Dreams of a Dark Warrior

FIFTY-SIX

For two days, Chase lay in her bed at Val Hall, pale, still, his heartbeat so sporadic that at times she thought he’d … died.

Brandr had paced a hole in the rug, while Regin struggled to hold on to hope.

No one had any idea what would happen, not even Nïx, who’d only absently said, “Such a sweet little boy.”

Now, as another morning broke, Regin rechecked the curtains, ensuring that no light reached him. “Will you stay with him, Brandr? I need to go downstairs for a bit.” To go on a fool’s errand.

“Of course.”

She leaned down and kissed Chase’s damp forehead. Strapping on her borrowed sword, she marched from her bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door of Val Hall.

Thad and Natalya were on the porch swing, drinking coffee and holding vigil with Nïx.

Regin’s sisters had initially taken issue with a half vamp like Thad and a dark fey like Natalya gaining entry past the wraiths, but Regin had been adamant about their staying.

Thad asked her, “Is DC going to be okay?”

“He’s totally gonna pull through,” Regin said, but even she recognized that she sounded half-hysterical, her words tinged with that out-of-place confidence people had when staring down a gun barrel.

“Don’t be long, Regin!” Nïx called. “And if you see Bertil, tell that little scallywag that it’s past his bedtime!”

Huh. Nïx is literally batshit cray-cray.

Regin tossed her hair toll to the wraiths in order to cross their guard. With their forbidding presence and brute strength, those flying, spectral creatures kept anything out of—or in—the Valkyrie’s manor.

But the yard was another matter. Regin cast a murderous look at the crowd gathered along Val Hall’s drive. They were like vultures, waiting there either to celebrate Chase’s death—or to kill him.

The only thing that kept them from advancing? The recently repaired driveway gate, imbued with Carrow’s protection spell.

Regin flipped the crowd off with both hands, bobbling her birds up and down for good measure while mouthing, Suck it. Then she headed to the swamp on Val Hall’s property.

Near the water’s edge she stopped beside a monument, one that looked totally out of place in the bayou: a Norse rune stone, draped with swamp moss, on “indefinite loan” from a Scandinavian museum of natural history.

Taking a deep breath, she knelt in front of it. Clearing her throat, she muttered, “Are you there, Wóden, it’s me Regin.” She gave a nervous laugh.

“I know you and Freya sleep, and that praying to you is probably just a big fat waste of time. But I have to try. Seems I’ll try anything.” Another steadying breath. “So, Wóden, I need you to do me a solid and save the life of Declan Chase, a.k.a. Aidan the Fierce. …”

She trailed off. This is stupid. She needed to be by Chase’s side, not talking to inanimate objects. What if he … dies while I’m gone? She swallowed. Then he’d still be gone. Attention back on the rock, she said, “Look, I know I’m not your favorite daughter, never have been. But I’m still your daughter! If you’re punishing Aidan for his hubris, then know that you’re punishing me too. No, you’re destroying me.”

Though she tried to bite back the words, out they came: “I’ve hated you for this! How can you do this to me? For a thousand years, I’ve lived with this curse, when I should have been living with him.”

Her voice broke, and embarrassing tears streamed down her face. “P-please … please just let me have him this time.”

Nothing. Only the sounds of the swamp waking from the night. She hadn’t expected lightning to hurl down or anything, but she’d hoped for a glimmer of a sign, anything to give her hope.

Instead, she’d just become deeply aware of how insignificant she was, of how her prayers meant nothing.

Which pissed her off.

She shot to her feet and kicked the stone. That felt good. So she shoved her braids out of her tear-streaked face and kicked it again. “I’ve never asked you for anything!” She drew her borrowed sword, slamming it against the rock so hard her blade and arm vibrated. “Wake—the—hell—up!” Another swing. “I can’t lose him again!” She dropped the sword, launching her fist against the rock. Just as Aidan had in ages past.

As sobs racked her body, she pummeled her forearms against the stone. “L-let me have him.”

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she stilled. Lucia, as silent as ever. “Sister, calm yourself.”

Regin turned, unsteady, sucking in a lungful of air.

Lucia’s eyes widened at her appearance. “My gods, Regin. You really want him this much? I still don’t understand. Carrow said he’d tortured you.”

She squared her shoulders. “So our courtship was rocky. When have I ever done anything normally?”

Lucia inclined her head, conceding the point.

“Besides, you’re with a werewolf, Luce. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Engaged to him, actually. We were just waiting to find you before we have a grand-scale royal ceremony.” For secretive Lucia to be the center of attention that big …? She must truly want MacRieve.

“The wolf was okay with you waiting for me?”

“I explained that I could never do something that important without my wingman.”

Regin tried for a smile and failed. “Yeah, well, that’s the least you can do since you two ganked Cruach without me.” After all these centuries, Lucia was finally freed of her worst nightmare.

“I didn’t have a choice, Regin. Since you were tied up with your … courtship.”

“Did Lothaire really break your neck?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lucia unconsciously rubbed her nape. “Garreth went ballistic.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to sacrifice your archery mojo for MacRieve.” Lucia would forfeit her fantastical skill with a bow if she was unchaste. “Who am I gonna hang out with when you’re a talentless nobody?”

Lucia quirked a brow at that. “I don’t have to sacrifice it. Turns out, it’s been my own skill for some time.”

“Wow. That’s great, Luce.” Everything was working out for her. “You deserve this happiness after you’ve waited so long.” But so do I!

“Now, come on.” Lucia reached forward to sweep her thumbs under Regin’s eyes. “Things are getting tense around the manor. Even more beings are lining up to take out your man.”

“I’ll kill them all.”

“Though Garreth’s cousin Uilleam isn’t among that mob, he will seek revenge in the future. Apparently, Chase had him … vivisected. What would you do to my fiancé’s cousin then?”

Regin tapped her ear. “Hellooo, you got something in your ears? I said, I’ll—kill—them—all. Including anyone in your wolf pack, if you don’t make with the royal decree and declare my man off-limits.”

“Huh.” Lucia tilted her head. “I could do that, couldn’t I?”

“Yep.” As Regin picked up her sword, she gazed at the stone one more time, laying her palm against it. She silently cried, Please!

Lucia put her arm around her shoulders. “You know Wóden can’t hear you.”

“Didn’t figure it could hurt.”

“Lothaire’s blood is strong,” Lucia said. “It might still work. But don’t depend on our father for this.”

Yet as they walked back to Val Hall, a warm breeze blew against Regin’s face, almost like a caress.

Declan’s eyes flashed open, and he sucked in a deep breath. Where am I? Where’s Regin? Gaze darting, he shot upright in bed.

Brandr was there. “Easy, friend. You’re safe—your woman’s safe. She’ll return directly.” As thunder rumbled the walls, he said, “We’re inside Val Hall.”

Only then did Declan relax a measure, surveying his surroundings. If he hadn’t known he was in Regin’s bedroom by her scent, he would have by the decorations.

Concert posters covered the walls, bands from ABBA to Phish. Workout gear and video games abounded. Strands of Christmas lights dangled from the ceiling, only these had strings of vampire fangs wrapped around the cords. Tightly closed tie-dyed drapes blocked out all but a few needle holes of sunlight.

The bedding? Star Wars sheets.

“You’re healed now,” Brandr said. “Your wound’s completely mended.”

Declan glanced down. There was no new scar to join his others.

All his life, he’d suffered nightmares of that blow, of Regin’s screams.

Her grief had hurt him far worse than any cold steel could.

“So I’m a vampire now.” Bitter disappointment settled over him. She might say she wanted him like this, but he could never walk in the sun with her again. And what if his blood-drinking disgusted her?

At the thought of drinking blood, he grew nauseated, still disbelieving that Lothaire’s ran through his veins.

“You’re an immortal, and that’s what matters,” Brandr said firmly.

“How long have I been out?”

“Two days. Here”—he tossed him a pair of jeans—“I know you’re keen to see Regin.”

As Declan rose to dress, he thought he heard someone outside yell his name. “What was that?”

Brandr gave him a rueful look. “There might be a few dozen beings gathered outside. And they might be bent on revenge against you, even for things you didn’t do. Apparently, you’re the poster boy for the Order, and Loreans want their pound of flesh.”

This is what I’m bringin’ to the table, Regin.

Brandr continued, “Although there are only about three hundred mortal berserkers left, they are your men to lead, Aidan. Dispatch any of us against your enemies.”

“I’m no’ Aidan. And I’ll clean up my own mess.”

“Not Aidan? But you claimed Regin. The curse …”

“He’s a part of me, but he’s long gone. I’m still a scarred and surly Irishman.” He reminded himself that he was what Regin wanted. At least, before he’d been turned into a leech.

“You have his memories?”

“Oh, aye, I remember you from before. You were a young smart-arse whose guard was too low.” Then he grew serious. “I also remember that you made me a vow ages ago, one you kept for centuries.” Holding the man’s gaze, Declan said, “I’ll protect Regin from now on. I’m releasing you from that oath, Brandr.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve been a true friend. You have my gratitude and always will.”

Brandr was looking at him strangely. Not surprising, considering the circumstances, but still … Yet he said nothing, just stalked around the room, batting a boxing speedbag, toeing a pink bowling ball on the floor.

Declan exhaled. “Say what’s on your mind, ber-serker.”

“Your eyes were just glowing as you spoke. And when you were unconscious, I noticed that—”

“Release the hounds, muthafuckas!” Regin screamed from outside.

Eyes wide, Declan charged toward the sound, with Brandr right behind him. When Declan threw open the bedroom door, it exploded off its hinges. As he stomped down the stairs, he laid his hand on the railing, rendering the wood to splinters.

“Regin!” He stormed out the front door onto the front porch … directly into the sun.