Part 47 (1/2)

The two of them must settle this alone.” Wulfgar had one of the iron collars the Normans had used on their slaves. He chained it around her neck, dragging her back to attach her to the heavy grate by the fire, even as another man snarled, snowing fangs, and leaped for him.

Wulfgar was adept, shaking off the fellow until he had secured Nari, grabbing a log from the fire, and spinning with it before the man could attack again.

But then, Hagan had stumbled back to his feet, bleeding like a sieve, since he had glutted so heavily upon so many victims in the last weeks. Still, he smiled, seeing his brother. ”Who wants to live forever, brother? I do.” And he came at Ragnor again, finding an incredible strength and lifting his heavy berserker sword with a vengeance.

Ragnor dropped his own weapon, ducking under the unstoppable crush of his brother's sword so that it pinned Hagan to the ground as it fell. As his brother struggled to retrieve the weapon, he caught him from the rear and threw him once again.

This time, Hagan flew straight into the fire.

The logs crackled and then roared, and fire spewed everywhere, as if a burning comet had dropped from the heavens.

Ragnor stared at the rush of flame.

A hand fell on his back. Lucian.

”Out! We've got to get out!”

Wulfgar was there as well, taking his other arm, leading him toward the door.

Edgar the Saxon was standing by the door. ”Wait!” he shouted. ”The girl-the prisoner!”

He rushed back in. The manor was ablaze then in every direction. Ragnor swore, breaking free of Lucian and Wulfgar to rush after Edgar. Where the room was not alight with fire, he was misted with smoke. He knocked against the table, found the woman by touch, dragged her to her feet, threw her over his shoulder, and rushed from the flames.

They burst out into the night.

As they did so, the roof caved in with a sound of thunder in the night.

They looked back to an inferno.

”Ragnor!”

It was Nari's voice.

He looked down. He had not found the Saxon girl. He had saved Nari.

CHAPTER 20.

Jordan dreamed. This time, it was Jared standing over her in his dottore costume.

”Sorry Jordan, I'm sorry, so sorry...”

He pulled off the mask. The sight of him, eyes glowing a strange red, teeth glinting, glimmering, dripping, as if he was half creature from an Alien sequel. She watched the teeth, coming closer and closer ...

”No, Jared, no! They'll kill you, don't you understand, they'll kill you!”

The teeth were almost on her.

She must have screamed then because she was being shaken awake. She opened her eyes. Ragnor was there. Ragnor. A creature of the night. She'd been having a pa.s.sionate relations.h.i.+p with the undead. She nearly screamed again.

”Jordan, there is no danger. You're dreaming again.”

She sat up, blinking. He was beside her, sitting on the edge of the bed. She must be upstairs in the grand old mansion. There were windows that opened to a wraparound balcony.

They were closed, secured.

The bed was set in a cherry wood frame. There were matching dressers, a rocker by the windows, a hearth in which a fire burned, the embers low. Someone had given her a flannel nightgown. She didn't remember changing, and she didn't remember coming to the bedroom.

And now, as Ragnor touched her, she drew away, staring at him. He let go of her immediately. ”I grew up with my grandmother,” she murmured. ”She warned me about wild guys on motorcycles and dope addicts and married men. She never thought to warn me about vampires.”

He ignored that.

”It's important that you help us.”

”Of course. I'm bait.”

”It isn't like that.”

”You said that you followed me, to find out what the contessa was up to.”

”At first.”

”Um. Then you fell head over heels.”

”I liked you,” he said. ”I liked the fight in you. And ...” A small smile curled his lips. ”I warned you about the vinyl. You were incredibly attractive.”

”And you needed to be close to me.”

”I was close to you. I became desperate to save your life.”

”Why is it so hard to believe you?” she demanded. And why did all this hurt so badly?

She'd known all along that something wasn't quite right. And though she had known that, she'd still wanted him. And still did.

”I see, because then you fell for me, head over heels.”

”Something like that.”

”But you're an enforcer. And the seventh son of the seventh son. A good bloodsucker.

You know, I asked you again just who exactly you were-what exactly. And you told me that you were a man.” He lifted his hands. ”I am a man. What exactly else? I don't know. When I was young, there was an awe and mystique about the fact that I was the seventh son of the seventh son.

That supposedly meant that I had a power. Maybe it was just a power for survival. A monk I met seemed to think that meant that I was innately bound to be merciful-a strange state of being for a Viking.”

”So you were a Viking-who never pillaged, ravaged, or fought?”