“The vampire in your soul has been destroyed, nephew.” Rorik’s deep voice shattered the night’s still air. “The stake I’ve driven into your heart has done its job. I’ve waited thirty-five years for this moment.”
“You’ve been plotting to destroy me since I was born?”
Rorik’s evil laugh echoed through the night air. “That’s right. Since the day my sister gave birth to your wretched soul.”
He refused to turn around and look at the man. Rorik didn’t deserve his stare. “I was never a blood taker.”
Cold steel chilled his ribs. He didn’t need to glance down to know it came from the blade of his uncle’s double-edged sword.
Rorik pushed the weapon, made Vidar roll onto his back. “Are you questioning my judgement?”
He glared at his uncle. “I question every damn thing you do.”
Evil, in the scent of sweat and centuries-old decay, wafted to his nose as Rorik crouched and clenched his strong fingers. “Are you certain you want to stand by those words?”
“Absolutely.”
“You are as stubborn as was your mother. Even with the threat of being sold as a slave, my sister continued to defy me. I truly had expected more of you.”
“I’m proud to be my mother’s son. Being like her keeps me from becoming you.” He spat at his uncle’s boots.
Rorik tsked. He shook his head, then swung his right fist, his hand colliding against Vidar’s mouth.
The tinny taste of metallic essence seeped from his now split lip to his tongue.
His uncle rose. “You may not have shown signs of having a vampire’s soul, but I couldn’t take the chance that it didn’t exist within you. It can remain dormant for centuries. Your sister is a Norse blood taker, why not you?”
Because he was wolf, born and bred, and the bastard knew that fact. It was the reason he had taken him. Held him captive rather than allow him to join his father’s people. Rorik feared his powers. Or at least what they could become if honed properly. But none of that mattered now.
Rorik withdrew a dagger from the scabbard tied to his belt. “Now, as promised, I will work on your wolf.”
He’d rather be damned to hell than live without the animal who had ruled his soul since birth.
“I’m afraid that is not your choice.”
He hated when his uncle read his mind, but in his frail state, shielding thoughts consumed more energy than he had to give.
Rorik bent down and with his free hand reached for the thin, short stake still embedded in Vidar’s heart. With a fierce tug, he pulled it free.
A fiery pain engulfed his chest and then shot out throughout his entire body, down his arms, his legs, even pulsed at his temples. He jerked up, brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins.
He rocked himself against the ground.
The sound of metal falling on frozen earth echoed at his ears. He looked over and studied the pile of his belongings.
The blood-drenched stake that had been extracted from his heart, now rested on his torn cloak, the garment’s blue wool stained with crimson streaks. “You will never enter Valhalla, uncle. Not after what you have done tonight.”
“I don’t need Valhalla. I am immortal.”
Rorik stepped forward.
Vidar released his knees, dropped his hands to the earth, and inched back.
His fingers once again clawed the ground.
If Rorik wanted him, he’d have to come for him.
His uncle vanished.
Vidar scanned the area, but the brute was nowhere to be found.
An owl’s hoot sounded in the distance.
He flinched.
The crunch of boots stomping against snow approached from somewhere in front of him despite his eyes seeing no one.
A shadow sped by.
Rorik’s stench smothered the air.
He wanted nothing more than to jump and run, but couldn’t as his body grew cold and tired.
A strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder, yanked him to his feet and then pulled a clump of his hair from his scalp.
He bit his bottom lip. Screaming from the agony burning at the top of his arm was a satisfaction he refused to give.
“You cannot escape me, nephew. I own you.” Rorik reached around him.
“I will never be yours,” he said.
Heat rammed the gaping hole afflicting his heart.
He looked down.
Rorik’s fingers were in his chest, stuffing the wound with a wad of hair.
His own hair. The blond strands barely recognizable covered with so much blood. “Don’t do this, uncle.”
“Too late, Vidar. You are the last soul, save for your sister, who can challenge me. And the bitch won’t be a problem. I have decided to renege on my promise of setting Katya free. My men will have her and she’ll be too weak to fight me after all that. But you must be stifled first.”
Rorik pushed his hand deeper inside Vidar’s chest. “The stake has not only killed any vampire you may have had in you, but it also has shut down your wolf so I can bind it by your own blood and hair. Freeze it with winter’s kiss and curse the soul who dares to thaw it.”
Rorik released him.
Vidar fell to the ground.
“If your wolf ever stirs, it will torment the one who awakened it until the very core of his or her soul is turned to dust, tainted with irrevocable darkness. And you won’t be able to control the beast that releases from your heart.”
Breath barely filled his lungs.
“Then, as I have already told you, it will turn on itself.”
A slight quake rumbled under his feet, brought him back to the present.
The frozen wolf in his heart needed to stay put.
Miserable beast.
Leila had no idea his wolf would kill her the second it was freed. How could she? No one knew the specific details of his hex except for him and his late bastard of an uncle. At least with the man dead, there was no way the curse could rise on its own.
Which meant as long as his heart remained frozen, the world was safe.
A chill touched his skin.
He froze. His gaze dropped to the hall below.
Everything appeared normal, even the eighteen-foot tall Christmas tree with its five-hundred skirt-wearing ornaments. Not that kilt-dressed decorations were normal, but the inanimate objects seemed to be doing nothing. Which is exactly how they should be.
A low growl reverberated under his feet. “I don’t know what you are up to, Wolfsden, but leave me out of it. I am no MacHendrie.”
The castle growled louder.
The floor quaked a second time.
“You do realize Leila is of your blood. You should not frighten the woman because if you do, she’ll be down here in seconds and the closer she comes to me, the better the chance my wolf will stir.”
The walls shook, sent bits of stone crumbling to the floor, blanketed his boots with dust.
He huffed. “The wolf in my soul is not housebroken. Is that the creature you want roaming about your rooms?”
The castle steadied itself, but still growled.
“I didn’t think so.”
Wolfsden quieted down.
Vidar stepped off the stairs and headed for the archives room at the far end of the main hall. Not that he cared to work in a space full of old trinkets and antique parchments, but considering the room bore the only door that Wolfsden hadn’t slammed in his face like it did with those sealing off Bane’s library, he hadn’t a choice.
He prayed the gods would favor him tonight, convince Leila to avoid him.
Not having to deal with the woman until New Year’s would be best, yet deep in his soul he knew better than to count on anything he thought would be best for him.
Chapter Five
Leila rolled over on the small makeshift bed and came face-to-face with a life-size, plush wolf. The oversized toy wore a stain of what appeared to be orange juice, based on the citrusy scent, at its
open mouth.
At least she wasn’t pulling any negativity from the mangy looking thing. Bane’s grandchildren must really love the toy considering all the dirty little hand prints marring its light gray faux fur.
She yawned, then pulled her phone from her back jeans pocket. A message icon appeared on the screen. At least the cell service was back up running and her sin-eater soul had stopped disrupting it. She swiped her finger across the front of the phone and pulled up the home screen. Large numbers reading eleven-forty-three stood out at the top.
The last time she’d slept until almost noon, she was eighteen and a senior in high school. Which meant she hadn’t slept this late in a decade. Nor had she slept in her clothes in a long time. What the heck had gotten into her? It wasn’t like her to miss out on a meal, either. And Vidar had offered to cook her turkey last night.
Damn, the Viking was probably pissed about her standing him up for dinner. And he was moody enough over her disturbing his darkness. This morning he’d probably be downright pissy.
She tapped the message icon on her phone and then logged in.
Bane’s voice sounded over the speaker. “Hey, Leila. Hope you’re enjoying some down time at Wolfsden. No need to call me. I’ve already been informed by the cab company, as well as others, that you’ve safely arrived at the castle. If you need me for anything, just howl. If not, enjoy yourself and I’ll see you at New Year’s. Looking forward to spending time with you.”
The call ended.
She swiped her phone closed and returned it to her back pocket.
What did her uncle mean by others?
Memories of the hawk flittered through her brain.
As did the fact Wolfsden itself seemed to have more life than some of the immortals she’d encountered over her twenty-eight years of living.
At least Bane knew she’d arrived. And that was all that mattered. No wonder he hadn’t stormed the keep looking for her last night. The man had everything all arranged, even that damn cab ride. Was there nothing sacred in Dundaire? Probably not. Her uncle was Scotland’s fiercest and most powerful alpha. Dundaire was his turf. Well, his and Mortimer MacDougal’s turf, but still between those two, they owned the small city. Even had a pact with the mortal politicians whose families, after all these years, knew better than to challenge a wolf and a vampire. Dundaire had its own little system of making things work between its human and preternatural residents. The stories her father had told her were amazing. Though she doubted whatever cooperation had worked between the inhabitants of Dundaire and her family, were going to be as successful with the brooding Viking sharing her week of what was supposed to be delightful solitude.
She stretched. No sense putting off the inevitable, as ignoring Vidar wasn’t going to make the man go away.
She rolled off the makeshift bed and headed straight for her suitcase where she plucked out a pair of gray corduroys, a black and white checkered shirt, black lace panties and matching bra. A pair of wolf embroidered pink socks and her short leather boots followed.
After Vidar had left her last night, she’d managed to find a bathroom two doors down. A fast shower should be enough to get her in shape to face the moody wolf without her sin-eater soul craving a taste of his darkness. She really needed that part of her to stay in check around the man. This was her week to just chill and forget about all her troubles.
Irking an immortal Viking warrior was the last thing she needed.
~~o0o~~
Vidar flicked the lights on as he passed through the archway leading into the kitchen. He went straight for the built-in desk next to the granite-topped counter and reached for the top drawer. Opening it, he spotted a bottle of glue leaning against a roll of tape.
An ache throbbed at his lower back. Falling asleep at the metal work table in the storage room was not his ideal way to have spent the night, but he hadn’t meant to work so late and then doze off. He didn’t even manage dinner, which meant he didn’t know if Leila had come down to eat. She probably did and fended for herself.
Hopefully she’d stay away today, too.
A twinge ripped through his back as he straightened.
Between last night’s restless sleep and the time spent cramped the night before in little Fiona’s bed, he was a mess today. Tonight, he was finding a better bed.
His phone binged.
Vidar withdrew the cell from his jeans pocket and read the text. That witch in New Orleans was almost as bad as had been Rorik and she was giving his men a hard time. After New Year’s he was going to have to deal with her and remedy the situation. No one got in the way of his men or the preternatural investigations they conducted. He tossed his phone on to the desk.
The scent of roses, capped with a twinge of strawberries, filled his nose.
Leila didn’t have the right to smell that good. At least not to him. Tempting his soul was dangerous. Very dangerous.
He grabbed the glue and slammed the drawer.
His gaze drifted to the wing in his hand. Maybe those little pixies really had cursed him Christmas Eve. After all, he hadn’t been attracted to a woman in years, centuries in fact.
The castle rumbled, gave up a few low growls along with a good shake of the walls.
“Not that I need to explain myself to you, Wolfsden, but you have me pegged wrong. If you want to sense my thoughts, then please do so correctly. I did not say I have been a monk. But those happenings were mutual agreements, one-night-only events. I have never bedded a woman who was pure of heart and I won’t start now, so leave Leila be.”
The shaking, along with the low growls, ceased.
Turning around, he looked up only to find the subject of his conversation walking into the room, that damn sugar-plum mobile swinging from her right hand. “I’m sorry if the castle frightened you.”
Leila shook her head, her long brown hair brushing against her black and white checked shirt. “It didn’t bother me. I just thought maybe I could help with fixing the fairy wing. I noticed it was still missing this morning.”
Dammit, he didn’t need Leila and her kind heart in his world. He was wolf and he was Viking. And he was cursed. He could fend for himself.
Leila walked closer. There was a carefree swing to her step, to the way her hips swayed.
He couldn’t even remember what it was like to be able to walk without a heavy weight bearing on his soul. A thousand years was a long time to live with a curse.
A soft smile spread across Leila’s plump lips.
What he’d give to be deserving of kissing her. Heck, he’d be happy just being worthy of brushing the pad of his thumb over her lips. He shouldn’t even be in the same room with her considering the frozen beast he carried inside. But something about Leila made him feel a bit different. Like maybe somehow, in some way, they could find peace together.
Christ, but he was screwed.
The woman was going to disrupt everything he’d worked so hard to accept these last one thousand years and he didn’t want to go through the agony he’d experienced getting to this point, again. Life had been pure hell back then. Reverting to that dark place would kill him.
“I thought we could work on the mobile together,” Leila said.
She was playing with fire and didn’t even know it. “Thank you. I’m sure you meant well, but you should go back upstairs and rest or do whatever you had planned on doing during your week at Wolfsden. And just forget I’m here.” With his free hand, he took the mobile from Leila’s grasp and placed it on the kitchen table.
“Of course, I meant well. Why do you think I took the time to unhook this thing and bring it down here? Besides, you offered to cook for me.”
He had. Stupid. “That was last night, not this morning.”
“You didn’t say there was a time limit. I’m fine eating turkey for breakfast, even cold.”
He was not going to have the woman eat leftover turkey for breakfast. Especially since he hadn’t made it in the first place. But telling her that would probably
only prompt her inquisitive mind to start asking him all sorts of questions. Questions he didn’t care to answer at the moment. “I’ll cook you breakfast. Do you prefer eggs or pancakes?”
She pursed her lips, made that sweet mouth of hers look enticing. So enticing, he didn’t even mind that pink gloss she wore.
His heart pulsed.
Damn it. He did not need to start liking glossy lips right now.
“I eat both,” Leila said, “so it doesn’t matter.”
“Both what?”
Leila quirked an eyebrow. “Eggs and pancakes. You asked what I wanted for breakfast.”
“Right.” She was getting to him. And not in a way that was going to be beneficial to either of them. “I’ll make eggs.” He dropped the glue and glittered wing next to the mobile. “Scrambled or sunshine side up?”
Leila pulled out one of the light oak chairs at the table, and sat. “It’s called sunny side up. And that’s what I’ll have, please.”
“Good. I will cook sunny side up eggs.” He was making breakfast for a woman. What was the world coming to? Though it wasn’t any better than his dumb offer to make her dinner last night. Immortal Viking warriors were not amicable men. He was not amicable.
But he was becoming friendly with Leila. And that was a huge mistake. It had to be and he had better not let it get any friendlier. He walked over to the refrigerator and plucked the pitcher of orange juice, and then turned back and set it on the table next to a set of tall blue glasses. “We have apple juice, too, if you’d prefer.”
“This will do, thanks.” Leila poured herself a drink and then took a sip, her delicate ivory hands looking gorgeous against the blue glass.
He stepped away and focused on cooking.
At the stove, Vidar retrieved a frying pan off one of the brass hooks dangling from the ceiling. “Have you practiced sin-eating, long?”
“I was born with the gift, but it didn’t fully develop until my tenth birthday.”
He had been wolf his whole life and had dealt with the animal since birth. He couldn’t imagine waiting to learn he was a shifter until ten years into his life. “Is that when you learned you were not wolf?” He turned around.
Viking Wolf Page 5