Viking King's Vendetta (Viking Ancestors: Rise of the Dragon Book 1)

by Sky Purington

  “Sure!” Shea’s smile widened as she plunked down on one of several large leather couches. “Whatcha got?” She admired her perfectly manicured hot pink fingernails. “Because I’d love some chilled Chardonnay, specifically Louis Latour Puligny-Montrachet 2015 if you have it.”

  Emily stopped short and stared at her. Seriously? Way to be specific. She shook her head. “Uh, sorry, don’t think I have that one. No wine for that matter. Maybe a beer?”

  Shea flinched then smacked her lips together as she gave it some thought then perked her brows at Emily, her pale golden eyes sparkling. “I suppose I might settle for some Crown Ambassador Reserve if it’s perfectly chilled to thirty-four degrees.” She shrugged. “Though I will settle for thirty-five degrees I suppose.” She offered Emily another one of those winning smiles. “Like Dad says, beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Loki’s balls, really? What kind of dragon was this? She wouldn’t make it two minutes in the tenth century. Then she remembered Pierce’s current state of undress as he washed her car. Okay, maybe more than two minutes.

  “I’ve got some local brew,” Emily replied dryly. “That’s about it.”

  “Local brew,” Shea mouthed, eying not so much the magnificent tree outside but more Winter Harbor itself. “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Suit yourself,” she muttered, grabbing a beer as she eyed the blonde. “So what brings you this way, Shea? Sage or something more?”

  “A bit of both, actually,” Shea divulged, flicking through a magazine she snagged off the coffee table. “I’m Sage’s first, so that means I’m usually in the know when something’s up.” She shrugged, narrowed her eyes on a page then shook her head in disgust before turning it. “And hell if that tree’s not a magnet to all dragonkind.”

  A tree Shea had barely glanced at because she was so fascinated by the next fashion trend. Or so said her random grunts of displeasure as she kept leafing through the magazine.

  “What do you mean you’re Sage’s first?” she asked, not familiar with the expression.

  That, it seemed, was enough to finally draw Shea’s eyes her way.

  “Are you serious?” Her brows arched in disbelief. “You don’t know what a dragon’s first is?”

  Keep your cool, Em, she preached to herself. “Clearly.”

  “Damn,” Shea whispered, looking at her in baffled interest. “You really aren’t from around here, are you? And by around here, I mean this century.”

  “Actually, I originally am,” she defended.

  “Right, before you spent the majority of your life in the ancient past,” Shea quipped, in the know thanks to Sage, Emily imagined. Shea shook her head and flashed another smile laced with pity. “Anyway, a dragon’s first is sort of like their go-to person. The one that has their back at all times.”

  “Ah.” She kept eying Shea, not so sure she’d want this woman having her back. She might break a nail. “So you’re here to protect Sage.”

  “Pretty much.” Shea made a flourish with her hand evidently meant to refer to herself. “Don’t let all this fool you. I’m amongst the strongest of our kind in the continental United States.”

  She tried hard not to let her jaw drop in shock. “You say that like you have a lot of competition.”

  “Relatively speaking.” Shea’s eyes narrowed in renewed surprise as she finally figured things out. “Hell, you didn’t know there were so many of us, did you?”

  “Can’t say I did.” She took a deep swig of beer that turned into a few. How did she not know dragons were so common in the twenty-first century? How did the Sigdir’s not know? Her Viking tribe knew everything. Or so she had thought.

  “Granted, dragons are a bit of a secret society for obvious reasons,” Shea went on. “But there are quite a few of us worldwide. Enough that we’re no longer on the endangered species list.” She winked. “Our own private list that is.”

  Endangered species list? She took another swig of beer. “Good to know.” But first thing’s first. “What do you mean the ash tree’s a magnet? How many dragons can I expect to show up at my front door?”

  “I think that’s gonna depend on the dynamics of the tree.” Shea glanced at the ash, evidently not all that wowed by it. “And how many intended victims it has.”

  Victims? A knot of dread formed in her stomach. Had Sven already died because of that tree? No, she tried to convince herself. If he had, if he were truly gone, she would know...wouldn’t she? Because whether she was willing to admit it or not, deep down she had always assumed he was her dragon mate. They were too close to be anything else. Which surely meant she would know if he were dead.

  “Are you all right, Little Emily?” Shea murmured, her tone suddenly changed, her eyes and hair sparkling.

  Well aware Shea’s dragon magic was stirring, Emily’s heart leapt. “Why did you call me that?”

  The sparkling stopped as Shea’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Call you what?”

  “Little Emily.” Was Sven trying to get through to her via Shea’s magic? Dare she hope? “That’s an endearment a friend called me when I was much younger.”

  “I see.” Shea nodded. “Sorry, that happens on occasion.” She leaned forward and tilted her head in question. “Was he male?” A smirk hovered on her lips. “Or should I say are you two sleeping together?”

  “No, not sleeping together,” she stuttered. Rather than shut that notion down entirely, she ended up muttering, “Not even close.”

  “But you want to,” Shea chimed. “And he must too if my magic ignited.”

  What kind of conversation was she having with this nutjob? Who cared, if Shea just heard from Sven. “So he’s alive?”

  Shea cocked her head again. “Who?”

  “Sven.” She narrowed her eyes. “You just heard from him right? That’s why you called me that?”

  “Oh, Sven’s the guy then.” Shea issued a knowing grin. “So why haven’t you slept with him if you like him so much?”

  Hell, these sisters were testing her patience.

  “Did Sven just reach out to you somehow telepathically,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Shea stared at her blankly for a moment before she finally clarified the situation. “Oh, sweetie, no. Sorry about that. Nobody reached out to me.” She fingered her hair then pointed at her eyes. “When these sparkle, that means my gift of romance,” she cocked the corner of her mouth, “or should I say lust is igniting.” She shrugged. “That usually means I can tell who belongs with whom and can steer them together.”

  Shea offered Emily a devious smirk and made a motion like she was shooting off an arrow. “I’m sort of a dragon cupid for lack of a better explanation. So when you get down or worried, I automatically comfort you with words said by the man who loves you...or lusts for you.”

  This time, there was no stopping her slack jaw. Was this woman serious? Obviously. What point would there be in lying? Especially about something like that. She narrowed her eyes at Shea’s hair. Better yet it’s sudden change. “Did the roots of your hair just turn black?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if Sven’s hair is black.” Shea kept grinning as she fingered her locks. “I know it’s a strange side-affect, but I think it’s edgy. And the guys seem to like it.”

  Huh? “I don’t understand.”

  “What? Why guys like it?”

  “No.” Emily bit back another sigh. “Why your roots changed color.”

  “Oh, my hair’ll do that,” Shea explained absently. “Sometimes just the roots. Sometimes all of it. It turns the color of the person who’s into you. Several colors if there are a few. It's complicated at times but a great radar system for me when I’m hooking people up.”

  “Okay,” Emily said slowly, frowning. Best to focus on what mattered most and it damn well wasn't Shea and her mood hair. “So no Sven then.” Her stomach sank. “That wasn’t him speaking through you, after all?”

  “No, not really.” Shea surprised her when she set aside the magazine, a
nd her tone grew compassionate. “Another side effect of my gift is sensing the emotions of a couple meant to be together. Or should I say more specifically in this situation whichever person I’m around at the moment.” Her hair shimmered for a moment as their eyes held. “So I know you think something happened to Sven...that he died.” She shook her head. “Though I can’t speak to that I can tell you that thus far, I’ve never had what just happened take place if either person in the couple has passed on.”

  “Regrettably, that might not be the case this time,” Emily said softly. “Unless you’ve dealt with other dragons that are mediums.”

  “As in you can see and talk to the dead?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Hmm.” Shea considered her. “I’ve never met another like you, so I suppose I can’t say for sure.” She kept giving it some thought. “What I can say, though, is that while sure, romance could happen from the afterlife I don’t see lust happening.” She shrugged, smiling again. “So I’d say Sven’s alive because there are definitely some fireworks happening between you two.”

  About the last thing she wanted to talk to this woman about was her love life or lack thereof, so she changed the subject. “So can I expect your other sisters to show up soon?”

  “Kenzie, yes.” Shea shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Tess and Ava? Who knows.” Her eyes went to the tree. “Unless they have no choice.”

  Incredulous, Emily glanced from the tree back to Shea. “You really think they’re going to have a choice?”

  “You don’t know Tess and Ava,” Shea muttered under her breath before she abruptly bounced up and flounced down the hallway. “I'm going to see how my car’s coming along.”

  “Hey, we have a lot more to talk about,” she called out, about to head after her when her vision suddenly hazed red.

  “Emily, follow me.” Fenrir leapt over the couch and headed for the back deck. “Right now.”

  Alarmed by his tone, she pursued him, even more uneasy when she stepped outside. Though the tree didn’t look like it had grown any more, something about it had changed yet again. There was a new feeling about it. An aura almost. A pulsing, unpredictable energy that reminded her a lot of the frequency that things from the afterlife created.

  “Hurry, Emily,” Fenrir persisted, nudging her along when she stopped on the deck and stared at the tree.

  Was it calling to her? Yes, it was, wasn’t it? And its voice was so soothing. Lulling.

  “What’s the rush, Fenrir?” she whispered, feeling a little detached. Overly serene. Maybe even a bit dopey.

  “Just follow me, Emily,” he replied, nudging her again when she didn’t move but kept staring at the tree.

  Look how beautiful it was.

  How unbelievably alluring.

  “Come along then,” he growled. Spirit or not, he could physically touch her if he were so inclined but it took a great deal of energy on his part. In fact, he had never done it before. But now he was as he got a mouthful of her shorts and yanked her along.

  Stumbling awkwardly after him, she never took her eyes off of the tree.

  It was so glorious.

  She had to touch it.

  Just one more time.

  So once she got to the backyard, she headed that way.

  “No.” Fenrir leapt in front of her and growled, threatening her with his remarkably long canines, and raised hackles. “Down the dock, Emily. Head for the ocean right now.”

  “In a moment,” she whispered, awestruck by the ash. “I just want to touch the tree one more time. I’m sure if I do I’ll figure out what’s happened to Sven.”

  “You will not.” She got the sense Fenrir was trying to say something else to her, but she couldn’t hear what it was. All she could hear were the ash’s leaves swaying in the warm wind. All she could see was the sturdiness of its trunk and the magnificence of its glittering canopy.

  The next thing she knew though she tried to fight him, Fenrir was tugging her down the dock. He was rough, insistent, almost violent in his urgency. Why? What was he worried about? She tried to ask, to make sense of things but was too caught up in the beauty of the tree.

  Until something began to change.

  Dark clouds suddenly swirled over the tree and fog twisted down and around it. What was moments before glorious was now all-consuming and dark. Beyond sinister. Determined to keep her. Swallow her whole.

  Or at least it was until Fenrir shoved her right off the end of the dock...then much further as the unmistakable pull of Aunt Samantha’s time travel gateway grabbed hold of her.

  Only then did she sense the truth of it.

  The tree was set to kill her.

  Worse yet? Everyone left behind was in mortal danger.

  Chapter Four

  Scandinavia

  932 A.D.

  “I HAVE TO GO BACK,” Emily gasped before the last of the sucking sensation of time travel even faded. When everything cleared, she stood in the Forest of Memories, and Aunt Samantha looked more than a little frazzled, her silver highlighted red curls in a wild fray.

  “Oh, thank goodness I got you back.” She embraced Emily. “I didn’t think it was going to happen.”

  “What are you talking about?” She returned her aunt’s hug before she pulled away and shook her head. “You’ve got to send me back to Maine, Auntie. They’re in trouble.”

  “So are we,” Samantha said softly. “That’s why we’re here and not already at the Keep or the Fortress.”

  The Keep was ruled by Uncle Bjorn and Aunt Samantha, a region taken over by Bjorn when Sven was only a teenager. Bjorn was his biological father and Samantha his stepmother. The Fortress was ruled by Uncle Heidrek and Aunt Cybil.

  “I didn’t even know you used the Forest of Memories anymore for your time travel gateway,” she began then trailed off at the enormity of such a thing.

  The Forest of Memories was a highly magical area that tended to retain things that happened in it and would replay them on occasion. Because of the power of the area, and her history with it, Samantha used it long ago when she first shifted people through time but was far too experienced for that now.

  “Combining my power with this area was my only hope of getting you back.” Samantha clasped Emily’s shoulders. “You need to listen to me, Niece. Bad things have been happening.”

  “Yeah, I know, that’s why I need to get back to Maine...” she started to say before she trailed off again, taking in the fear in her aunt’s eyes. The sadness. “No,” she whispered and shook her head. “He’s not dead. Tell me he’s not dead.”

  When did she become so confident that Sven was still alive? Oh, that's right. When she allowed Shea and her cupid dragon ways to give her hope.

  “He’s not dead,” her aunt assured, knowing full well who she was talking about. “But he needs you, Emily. He needs your strength and positive nature more than ever right now. He needs your help.” She shook her head. “I think that’s half the reason I was able to get you back. Because of your connection. He pulled you somehow.”

  Sven wasn't dead. Thank the gods. She swallowed hard as it seemed her heart finally started beating again.

  “I understand,” she managed, not understanding at all, just so darn happy to hear he wasn’t gone. She looked around. “Where is he? I’m surprised he’s not here.”

  “Emily,” Samantha repeated, her tone more insistent. “You need to focus and listen to me before I take you to him. We’ve got big problems.”

  It was the uncharacteristic wobble of her aunt’s voice that finally snapped her to attention. “What's going on?”

  “It’s Uncle Heidrek...and Bjorn.” A glimmer of moisture shimmered in Samantha's eyes before she blinked it away. “They’re gone.”

  She narrowed her eyes as a harsh chill swept over her. “What do you mean they’re gone?”

  “I mean something infected them, then took them and now they’re gone. First, it presented like a plague of sorts, but it only made them sick, nobody els
e. They behaved strangely before they shifted and couldn’t shift back. They were stuck as dragons.” Samantha pulled away. “Then they vanished overnight without a trace.” She shook her head. “We cannot sense their dragons anymore, so we have to assume the worst.”

  “You can’t assume the worst,” she replied, rallying some of the positive attitude she’d lacked since she spied the tree that morning. “Uncle Heidrek and Uncle Bjorn wouldn’t want that.” Though tempted to embrace her and offer comfort, her aunt needed strength right now, so she gripped her shoulders and met her eyes. “They’re not dead, and we will find them.”

  Samantha nodded but said nothing.

  “I need to go to Sven.” Emily worked to remain strong and level, rather than let emotions get the better of her. “How is he?”

  “As to be expected.” Samantha took her hand and murmured a chant that would transport them.

  Emily knew full well what ‘as to be expected’ meant when it came to Sven. He was somewhere alone whittling wood deep in thought, not sharing a darn thing with anyone. So imagine her surprise when they ended up not at the Keep, but the Fortress and she could hear Sven roaring orders all the way from the front gates.

  “Loki’s hell,” she muttered before she sprinted through the village in his direction. She ran past cottages with their long sloping roofs and a medieval society that had long been her own. Though many murmured hello, there was no missing the somber feel of the place.

  Determined to stop Sven’s ranting, she rushed in the front door of the main lodge and stopped short. Though she had intended to race into his arms and hug him like she had always done, she did nothing of the sort.

  No, she just stared at him.

  Dressed in black pants, heavy boots, and a black leather jerkin, he raked a hand through his ebony hair as he paced. Though he had always been extraordinarily handsome, he was more so now. Was he always so tall and broad? Did he always carry himself with such confidence? His features had always been striking, but even they seemed to have changed. Matured somehow into a face that made her breath catch and her heart skip a beat.