Between Bloode and Gods

Soul-debt or not, Sylvara Valfreyja was tired of doing Loki’s bidding. The guy was a major pain in the ass, but not more than the only blond vampire in existence, the aggravating draugr, Rolf of the Night Bloode.

She thought for sure she had him this time. Alas, when she finished slicing through his neck, she found only a few drops of his bloode spattered to the floor, his neck healing while she watched. He’d barely moved out of the way.

Impressive speed. She needed to spar with him to more accurately assess his battle skills. Though vampires were the fastest and strongest of all the magir—discounting gargoyles—blood-drinkers had levels of power.

Rolf was off the charts, like the rest of his weird little clan.

“Sylvara! How could you?” Loki grinned, his shock not exactly believable.

The goddess with them scowled. “So much for the laws of hospitality.”

Sylvara shrugged, her ax still hungry.

Unfortunately, the vampires who’d accompanied Rolf through the portal didn’t look amused anymore.

All vampires were male, had dark hair, sharp reflexes and fangs, and hated everyone. These two were more handsome than many she’d seen. The leader, their patriarch, vibrated with power. If rumor served, once he acquired the six Bloode Stones, he could command all the vampires in the world to do his bidding.

Something Loki had ordered her to stop from happening, despite his appearance of mutual aid to the contrary.

Hecate, the patron deity of the Night Bloode, goddess of witches, ghosts, and death, was a liminal goddess. She controlled the crossroads to many planes. No one intelligent would get on her bad side. Thus, Loki planned to use Sylvara to do his dirty work.

She wondered if he’d thought it through. Did he really think the goddess wouldn’t know he’d been in on it from the beginning to deny the Bloode Stones to her pet, Varu?

Rolf stared at her in wonder. Another irritation with which she’d been plagued.

“I can’t believe you nicked me.”

“Are you going to cry now?” With her ax, she blocked the strike at her neck from Varu, shocked at how fast he’d moved. “Problem, strigoi?”

Rolf blinked. “She blocked you, dude.” He went down on his knees and clasped his hands, staring up at Sylvara. “Marry me.”

She groaned.

The vampire who’d done nothing but watch laughed.

Varu relaxed. “See that you don’t bring death upon your own head, Valkyrie. Rolf belongs to me.”

“But my heart belongs to her,” Rolf said, batting his eyelashes.

She’d forgotten how annoying the draugr could be. Their kind were known as the tricksters of the vampire world. Loki and Rolf were on a first name basis, though she didn’t believe Rolf to be his son. They did have a connection, though. And that worried her, because she’d been ordered to work with Rolf to retrieve the final Bloode Stone.

Hecate motioned to the tall, good-looking white-haired guy by her side. “Mormo, do something about Rolf’s stench, would you?”

He waved his hand, and Rolf magically cleaned up. Without the blood and guts covering him, he looked fairly normal.

Until he stood, still smiling, resembling the mad priests dedicated to Hel’s shrine in the Shore of Corpses.

With that blond hair, he could pass for one of her Viking kindred, many times removed. But those fangs and flashes of red in his eyes screamed vampire.

He continued to make lovey-dovey eyes at her.

“Cut it out.”

His grin widened.