Erik took her face into his hands. “Beloved, open your eyes.”
She was almost too afraid to do it, but she obeyed. He was standing there, nearly glowing in the power that emanated from his soul, his body perfect and unmarred. His chest was adorned with a new tattoo, a giant, stylized owl with wings that spread from one shoulder to the other, talons clutching two runes.
She clung to him. Although their clothing had burned away, their skin was untouched, and they were complete.
“How… what…”
He did not answer. He bent down and claimed her mouth in a kiss. She leaned into him, accepting him, and in her mind, she could hear him say, I choose you, now and forever. I choose you for all time. My love, my love… do you choose me?
She said it aloud. “Yes. Oh, yes.”
He took her into his arms and held her tight. She embraced him and, overwhelmed by everything she had experienced, she collapsed.
Chapter Sixteen – The Chosen
Nika woke up suddenly in her own bed, lying in Erik’s arms. She sat up in confused disorientation and pressed a hand to her feverish brow.
Was it all a dream?
She looked at her sleeping lover, and the owl tattoo across his chest told her that it had all been real. She touched the two stones inked into his skin, reading the Elder Futhark runes that were written there. One was Uruz, the other Thurisaz.
She identified the meanings of the runes. Masculine energy. Sexual potency. Regeneration.
As she looked at him, she realized that she, too, had been marked by the sacred fire. Runes were tattooed into both of her inner arms, and she identified Perthro and Sowilo.
Female mystical power. The sacred sword of fire. Protection from evil.
Beside her, Erik opened his eyes. He looked up at her with such love on his face that she wanted to weep.
He touched her cheek and smiled, and she went into his arms for a tight embrace. Everywhere her skin touched his, she felt a tingling of power, as if she was filled with mystical fire that burned brighter when he was near.
“What happened? How did we get here? The last thing I remember, we were at the house, and everything had just burned up.”
“We prevented the Draugr from raising Hakon,” he said simply, as if that explained it all.
“But...” She touched the tattoos on his chest and on her arms. “I don’t understand. What is this?”
He sat up and took her hands. “You remember me telling you about the old gods, how they could only continue for as long as they were melded with the souls of the Draugr. Right?”
She nodded.
“The gods with whom we were merged all those centuries ago rose up to help us, along with the All-Father.”
“Odin.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
He smiled. “You’re still trying too hard to think with a modern mind. Not everything makes rational sense. In the world, remember, there is as much of the spirit as of the physical. Mortal minds cannot measure both.”
Beside the bed, leaning on the wall with its point in the carpet, the Rune Sword sat placidly. The Soul Stone was quiet and dull, no light shining in its depths. She looked at it in confusion, then back at him.
“You, my darling, have taken a big step into a world you ever knew existed, but which has been waiting for you since you were reborn into this life.” He smiled. “Do you believe me when I say that I love you?”
She smiled back, slowly. “Of course.”
“Then believe me now when I say this: because you are Chosen, and because you have drunk the dreyri, you will never be the same.”
Nika touched his arm, running her hands along the skin and the well-formed muscles beneath. He was distracting just by being there.
“Am I truly a Draugr?”
“Yes. You truly are.”
She put her fingers to her teeth, but they felt no different than they had before. He chuckled.
“Some changes haven’t taken hold yet, but they will do so as time goes on. The important thing is that your soul has been awakened, and the power that you have always had has been set free.” He pressed his hand to her chest, resting his palm above her heart. “You and I, Nika… we are meant to be. We are soulmates.”
“This is all so hard to understand,” she said, shaking her head. Her scarlet hair fell over her shoulder, a curtain over her face that he brushed away, tucking it behind her ear.
“You need understand only this: we are immortal, and you are my love, and the gods have blessed us.”
She pulled him into her arms, kissing him. He bore her gently down to the mattress, rolling her onto her back and leaning over her, his hand still cupping her head.
“I love you,” she told him. “You are my Chosen.”
“You are my life,” he told her.
Her moved closer, and they were soon entangled in one another again, their physical loving echoed by the pulsing power in their breasts. Their souls united even while their bodies connected, making love on two levels.
As he moved within her, he breather, “You are my soul.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him as close as she could, giving herself to him, body, heart and spirit.
Against the wall, the Rune Sword glowed.
Epilogue
The museum workers finished putting glass panel into place, once more sealing the pressurized chamber that held the Rune Sword in place. The ancient Viking weapon gleamed in the light of the pinpoint spotlights that illuminated the runes on its blade.
“There,” the curator said, satisfied. “Safe and sound, back where it belongs.”
The representative of the Royal Stockholm Museum nodded. “I’m very grateful that the sword was found in one piece.”
“Your agent, Mr. Thorvald, had a great deal to do with that.”
“Ah, yes,” the representative mused. “Mr. Thorvald. I shall have to find him to thank him personally.”
“Oh, is he no longer in town, Mr.…?”
“Sigurd,” the man replied.
The curator admired the sword. “What do those runes say, anyway? My assistant used to read runes, but I’m afraid Latin is far more my style.”
The Swede smiled, his narrow face an unlikely home for so friendly an expression. “It says ‘united forever.’ Strange, don’t you think, for an ornamental weapon intended for a burial?”
“Well,” the curator said, “perhaps it has a spiritual significance.”
They walked away together, the Swede folding his hands behind his back. A runic tattoo peeked out beneath his shirt cuff.
“Most things do, my friend,” he said. “Most things do.”
*****
THE END
Rune Series Other Books
Preview: Wild Winter
Wild Winter
Passion of the Pack Series Book 1
By:
Amelia Wilson
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Copyright © 2017 by Amelia Wilson
All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Chapter One
The cold was almost oppressive, despite the heater in the beat up red Volkswagen Beetle going full blast. It had been a long trip, and though Sasha Silver had of course taken it over multiple days, she was still exhausted and ready to reach the end of her destination. The highway on which she drove was only two lanes and lonely, a desolate stretch of gray winding through a forest of evergreen trees which had been blanketed by thick drifts of pure white snow. A green sign sat beside the side of the road, and Sasha scanned it with int
erest. It read:
TALL TREE…..10 MILES
She was almost there. Finally.
Sasha slowed as she entered the town a few minutes later, she had been making good timing on the long stretches between towns, but the last thing she needed was a ticket from a Podunk cop in one of these Podunk towns. She had been hoping against hope that Tall Tree would turn out to not be Podunk since that’s where she was going to be living for… well, who knew exactly how long, and she would love for life to be as normal as possible, and she was coming from Chicago, where life was big, and loud, and always moving.
But Tall Tree? Not so much, from first impressions. She came around a curve and hit her brakes, the trees falling away from each side of the road as the town began. First a few houses, and then she was turning onto Main Street at the guidance of the GPS on her phone. She passed a general store, a small one screen movie theater, and a diner called Jo’s. There were a few people out on the sidewalks, but Sasha didn’t pass a single other car. She glanced at the clock in her dash, it was four in the afternoon. Chicago would be packed with people and vehicles. Sasha sighed. She was sure she was going to regret moving here much sooner than she had even imagined.
Tall Tree was in the northern part of Alaska, and Sasha hadn’t even been aware the town existed until she got a letter in the mail a few months previous. She was nineteen, living with two friends she had made after a year in college. They had all decided that maybe school wasn’t for them, at least at that time in their lives, and they had gotten a place together and talked about opening their own beauty shop. Now that wouldn’t happen, at least not with Sasha.
Her mail had been set aside for her as it always was, two bills and a long white envelope with her name and address printed on it in shaky handwriting. She sat down at the kitchen table, and when her eyes moved to the return address, her breath caught in her chest, and her hands began to shake. CONNOR FRAY it said there, in big block letters, and below that: 12 LONG PATH LANE, TALL TREE ALASKA 99501.
The address meant nothing to Sasha, but the name did. It was her grandfather, a man she had not seen since she was a child. Her mother’s father, a man she couldn’t even picture, her only memories of him hazy and dim. Single traits leapt out at her as she thought of him while her nervous fingers slid under the flap of the envelope and ripped it upwards. Big. Firm. Stern. That’s how she remembered Connor Fray, after years, over a decade, of not seeing him.
Sasha’s mother had died when she was only six, and that was the last time she saw her grandfather. He lived in Colorado then, and he had come to Ohio where Sasha grew up for the funeral, and he had spent a few days with her and her father, and then he had gone. Her father was an only child without very much family, and they kept to themselves. It seemed as though Connor was fine with that as well. More than a few times growing up, it stung Sasha to think that her grandfather never asked to see her, or invited her out to spend time with him. Her father’s parents had made an effort to see her regularly, despite living in Florida.
And then the letter had arrived. She had opened it, and she sat there for a moment without pulling the paper inside from the envelope, trying to figure out why she felt so uneasy. A letter from her grandfather? Why would he be sending her such a thing, was he alright? Years without a word from him, and now a letter?
Sasha took a deep breath and pulled the letter out. It was a page long, written in the blocky letters from the envelope. It told herthat her grandfather was dying, and he needed help with a few things. He didn’t have anyone else he trusted to turn to. Without going into too much detail, he just asked her to come out and stay with him for some time, six months or so, and that he would pay her to do so.
After leaving school, Sasha had been working as a waitress. She hated it, and was worried it was killing her slowly, not really of course, but figuratively. Her grandfather was offering a lot of money, just to go spend time with him in his last months? She figured he needed help getting his finances in order, selling his house, things like that.
Alaska was very far away, however, and it took Sasha a long time to decide whether or not she was going to go. In the end, she packed up, said goodbye to her roommates, and started to drive.
The GPS beeped, and she knew she had arrived. Her grandfather lived in a massive two storey log cabin, nestled on a large snow-covered tract of land, snow piled on the roof, long icicles hanging from the edge. The driveway was shoveled clear, and a big blue pick-up truck sat at the end of the path.
Sasha parked and killed the engine. She took a deep breath before opening the door and glanced in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were pale blue, the sunlight reflecting off all the snow around her serving to make them sparkle. It had been a long trip, and she was tired, but she was a beautiful girl and still looked it. She had shoulder length blonde hair that she spent a long time on to make it look like she didn’t spend any time at all on it. She was short, her body lithe but well rounded, her hips and bust womanly and pleasing to every man she had ever been with.
Another breath and Sasha pushed the door open. She stood for a moment in the biting chill, reaching back into a car and pulling a hooded sweatshirt from the passenger seat. Sasha slid it over her head and slipped her hands, with her slim fingers and her manicured soft pink nails into the sweatshirt’s pockets. She made her way to the front door of the cabin, knocking as she stood on the large front porch.
It took a few moments, but her grandfather answered, and before he could even speak she was stepping forward and wrapping her arms around the old man. He hugged her in return, and when she pulled away, she was surprised to see shining tears brimming in his eyes, and even more surprised to feel hot burning ones in her own. She wiped them quickly away and smiled.
“Hi grandpa,” she said.
“Hey,” the old man said, and Sasha took a moment to look him over. In a lot of ways, he was still the man she remembered. He was tall, and his shoulders broad, but his hair was now snow white, and he had buzzed it, where he used to keep it rather long. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, but when he smiled the corners of his eyes turned up, and it made him look almost twenty years younger.
Connor looked his granddaughter up and down. “Too skinny,” he said. “You need to eat more.”
The girl laughed. “I’m fine grandpa.”
“Where are your bags?” the old man asked her.
“In the car, I thought we could visit first a bit.”
“No, let’s just grab them, you won’t feel like getting them later. Get settled, and then we can visit.”
Sasha was not used to not being able to do what she wanted, but she knew she didn’t want to start her visit off on the wrong foot, so she just nodded and led her grandfather to the car, where they each grabbed some bags and carried them inside.
“I’m upstairs, so you’re here,” the old man said as he opened a closed door just off of the kitchen. The room was small but well furnished, with a comfortable looking bed in the far corner and a dresser against the wall. There was an old rocking chair in another corner, and her grandfather pointed it out.
“Your grandmother’s mother made that. Some time ago of course.”
Sasha placed her bags on the bed and then walked over to the chair. She ran her fingertips along one arm rest. The piece was beautiful, carved and built from cherry wood, the hue deep brown with a reddish tint.
“It’s amazing. I can’t believe someone could make this.”
“She made it when your grandmother was pregnant with your mother,” Connor said with a sad smile. She used to rock your mom in it every night to get her to go to sleep once she was born.
Sasha couldn’t help but picture that, a grandmother she hardly knew holding a mother she had lost too soon in the chair.
“I love it,” she said softly, her voice slight in the still crisp winter air that filled the room.
“Make sure you take it with you when you leave here,” Connor said. “You should have it. Really all of this is yours, bu
t we can get to that later. You thirsty? Tell me about your trip.”
They went into the kitchen then, and Connor got some coffee brewing after his granddaughter turned down a glass of lemonade. After he set a cup of the steaming coffee in front of Sasha, he sat at the small round table across from her, and she filled him in quickly on her trip. When she was done, there was a moment of awkward silence.
“I’m glad you decided to come,” Connor said finally.
“Me too,” Sasha said.
“I know it’s hard to drop everything, but I wanted to see you, and I really do need your help.”
“Grandpa, what’s wrong with you? I mean, specifically.”
The old man held a finger to the side of his temple. “Cancer. Tumor, right here. It’s eating away at me, and there ain’t a damn thing anyone can do.”
Sasha felt those hot, salty tears burning in her eyes again.
“I have a lot of regrets in my life,” the old man said. “I’m not upset I’m dying, I’ve had more time than a lot of people have had, but I am angry that I didn’t use it the way I should have. There are some things about me, things you don’t need to know about. I hope it excuses me from some of those mistakes, but I should have been in your life more after your mother died. I’ve missed you Sasha, and I hope you can forgive me.”
Sasha stood and moved around the table. She crouched there and slid her arms around her grandfather. “Of course I forgive you, grandpa,” she said, and then she kissed his cheek, and the old man smiled.
Chapter Two
The first couple of days were somewhat hectic as Sasha grew accustomed to her new home and her grandfather’s schedule. The old man had a mountain of pill bottles on his nightstand, each one fat and amber colored with a white lid, the names of each printed in black letters, none of which Sasha could pronounce.
The Soul of a Bear (UnBearable Romance Series Book 3) Page 15