Rune Master

by Amelia Wilson

  He took her to the edge and then tipped her over, sending her into a pleasure-drunk free fall. She cried out in ecstasy, and he stayed with her, pushing her into climax after climax. When she could bear no more, she pulled him up to lie beside her.

  His desire was still straining for release, hot and hard against her thigh as he pulled her close. She looked into his eyes and touched his face, her hand resting on the strong line of his jaw. He kissed her palm and smiled at her, his eyes warm with love. Nika reached down and touched him, and he shivered.

  She held him in her hand, her thumb playing gently over his sensitive flesh, enjoying the way he responded to her touch. His hand skimmed over her skin, light and teasing as a feather, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. She pressed against him, signaling for him to lie on his back. He obeyed, a smile on his handsome face.

  He was burning in her hand, and she was burning for him. She straddled him, sinking down onto his length and taking him in as far as he could go. She rocked against him, and he gasped, his hands falling onto her hips. She ran her fingernails lightly down his chest and over the washboard of his abdomen, and he shivered. When she touched his tattoo, the runes emblazoned in his skin flashed in response. He moaned.

  She rode him slowly, deliberately, transporter by the feeling of him deep inside of her. He met her downward motions with upward thrusts, gentle but insistent. Their speed increased, and neither of them were going to last much longer. He took her hands in his, and their eyes locked as they neared the apex of their loving. He tipped his head back with a groan and found his release. She was not long behind him.

  She collapsed onto him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. There were no words, and no need for any. The moment and the feeling was enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They spent the day in preparation. Erik cleaned his guns and made sure his clips were full, taking ammunition from the ample stockpile Gunnar had left behind. Nika studied the Book of Odin. She read everything that it had to say about faery wards in general and the Nøkken in particular. She had much to learn.

  After hours of silently being preoccupied with their own pursuits, Nika closed the book and sat back, rubbing her eyes. Erik gave her a tender look and asked, “Tired, my love?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “There’s something that’s bothering me.”

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  He hesitated and put aside the gun he had been reassembling. “I will answer any question you ask me, with total honesty,” he said in an even voice.

  “You said that you were one of Hakon’s men.”

  “Yes.”

  “How many women have you raped?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I don’t remember.”

  “Too many?”

  “Too long ago.”

  She frowned. “I would think that’s the sort of thing a person would remember.”

  “It would be, if it were an uncommon occurrence.” He looked away. “The gods punished me for a reason.”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest, her heels on the seat of her chair. “When was the last time you did it?”

  He considered. “Almost fourteen hundred years ago.”

  “Not since?”

  “Not since. And it will not happen again.” He faced her again. “I told you the story of the girl who changed me. That was my last raid in the old style. I am not the man I once was, Nika, I promise you.”

  “Would you ever rape me?”

  Erik looked horrified. “Never!”

  She put her elbow on her knee and rested her head in her hand. “Were you really going to tell me that you needed to turn me?”

  “Yes. I just didn’t want to drop the information on you, or worse, turn you, and then have to leave immediately for Karlsborg. That wouldn’t have been fair.”

  “Are you going to turn me?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  She looked away, conflicted. “I don’t know.”

  He went back to his gun and continued to reassemble it. “Then there’s no reason for you to be angry with me for not telling you, because it’s apparently immaterial.”

  They were silent for a long while. Finally, she said, “If I said yes, would you do it?”

  He made eye contact, steady and unswerving. “Yes.”

  Nika spoke without thinking. “Then do it.”

  Erik put the gun aside and rose. He walked to where she was sitting and crouched in front of her, his hands on her feet. “Are you certain? Once we start this process, there is no turning back.”

  She looked into his eyes and considered what she was asking. It was immortality, but an eternal need to feed on the blood of the living. It would mean an eternity to be with Erik, to enjoy him, to love him...and to be worried for him and about him. It would mean a farewell to family and friends, but she had already said those goodbyes before she’d moved to Sweden. She felt the gentle pressure of his hands, smelled the scent of his skin, and the answer became clear.

  “I’m certain.”

  “Do you want to wait until after we stop Loki? Being turned may change your powers.”

  “It won’t. I don’t know how I know, but I do.”

  He rose and offered her his hand. She took it. Gently, he led her to the bed. “There will be pain,” he warned.

  “A lot?”

  “Enough to notice.”

  She swallowed. “I can take it. Let’s go.”

  With his silent direction, she lay down on her back, her hands at her sides. He reclined beside her, his hand on her stomach, then on her chest. He looked both excited and sorrowful, and she could see a hint of fear in his eyes, as well.

  “You tried to turn Berit.”

  “No. She died from the ceremony melding her to Ithunn. I never had a chance.”

  “But the other incarnations... you turned them.”

  “I tried.” He sighed. “I failed.”

  She could see him faltering, and she took his hand. “That was then. This is now.”

  He bent to kiss her, and she kissed him back. Then he shifted to lie closer to her, his face next to hers. He kissed her neck, and then licked the skin above her vein. She trembled, but tried to hold still. She felt a sting, and then his teeth were in her throat.

  He had fed from her before, but not like this. Those had been taps, tiny sips, compared to this aggressive taking. She could feel herself going pale, and her head began to spin. She gripped his shoulder to steady herself. He took more, and more, and then the world went black.

  ***

  Erik drank.

  He took Nika’s blood by the mouthful, gulping instead of sipping, draining her with a purpose. She was going cold beneath him, her skin ashen. Her hand, which had been gripping his shoulder, fell aside as she lost consciousness. He continued to drink until her heart began to flutter.

  He pulled back then, and he ripped open his wrist with his fangs. The blood dripped onto her lips, and he forced her mouth open so that he could get the first few drops down into her throat. To his relief, she swallowed.

  He listened to her heart shudder. He heard it stop.

  As soon as her pulse went quiet, he pressed his bleeding wrist against her mouth, forcing the blood to flow onto her tongue. At first there was no reaction, and he felt the first frisson of fear course through him. It had happened exactly this way, so many times before. He prayed to Odin that this time would be different.

  There was a skittering sound, and then her heartbeat resumed. It was uneven and weak. He poured more blood into her mouth. She swallowed again, and this time she moaned softly, a needy sound. Her pulse grew stronger and more regular. He began to pull away, but she grabbed his arm, holding his wrist to her lips. She began to actively draw at his open wound, sucking down the blood he offered her, replacing the blood he had taken.

  She released him just before he was going to push her away. She fell back onto the pillow, her red-stained lips parted, breat
hing heavily. Her eyes were closed.

  He touched her face. “Nika?”

  ***

  There had never been so many colors. She saw light and shadow, dark colors and brilliant hues, all swirling in her mind’s eye. She saw runes floating and dancing like cells on a biologist’s slide. They glowed and combined, separated and mixed. She was dizzy.

  She felt the fur beneath her fingers, aware of every separate hair. She could feel Erik beside her, and could see his power through her closed eyes. She could see the white kernel in his soul that was Vidar, and the white spot in hers that was Ithunn. She could see all of time, into the mists of the past all the way to the mechanical glare of the future. She was everything and nothing all at once.

  Slowly, the hallucinogenic high began to dissolve, and in its place she felt wracking pain. Her muscles began to spasm, pushing and pulling her against her will into herky-jerky movements like a marionette with tangled strings. Erik grasped her in his arms and held her tight, and the cramping in her body fought against him. She heard growling, and she realized with a start that it was coming from her.

  Pain rose around her like a black sheet, and she wanted to rage at it. She pushed at Erik with her hands and with her runes, sending glowing symbols to sear into his skin. He did not let go.

  She convulsed. She felt herself dying.

  She heard Erik as if from a very great distance. “Hold on, my love. It will pass.”

  Her mouth hurt. Her eyes hurt. Everything hurt. She writhed in agony as her body rebelled. The growl became a scream, and still he held her tight. In anger, she bared her newly-sharp teeth and buried them in his arm. He did not flinch.

  As quickly as it had come on, the pain departed, leaving her gasping and disoriented. She released the bite hold she had on Erik’s arm and licked away the blood that welled to the surface. It tingled on her tongue.

  She opened her eyes and closed them again. The light was too bright, the outlines of things too stark. She could hear music playing in the house next door, a song about diamond rings. She could hear people talking in the house on the other side of them, and in another house, and another. The noise crashed in on her, deafening, each sound canceling out the other until she had no idea what she was hearing. She put her hands to her ears and whimpered.

  Easy, Erik said, his voice quiet and soothing in her head. This will pass, too.

  She pulled him into her arms and held him tight, drawing comfort from the security of his embrace. He lay beside her and held her until the storm passed.

  ***

  It was after midnight when her quaking finally stopped. When he was sure the worst was over, Erik left her sleeping. She would be asleep for hours, possibly even until dawn. That left him time to get to the house and retrieve the case of dreyri. He packed two pistols and a knife and slipped out into the darkness.

  He hired a van and drove it back to his house, careful to drive past to be sure that there were no cars or watchers. He saw no surveillance units, but he decided to be careful. He parked around the block and walked through his neighbors’ yards to his back door.

  He had lost his keys when he’d been taken captive, along with his cell phone and his dignity, so he had no choice but to break in. He had developed a habit recently of twisting door locks into oblivion, and he applied the same technique now. The door swung open.

  He could smell the scent of a mortal man. He ducked out of the doorway and peered around the jamb into the kitchen. All of the lights in the house were extinguished, but he knew that there was someone in there. His visitor was not in the kitchen, so he crept in and checked the pantry, then the laundry room, where the scent faded.

  He followed his nose and walked carefully forward. At the door to the living room, he peered inside and saw a man in fatigues, night-vision goggles on his head and an AK-47 cradled in his arms. He could smell silver. Whoever it was, he had come prepared.

  Erik grabbed a wooden spoon from the rack near the stove, and he let his Draugr nature come to the forefront. He climbed up the wall like a spider and clung to the ceiling. The man in the living room did not react. From his upside-down perch, Erik flung the spoon at the back door, and the clatter brought his unwelcome visitor to his feet, the rifle pointed in the direction of the door. Erik flattened himself against the ceiling and waited.

  The soldier stepped cautiously forward, gun trained on the back door. Like everyone everywhere, he failed to look up. He passed directly under Erik without noticing him at all. The soldier did see the spoon, though, and he was clearly puzzled about how it had ended up against the door. He took a step forward.

  Erik dropped from the ceiling and landed behind him, wrapping his arm around the man’s throat. He put pressure on the man’s carotid arteries and squeezed until he stopped struggling. Erik laid him down on the ground and retrieved the cask.

  He had been careless. As he was picking up the cask in the dining room, a gun cocked behind his back. He froze.

  “Hands up. Turn around.”

  He knew that voice. He turned around to face Ulf Magnusson, one of his convict huntsmen. Ulf grinned like a happy monster.

  “Caught me the big fish,” he said. He pointed a pistol at Erik’s face. “If I kill you, the Master will make me a king.”

  A Draugr could move faster than any human. A Draugr pet, like his convict friends, fed on enchanted blood and given infusions of power, could move faster than a human, and almost as quickly as a true vampire. Erik was tired and weakened from turning Nika, so he would be slower than normal. They might be evenly matched.

  Then again, they might not. There was only one way to find out.

  Erik lunged at Magnusson and knocked the gun out of his hand. The big man grappled him, and they went down with a crash, shattering the dining room table. Magnusson was larger than Erik, and he had reach, but Erik was meaner and had hundreds of years of experience that the Draugr pet could not begin to replicate. Soon Magnusson was on his face in the table splinters with Erik on his back, his arms wrenched high up to his shoulder blades.

  “The Master?” Erik echoed his earlier words. “You serve Loki now?”

  “I always did.” He bucked, trying to dislodge his captor. Erik kept his seat.

  “Where is Loki?”

  The man twisted and tried to spit at Erik, but there was no way he could get the trajectory right. His spittle landed on the carpet. It was almost laughable. “I’ll never tell you.”

  He shook the man beneath him, rattling his teeth together. “He’s in Stockholm. Where?”

  “You’re the huntsman,” Magnusson snarled. “Find him yourself.”

  It was clear that he would be getting nothing helpful from this man. He considered snapping his neck, but he choked him out instead. There was a better use for him.

  When Magnusson went limp, Erik zip tied his wrists and ankles. He gathered up the cask of dreyri and hauled it to his rented van, then retrieved Magnusson and dumped him in beside it. He covered both with a tarp and drove away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Nika woke in a fever of thirst. It clawed at her throat, choking her with its desperation. She clutched at the furs on which she lay, bunching them up in her hands, puncturing them with the claws that had sprouted at the ends of her fingers. Her long Draugr teeth gnashed together, and as she woke completely, she found the energy to stand.

  Erik was beside her then, his arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward a huddled shape that smelled of blood. She pushed Erik aside and lurched toward that intoxicating scent. The man on the floor cried out when he saw her, and he tried to scoot away from her on his backside, his bound feet churning against the tarp that lay beneath him.

  His efforts to flee magnified her thirst, and she fell on him, seizing his head in her hands and forcing him to lift his chin, exposing the tender throat beneath. Her teeth were in his vein before he could scream.

  ***

  Erik watched dispassionately. The first feeding of any Draugr was a messy affair.
It could not be helped. Nika clutched Magnusson, her fangs buried in his neck, her hands holding him like vises. He died with a scream on his lips, his eyes bugging in terror. Erik knew from experience that his fear had flavored his blood like a chef’s spices flavored a stew.

  When the corpse was dry, Nika dropped it and tipped her head back, caught in the ecstasy of feeding. It could be as gratifying and pleasurable as sex in its own way, he knew, and he let her revel in her first kill. Every vampire needed to have this moment.

  When her body relaxed and her Draugr claws had vanished once more into her human hands, he brought her a mug filled with dreyri. She took it, her eyes still glowing green in the last throes of her feeding frenzy. With a gentle arm around her shoulders, he led her to a bench beside the fire pit and left her there to drink.

  There was a basement in Gunnar’s house where he used to bury his “empties,” at least until he could drag them out to sea. He dumped Magnusson’s body there, intending to finish the job later. He had a fledgling to attend.

  ***

  Nika slowly returned to herself, clutching the mug of dreyri as if it were hot chocolate on a cold day. She huddled around the drink, blinking, feeling her head begin to clear. Everything seemed so strange.

  The runes in her belly burned. She shook her head and held up her left hand, palm up. The rune Kenaz appeared there, hovering, burning with golden fire… phoenix fire, transformative fire. Rising from ashes.

  Rising from the dead.

  Erik came back into the room, and she looked up at him, extinguishing the rune. He was beautiful in her new vision, colors swirling around him in an active aura, spinning in and out of the brilliant white in his center that was the god Vidar. There was a layer of yellow around Vidar’s white, the color of Erik’s own soul, and then the green power of the Draugr a whirling cloud around the whole. His body was outlined in Draugr green, while sparks of white and yellow danced irregularly around him.

  She realized that she was staring, mouth open, at him. He smiled at her.