I walked away from the bright lights that shone down on the door of the building, and I stared skyward, taking it all in.
“I should stay,” a woman said.
“Hannah, I understand it, but I—” Bennet said.
“Go,” Hannah replied. “We’ll catch up later. We’ll figure this out.”
The door clicked shut, and I listened to Bennet’s footsteps as he approached.
“Tyr,” he said, “what just happened in there—”
“I’ve missed the stars,” I said.
My progeny stopped by my side, and looked up.
“It must have been horrible,” he said. “I don’t mean to belittle that, or push you to reclaim your place if you aren’t ready. But it is your place.”
I had believed that once—that I shouldered the responsibility to rule. After servitude in my first life, and again in my second under Odin, I had believed that I was obligated to build something. Creating this territory, gifting eternal life to those who both deserved it and required it to survive—I truly believed that was my atonement.
The sea had offered an opportunity for reflection. At the bottom of the ocean, there had been nothing but time. I’d replayed everything that had happened, from the senseless battles I’d fought alongside my brothers, to those I’d murdered in the name of justice. Time had dulled the thrill of feeding, of fighting. Emerging from my prison hadn’t changed my decision to do no harm. Instead, my commitment to nonviolence had only grown stronger—and that was why the deaths of the sailors haunted me.
I’d killed many. Each feeding had extended my appearance of youth, added to my strength, and made me more vicious. Giving it up was one of the most difficult choices I’d ever made, and one of the most rewarding. With my thirst renewed, that struggle returned, and with it new guilt.
The rush of air that passed was an unnatural gust. I knew what it meant, and it brought a smile to my face.
When I looked, my eldest surviving progeny stood before me. Walter Chapman appeared much like I remembered—hard faced, and dressed in a long, black coat. All that had changed was his lack of top hat, and the woman he carried in his arms. Walter was the poster boy for formality, for all things vampire. And I’d missed him.
“Walter,” I said.
“You look different,” he said.
“Healing has taken its toll,” I replied.
More than anyone, Walter knew how I’d struggled, even if he didn’t understand.
“You had to feed,” he said.
“I did.”
“Hi,” the woman said, “I’m Violet.”
She was young, a newly turned vampire, with hair like summer strawberries, and confidence beyond her years.
“A pleasure, my dear,” I said. “Tyr Ulfhednar.”
“My sire’s sire,” she said. “I have not heard nearly enough about you.” Then she nudged Walter with her elbow.
I liked her already.
“We will have time to get to know each other,” I replied.
“Charles should be here,” Walter said.
His first progeny. I wished I’d have been around to watch my family grow. I had missed so much.
“He was inside earlier,” Violet replied.
Walter raised a brow.
“Look,” Bennet said, “I get that everyone is eager to catch up.”
“And meet each other,” Violet said.
“Sure,” Bennet replied. He turned to his blood brother. “But, Walter, did he tell you that he’s not planning to take the throne?”
Walter looked at me, no sign of emotion on his face. I was unsure what to expect. Anger would have been my first guess; he above all others I assumed would expect me to rule—if he hadn’t put a claim in to do so himself. Walter was the epitome of duty, in service to his work in life, to me after. And now?
“You think Ashley should just step aside?” Violet looked to Bennet with disbelief. “You’ve met her, right? This thing she has with you guys, her place here, it’s who she is.”
Bennet’s jaw tightened.
“You should consider her in all of this,” Violet said.
Bennet turned and walked back toward the manor.
I returned my attention to Walter, who stood still, weighing me in his heavy gaze.
“It is good to have you home,” he said. “If you do not wish to rule, what do you intend?”
It was a good question. I hadn’t planned anything up to this point. I’d assumed it would be Yeke who remained, not the exquisite blonde who'd taken his place. There were other changes I hadn’t expected, like Walter being the one who took my choice in stride. Was it Violet who’d brought out this side of him? I hoped so. He deserved peace. They all did.
“How about: have you decided where you’d like to sleep when day breaks?” Violet asked.
“No.”
“Your personal effects are in storage in the cellar,” Walter said. “Perhaps we should begin there.”
“Or you can stay with us,” Violet offered.
It was exactly what I needed, and for their help, I was grateful.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Both of you.”
Chapter Six
Ashley
How dare they think they can walk right in here and tell me I’m not in charge? When they hadn’t wanted that big muscle vamp Yeke around, it was me who had stepped up and taken him down. It was me who had done what needed to be done. Always me.
And here we were, my best friend’s amor aeternus telling me that I’m not supposed to be queen. What a dick.
What had Bennet called him, Tear? Like crying? Somehow, that sounded familiar and wrong at the same time. Maybe I should have paid closer attention to all that boring stuff Walter was always telling me. It felt like the answer was somewhere in one of those sessions.
I stopped pacing and went to the window to see what they were doing. After what had happened, I half-expected Bennet to be gathering pitchforks and angry villagers.
What I saw was Bennet standing alone. Walter walked toward the side of the building with Violet, and him. He was built, polished, and sexy. He probably had all of his shit together, the opposite of me. I didn’t want to think anything nice about him. I wanted to stay angry, because I couldn’t just allow them to take everything away. He’d said he didn’t want it, but that was trick, right? Why come here with Bennet, who was all like this guy’s the new boss, if he didn’t want that to be true? And how exactly had he taken the force of my air punch and not gone flying like the rest? He was powerful for sure.
There I went again, thinking something good about him. More importantly, no one stopped my air punch, not even Walter, the strongest vampire I knew. Other than myself, of course. Was it too much to hope that I was wrong, that he was an okay guy, and that he told the truth? Probably. Nothing was ever that simple.
Who was he?
The door opened, and I moved away from the window. Ronaldo nodded approval, and Hannah stepped in.
“What the crap is with your boy toy?” I asked. “Did you hear him? Did you hear what he was saying when he waltzed in here with that… that…” Don’t say sexy. “Stranger?”
“I caught the you-throwing-him-into-the-wall part,” Hannah said.
Two shirtless hunks righted the sofa, while another straightened the crooked painting. They were pretty good at doing that stuff without me having to ask. Brownie points for sure.
I flopped down on the black leather sofa, and wished it was made of something softer—a fluffy cloud to envelop me in squishy bliss. Instead, the fabric was cold, and firm, and not cloud-like.
I stared up at the ceiling, and replied to Hannah. “Sorry about that,” I said. “But only for your sake. He deserved it.”
“I caught enough to get that much,” Hannah said, and sat beside me. “He shouldn’t have brought his sire here without thinking about what it might mean. Tyr freaking Ulfhednar. Can you believe it?”
“Like Ulfhednar Estate?”
“Yeah,” Hanna
h said. “The original. Did they tell you what happened to him?”
“Probably.”
“Yeke shackled him and dumped him into the ocean, to steal everything that was his,” Hannah said. “Bennet and Walter have wanted to find him ever since. Then bam, he shows up.”
“I guess I can see how Bennet would want to see his sire get back what he lost,” I admitted. I couldn’t imagine what Tyr had been through. Had it been me, I bet I would have wanted to come home, and wanted revenge. I’d want my life back.
“Exactly,” Hannah said. “Bennet wasn’t thinking about anything, or anyone, beyond that reunion.”
“What do you know about him?” I asked, still staring up at the ceiling.
“About Tyr?”
I nodded. He was a big sexy ball of mystery. Powerful, check. Suave, check. Power hungry? It didn’t seem like it.
“Bennet told me a little about him. Tyr turned Bennet during a mine collapse in the late eighteen-hundreds and Walter some time before that. Ulfhednar means wolf-skin, some kind of Viking warrior. Bennet says Tyr was one of them.”
“A Viking?” I asked. “That’d make him like, really really old.”
“That’s what I hear,” she said.
“So how did Yeke the angry giant take him out?” I asked. “I mean, Yeke was big, but to be that old, Tyr had to be pretty strong in vampire prowess, right?”
“Tyr let him.”
“Let him?” I asked. It didn’t make sense. Why would he let someone take over? Why would he not pick a fight with me?
“I don’t know why,” Hannah said.
“Hmmm.”
We sat in silence, just the two of us. And I thought about Tyr Ulfhednar, wolf berserker, king, and pushover. I didn’t get it. I didn’t get him. And I needed to.
“Hey, Ashley,” Hannah said.
“Yeah?”
“I know this night hasn’t turned out exactly—”
“It’s gone batshit crazy,” I said.
“Yeah,” Hannah replied. “So maybe we should try to forget about everything at least for a little while. Maybe we should go back to the theatre room and pretend none of this ever happened, just for tonight.”
“I don’t know,” I said. Could I just pretend everything was fine?
“It’s been too long since we’ve hung out,” Hannah said. “I say we see what kind of trash TV is on, and I make mug brownies, and we make the most of it.”
“Mug brownies?”
“I’m trying something new,” she said. “Bennet’s been my guinea pig. Bear with me. Red velvet fudge.”
“Hannah—”
“I know,” she said. “Food tastes gross, but this recipe has blood in it.”
Chocolate blood cake… and Bennet had taste-tested it.
“Don’t worry, Bennet approved it already,” she said.
I needed the distraction, to get all the thoughts of Tyr Ulfhednar out of my head. And with a good mug brownie in the mix, it was almost like nothing had changed since we’d been roommates. “I’m in.”
Chapter Seven
Tyr
February 4, 901
Village of Ivankhammer, Norway
Golden light flickered between thick tree trunks. Falling snow blurred my view of the fire that burned fifty yards away. The night was otherwise black, the perfect cover for our assault.
The falling snow created a quiet sense of calm, one that muffled all sounds but those of my brother beside me. The harsh creak repeated, over and over, the scrape of teeth on metal. I turned to Bjorn, a bear amongst wolfskin. Whatever his name had been in life, Bjorn fit him better. The auburn-bearded giant was by far the largest of the five of us. His upper arms were as thick as my head, and when he ran, he ran on all fours.
I cringed as he bit the upper edge of his shield. I would have asked him to stop, but I knew why he did it. It was his way of holding back, his way of waiting for the right moment to come.
A man with a bucket dumped snow over the flames. The golden light shrunk to red embers and a funnel of clouded smoke.
“Now.” The voice belonged to our leader, to my brother Sigurd.
We ran through the trees, straight toward the village. Snow splashed up in my face as Bjorn cut in front. It was a challenge he always won—first to shed blood.
Crouched low, imperceptible in shadow and the dark of night, and with the speed of gods, we descended upon our prey. We were silent, we were death, we were Ulfhednar.
“Tonight’s my night,” Magnus said, from beside me.
Sigurd snorted in response. It would be Bjorn. It was always Bjorn.
We broke through the tree line, into the village. Smoke clouded the crisp winter air. Magnus grabbed Bjorn’s ankle and pulled, knocking the giant to the ground.
Bjorn whipped his head around with a grunt, and sunk his teeth into Magnus’s thigh. The tow-headed vampire hissed with surprise, and pain.
Bjorn released him and laughed. “First blood is mine,” he said, and wiped the red from his mouth with his sleeve.
“Bastard,” Magnus said.
I passed the pair, with Sigurd and Rolf by my sides. Sigurd, our leader, was the smallest of us, and the most cunning. He was the oldest, and trained by Odin himself. Rolf was the most ruthless. He had no hair upon his head, no beard, no shirt upon his chest. He never spoke a word, but killed more than his share.
The three of us reached doors before the other two, each choosing our own meal, our own spoils. Mine was a small shack, empty at first glance. At the far end, I sensed a faint heartbeat, slow, steady. I crossed the dirt floor, and found my prey. She was old, feeble, and no real challenge. Crouched down beside her, I looked over her wrinkled face. She appeared at peace. I tilted her chin up and watched the pulse of her artery beneath paper-thin skin. I leaned closer.
A stabbing pain pierced my side, sharp and without mercy. I found her eyes open, the woman beneath me. Her pulse raced as she scrambled to get away.
A stake stuck out between two ribs, I felt the weapon lodged into my side.
She’d stabbed me. More fight than I’d expected.
I smiled at her spirit, how lucky I’d become. Then I sank my teeth into the crook of her neck as she cried out in exquisite horror.
When I opened my eyes, I found a ceiling of arched stone just above me. I reached up and touched the rough, damp surface. There was no snow, no taste of blood on my tongue. It had been just another dream, a distant memory from another lifetime. If only I could forget.
I ran my fingers through my hair, and let my surroundings sink in. The floor beneath me was hard, stiffening my muscles. It was a stone coffin, an encasement away from sunlight. It was familiar. This wasn’t the old world, and it wasn’t the ocean.
I was home.
After I climbed from the crypt, I looked around the large room. Cardboard boxes lined the wall, and my favorite chair was stored beside them. This had been the first space built, all those years ago. It had been me and my first progeny, Lyra, who had slept here as the estate above had been under construction.
Like so much else, Lyra was gone now too. All that remained was memory, and cardboard boxes.
I took a box from the stack and sat down on the cold stone floor. Inside were some of my clothes, simple slacks and button shirts. It was lucky to have found these instead of the fur and dyed fabrics of my youth. I’d happily traded attire with time, favoring the simple over the elaborate. To survive was to be a chameleon, to be indistinguishable in the snow-covered fields of Snæland, in the rainy streets of Victorian London, in a dojo in ancient Heian, or in a nightclub in modern Scarlet Harbor.
Beneath folded silk, my fingertips brushed a surface both cold and hard. The grooves and ridges were more than familiar. The hilt was an extension of my wrist, the blade as much a part of me as my fangs.
There had been five pearl-hilted seaxes, one gifted to each of my brothers by Odin himself. They were more than weapons, rather symbols of our brotherhood, symbols of Ulfhednar. Of the five sons,
only I remained.
I’d carried on that tradition of gifting a blade to each progeny. It had felt right at the time. First Lyra, then Walter, and last—Bennet. Once I’d believed the bloodline was a gift, like the seax, though time had shone me better. Eternal life was more curse than gift.
A sound pulled me from my thoughts, a high-pitched tune that echoed through the tall stone halls of the basement. I recognized the melody—Secrets Held—and sang the words in my head along with the flute-like notes.
There is no prison within my mind, for I hold the key again this time.
Don’t look. You won’t like what you find.
But I know what keeps you up, what makes you hide.
I hold the key again this time.
Not only did I know the song, but the direction the whistle came from. I’d spent time in Yeke’s dungeon, before he’d banished me to the sea. Cells had been under construction then, likely long finished by now.
I left the prisoner to his song, and his secrets, and opened another box. Inside each one was a story, a relic of my past. What had happened was what I knew. It was all that was familiar here anymore, a small comfort that I relished after so much time spent away.
Inside the cardboard cube was a pile of framed pictures. On top, with a smile that been everything that she was, was Lyra. I wiped the layer of dust from the glass with my sleeve, and looked at the girl who had once been my most trusted friend. Her fair skin and golden locks reminded me of another, of the woman who resided just upstairs. The thought of the queen pulled me from the past and reminded me of the future. Ashley King was the future, for all of us. For Walter, for Bennet, and for me. It had been so long since I’d looked forward. What fate would she bring us?
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