“I don’t see the catch in that.”
It took three deep breaths to steel myself enough for the next part. “He’s a draugr.”
Her unopened pop plummeted to the ground with a plunk that ensured it would explode upon opening. She grabbed my arm. Her eyes grew wide enough to impress a comic book artist.
“A vampire? An honest to Odin vampire? For real?” The wonder in her tone made me smile.
“For real.”
“I thought they were extinct!”
I stood and walked toward the cooler. She followed right on my tail. I grabbed two steel camp plates, silverware, and a bag of chips. When I handed her one set, she took it without even looking.
“They almost are,” I said.
I placed a steak carefully on her plate, ensuring she felt its weight before I pulled the spatula out from under it.
“How do you know one?”
Cringing at how overdone my steak was, I put it on my plate and sat down. “I met him in Iceland last year.”
Questions began to pour out of her faster than I could ever hope to answer. And that was saying something. One followed another, and another, and another, with barely a breath in between. She was beautiful when she was like this: smiling, eyes wide with wonder, voice filled with excitement. Caught up in her delight, I answered when I could. Mostly she rambled on in wonder while I listened. This was one role reversal I didn’t mind at all, especially seeing how happy I had made her. For that, I would endure anything, even the bluest balls in the history of blue balls.
For the first time since I’d come back to the States, I believed things might actually work out.
Too bad taking her into the den of one of the most dangerous paranormal creatures of all time was such a horrible idea. Yes, this man was my friend, but there was no telling whether or not he would see her as the threat the shifter races did. And if he did, we might be in for the fight of our lives. So much for me protecting her.
Chapter Twelve
“From the seed of Loki we sprang, to become the warriors of Odin.”
~Uppskera Journals
Ayra
Even halfway through the next day I couldn’t stop thinking about the vampire. I’d never imagined such a wonder still existed in this world. Thinking about it was easier than thinking about Vidar and the way my will crumbled a bit more with each sweet word he said to me. He needed me, not the reaper, me. And Odin help me; I believed him.
But if I went down that road, my family would disown me—and I didn’t hate them all, just my brother and parents. I’d be dishonored, my word worth nothing. The Arnoddr pack would likely shun me, and the other packs of Hemlock Hollow may follow suit. That town was my home. Pack was life. What would I do without a home and any chance at a pack?
Traveling through the rolling fields of Idaho farmland gave me nothing but time to think. But time was running out. Dust from the dirt road rolled up off the front wheels, forcing me to put my window up. My cousin’s house lay only a few miles down this road. I knew I should have been thinking about what to say to him, but my thoughts lay elsewhere.
Mostly they lay on Vidar and how scorching he looked in the clingy maroon muscle shirt he wore today. It lay across his pecs and six pack in a way I longed to. The way he laughed, joked, and sang under his breath to the radio took me back to our childhood. The good parts of it, at least. Even if it really was me he wanted to be near instead of the reaper, could I let him live this life? Not even having to fight and kill a berserkr had driven the man off. He had the stones for it, that was for sure.
Was it possible to have my best friend as my verndari, to travel with him, fight side by side, and still stay true to the man I promised to marry? I wasn’t sure. The bigger question was: was that what I wanted?
I had to turn my mind to the other fascinating distractions or I would go mad.
“So they really don’t have to drink blood,” I said.
V smiled at me across the cab. “Not exclusively, but at least a little, yes. If they don’t their sensitivity to light gets stronger and they get weaker and weaker until they die. It also prolongs their life and heightens their senses and strength, so most drink it regularly.”
“Wow.” That still blew me away. The fact that he kept answering the same questions over and over again and not getting aggravated at me revealed that he might actually have superpowers. I could handle having a verndari with superpowers. So long as it was him.
“And you’re sure they’re not immortal?”
“Pretty positive. Evan told me they have a similar lifespan to ours.”
So many of the myths weren’t true. That didn’t take much of the wonder out of their existence for me, though. “Evan… what did you say his last name was?”
“McDougall.”
“Not a Norse vampire, then.”
“Nope, Scottish. Though the Norse did settle there, so in a roundabout way, he kind of is.”
“Does he wear a kilt? What was he doing in Iceland?”
Each question made him smile. His smile drove away the dark.
“He didn’t wear one any time I saw him. And he was attending Reykjavik University.”
Bummer about the kilt. I was dying to know if they really wore nothing under them. More questions sparked to life. So many of his answers did that. “Was he studying renewable energy as well?”
“Yep.”
“An earth-conscious vampire.” The idea fascinated me.
“Sure, why not?”
I shrugged. “Considering their prey, I would think an urban hunting ground would be more their style.”
He cocked his head in that cute way he did when he was thinking. “Good point.”
The burgundy shirt drew my eyes again. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good that body had felt beneath mine last night. How beautiful his green and yellow eyes had looked gazing up at me, filled with desire. I forced myself to think of Elí’s robin’s egg blue eyes, the adoration that filled them when they looked at me, the gentleness of his touch. It didn’t work.
So I kept asking questions. It helped to focus on something besides how much I wanted to leap across the cab of the truck and ride Vidar. I didn’t realize how hard I’d been staring at him until we turned down a rutted dirt road with only a sprinkling of gravel left on it.
The scents of feathers and bird shit blew in through the window. Nose wrinkling up, I covered my face with my hand at the same time Vidar cursed in Icelandic. Another smell mixed with it that I couldn’t quite place. Along the right side of the road rose a large birdhouse. The cooing and screeching of doves came from within. I’d forgotten how much of a racket the things could make. Why anyone associated them with peace, I do not know. The fear and anxiety the birds gave off left just as bad of a taste on the back of my tongue as their scent.
I scanned the cornfield behind the birdhouse. The green shoots stood no more than waist high, allowing me to see right over them and down the rows. Nothing more nefarious than an ugly scarecrow stood among them. That I could see.
“Your cousin keeps pigeons?” Vidar asked as he rolled up his window.
“He’s an extreme survivalist and a conspiracy theory nut. He thinks birds with written messages are the only way to communicate safely.”
The way Vidar’s eyes widened made me think maybe I hadn’t prepared him properly for my cousin. The reaper line wasn’t exactly a stable one.
“In that case, it makes sense why he and Calder got along so well,” he said.
The truck eased to a stop.
A tangled mess of willow, oak, and fir trees engulfed a ragged single-wide trailer that made my hunting cabin look like four star accommodations in comparison. An air conditioner clung to one window like a growth, while another window had been boarded over. Tin foil covered all the others. An old, rusted Harley circa 1920 poked out from under a hill of blackberry briars to the right of the house. To the left, the frame of a ’73 Fatboy sat up on blocks with various parts strewn on the dead
grass around it. The sight was a stark reminder that my family didn’t share the wealth among its less desirable members.
The stench of stray dog washed over me as I opened my door and stepped out into the weed-choked lawn. Well, at least that told me he still lived here, despite the deserted look of the place.
“I see he isn’t in good with your parents,” Vidar observed.
“Nope. He’s mad as a hatter, and you know how my parents feel about imperfection.”
Of all people, he knew best. Throughout our childhood my parents had done everything they could to make me stop being friends with him. His gentle mannerisms and love of comic books had convinced them he’d never amount to anything they deemed worthy. They never thought he’d actually follow in his father’s footsteps and become a cop, and they definitely didn’t believe he was alpha material. They were clueless idiots. If they saw him now they’d see exactly how wrong they had been.
“He sounds charming,” Vidar said.
I held back a shudder. “As a cobra. Don’t forget, he and Calder have always been close.”
He took a step forward. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to a stop. “Careful. Smell that?”
Eyes closing, he breathed in deep through his nose. “I smell a lot of things, none of them good.” His nose wrinkled up.
The scents of metal and darker things dotted my cousin’s yard like the nasty little surprises they were. But then, I had experience with them. Vidar didn’t as far as I knew.
“Wait, what is that smell?” he asked. “It’s all over the yard.”
“Mines.”
Claws pricked the back of my hand as his control slipped ever so slightly. “How do you know what those smell like?”
“He and Calder share a fondness for things that hurt people.” I tried to keep my voice flat, emotionless, but a touch of old fear came through.
Wide eyes scanning the property, Vidar muttered, “And I thought my family had problems.”
“Oh, they do,” I assured him with a wink.
He laughed and bent down to bump my shoulder with his. “All right, we stick together and I follow your lead.”
“There will be trip wires and other nasty surprises, stay alert,” I said.
“Will do.” The way his voice dropped an octave and got quieter made muscles low in my body clench tight. Telling myself it was wrong to react to him in such a way didn’t stop it from happening.
That terrible wet dog scent came strongest from near the trailer. The slightest creek of metal shifting under a weight told me exactly where he lie.
“Oliver, get down here, you son of a bitch, or I’ll come up there and get you,” I hollered.
Louder creaks of metal came from the rooftop. A spiky mess of blond hair poked above the blackberry briars that had grown up over the roof of the trailers. Over the sweet scent of overripe berries I could smell the metal and gunpowder from the rifle he held in his hands.
“Ayra, ert þetta þú?”
Vidar made a snorting sound. “No, it’s a body snatcher with her scent and voice,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
Eyes wide, I drew my fingers across my throat in the universal “cut it out” motion. Vidar’s top lip on one side rose along with a brow. I mouthed the words “he’ll believe you”.
“And leave that rifle there so it doesn’t go off when you jump,” I called up.
Ignoring the last part, Oliver jumped from the roof of the trailer with the rifle still in hand. He landed ten feet or so away and wove through the weed-choked yard in an erratic pattern to reach us. A pair of worn-out camouflaged cargo pants hung on his gangly, long legs and a dirty olive green T-shirt made his slight chest look caved in. Only my cousin could make six-foot-three inches look slight and frail. High cheekbones reached sharp points below the corner of ice blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.
He greeted me in Icelandic, which roughly translated to an insult to my mother, which meant he believed it was actually me. Our mutually terrible relationships with our parents was something we had bonded over as kids. Though I was so not the hugging type—thanks to said family issues—I hugged him back when he embraced me.
When he finally let me pull away, I told him, “English, Oliver. My Icelandic is rusty. Nothing to worry about, he’s one of us.” I thrust my head up at Vidar.
Oliver’s gaze narrowed and he sniffed the air. “Smells like it. But Ayra, he’s black, there is no way he’s Norse,” he said in a chiding tone.
I let a little growl slip out that snapped Oliver’s attention to me. He hunched in on himself a bit and stared at my feet. “Of course he is. This is Vidar Balderson.”
Submission melting away, Oliver looked back up at Vidar with wonder-filled eyes. “But he’s so big. You were just a skinny little thing. How did you grow so big? You must tell me! Oh how I long to be big and strong.”
And there was the crazy.
Letting his rifle drop to the ground, Oliver dashed to Vidar’s side and began circling him, looking him up and down. Vidar gave me a sideways glance. I shrugged and retrieved the rifle. Even though the barrel had been facing the trailer when it fell, I said a prayer of thanks to Odin that it hadn’t gone off.
Vidar cleared his throat. “Uh, I eat a lot of protein and work out regularly.”
Mumbling to himself, Oliver poked Vidar here and there. “I suppose I could try this. I suppose I should try this.”
A quiet growl sounded from Vidar. Letting out a yip, Oliver jumped back.
“Oliver, I need to find Calder,” I said.
Focused as he was on Vidar, he didn’t hear me. Short on patience and time, I growled long and loud, pouring a touch of my power into it. Oliver yelped as though I’d kicked him. His head whipped in my direction as he went down on one knee. He exposed his neck to me. Guilt wracked me. Though he was close to Calder, Oliver had always been nice to me. Many times he’d tried to play mediator between us.
“Uppskera, uppskera, I forgot you’re the uppskera now!” he cried. “How could I forget that? My own cousin, the uppskera! Such an honor to belong to a bloodline blessed by Odin himself.”
His mumblings turned to whimpers as I strode up and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Calder is in trouble. I need to find him,” I said.
He nodded with manic enthusiasm. “No and yes,” he said, perfectly convinced of each answer.
Arguing would get me nowhere, so I didn’t bother. “Where is he?”
His answer came in a rush. “Oh I don’t know. But he did say you’d come looking and that you needed to find him in due time, he said that, yes he did.”
I took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Did he tell you how I could do that?”
Grinning at me, he nodded. He took off running for the trailer in yet another erratic pattern that made him look like a headless chicken. The moment he thundered up the rickety steps to the trailer I unloaded the rifle and pocketed the bullets.
Warm energy washed over me as Vidar moved close enough that our arms touched.
“You weren’t kidding about the crazy part,” he whispered.
“His mom shifted when she was pregnant with him,” I explained.
Vidar gasped. “Seriously? And he survived? Wow. The kid is a lot stronger than he thinks he is.”
I nodded. “Yep, too bad about the bat-shit crazy part. But he’s sweet and has a good heart.”
Vidar did that one brow raise thing I never could seem to do. Tingles spread from my navel down. Gods I loved it when he did that. “And he and your brother are close?”
I shrugged as if my hormones weren’t kicking the tires and lighting the fires. “He’s my brother’s one and only soft spot.”
A harrumphing noise of disbelief came from Vidar.He opened his mouth to say something, but Oliver came sprinting back out of the trailer, screen door slamming behind him. After a jig through his maze of landmines, Oliver rejoined us. He practically bounced on the balls of his feet as he handed me a postcard.
“He said you would
come, and he was right. Calder is always right. And he said to give this to you when you got here, said it would show you where to go,” he said.
The postcard had a picture of mountains and vineyards with the words Visit Beautiful Hood River across it. On the back fifteen words were scrawled in my brother’s unmistakable sloppy writing.
Come join the fight. It would be a shame if we got started without you.
I handed the card to Vidar. “Where’s Hood River?”
Vidar scowled down at the card. “In the right direction.”
Prickles of apprehension worked their way down my spine. Coincidences weren’t something I believed in, especially not where my brother was concerned. “He’s been leading me to Oregon all along.” I looked to Vidar. “Is it possible he knows your friend?”
“Not likely. But, there’s definitely a reason.” Rather than spill it, he looked pointedly from me to Oliver. Then he glanced back at the truck. “Can you carry everything you brought on your bike?”
“Always.” At some point during this trip I’d expected to go it on my own, which was part of why I put the hard side luggage on my bike and brought my tent and sleeping bag. But I had a feeling that wasn’t what Vidar had in mind.
He looked to Oliver. “Do you have one of those that runs?” he asked with a nod in the direction of the Harley frame up on blocks.
A sly smile worked its way onto Oliver’s face. “Oh, yes, I have two and a half.”
Lines of confusion formed between Vidar’s eyes. I got where he was going with this and interjected. “We need one good running one, Oliver. To help us reach Calder.”
Vidar pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll trade you that truck for it.”
Eyes narrowing at the truck with suspicion, Oliver cocked his head. “But it has electronics.”
“Yes, it does. But it’s worth a lot, even dented up like that. You could sell it,” Vidar said.
No kidding. The thing was probably still worth a good chunk more than anything Oliver had. But Vidar was making the right call. The truck’s tire tracks were at the scene of a crime. “For the cause, Oliver,” I pressed.
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