Dark Skies (The Crown of the Seven Realms #4)

Chapter 1

Rhyland

ásgard?

A bitter laugh tears from my throat. Un-fucking-believable.

The golden realm of the gods spreads before me in all its mythical glory, mocking everything I thought I knew.

For centuries, I'd dismissed it as nothing but horseshit stories—tales we Vikings swallowed with our mead, promises of glory in death.

"Well, isn't this a mindfuck?" I growl under my breath, my hands clenching into fists. The same legends my mother beat into my head as a child now stand before me. Not some fairytale paradise waiting for warriors who died with sword in hand.

Restless and raw, my power ripples beneath my skin as reality bends around me. Every instinct screams that I shouldn't be here—that no vampire, not even one with Viking blood, belongs in this realm of gods and legends.

But here I fucking stand.

And somewhere in this golden cage, someone will give me answers whether they want to or not.

My legs nearly give out as reality warps around me. My predatory instinct roars to life, fangs dropping as I face the towering figure before me. Those green eyes bore into me like acid, stripping away every defense I've built over centuries.

"Rhyland of Midgard." His voice crashes like a thousand thunderbolts. "We've been waiting."

This hulking bastard towers over me, a mountain of rippling muscle and ancient power. His dark skin looks like it was carved from granite, and his eyes burn an unnatural green that feels like it could strip the flesh from my bones.

Dark braids fall down his back, adorned with glinting gold, and his armor looks like it was forged in the heart of a star. The sword at his hip thrums with a power that sets my teeth on edge, a silent warning that he's not to be fucked with.

He carries himself with the confidence of a god, and every movement is precise and calculated. But I don't give a damn about his power or his posturing. I want answers, and I want them now.

Gold metal walls stretch up into darkness, covered in weird-ass symbols that seem to move when I'm not looking directly at them. Colossal gears and shit I can't even begin to understand spin overhead like some twisted cosmic machinery.

The floor under my boots pulses with light like it's alive, and steam—or whatever the hell it is—hisses from vents with an electric charge that makes my fangs throb.

Nothing about this place makes sense to my predatory instincts.

One minute I'm about to tear Azrael apart, the next I'm standing in. .. wherever the hell this is.

This has to be some kind of hallucination. But the raw power crackling through the air feels too real, setting every nerve ending on fire.

The beast inside me snarls, clawing to get out. "Who the fuck is waiting?" I growl. "I'm not some goddamn lapdog to be summoned at will."

The bastard dares to smirk. The air is tense as he steps closer, power rolling off him in suffocating waves. Every muscle in my body coils tight, ready to strike despite knowing I'm outmatched.

"You dare question the will of ásgard?" His voice drops dangerously low. "Your arrogance blinds you, vampire. You are here because forces beyond your comprehension demand it."

"I don't give a shit about forces or demands," I snarl, baring my fangs. "Tell me who the hell you are and what game you're playing."

"I am Heimdall," the words echo with ancient power. "I am Guardian of the Bifrost, Watcher of Realms. And you, Rhyland Eriksson, are testing my patience."

My ancestors' stories flood back—tales of this very being who stands before me.

But none of that matters. I can only focus on the severed connection to my mate, the hollow emptiness where Dani should be.

I reach desperately through our bond again, my chest constricting when I find nothing but silence.

"What the hell is this about?" Every muscle in my immortal body is coiled tight, ready to tear through anyone stupid enough to keep me here. "I don't give a damn what you gods want—send me back to my mate now, or I'll paint these halls red."

I'm a live wire ready to snap at any moment. It's different here—stronger, more intense like someone cranked the dial up to max and ripped off the knob. I can feel it crackling through my veins, an electric current that flows through me.

It's a rush like nothing I've ever felt before, and it's all I can do to keep it contained. I feel like I'm a grenade with the pin pulled, just waiting for the right moment to explode.

I don't know what the hell is causing this surge, but I do know one thing—if anyone tries to fuck with me now, they're going to find out exactly how dangerous I can be. And maybe, just maybe, that includes the high and mighty Heimdall himself.

Heimdall's hulking form towers closer, his green eyes blazing. I stand my ground, fangs bared. I might be outmatched, but I'm no one's puppet.

"Watch your tongue, Godborn." His voice thunders through the space between us. A warning. "Your Viking blood may grant you privilege, but even that has limits. Follow me—now—or discover how merciful I've been."

A savage snarl rips from my chest.

Godborn?

Another fucking riddle when all I want is to get back to Dani. The bond screams in my chest, the hollow ache where our bond should be drives me insane. Every second I waste in here is another second she's alone, vulnerable.

Heimdall turns on his heel and strides away, leaving me no fucking choice but to follow. A door opens, and the sight that greets me knocks the wind out of my lungs. ásgard, in all its goddamn glory, stretches out before me like a fever dream.

The bitter cold bites at my skin, ice and snow blanketing everything in sight. Frigid winds howl around me like hungry wolves, carrying the bite of ancient winters in their teeth.

Through the swirling white, a mountain pierces the sky like a titan's spear.

At its peak, a palace gleams like it was torn from the fabric of the cosmos itself—all crystalline spires and impossible architecture that puts every mortal wonder to shame.

The whole thing sparkles in the otherworldly light, each facet throwing off rainbows that mock the northern lights.

It's a middle finger to reality itself, screaming to all creation that the gods can build whatever the hell they want, physics be damned.

But it's the bridge that really catches my eye. The damn thing looks like it's made of pure glass, pulsing with an inner light, that shifts and dance. It stretches out towards the mountain like some celestial pathway, daring me to step onto it and see where it leads.

Am I dead? Did that piece of shit, Azrael actually manage to kill me, and this is some twisted version of the afterlife? If this is supposed to be Valhalla, then someone's got a really fucked up sense of humor.

My head's pounding with a thousand questions, each one more maddening than the last. And the constant whispers from this goddamn Soul Stone aren't helping. They claw at the edges of my mind, a never-ending chorus of voices that makes me want to rip my own skull apart.

I clench my jaw, focusing every ounce of my willpower on shutting them out. It takes a moment, but finally, the whispers fade into blessed silence. My eyes snap open, and I stare ahead, my muscles tight with tension.

This is some grade-A bullshit. I should be holding Dani right now, her sweet scent in my lungs instead of this frigid mountain air, my hands covered in Azrael's blood—not standing here with my dick in my hand.

I'm stuck in this mythological mindfuck, dancing to the tune of some holier-than-thou cosmic bouncer.

Heimdall glances back at me, his eyes flashing with impatience. "Follow me," he commands.

I bite back a snarl, every instinct screaming at me to tell him exactly where he can shove his orders. But I need answers, and if playing along is the only way to get them, then that's what I'll do.

For now.

We finally reach the giant structure sitting center—"the Elemental Spire," Heimdall tells me.

And I can't help but stare at the monumental tower stretching up into the sky.

This thing is a fucking beast, its base wide enough to swallow Manhattan whole and a peak that vanishes into the clouds like it's trying to stab heaven itself.

Ice crystals form in my beard and hair, the brutal cold biting deep enough to make even my vampire ass feel it. The wind howls around us, carrying snowflakes sharp as razor blades, but the Spire stands untouched, like winter itself bows before its might.

As we approach the base of the spire, I can make out intricate carvings etched into the surface, pulsing with an otherworldly light. Runes and symbols that seem to shift before my eyes, their meanings just beyond my grasp.

The entire structure throbs with power, each pulse sending waves of energy through the air that make my fangs ache. It's like standing next to the heart of the world, feeling each massive beat shake the ground beneath my feet.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to shake off the feeling of being a mouse in the presence of a lion. But as we step through the vast archway and into the heart of the spire, I know with a bone-deep certainty that I'm in way over my head.

The doors groan open like the maw of some ancient beast, revealing a hall so extensive it makes me feel like a fucking ant. The whole place looks like some giant carved it straight from the planet's skeleton—all gleaming stone and impossible architecture.

Heimdall swaggers through like he's got a golden stick up his ass, every step radiating 'I'm better than you' energy.

My boots ring out against the polished floor behind him, each echo a reminder that I don't belong in this realm of myths and legends.

The air itself feels heavy with power, pressing down on my shoulders like a physical weight.

Carved columns stretch up into shadows so deep even my vampire eyes can't pierce them, and every surface is etched with stories of gods and monsters.

Funny how I used to think those were just fairy tales my mother told me.

Now I'm walking through their fucking palace like some twisted tourist attraction.

But it's the three figures seated at the far end of the hall that really catch my eye—seated on thrones that look like they were forged from the bones of the earth itself. I swallow hard, my heart pounding as I try to make sense of what I'm seeing.

There is a Zeus-looking son of a bitch, all bulging muscles and crackling energy.

His hair and beard sit perfectly, and his eyes—fuck me, those eyes.

They flash like polished brass in firelight, searing into my soul with an intensity that makes me want to drop to my knees and pledge my goddamn allegiance.

There's something familiar about him, like a half-remembered dream scratching at the back of my mind. But I can't quite put my finger on it. All I know is that this fucker radiates power like a supernova, and every cell in my body is screaming at me to bow down and worship at his feet.

But I'll be damned if I'm going to let some muscle-bound prick with a god complex make me his bitch. I clench my jaw, meeting his gaze with a defiant stare of my own. If he wants my respect, he's going to have to earn it.

And then it hits me—that sweet scent that can only be described as heaven. It's like a siren call, tugging at something deep inside me. The same intoxicating aroma that clings to Dani, driving me to the brink of madness every time.

I close my eyes, fighting to control the surge of thirst that wells up inside me. My throat burns, my fangs itch, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to stay focused. This isn't the time or place to lose my head.

But fuck, it's hard.

"Welcome, Rhyland." My eyes snap open at the woman sitting on the right, who really steals my breath.

She's a vision of divine beauty, with hair like spun gold cascading down her back.

Her eyes are a piercing blue, and her skin seems to glow with an inner light.

She carries herself with grace and poise that speak of great wisdom.

I nod, and the man in the center draws my gaze like a magnet.

He's a hulking figure with a beard that falls like a cloud of silver down his chest. His armor is adorned with runes that seem to dance in the light, and the spear at his side thrums with a power that makes my blood run cold.

But it's his eye that really sends a chill down my spine.

A single, piercing orb that seems to see straight through me, weighing and measuring every inch of my soul.

Recognition slams into me. I've heard the stories and seen the carvings. But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of standing before him.

Odin. The AllFather himself.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. This can't be real.

I must be dreaming, or maybe I really did die, and this is some fucked up version of the afterlife.

But as I stand there, staring at the gods of my ancestors, I can't deny the power radiating from them.

It's ancient and primal, the kind of power that could reshape worlds with a thought.

And right now, all that power is focused on me.