21. Nicholas #2
“I’ve spoken to other vampires who pass through these doors. There aren’t many, but when they come, I make sure to mark them.” Luca gestures toward the door. “None of your bloodletters, though.”
I shift to the edge of my seat. “Go on.”
“Your own kind. People hear things.”
“As if they’re more trustworthy.”
Nothing in this world is what it seems. I’ve been around long enough to understand it. Loyalty is a matter of currency.
“And who has been talking? Where did you get wind of the gossip?” I press.
The source matters. It always does.
“Angarr,” Luca clarifies.
I straighten. “Angarr is in the area?”
And I didn’t feel it? Unless something or someone didn’t want me to recognize the movements of my firstborn. Angarr was one of my Visigoths and among the first of my order to be condemned to darkness with me.
Odin made it so.
The AllFather and his heavy hand, twisting me into the first immortal vampire, worse than the leader of the cultlike sect I belonged to. An ancient brotherhood, to be sure, but nothing compared to permanent immortality.
I can turn others, but never the one person who matters.
My venom heals mortal wounds. For anyone but her.
And while my children, the other vampires, can die, I remain. No fire, no stake, no sunlight harm me. I am a true immortal.
Only her blood calls to me. The movements of every vampire who came after me has faded. So I let the queen have them.
Luca nods. “Angarr says Loki has been up to his old tricks. And Freyja is watching, waiting, for something. They haven't been seen outside of Asgard at least, but still. Fuck. Do you think it’s true?”
I sneer, gripping the bottle hard enough to break. “You sound almost eager to come face to face with them.”
I take another long pull, circling blood like wine on my tongue.
Luca’s eyes blow. “Wouldn’t you? The stories have been around for ages. To finally see what the mythology has depicted—”
“Trust me,” I interrupt, “if Loki and Freyja are on the move, steer clear of them. Get as far away as fucking possible.”
I have no idea if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. With Loki, it can go either way. It depends on a whim. As a man, I’ve only ever seen Freyja’s wrath and never her warmth. She may be the Norse goddess associated with love, beauty, and sex, but she also reigns over war and death. Magic.
All gods are strange and unpredictable.
Yet Freyja has a soft spot for her Valkyries. I’m not sure if that includes Helene anymore.
“My, my, Nicholas. You’ll speak to Luca, but not to me? Shame on you.” Moraine winds her arm through mine, linking us at the elbow.
Three more vampires cluster behind her, cold spots in an already-chilly room.
I refuse to pull away. “Are you entitled to an interaction?”
“It’s good manners.”
“I’m too busy for manners.” I push to my feet. “Hello. And goodbye.”
“Oh, did I interrupt something?” She bats her eyes. “I didn’t realize this was boy talk only? I thought if you showed your face here again, it might mean you’re willing to play.
“I’ll speak to you later, Nicholas.” Luca takes off like the opportunist he is, leaving me to fend off Moraine and her groupies alone.
Rather than acting on body language and getting the fuck away, she crowds closer. “Does it have anything to do with the torch? The one you can’t put out?”
Ice slides along my spine. “Helene is none of your business.”
She chuckles. “Is that her name now? You’ve found her again?”
Moraine has always hated Helene. It’s a matter of principle for her kind of woman. She despises what she cannot have, but the moment she gets it, the hatred seeps out and erases her affection, as well. There is no winning. I’ve steered clear.
“You should move on. Come to those who are willing to embrace you,” she adds.
The door is several feet away and blocked by a wraith and two Naga. How fast can I plow through them? “It’s never going to happen.”
“Why not?” Moraine corners me. “It’s time. Your precious torch won’t be around much longer, anyway."
Something in her voice stills me. “Oh?”
She laughs again, an annoying buzzing sound, and pushes white hair over her bare shoulders. “You heard Luca.”
“You were eavesdropping.”
“The whispers are true. Odin might take you down with the Valkyrie if you keep pushing. He’s not the only one. And even if you don't go down with her, well, the time of the Asgardians is ending. Other forces move in the wings.”
I whirl and grip her arms, fingers biting deep as I slam her to the wall. Moraine’s eyes pinch.
It doesn’t force the truth out of her. Moraine flashes fang with a hiss.
“Speak.” Command laces my voice.
She snaps her teeth at me, and I growl, my own fangs lengthening. Extending, sharper than hers.
“The gods are rising, only to fall,” she grinds out. “It’s written. Everyone knows that. Ragnarok."
“If you want to call it the end.” I push her harder until brick cracks.
“It’s coming. And where will your little curse be then?”
Everything inside of me begs to drain her. To take her immortality from her and finish this now. I shove away from her and stalk out the door without another word.
The end.
It’s always there. It’s always looming like a threat, like a nightmare. But it never comes to pass. There is only suffering in the meantime.
This reincarnation has been different from the start.
However or whenever the whispers reached me, instincts have me sitting up and paying attention.
We're out of time.
Because Moraine is right. If the gods are rumbling, if the structure of their empire is crumbling, then I’m going down with it. We haven’t found a way to break the curse in thousands of years.
What are the odds we’ll do it now?