Rival Love (The Blue Falls Series Book 1)

by Wilson, Amelia

  He was tall, much taller than any other man she’d known. Unlike some very tall men, though, he was broad as well, not gangly in the least. His shoulders were wide and even through his shirt, she could tell that his back was muscular and strong. His hair was thick and golden, ending just above his collar in a respectable businessman’s haircut. If anyone gave him a second glance on the train, it would be because of his handsome face, not because he looked at all out of place.

  When he was sitting still, there was nothing about him that seemed like anything other than a modern young executive. When he moved, though, that was when the mirage was shattered. He moved like a warrior, strong but controlled, with rapid reflexes and a fluid stride. She had seen him fight, and in retrospect she admired the economy of his motions. There had been no wasted energy in his struggle with the Draugr - the blows he had delivered had been precise, directed, purposeful.

  She shuddered to remember the way that Draugr had looked at her, practically salivating like a wolf looking at a flock of lambs. He had captured her mind, paralyzed her against her will. He could have done anything to her. If vampires really were coming for her, she needed Erik’s protection, because she was certainly not going to be able to protect herself.

  She hated the feeling of weakness that the thought gave her, and the fear of being pursued in her waking hours made any hopes of going back to sleep evaporate. She sat up in bed and put her face into her hands.

  Erik was beside her in an instant, sitting on the edge of the bed. “My lady?” he said, using that archaic phrase again. He put a hand onto her shoulder, alarmed by her tears. “What is it?”

  In that moment, she was no longer the capable curator. She was no longer strong or independent. Instead, in the darkness, she felt small and vulnerable, and she took his hand and held it close to her chest.

  Erik hesitated, then followed her lead. She pulled him down to the bed with her until he was lying behind her, his massive form curled around her back like a giant teddy bear. She clutched his hand in both of hers, holding it tightly. He pulled her into his arms and held her.

  “I will keep you safe,” he promised, his breath soft and warm against her ear. She shuddered, and he pulled her closer still. “I swear to you, I will not allow the Draugr to harm you.”

  Nika found herself crumbling, vulnerable in the mysterious mess her life had become, the pieces of the world she’d known lying scattered around her like so much rubble. She tried to speak, but in this dark moment, she could form no words.

  Erik gently wiped her tears away and held her while she cried. He said nothing, and he did not pull away. There was nothing about him that was judging or disapproving. If anything, he was welcoming. He was safe.

  She clung to him that way for a long while, and he held her the whole time. He said nothing, and he made no demands and passed no judgments. She needed him to lend her his strength, and he did so without comment or complaint.

  He was everything she needed him to be, and soon, comforted by being in the safety of his arms, she slept.

  Chapter Seven – Soul to Soul

  When morning finally came, it found him in her kitchen, his suit jacket discarded. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, and he was standing at the stove, beating a trio of eggs. His culinary preoccupation contrasted sharply with the shoulder holster and pistol that he was wearing, but somehow he made it look completely natural.

  She wrapped herself in her robe and wandered out of the bedroom, a quizzical look on her face as she watched him puttering about. Erik looked up with a smile.

  “Omelets,” he announced. “And toast, and bacon if you want it.”

  “Wow. All this, and you cook, too.”

  “A man has to eat, and knowing how to cook is a good way to ensure that.” He poured the eggs into the pan before him.

  “Don’t you… uh… Don’t you drink blood?”

  He paused in his busy work. “No. Not anymore.” He glanced at her, looking almost embarrassed. “The Veithimathr are spared from the thirst, so we can go without… for a while.”

  She sat at the counter on one of the two stools that stood there. For the first time, she thought perhaps she should invest in a larger apartment, or at least in more furniture.

  He turned from the stove and popped a cup into the Keurig. “You like expensive coffee,” he commented. “And you’re almost out.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “Do you object?”

  “Not at all. Whatever you like.” He flipped the omelet in the pan, browning the other side. “I’m just more of an herbal tea guy, myself.”

  The image of him as an herbal tea swilling latter-day hippie made her smile. “Do you meditate?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Erik put her mug into the right spot in the Keurig and turned it on, then plated up the omelet complete with a little vine of currants from her crisper. He put the plate in front of her and handed her a fork.

  He smiled. “Bacon?”

  “No, thanks. This is amazing.” She took a bite. “You’re hired.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He retrieved her mug and provided her with her aromatic coffee, then took the bread out of the toaster and slathered it with butter. He put the toast onto a saucer and put it beside her plate.

  “I’ll say it again, wow…”

  He smiled and made scrambled eggs for himself, which he piled onto a piece of toast he had already smothered in jam. She raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s different.”

  “I don’t judge you for your hipster coffee,” he teased. “Don’t judge me for my Danish egg sandwich.”

  “No judging, I promise.”

  They ate together in companionable silence, and when they were finished, he cleared the dishes away. He had evidently made himself quite familiar with her kitchen and its contents. She wasn’t sure if the end result was creepy or charming.

  She retreated into the living room with a second mug of coffee and curled up on the couch. She had her feet tucked beneath her, the robe wrapped tightly closed. When he was done clearing up, he joined her, sitting at the other end, keeping a respectable distance between them. She was sorry that he hadn’t sat closer.

  She watched him as she sipped her coffee, and he sat placidly, allowing her to look and bearing the weight of her mild scrutiny. Finally, he smiled. “What?”

  “Tell me about yourself,” she said. “You know about me.”

  “I know about your ancestors. Not about you.”

  Maybe we can fix that, she thought. “No? Well… Tell me about this strange man I’ve invited into my apartment overnight.”

  Erik said, “Well, you know my name, Erik Thorvald. I’m the oldest of four brothers.”

  “All vampires?”

  He looked surprised by the question. “Yes.”

  “Are you all soldiers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Family tradition?”

  “All Norse men are warriors,” he said. “I thought you knew that.”

  “How long...”

  “How long have I been alive? Centuries.” He looked sad for a moment before he repeated, “Centuries.”

  “So you’re a real Viking,” she said.

  “All Norse men who go out into the world in search of adventure and booty are Vikings, Nika,” he said. “I know you know that.”

  She laughed, mildly uncomfortable and unable to say exactly why. “So you left Sweden to go a-viking.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?”

  “Until last night? Not so well.”

  He looked into her eyes, and her mouth went dry. There were a million unspoken words in those blue depths.

  “What made last night different?”

  He closed the distance between them in less than a heartbeat, his hands on her face, turning her gently toward him. His lips grazed hers, then returned to steal a kiss that took her breath away. She put her mug aside and leaned into him, h
er hands sliding up his biceps to rest upon the rock-hard muscles of his shoulders. She pressed her lips to his, and for a long moment, there was nothing in the world but him.

  He pulled away, his fingers soft as a whisper along the corner of her jaw. Her eyes were still closed when he sat back.

  “I’m sorry,” he began. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She wanted to tell him not to apologize, that she wasn’t offended, but words didn’t come easily. Instead, she scooted forward, negating his retreat, and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him closer. He went willingly, bearing her gently down onto the couch.

  He kissed her gently, as if she were a treasure. She delighted in him and his expert touch. Once she felt the tips of his teeth score her skin ever so slightly, just enough to make her skin tingle but not enough to make her bleed.

  She put her hand in hair, holding his head to her throat. She knew she should not ask it of him, but she wanted so badly to experience the combination of his body and his teeth.

  “Drink from me, Erik,” she begged. “Please.”

  He kissed the throbbing vein at the corner of her jaw, and she could feel him quickening with the double desires that raged within him. Her spirit ached for him, reaching out, as if she had lifted ghostly arms around him as surely as she had wrapped him in her physical embrace.

  She could feel a part of him stirring, his soul extending out toward her. His spirit, thrumming with life and with desire, seemed to reach out with invisible arms, wrapping around her and pulling her closer. She felt electrified and ecstatic.

  She had never felt anything like this. It was as if he was loving her with his body and his soul at the same time. She was transported, and she ached for him to take more of her, to reach farther into the center of her being.

  He lifted his head and opened his mouth, but at the last second, he turned away. The tendrils of his soul that had been pushing into her retreated, and though the physical pleasure was profound, she nearly wept with sorrow and frustration at the incomplete connection.

  Erik pulled away reluctantly. He stroked her face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can make love to you, but the rest… the rest I cannot do.”

  Nika tucked her head beneath his chin and simply held him.

  Chapter Eight – The Calm Before the Storm

  His cell phone ringing startled them both awake, and he located it with some difficulty among the pile of hastily-discarded clothes.

  “Hello?”

  She could hear another man’s voice, and she was close enough to make out the words. “Rolf is inside.”

  “Good. Any reports?”

  “Not yet,” the other man said. “I’ll let you know when he’s gotten a good look around.”

  Erik nodded, though his conversation partner could not see him. “I hope to the gods that he avoids Astrid and Sigrunn. They both know his face.”

  “Trust him, Erik. He’s the youngest, but he knows his job.”

  He looked unconvinced. Nika wondered if he had reason to worry, or if he was a professional control freak. She hoped that his need to control did not extend to his lovers.

  “Well, keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  He hung up the call, then smiled at her apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I have a serious case of bed head. Or maybe couch head.”

  He chuckled. “I think you look beautiful.”

  “You’d better.” She smiled at him, and he kissed the tip of her nose. “Who is Sigrunn?”

  Erik deposited the phone onto the coffee table and cuddled up again. “She was the one who stole the sword.”

  Nika shuddered. “That’s a face I won’t forget…”

  “Nor should you. It’s important to know what your enemies look like. If she ever saw you again, she would try to kill you.”

  “That’s not very comforting.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s true.”

  She took a deep breath and suddenly felt awkward and uncomfortable. She slipped out of his arms and stood up, picking up her robe to hide her nakedness, although there was nothing of hers that he hadn’t already seen.

  He watched her, confusion making his eyebrows pucker. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she lied. “I just… need to take a shower.”

  Silently, he watched her go.

  ***

  The hot water cascading over her body was soothing, and she stood in the spray longer than was strictly necessary. Nika closed her eyes and let the heat wash over her.

  She had never wanted to sleep with a man so soon after meeting him. She had certainly never felt that strange soul-to-soul connection that had almost formed. She was confused by the situation and by her own reactions.

  Why was it so easy for her to accept his story about the vampires and the old Norse gods? She supposed it was because she had seen Sigrunn’s teeth for herself, or perhaps because in the face of so much craziness, any explanation was better than more questions.

  It just all felt so right.

  She should have been horrified, not just for believing the unbelievable, but for actively trying to make him bring her into his strange world. She shook her head and ran her hands over her hair, sending excess water sluicing down over her shoulders.

  ‘Please bite me?’ What the hell was I thinking?

  She knew that she should have been grateful that he had resisted temptation, but a part of her was so very disappointed.

  She had never felt so completely out of her element.

  ***

  Nika was still in the bathroom when Erik’s phone rang again. It was Rolf.

  “I’m inside,” he said. “They’ve set up a hörgr.”

  That was bad news. If the Draugr had created a sacred stone table, then they were intending to use it for a sacrifice. “Do they have a sacrifice prepared?”

  “No, although the pen is ready.”

  He nodded. “Well, that’s one good thing, at least. Any sign of the sword?”

  “No. I think Sigrunn is keeping it with her.”

  “That could make things complicated.”

  Rolf laughed softly. “My friend, when do we ever do anything without complications? I will call back when I know more.”

  The line went dead as Rolf ended the call in his usual abrupt manner. Erik rose and went to the window, contemplating the city below.

  The world had changed so much in the years he had been alive. The sacred groves had all been replaced by high rises and parking lots, and nobody even seemed to remember the old gods at all.

  As human attention passed and worship ended, the gods had lost their powers. They had finally been forced to take up residence within human hosts, binding themselves to lesser souls and riding along through incarnation after incarnation. Some had chosen to bind themselves to the Draugr, or to the Veithimathr. Others had chosen the Valtaeigr. A few had been forced to occupy humans, denied the more powerful vessels by those who had taken residence before them.

  It had been on a dreary midwinter day when his time had come to take on a sacred passenger. He had agreed readily enough, though the ritual was painful in the extreme. He could still remember the feeling of liquid fire when the god Vidar had fused with his soul.

  That was when Ithunn, goddess of the Spring, had taken Berit.

  He closed his eyes as the memory rose. Berit, so small, so frail, the most delicate example of the Valtaeigr line. The princess, the priestess, his great love. He had come closer to choosing her than he had with any other woman.

  He regretted every day that he had not done so in time. If their vampire selves had been linked, perhaps she could have gained enough strength from him to survive her transformation. Perhaps he could have experienced at least a little of that great happiness of living with a chosen mate before the ritual had taken her from him.

  When she died, he vowed that he would find her again. He would know her soul anywhere, he
was certain, and when the time was right, he would choose her after all. He had vowed to the gods that he would stop drinking blood, bypassing the life-saving healing that the dreyri could give, until he had found her again.

  Three times before, he had re-encountered Berit, still bearing the companionship of Ithunn in her soul. Three times before, he had been too slow to choose her, and he had lost her. Three times, he had buried his beloved.

  The last burial had left him grief-stricken and vulnerable, and when Astrid made him the offer of an alliance, he had rushed in, in too much pain to think about what he was doing. At the time, loneliness had been a bigger burden than the loss of his freedom. They were married at midsummer after the winter he had lost Berit the third time.

  They had never been a good match. He had tried to be dutiful, to be a proper husband. Astrid was too cold, though, and too proud. She never stopped reminding him that she outranked him. She was the vessel of Freyja, the great goddess, and she never let him forget that the god who had joined with him was of a lower station.

  They had never been equals, not even on their wedding day, and the situation only deteriorated from his perspective over the years. He was nothing more than a lackey to her, her prized possession, valuable as the chief of the Veithimathr and the vessel of the god who was destined to kill Fenrir at Ragnarok.

  He doubted now if Ragnarok would ever come. The world had changed so much – if there was to be an apocalypse, it would be of humanity’s own making. He very much doubted that there would be a giant immortal wolf for him to slay when that dark day came.

  He heard the shower shut off, and he glanced back over his shoulder. Now was not the time to be lost in thought, he reminded himself. He turned back to his phone and dialed Gunnar.

  “Go ahead,” his old friend said.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Much improved. You should consider having at least a sip sometime… the dreyri is a remarkable thing.”

  Erik shook his head. “Someday you will stop trying to convince me.”

  “Only when you stop needing to be convinced.”

  It was an old conversation, and he abandoned it as quickly as he could. “How are things in the vault?”