by Anne Schlea
“That you lost to Runa?” Serene sips her coffee, her movements calm. “Yes.”
“She’s all about love and community.” She sneers and accepts the cup of coffee set in front of her by the siren attending Serene. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“It won’t change anything in the long run.” Watching Torhild, Serene wonders how she’ll fit into the picture in the long run. For now, the sirens need the valkyrie. Seeing that Runa is now mated to a vampire, an open alliance is impossible. The new leader of the valkyrie will most likely have an issue with Serene’s place in the nosferatu war. However, Torhild is more than capable of maneuvering behind the official position with those still loyal to her. Serene will take it for now. “Let her talk of love. Our plans have not changed.”
“It would have been nice if your people could have held onto Runa longer.” Torhild stretches her legs and arches her back. “Or better yet, if you would have just finished her off for me. Then we wouldn’t have this problem of leadership.”
“Your problem of leadership, not ours.” She corrects her gently. “Only temporary. Create your internal faction. The vampires will overstep their bounds soon enough and you’ll be able to challenge her for leadership. Then we will announce our alliance and you’ll have saved the day.”
“We help you create your territory here in Atlanta.” The valkyrie drinks more coffee. “You help me solve the problem of Runa.”
“Done.” Serene tilts her head to the side, her expression puzzled. “It doesn’t matter to me, but why Runa? What makes her such a problem for you?”
“As long as I rule, no one is going digging in the archives of our people.” Torhild sets down her coffee cup and stands to pace the balcony. She wraps her arms around herself and visibly shivers. “There are things hidden there, things that never need to see the light of day. For centuries, we’ve kept quiet and hidden away the secrets of all the races. Secrets, the kind that could destroy all of us.”
A cold energy passes over Serene. She shakes it off. Torhild is being overly dramatic. “Secrets like who actually killed Kennedy?”
“Secrets like the origin of the vampires.” Torhild looks back at Serene, her eyes afraid. “And the location of the prison that holds our mother Freyja.”
“Freyja is a god.” She laughs and waves a hand in the air, dismissing the silliness. “You’re not seriously telling me some of the gods of old still live?”
“Oh, yes.” Torhild’s gaze returns to the horizon and the distance beyond. “They live.”