Rewind & Go: A Blue-Collar Billionaire Romance (Sander's Valley Book 1)

by Nancy Corrigan

  He cracked his eyelids. In increments, his eyesight returned. The sluggish beat of his heart gained strength. Tingles spread through his muscles. He forced his numb limbs to respond to his command to rise, but his body protested the movement. After a millennium of slumber, life did not return easily, even for an immortal being.

  He pushed to his feet and swayed. The narrow alcove he’d chosen as his resting place stopped his collapse. He braced a hand against the rock wall. More breaths expanded his lungs and forced his blood to flow. Several minutes passed while he consciously directed the primitive functions of his body before it picked up the remembered rhythm.

  He shrugged off the remaining weakness and put one foot in front of the other. He stumbled into the main chamber. Rays of diluted moonlight brightened the space. He squinted against the glare and picked out Jaron’s familiar shape at the mouth of the cave. Mist swirled around his crouched form.

  Jaron turned at his approach. The flush to his skin ignited Rune’s hunger. His fangs descended, and saliva pooled in his mouth. He dragged his tongue across the sharp teeth, slicing it open, but the diluted blood did little to satisfy his craving. It only clenched his gut, the need for more a palpable desire.

  He concentrated on Jaron’s silver eyes instead of the gnawing sensation squeezing his stomach. “How long have you been awake, my brother?”

  “Long enough to coax a flock of Eider to share their blood with me.” Jaron extended his arm. “Come, take nourishment from me. We do not have time to draw a meal to you.”

  “Yes, we must find the escaped eldjötnar and the foolish humans who freed them.”

  “I’m not sure the humans were involved in the release of the demons.” Jaron jerked his chin in the direction of the opening he blocked. “Look.”

  Rune closed the distance between them, glad his initial sluggishness had abated. Jaron shifted to the side, allowing Rune a view he’d never thought he’d see.

  He dropped to his knees.

  The endless expanse of ice and snow he’d known since the beginning of his existence no longer filled the valley of Niflheim. Mist still weaved its way along the ground and inched up the sides of their hidden mountain, but not to the extent it had.

  He swept his gaze across the land and zeroed in on the spot where Surtr, the eldest of the eldjötnar, and his sons had been imprisoned in the icy tomb Rune had fashioned for them eons ago.

  “Our world has melted.” And released their worst nightmare.

  “Yes. Ragnarok is coming, earlier than we had planned.”

  Rune flicked his gaze to Jaron’s face. “Impossible. The cycle is tied to the movement of the heavens.” He pointed to the moon and its lack of haze. “It is not time.”

  “Do you have another explanation?”

  Rune shook his head. “You know I do not, but I refuse to believe the rebirth has arrived. Neither do you. If you did, you’d be awakening the gods from their slumber, not be crouched here with me.”

  Jaron inclined his head. “You were always the voice of reason.”

  “Reason?” He chuckled. The dry bitter sound hurt his own ears. “I think you have me confused with Lyal. I’m the cold one, or have you forgotten my legacy?”

  He was the only one who hadn’t grieved over the loss of their females. He’d chosen revenge instead.

  Jaron extended his arm. “Feed. We waste time.”

  Rune shook his head and settled his gaze on the rocky shore where once a mountain of ice had sat. In its place was an unfortunate victim’s bloated body. Birds picked at what remained of the human. Rune glanced away from the sight before memories choked him.

  “I am not sure it matters. This did not happen overnight.” Which meant the eldjötnar had been free for some time. “Why did we not sense their awakening?”

  “The ice has broken off in chunks and floated with the movement of the sea.” Jaron pointed toward where an iceberg floated several hundred feet from the shore.

  Curses whipped through Rune’s head. “Then we have failed in our role again.”

  “Whatever occurred to bring about this disaster had nothing to do with us.”

  “Not this time.”

  “No, not this time, but we must act quickly to prevent the demons from desecrating the neighboring villages the way they did ours.” Jaron dragged a fang over his wrist. “Now feed.”

  The scent of blood hit Rune square in the chest. Instinct directed his movements. He snatched Jaron’s hand and brought it to his mouth, sinking his fangs into his flesh. Rich blood spilled over his tongue. The nourishment it provided infused him with life. He greedily swallowed the gift and did his best to ignore Jaron’s thoughts that came with the intimate sharing of blood. Rune couldn’t stop them, though. The tie to his sibling was too strong.

  Flashes of images from their last failure filled his head. One moment he knelt with Jaron; the next Rune stood with his brethren at the base of their mountain home.

  Roars of frustration and cries of disbelief reverberated between his ears. The slideshow started. Jaron kneeling in a river of black blood. His cousins racing through their homes looking for survivors. Friends slashing their wrists and desperately trying to save their females. He pushed those memories away and embraced the one that still enraged him—the bloated, diseased bodies of their chosen consorts. They’d been staked and left to line the path leading to Asgard.

  Their greatest failure.

  Until now.

  Rune forced his fangs to retract and licked the wound closed. A steadying breath cleared the last of the unsettling memories from his mind. “We must find them.”

  “And do what?” Jaron rested his head against the rock wall. “They will not fall for our trap a second time.”

  Rune shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Don’t be a fool. I would anticipate another attempt. So will they. In the end, we are the same.”

  “No.” Rune pushed to his feet. “We are nothing like them.”

  “Honor separates us, nothing more. The day we think differently is the day we fail.” Jaron moved to the edge of the opening. White mist swirled around his ankles, ready to welcome him. “I will awaken the others and check on our treasure troves. You will begin the search for the escaped eldjötnar. Be safe, little brother.”

  With the order delivered, Jaron hopped off the ledge into the open air. He took several steps over the shimmering surface provided by the fog before the wind scattered his image. He would travel along the currents, one with the air particles and the life-giving water they contained.

  Rune waved his arm and redirected a current of air to carry him south. A waiting floor of mist rose to meet him. He strode forward, dropping several feet to where the wind whipped. It enveloped him, pulled at his skin and dragged the water droplets contained within him to the surface. He released the tight hold he held over his solid form and allowed the gust to carry him.

  It felt good to be one with his element, but the comforting embrace it offered didn’t diminish the worry he’d awoken with.

  Ragnarok might not have arrived, but evil had.

  And we’ve slept through its release. He only prayed they hadn’t awakened too late.

  ****

  Cat Saunders scrolled through the data on her laptop. She’d studied the findings enough that she could probably repeat each detail if questioned. It didn’t stop her from reading it once more. She was missing something. Whether she’d made an error in her calculations or had misinterpreted them mattered little. The fact remained—the disease labeled as Upernavik 33 or UP-33 didn’t make sense.

  It was classified as a contagious, fatal and fast-acting virus that affected the red blood cells of its host, yet it didn’t spread by any known methods. It was being selectively passed. Thirty-three victims had succumbed to the infection in the remote settlements surrounding Upernavik, Greenland, where they suspected the virus had originated. More cases had been reported along the coast of Canada, Iceland, Norway and Maine.

  The viru
s was real. She had data, autopsy reports and samples. What she lacked was the support of her government. The Centers for Disease Control refused to recognize it. They’d investigated the deaths and claimed many of the reports coming out of Greenland had been falsified. They’d called it a genetic disorder and issued a report detailing their findings.

  None of their official communications referenced her facts.

  She clicked on the timeline. According to her statistics, a person was being infected every three days. Mapping those cases showed the pattern that had forced her to leave the safety of her lab. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t shake her initial take on the data. Two infected people were traveling and spreading UP-33.

  She wanted to stop them. The last victim, her sister Janice, had made the disease personal.

  “Miss Saunders, we’ll be arriving in fifteen minutes.”

  She nodded but didn’t respond to the man’s words. He’d been trying to engage her in conversation for hours. The blatant flirting had stopped after she’d reamed him out. The constant chatter hadn’t. It annoyed her. In all honesty, though, she found most people annoying, especially when they disturbed her while she was working.

  Silence reigned for several precious minutes. She used them to go over the details of the infection. The classic signs of anemia—lightheadedness, headache, irritability and pallor developed rapidly while the symptoms that labeled it as UP-33 showed within hours after the initial triggers. A red tint hazed the whites of the victim’s eyes, and a rash spread across either the wrist or neck. Muscle spasms and intense pain followed. Death claimed the victims after a seizure stopped their hearts. Upon autopsy, every organ was found shriveled, and the person’s blood had turned black.

  It had freaked out all those who’d seen the aftermath of the virus, including her. If it evolved and became airborne, they would be dealing with a modern bubonic plague.

  The helicopter landed, pulling her out of her thoughts. She yanked off the headset. She’d hated wearing the thing, but the pilot had insisted.

  “Welcome to Upernavik.”

  She dragged her attention from the small screen on her laptop to the town. Colorful A-frame homes dotted the stark, rocky landscape. Although it was dark, lights shone in every window.

  “I suppose it’s daytime.”

  “Yes.” The man laid a hand on her thigh. “Are you positive this is something you want to do? You don’t exactly look like the type of woman who is used to roughing it, and this can be a very, very dangerous place.”

  She glanced at the cute homes and raised a brow. “Dangerous?”

  “Oh yes, very. You should have a man with you at all times.” He grinned. “Even in bed.”

  She sighed. With controlled motions, she closed her ultra-light computer, slipped it into its padded bag and leveled her narrowed eyes at the local tour guide. The guy was handsome enough and had even quickened her pulse when he’d brushed against her, but she didn’t have time to explore what that meant. Work ruled her life. Men and sex were squeezed in when she had time. With a potential disastrous plague looming on the horizon, she didn’t have any to spare.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of myself.”

  He studied her a moment more. One corner of his mouth quirked. “If you say so.”

  She knew exactly what he saw: an attractive woman dressed in mismatched clothes, no makeup and her hair in a sloppy ponytail. There was a coffee stain on her jeans and a piece of duct tape covering a hole in her parka.

  Why would he think she could take care of herself when she looked like a bum?

  His opinion didn’t matter, though. Only hers did, and she rarely cared what she looked like. Besides, new clothes required a trip to the store. She hadn’t been able to squeeze that into her schedule in months.

  “I do.”

  He stroked his fingertips along her arm. “If you get lonely, call me. I only live an hour south.”

  He stared expectantly at her. She inwardly sighed. Remembering her sister’s last lecture where she’d told Cat to stop being rude to people just because she didn’t have time for them, she forced a small nod. A smile seemed too much of an effort. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  A grin spread over his face. He slid his hand up her thigh. “How about I finish my runs for the day and return? It gets cold here at night. I can keep you warm, safe and”—he inched his fingers higher, dangerously close to her crotch—“satisfied.”

  Apparently, trying to be polite had been the wrong choice. Luckily, she knew how to remedy the situation. She pulled a six-inch dagger from her boot—a gift from Roland, the seventy-year old veteran who ran her research center as if he were still a commander in the army. After a coworker had been raped and killed walking home to her apartment, he had handed them out to all the female employees. She didn’t delude herself into thinking she could actually use the knife. It was for show only.

  “Touch me again, and you’ll regret it.” The man jerked his hand away. She grinned. “Like I said, I can take care of myself. As for getting cold? That’s what blankets are for.”

  “So I see.” He reached over her and unlocked her door. “Enjoy your stay.”

  She climbed out, cradling her backpack to her chest. A brown-haired local rushed forward with a huge, welcoming smile on his face. He took the rest of her bags and motioned her forward.

  “Cat Saunders, welcome. I’m Ivan. I’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

  The name registered in her cluttered brain. The owner of the local hotel. She fell into step next to him.

  “Thanks. Your city is lovely.” Cold and harsh, but pretty nonetheless.

  “We think so.” He led her toward a large red home. “It’s a wonderful place to live. Well, it was until our residents started turning up murdered.”

  She stumbled. “Murdered?”

  Ivan handed her bags to a teenage boy and faced her, a frown on his face. “The thirty-three deaths that occurred here over the past couple of months. That is why you’ve come, isn’t it?”

  She inclined her head. “What makes you think they were killed?”

  “Well,”—he ran a hand through his hair—“they were all attacked.”

  She tensed. There’d been nothing in her report of any attacks. How was she supposed to uncover the source of the virus if she didn’t know all the facts? The lack of knowledge bothered her. Could the CDC’s accusation about falsified data be true? She bit her lip. No. If the townspeople had been murdered, then the government wouldn’t have blamed the deaths on a genetic disorder.

  Dammit, someone was twisting the facts. That was sacrilege in her eyes. Data should never be altered.

  “And what’s your take on it?”

  “The same as I told the authorities.” He lowered his voice. “The fire demons have risen.”

  Of course. The lack of detail made sense. Nobody in their right mind would add a supernatural creature to the list of possible causes. Yet, the fact that they’d been attacked should’ve been included.

  Unease tightened her shoulders. “Fire demons?”

  “Yes. Do you know what they are?”

  She shook her head. “Are they from a local legend?”

  “Partially. Here they go by the name eldjötnar, though they are known by many names.”

  The term meant nothing to her. She hadn’t cared to learn mythology when science offered hard facts she could understand.

  “So these…” She bit the inside of her cheek to stop her laughter. “These demons are common here?”

  “No. They’ve risen from their death-sleep.”

  She repeated the words in her head. “Death-sleep? Like vampires?”

  His eyes lit up. He nodded. “Yes, vampires. That term fits, though they are not the undead. They are the eldjötnar.”

  Her mouth dropped open. He couldn’t be serious. “Living vampires?”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “You do not believe either?”

 
No. “I’m here to find the source of the deaths. If vampires or demons or eldjötnar caused them, then that’s what I’ll report to my supervisors.” Right after I tell them I’m actually a famous movie star or maybe the Queen of England.

  Ivan’s smile returned. “Good. I’ll let you get settled, then we can talk more. I have many books I can show you that detail their legends.” He rested a hand on her arm. Unlike the tour guide’s touch, Ivan’s felt protective, not salacious. “Be careful not to wander far.”

  Ivan disappeared into the hotel. She stared at the closed door for a long moment. Vampires? She shook her head. Surely, the man was nuts. Vampires weren’t real. Neither were demons or eldjötnar, whatever the hell they were.

  She pivoted on her heel and studied the village, searching for another resident to ask. There wasn’t anyone within sight. Afraid to be out alone, maybe? If there were blood-sucking undead walking around, people would stay inside. Then again, it might just be too damn cold to be outside.

  Her survey paused on the tavern. Music and laughter drifted out when somebody slipped inside. Drunks would share their tales with her, especially if she supplied their booze.

  She slipped her backpack over her shoulders and made her way to the bar. Halfway across the uneven path, she froze. The sensation of someone watching her raised the hair on her arms. She scanned the area but didn’t see anything or anyone unusual. She shook off the odd occurrence and stepped forward, right into the open arms of the biggest man she’d ever seen.

  Bluish-gray eyes filled her vision. They mesmerized her. She stared into them for a long moment before her need to soak in details forced her gaze from his. Dark, wavy hair framed a face she would have expected to grace the cover of a magazine. Not too long or short, his thick locks were the perfect length to run her fingers through. She slid her gaze to his jaw. The shadow of a beard darkened his lightly tanned skin.

  Her breath escaped in a shaky exhale. Gorgeous. The man awakened everything feminine in her. She dropped her attention to the full lips she wanted on hers. They curved into a smile, showing off straight white teeth. Her knees went weak. She fisted his sweatshirt and dragged in a deep breath to ground herself.