pull you to their own side. Am I right?”
He nodded, his frighteningly intense expression pulling her in. “There was a sudden flash of light so bright I was blinded, and a roar of thunder that rattled my bones. When everything faded away, I was like this.”
Hollis stared at him, wondering if she dared to believe him.
“What does ‘like this’ mean?”
Sveyn would have sighed, she thought, if he was breathing. “I am not dead, and I am not alive.”
She unfolded her legs and leaned toward him. “Do you expect me to believe that you’re real—and you’re caught in between?”
His shoulders slumped. “I can offer you no other explanation.”
Hollis’s scientific training kicked into gear, setting her ridiculous situation aside for the moment. “How extensively can you interact with the three-dimensional world?”
Sveyn blinked, but understood her question in spite of his claimed antiquity. “I can see and hear. I cannot taste or smell.”
“What about touch?” She lifted her hand. “Can you feel this?”
Hollis pressed her palm against his chest. It tingled like a mild electrical shock.
With a grunt, Sveyn jerked backwards as if she had burned him, and scrambled to his feet. He rubbed his chest. His eyes rounded under a startled brow. “My God! I felt that!”
Hollis stood, dubious and trembling. When her hand moved against the Viking, she definitely felt something. Not anything solid, but… something.
Whatever sort of being he was, or had become, he was definitely here.
“What—what does this mean?” she stammered.
