“Svala’s nowhere near here, Lauren,” Sean said from the balcony above. “I’m pretty sure she’s on one of her nature hikes.”
“How do you know that?” Lauren spun on her heel and tried to reign in her rage. A rage she had long ago learned to repress. “You do not know that.”
“But I do,” Megan said as she joined Sean. “My daughter’s not here, Lauren and she hasn’t been for a while.” A frown settled on her face as she headed downstairs, clearly weak. “Mema Angie, why don’t you pour Lauren a glass of wine?”
“Absolutely,” Angie murmured as Lauren trembled and eyed everyone. One part of her still felt anger while another part felt foolish. Someone had hung that picture again but who?
Lauren’s eyes met Megan’s. If she were to buy into the whole tired tale, Megan had been a Viking Queen for well over twenty years. If that were true, then all these Viking men were part of her community, her family. And those pictures Cybil took supposedly represented each man in dragon form. So would it not stand to reason that Megan would rehang the picture if she saw it had been taken down?
“It was you, wasn’t it,” she said softly, angrily, her eyes on Megan. “You rehung it.”
“I just got out of bed,” Megan said as Sean headed downstairs, frowning at Lauren.
“And I can confirm that so watch your tone, sweetheart,” he added.
“I am not your sweetheart,” Lauren bit out, shaking her head no when Mema Angie tried to hand her a glass of wine. “I am sorry, but I wish to get some rest.” She didn’t wait for a response but scooped up her phone, and keychain then headed upstairs.
When Shannon stepped out of her bedroom, worried, Lauren shook her head sharply, entered her room and shut the door. She didn’t slam it. She would not give whoever did this that satisfaction. Instead, she thrust a spare sheet over the painting lying on the floor and glared at it.
She did not want it here.
She did not want to look at it and feel like she was somehow looking in the mirror.
So she ignored it, undressed, neatly set aside her clothes, pulled on her matching silk pajama set and crawled into her perfectly made bed. She didn’t turn on the television but made sure the blanket was folded down over her chest evenly from crease to crease, checked her phone one more time then stared at the ceiling.
Minutes passed, maybe even hours, as she filtered through her angry emotions, bit by bit pushing them into a room in her mind. One she had created for just this sort of thing. Once every bit of paranoid rage and disbelief was shoved into the room, she shut the door and locked it.
Then she bolted it.
Then she envisioned welding it shut with fire.
Finally satisfied that she was free of those emotions, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now things were in perspective. Nobody had rehung that picture. If anything, she never even took it down. Rather she envisioned it. Made it happen in her mind. But she never really did it because that would be offensive to Cybil. Her sister worked hard, and that was one of her prized pictures.
Satisfied that it was all behind her, Lauren scooped up her keychain from the bedside table and studied it. The tiny village, the little bits of green that symbolized trees and shrubs. A town she had driven through several times, but was barred from now. A place, like many others, she wasn’t allowed to go.
Lauren released a well-measured breath and continued to stare at it, imagining what it would be like to finally walk outside again. Not to suffer from this feeling of entrapment and confusion. To be able to get in her car and drive home.
Back to Charles.
Back to the life they shared.
She continued to stare at the globe and tried to see their brownstone in it. The memories they had accrued. But all she saw were houses and trees…then just one tree.
The ash tree outside of this chalet.
A tree Megan claimed was not only created by a Viking demi-god but was a Yggdrasill. A mythological Norse tree that connected nine worlds. It was also a tree that seemingly transported her sisters and their Vikings back and forth through time.
At least it had until Samantha became so powerful she could do it for them.
Lauren made a sound of disgust and disbelief and opened another door in her mind as she stared at the ash. It spoke to her as it always did. The tree wanted her to push past the curse and get to it. She could nourish it. Care for it before it died. Only she had the power to do that.
“No,” she whispered and shut the ash tree away.
Because she didn’t trust it.
She clenched the globe, squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She had been housebound for too long, and it was truly starting to affect her mind. That, at least, she could admit and recognize given her unbelievable situation. It was the only logical thought that made sense as she inhaled deeply and tried to sleep.
Unfortunately, like most nights, that meant dozing for a few hours then bolting upright in bed when nightmares of trying to get out haunted her. Sometimes it was of this place but mostly other places. Rooms and dark corners she didn’t recognize. Foreign places she had never seen before. But mostly she was trying to get out of one place.
The home she shared with Charles.
Lauren wiped sweat from her brow, tossed aside the blanket and pressed the tips of her fingers to her forehead. It didn’t make sense. Why, out of everything—all the hell she had been thrust into—was she trying to get out of the one place she had felt safest? The one place she was trying to get back to?
“When are you finally gonna admit your husband served you divorce papers?” Samantha said into her mind, an echo of what Sam had said shortly before she vanished the first time. “When are you gonna wake up and see the reality of things, Lauren? If I was able to do it with my husband, then you can too.”
“No,” Lauren whispered and stumbled out of bed like she did every night.
Her situation was nothing like Samantha’s. She and Charles had an agreement. It was politics, and she understood. He would serve the papers, and she would take her time signing them. That was the plan until the rumors of her affair had lessoned. Something her sisters still couldn’t swallow and never brought up because they simply refused to believe it. And they were right. The truth was he had the affair. But she would take the fall for it.
That made sense.
It would protect his career.
She understood that.
As always, when she opened the door in the middle of the night, Shannon was there to help her through. To keep her mind level and help her find a modicum of peace. To support how committed she was to her life choices. She was the only sister who didn’t seem to judge her one way or another for the decisions she had made…for being with Charles.
Lauren sipped her tea as they sat on the couch, and Shannon held her hand. Samantha had always called Shannon the creepy sister, but they could all admit that she possessed a level of calm the rest of them didn’t. And the only real reason they thought she was creepy wasn’t because of how she acted but what she decided to do with her life.
She owned her own funeral parlor.
Cybil had long speculated that she pursued such a career because of losing their mother when they were teenagers, but Lauren wasn’t so sure that was entirely it. On occasion, she felt it had more to do with Shannon preferring the dead to the living in general. The dead didn’t argue. There was no drama. Arguments. Heartache. All things they had experienced too much of with their parents before and during their mother’s sickness. So it made sense Shannon would embrace such a low-key profession. One that would cultivate and maintain her unruffled composure.
Because she was, as a rule, unfailingly calm, cool and collected.
So her having an affair with her brother-in-law seemed downright nuts in light of how Shannon came across. Didn’t it? Would something like that not have introduced unneeded tension into her life? The sort of tension born of secrecy and guilt?
Yet none of that mattered as Shannon smoothed Lauren�
��s hair back into a tidy bun then watched as she enjoyed some soothing tea. While Lauren might be drawn to Samantha, Shannon understood her better. Or at least that’s how she’d felt for a while now.
So maybe that was why Shannon thought Lauren had called her to the chalet in the first place. It made sense considering how much they had been connecting. The only problem? She never called Shannon. Yet she arrived. Maybe it was some sort of sisterly connection that transcended normal explanation.
Lauren squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip at the thought. What was the matter with her? A sisterly connection that transcended normal explanation? For goodness sake, she needed to start opening more doors in her mind and locking these thoughts away.
What was she thinking?
“It’s okay.” Shannon squeezed her hand. “You’re just dealing with really strange things right now, Lauren. Embrace it, don’t fight it. Know that everything’s going to be okay.”
Her eyes shot to her sister and like every night Shannon visited, she asked, “How do I embrace this? How do I accept that I’m caged in by,” her eyes rounded, “nothing.”
And like every night, Shannon responded, “Because this isn’t nothing, Sis. This is something. We just don’t know what yet.” As always, when Lauren tried to argue, Shannon squeezed her hand again, urged her to drink her tea and said, “Life is not easy to explain. You’re meant to be here, and so am I.” Shannon held her gaze. “You’re not alone, Lauren.”
But she really was. So alone it scared her. Yet another reason she wanted that picture in her bedroom gone. Because, oddly enough, she knew that dragon was as trapped as her.
Tait was as trapped as her.
Lauren set aside the thought. One she had done well to lock in a mental room day after day until she was bright enough to take that picture down. Yet even as it lay on the floor covered with a sheet upstairs, it haunted her.
She unclenched her fist and looked down.
“Is that the keychain Emily got for you?” Shannon said softly.
“Yes,” she whispered. Like earlier, a miniature version of Winter Harbor vanished only to be replaced by the old ash tree outside. “Oh no.”
“What?” Shannon asked, but Lauren didn’t answer as the tree in the globe started to brighten moments before a light caught her attention from beyond the windows.
Drawn, she shook her head and closed the distance between her and the deck side windows. A cold wind blew as she opened the door and narrowed her eyes. “Oh no.”
“What is it?” Shannon said as she joined her.
“Don’t you see it?” Lauren asked. Her chest grew tight and her palms sweaty.
“See what?”
“Shit,” Lauren whispered, cursing for the first time in over ten years. “You don’t see the horse head impaled on a pole?”
“No,” Shannon said, confused.
Like before, as soon as Lauren saw the Viking Nidstang, it vanished. Unlike before, she knew without a shred of doubt that she was in big trouble. She felt it in the hallway of her soul where lockable doors were hard to come by. Where Shannon’s reasonable voice wouldn’t make sense if she tried.
So she politely thanked her sister and despite Shannon’s concern returned to her room. She didn’t bother trying to sleep but sat on the edge of her bed and eyed the covered picture on the floor. If she had seen the Nidstang again, had he? If so, did that mean Tait would be returning soon? And if he did, would it somehow free her from this place?
Lauren clenched her jaw and glared at the picture.
While part of her understood why she related it to Tait, another part continued to deny the concept entirely. Even so, something was happening. She had seen that awful horse head again. So it was better to be prepared then caught unaware. At least that’s what she always told herself over the years when dealing with Charles.
Therefore, she showered, dressed meticulously, tied her hair back tightly and made a decision. If Tait was somehow the only way to free herself from this prison, then she would not hide but look him in the eye. If she could not lock him away, then she would face him head on and get this over with.
So she rehung the picture, sat on the end of her bed, stared at the dragon and waited.
And waited.
What she didn’t expect was Sean at her door just before dawn. He didn’t seem thrown off that she was sitting there fully dressed. Rather, he appeared weary. “Megan took a turn for the worse last night. Me and Mema Angie are gonna run her down to the hospital.”
Caught in the silent war she’d been waging in her mind all night, his words caught her off guard. She meant to say, “I’m sorry, how can I help?” but all she could manage was a weak nod.
Yes, Megan was fighting aggressive cancer, but for the most part, she seemed so strong. Just like mother had been.
“Shannon and Emily want to come with us,” he continued, his eyes a little lost as they met hers. “One of us will stay if you need us to.”
“Why?” she said, confused by the question.
“So you don’t have to be here alone.” He looked at her oddly, as if she should have already figured it out. “Someone always tries to be around, so you’re not trapped here alone.”
Lauren swallowed. She hadn’t realized that. “No, I am okay.” She nodded. “Please go take care of Megan.”
As he nodded and started to walk away she meant to call out, “I am sure she will be all right, Sean,” to lend him comfort but did not. Instead, her eyes returned to the picture.
“Let me out of here,” she said between clenched teeth. “Let me go.”
Yet nothing happened.
She sat there half the day, her back ramrod straight as she waited.
Eventually, sunlight hit the chalet just right and slid into the room. While she might not like to admit it, the photograph really was exceptional, and the sun’s rays did nothing to take from that. If anything, they accentuated it as the dragon’s eyes seemed to magnify in the clouds. It was almost as if they shimmered deep brown and looked directly at her.
Lauren narrowed her eyes.
She knew that color.
She had seen it once before.
That exact shade of dark, dangerous chocolate.
A shade she refused to lose herself in before, and sure as Mother Mary gave her strength, she would not do so now. But then, she was tired of this façade. She was tired of not facing it…him.
So she stared into those eyes and walked down the mental hallway of her mind until she found the door she had locked him away in. She undid the lock and deadbolt. This door, oddly enough, was one of few she had not fused shut. Maybe because she knew she would have to shove too much stuff in it.
Or maybe because she wanted to be able to open it at will.
So she did it.
She opened the door as she stared into those eyes.
What happened next, however, was the last thing she expected.
Chapter Two
“LAUREN?” CAME A loud roar from downstairs. “You better still be here, woman.”
Ripped away from the picture and the mental door she had just opened, her eyes widened on the door to her room. That couldn’t possibly be him. Could it?
But she knew it was.
There was no mistaking that deep voice.
Tait.
But how did he get inside? What she didn’t realize until she grabbed a jackknife out of her purse and peaked out the door, was that he was not inside. The backdoor was open, and he was pacing on the deck, his eyes narrowed.
“Lauren?” he roared again.
She gripped her knife tighter, glad she had kept it handy. It only made sense considering all the hoodlums who came and went.
When she didn’t respond, he called out again, but not to her this time.
“Shannon?”
Why was he calling for her sister? But she knew. They had connected in the brief time they met. Apparently, Shannon had dreamt of him or some such nonsense. Lauren didn’t believe it the
n, and she didn’t believe it now.
“Aunt Megan? Sean? Svala?” Tait called out. “Anybody?”
For a moment, Lauren debated staying in her room but would that not defeat the purpose of staring into his eyes in the picture? Of unlocking his door in her mind? Of challenging him to return?
A challenge some might say he had accepted.
So she would do the same.
She would see this through and hopefully break free from this house.
Knife at the ready, she edged out onto the balcony and peered down. The second his eyes honed in on her, she narrowed hers in return.
“There you are,” he said, the anger in his gaze palpable. “What is happening? How did I get here? Where is everyone?”
As she had before, Lauren ignored her reaction to his appearance. He was too tall. Too muscular. Too everything. But he was also very handsome. Irritatingly so, because it wasn’t in a way she typically liked. Normally she preferred classically handsome, fair skinned, lithe, well-dressed men.
And Tait was none of the above.
Everything about him struck her as dark and foreboding. Attractive in a way that kept drawing her eye no matter how much she tried to look away. For the life of her, she could not figure out why that lured her.
Why he attracted her.
“I have no idea...” She gripped the banister and let her eyes drift beyond him. Thankfully, the horse’s head was not there.
“You have no idea in response to which question?” Tait frowned, eying her knife.
Lauren took in his clothing. He wore black leather pants and a jerkin, heavy boots and a black fur cloak stretched over his broad shoulders. While she typically referred to it as biker clothing, she knew better. It was authentic Viking. But she kept with the idea that it must be specific to a gang. To a fashion trend.
“I have no idea about any of your questions,” she spat, stiffening her spine as she looked down her nose at him. She was home alone and felt more vulnerable than ever, so she was not about to tell him a thing. All that kept her from falling apart right now was that he still couldn’t enter the house.
As Tait continued to eye her, his expression softened. “Come down here, Lauren.”
Soul of a Viking (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors' Kin Book 3) Page 2
