“Most of the stories in this world are completely made up or highly corrupted tales of things that happened in their history. That’s one of the many things their world has in common with yours. However, quite a few of their writers have access to real stories about real people from other multiverses. These stories are what us processors call gifts. Cuz the writers we give them to are never quite able to explain where they came from. And though they almost never admit it out loud for fear of looking like a kook, all of these writers with access to the stories in other multiverses are quite sure that somewhere, someplace, these characters they write really do exist. Many of them consider themselves channelers, not necessarily someone who’s really good at making stuff up.”
“Channelers…” Fenris repeated, understanding, but only somewhat.
The voice called Clarence continued on. “These writers often have a harder time of it, too because they get the sense that they owe something to the story, but they might not be good enough to tell it. Poor suckers. But feeling like you’re failing all the time is often the price of the gift.”
“Why would anyone want to be a writer in that world then?” Chloe asked, her voice baffled.
“No idea,” Clarence answers in a way that made Fenris imagine whatever the being was shrugging in the same way as Ola’s dragon mate often did. “But there’s a ton of channelers in this world, just waiting for our story downloads. In fact, would you look at this…Theodora Taylor just started writing Alexei and Layla Rustanov’s story, but then she doesn’t have anything slated after that.”
“But Alexei and Layla were still alive when I died,” Chloe insisted. I saw them at Rustanov Nightwolf’s wedding just a week ago.
“Like I said, time and space—not really a thing here,” Clarence answered.
“Who is this Theodora Taylor?” Fenris asked, frowning. “Why have I heard her name prior to this?”
“She’s the woman that wrote the romance novelization of our story at Alisha’s request,” Chloe answered.
Oh yes, Fenris remembered now. Chloe had gobbled her fictionalized versions of their story up along with those of Alisha’s and her sisters’. But his English had never gotten good enough to read anything beyond the simplest children’s stories to their great-grandchildren.
“Warning, she’s a lot more neurotic in this multiverse. Not nearly as confident as the version of her who wrote the books you read, Chlo-Chlo,” Clarence warned. “I’m predicting lots of gnashing of teeth on her part. Some gift! But she’s available if you want her. And if you become story that means you get to stay together forever, no matter what. So whaddya say?”
Fenris and Chloe no longer had bodies, but they turned whatever they were to look directly at each other. And though they also no longer had eyes, their gazes sparkled bright with the same decision.
THEODORA
2011 (2 days after Christmas)
“You seem good, honey.” Theodora’s best friend Monique said from the second row of their Ford Flex as they and their husbands and kids returned home from a quick Trader Joe’s run. “How are you feeling?”
Theodora glanced at her only daughter playing with Monique’s son in the Ford Flex’ third row while weighing her answer carefully. She was aware that Monique hadn’t decided to haul her family out to L.A. for Christmas purely for the weather—yay, sunshiny Christmas! Monique had also wanted to set real sister friend eyes on her after what had been a terrible year.
Theodora understood why her friend had been worried. After two miscarriages and a string of career disappointments, she’d only stopped calling her friend on the daily to break down in tears a couple of months ago.
So Theodora checked her gut to make sure she wasn’t lying before turning in the front passenger seat to answer, “I’m good actually. I feel like this whole romance novelist thing has given me a new lease on life. Like I’ve finally gotten a win out of this crappy year.”
“Yeah, Owner of His Heart was hot,” Brian, who was also sitting in the second row on the other side of his and Monique’s daughter, gave Theodora a double thumbs up.
“Thanks, Brian,” Theodora said, laughing. Monique’s large white husband wasn’t exactly in her target market. But he was the only one she knew in real life who’d actually read the romance novel she decided to publish to Kindle in November, and she appreciated his enthusiasm.
“Do you think you’ll write another one?” Monique asked.
“Yeah, I actually received this crazy idea about, like, a Russian dude whose college girlfriend breaks up with him out of the blue and he’s all bitter. But then he runs into her years later and I’m not sure people will like it, but I hope so.”
Theodora rolled her eyes at herself, self-consciousness eating her alive. As usual, her elevator pitch left a lot to be desired. She didn’t even get a “that sounds hot” from Brian.
“But the thing is, that’s all I have,” she confessed to Monique. “I don’t know what I’m going to write after that. How about you? What do you think is hot? I’m looking for ideas.”
“Ooh, I loved Thor. Whatshisname was so hot.”
Theodora frowned. “Enhhh, I don’t really get the appeal of that guy. And I can’t really see myself going from contemporary romance to—what would that even be? Like Norse gods? Vikings maybe? Whatever it is, I don’t really want to deal with history stuff. I heard historical romance readers could be so mean…”
FENRIS
“This is it!” Clarence told Fenris and Chloe. “You two crazy kids ready?”
“I am,” Chloe answered.
They’d been given bodies somehow, and she grabbed onto Fenris’ hand as they looked down at the author swirling beneath them.
“So am I,” Fenris said, squeezing his mate’s hand.
“Alright, then 1, 2, 3…Jump!”
Neither Fenris nor his mate hesitated.
They jumped into the swirled ether of the author’s head, both knowing…
This wasn’t the end.
Their lives…their story…had only just begun.
THEODORA
“No, I couldn’t possibly write about—”
Theodora cut off, blinking when a story idea suddenly downloaded into her head.
“Okay, I don’t want to write about Thor, but how about, like, a time-traveling Viking werewolf?” she suddenly asked Monique. “That sounds cool, right?”
Monique laughed. “A time-traveling Viking werewolf?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Girl, where do you come up with this stuff.”
Theodora shook her own head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
But on that sunny winter’s day, this idea…
This story….
It felt like a gift.
Oh my gosh, guys….
I’m crying and sniffling as I write the last Author’s note for the final book in the Viking Wolf saga.
I’ve known for a while—many readers might complain way too long that I would be ending this series with the HER DRAGON KING duet. And I put off writing it for so long for two reasons:
One, as with Her Viking Wolf, I still don’t feel like a perfect enough writer to tell these stories.
And two, right before I put the finishing touches on Her Viking Wolf, I went in for what we’d decided would be our last round of IVF to have a second baby. I found out soon after HVW’s release that I had not one baby, but a set of twins on the way.
So maybe you understand why I feel like these characters are part of my family.
And why I really didn’t want to say goodbye to them.
I just hope you have enjoyed reading these stories as much as I’ve loved receiving them.
So much love,
Theodora Taylor
P.S. — The Alpha Kings Saga is now complete, so check out the full list of books below, and keep on swiping for a very special preview of HIS TO CLAIM by Taylor Vaughn.
The Complete World of HER VIKING WOLF
ALPHA KINGS
Her Viking W
olf
(Chloe and Fenris, FJ’s and Olafr’s parents)
Wolf and Punishment (Janelle and Mag)
Wolf and Prejudice (Alisha and Rafe)
Wolf and Soul (Tu and Grady)
Her Viking Wolves (Tiara, FJ, and Olafr)
ALPHA FUTURE
Her Dragon Everlasting (Fensa and Xenon)
NAGO: Her Forever Wolf
KNUD: Her Big Bad Wolf
RAFES: Her Fated Wolf
Her Dragon King
P.S.S— If you’re dying for more wolves. Check out my Scottish Wolf series!
HIS TO CLAIM Excerpt
“No! Noooooo! Don’t take my baby! Please…I’ll do anything!”
The anguish in the young mother’s voice tears at my soul. It’s not the first time I’ve heard a girl screaming and begging during the Xalthurians’ annual Breed and Reap. I can’t remember a time before the screams, though I’m told it exists…existed.
But this scream is different.
This time the voice belongs to my sister, Elle. With my poor eyesight and a wall of Xalthurian soldiers between us, I can’t see her. But I can clearly hear her, begging the reaping force for mercy.
We’d been working in the community potato field when the Xalthurians appeared in the sky with one short electronic blast of sound. Their way of ringing our planet’s doorbell, before landing their bright silver ship in one of our settlement’s many barren red clay fields.
The Xalthurians always came in the same way, and at the same time of year, during the month of what the New Terrhans called May, even though a year in this solar system was made up of fourteen months, not twelve like on the old planet. But the Xalthurians almost never come on the same day or even the same time of day for that matter. Last year, when Elle was twenty-one they came in the very early morning. But this year it was late in the afternoon.
Before the ship appeared, Elle and I had been debating about whether to keep pushing in the community fields until sunset or take a break. Elle was tired after working the fields all morning with the red and ebony swirled hybrid infant she hadn’t been allowed to name perched on her back in a sling. She’d wanted us to go home to curl up for a nap with the baby tucked between us.
I was bone tired, too, not to mention hot—that afternoon, the sun seemed really eager to remind us that scorching season was right around the corner. But I wasn’t on full rations like her, and I worried we’d both get punished with an even smaller share tonight if any of the leaders saw us cutting out early.
To nap or not to nap, that had been the question. Until the Xalthurians showed up, dressed in three distinct ways, as they came bounding out of the ship.
From experience, I knew those dressed in leather loin cloths were here to grab the twenty-one year-old females and drag them back to the ship for the Breeding Ceremony. While the ones wearing silver uniforms with a diamond-eyed insignia stamped into the back, were here for last year’s crop of babies.
Breeders and Reapers, that’s what we called them. And as always, they were accompanied by a few green Xals, dressed in flowing white robes. From what I could tell, these green guys were the only Xals who could actually understand and speak our language. That’s why we called them Diplomats, even though they rarely try to negotiate anything with our settlement. They only instruct us in what the other Xalthurians wanted us to do.
I had given my sister a sympathetic look. Though she hadn’t named the little hybrid boy, I knew it wouldn’t be easy for her to let him go. Most of the mothers with baby boys went directly to their red clay houses, so that they could grab a few things to send back in the blankets of the babies they’d never see again: drawings and trinkets and sometimes little notes written in the New Terrhan language, even though they knew the babies would most likely never be able to understand it.
It’s always been like this. For as long as I can remember, and maybe for as long as Elle can remember, too.
But Elle hadn’t gone back to the house like the other mothers of hybrid boys when the Xalthurians set down. Instead she’d stood there frozen, her short curly black hair almost seeming to stand on end as her dark eyes darted back and forth.
At first I thought she was afraid of encountering another Xalthurian. She was still pretty traumatized by the Breeding Ceremony. However, when a group of Xalthurians in silver uniforms had approached her, she’d taken the baby out of the sling she’d made for it, and instead of handing the squalling child over, she’d hugged it close and ran. Ran and ran until she reached a cliff and couldn’t run any more.
And now here she stood, surrounded by Xalthurian Reapers at the precipice of a cliff with a fifty foot drop down to a dry red clay bed that might have been a river a few millennia ago. On the other side of the Reaper wall, my parents and just about every human not getting bred or reaped had gathered to watch the scene unfold.
I still can’t make out much, but I hear Elle and her half-Xal baby sobbing wildly as she begs the Reapers not to tear them apart. And I can tell they’re ignoring her pleas, when all but two of the Xalthurians start advancing on her in a precise arc.
“Elle!” I scream, squinting into the blur of Xalthurian uniforms.
My gut cramps in fear. I’ve seen a few last minute tug of wars over baby boys before. But no one, and I mean no one has ever defied the Reapers this badly, not just by running but refusing to hand the baby over.
I can’t imagine what they’ll do to my sister. Maybe shoot her dead, like the hot-headed young men who futilely try to save their girlfriends from the Breeding Ceremony. I’ve got to help her—that’s all I know. It doesn’t matter if they punish me, too.
I lunge forward, but my parents grab onto my arms, holding me back with all their might. “Don’t,” my mother whispers on the right side of me. “I told her not to get attached to that thing.”
I recoil at her dismissive tone. “It’s not a thing, Mama. It’s her baby!”
“A baby she knew from the start she wasn’t ever going to be able to keep.” Mama stares back at me with a bitter expression on her haggard face, which is a used-to-be-pretty version of my sister’s. “It’s like the leaders keep telling you girls. You can’t treat the boys like real babies. She knew that. We all know that!”
Then Mama yells out, “Elizabeth, just give them the baby! Don’t make it any harder than it has to be, girl.” Her voice is aggrieved, as if the only one responsible for this precipice stand-off is my sister.
My throat clogs with tears. I, too, hadn’t been able to harden my heart against the unnamed swirled baby. This very morning while Elle warmed up water to give him a bucket bath, I’d cooed at him and marveled at how his little clawed hand folded around my index finger with a stronger grip than any human baby I’d ever encountered.
They were really going to take him and never let us see him again. No, I had to help her. But my parents held strong, my father insisting in a hard voice, “If you interfere, they’ll snap your neck. Without even thinking about it. I saw them do it to folks plenty of times during the first few breedings and reapings before we learned to stay back. You can’t help her, Kira. They’ll kill you before you even get close. Look at them!”
I do … I do look at them. And he’s right. Even in blurry vision, the Reaping Force soldiers are huger than huge. The tallest full human in our village stands a little over six feet, but I’ve never encountered a Reaper who stood shorter than seven.
I’m close enough to the wall of soldiers surrounding my sister to tell this multi-colored Reaping Force is heavily muscled on top of being tall, without even an ounce of fat that I can see underneath the sleeveless silver jumpsuits they wear.
Their uniforms gleam underneath the sun, like they’re made of some kind of metal. But unlike the few metals New Terrhans have managed to make down here on our scraggly planet, the uniform material molds over their thick bodies like a second skin.
At least, most of them wear silver uniforms. One of the Xalthurians who hadn’t advanced with the rest of the
Reaping Force has on a gold jumpsuit. He has deep dark blue skin, white hair tied back in a top knot, and a commanding air. I sense his importance, even before he turns his head with a predatory grace to address one of the jade green diplomats in those strange clicking, back-of-throat scratching sounds that the Xalthurians called their language. Maybe he has some kind of authority here?
As if confirming my guess, the jade Xalthurian calls out to Elle in a smoky accent, “Hand over the Xalling. Hand him over now and our Tel promises, you will not be made to suffer for what you have done here today.”
My blood boils with rage. Once they take away Elle’s baby, that would be suffering. A lifetime of suffering that my sensitive sister will most likely never get over.
I can hear Elle weeping uncontrollably on the cliff’s edge, and I easily imagine her holding her baby close, as if her dark brown arms could possibly provide any kind of defense against eight huge Xalthurians.
“Somebody help me, please!” she cries out to her fellow humans. “Please don’t let them do this. Please don’t let them take my baby!”
A few of the humans answer her like our mother did. Reminding her she knew this day would come. That she shouldn’t be upset and should hand the hybrid over before the Xals shoot her or worse.
But I strain against my parents’ hold, wanting to help her. Needing to go to her, even if that means my own death. The Xalthurians are closing in, and any second now they’ll—
It happens so fast, it takes me many, many moments to process what has occurred.
Elle is screaming and sobbing and then suddenly…she’s not. Her voice and the baby’s crying cut off without warning.
Her Dragon King (Her Dragon King Duet Book 2): 50 Loving States, North Dakota Pt. 2 Page 24