The sword stood in its special case once again, quiet in the pinpoint spotlights the museum was using to highlight the runes etched into the blade. The ancient Norse markings were once again a mish-mash of meanings, saying nothing at all. The days of messages on the blade had come to an end.

  Nika stood before the case and looked up at the Sálsteinn, the soul stone, set into the cross piece of the hilt. It was dull and lifeless, emptied of its dangerous cargo.

  “Hardly looks like the same weapon, does it?” Erik asked, his own gaze on the stone.

  “No, not really.” She leaned into him. “Hard to believe.”

  He smiled. “What a difference a few weeks make, eh?”

  It was dizzying when she thought about it. Less than a month ago, the Draugr, ancient Norse vampires, had attacked the exhibit and stolen the sword. The Soul Stone had once housed the soul of their fallen leader, and they were trying to get him back. Nika and Erik had found themselves united in stopping them, and in the process, they had encountered death and eternal life.

  The public had been told that a group of daring thieves, led by the former curator from Stockholm, Astrid Sigurdsdottir, had cut through the floor and ceiling in broad daylight to steal the priceless artifact. Erik and his Special Forces unit were credited with recovering the sword, and Astrid was wanted as a fugitive. His brothers in arms had died as heroes.

  Nika and Erik knew the truth. Astrid was no fugitive. She and the rest of the Draugr who had tried to resurrect their leader with dark magic had been destroyed. The authorities could search until the end of time, but they would never be found.

  While they were studying the sword, Howard Rowan, the chief curator at the museum, came into the gallery. He let out a surprised sound when he saw the couple and walked directly to them.

  “Miss Graves! Captain Thorvald!” He smiled broadly. “I am so glad to see you. I can’t thank you enough for recovering this piece. It would have been a terrible tragedy if the thieves had been allowed to keep it.” He sobered. “I’m… I’m so very sorry about your team, Captain Thorvald.”

  Erik offered a handshake, which the other man accepted. “Thank you. They will be sorely missed. They were good men.”

  “It just such a terrible thing that the thieves destroyed the chieftain’s remains. I will never understand what would make someone do such horrible things.”

  Erik and Nika looked at each other, remembering well that the body in the boat had not been as dead as people believed. He spoke for them both. “Yes, it’s too bad. It’s hard to understand why people do the things they do. There’s so much history that has been lost because of thieves and vandals.”

  Rowan turned to Nika. “Speaking of things we’ve lost, we’ll be missing you when you leave. A good assistant curator is hard to find, but Central City’s loss is the Royal Museum of Stockholm’s gain.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Rowan. It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I hope you understand.”

  Through a complex web of pulled strings, many of them originating with Erik’s superiors in Stockholm, Nika had been hired to replace Astrid as curator. Her special assignment would be traveling with the Rune Sword and boat burial artifacts. Once she reached Sweden, she would be taking up where her predecessor had left off, in more ways than one. Astrid had been Erik’s wife. Nika couldn’t pretend that the irony didn’t amuse her.

  Rowan smiled. “I would be surprised if you didn’t accept their offer, all things considered.” He gave Erik a significant glance. “Have either of you seen Mr. Sigurd?”

  “Who’s Mr. Sigurd?”

  “He came from Stockholm to help move the exhibit and confirm that the sword you retrieved is genuine. He was just here…”

  She could feel Erik tense beside her. “I wasn’t told that any Mr. Sigurd was being sent,” he said. “How strange.”

  The curator shrugged. “Just an oversight, I’m sure. He fully verified the authenticity of the sword, which was good news. Well, must go... paperwork is never finished, it seems. Good day to you both.”

  When they were alone again, Nika spoke. “What was that all about? Who’s Sigurd?”

  “I have no idea. That’s why I’m concerned.” He looked at her grimly. “Remember Astrid’s last name?”

  “Sigurdsdottir...” Realization dawned. “Oh.”

  “Yes. Sigurdsdottir. Sigurd’s daughter. It might just be a coincidence, but… I don’t believe in coincidences.” He shook his head. “This cannot be good.”

  She frowned. “Did you know her father?”

  “We never met.”

  Nika wasn’t sure she believed him. “That’s odd, considering the two of you were married for, what, eight hundred years or so?”

  “He was… absent.”

  “He couldn’t even be bothered to see his own daughter’s wedding?”

  “There were reasons.” He looked at her, and there were storms in his eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They left the museum at a quick pace. She remembered another time when he had walked so quickly and purposefully out of a gallery, and the similarity gave her pause. He was looking around as they walked, and her new Draugr senses told her that he was reaching out with vampire abilities of his own, trying to locate any immortal newcomers.

  “He’s a Draugr, too?” She already knew the answer. He wouldn’t have been trying to find another Draugr’s energy signature otherwise.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want to take the chance.”

  Chapter Two

  They went to the Swedish consulate in Central City, where his military credentials bought them no-questions-asked admittance. He held Nika’s hand tightly as he guided her through the gate and into the building. The architecture was Scandinavian in design, all clean lines and bright light, with a receptionist desk that looked straight from Ikea standing just inside the front door.

  “God eftermiddag,” the woman behind the desk greeted with a friendly smile. “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

  Erik produced his ID once more. “Captain Thorvald to see the Consul.”

  The Swedish woman turned to Nika. “And your identification, miss?”

  Nika offered her driver’s license. She hadn’t thought to put her passport into her purse. “Nika Graves,” she said. “I’m an American citizen.”

  The woman smiled. “Please, just a moment.”

  Erik looked around while the receptionist made a telephone call. Nika watched his eyes as they took in the door, the side entrances, and examined all of the people coming and going. She knew that he was attentive to every detail around him, always ready to act if necessary. It was part of his special forces training, but she suspected that his vigilance was an innate part of his warrior’s soul.

  The woman at the desk hung up the phone. “Consul Lindstrom will see you now. His office is – ”

  “I know the way.”

  They were given back their documents, and Erik took her through a side door that led to a stairwell. They climbed halfway up when he stopped and turned to her.

  “Consul Lindstrom is also one of the Draugr. In fact, he’s one of the few male Valtaeigr. He will recognize you as a sister. Be prepared for that.”

  “Valtaeigr means ‘hawk’s ground,’ like the place on a falconer’s arm where the hawk lands.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Why?”

  “Why are we called that?”

  “This is a strange time to ask.”

  “There are still a lot of things we don’t know, and if he’s Valtaeigr, I need to know what he might expect me to know. Right?”

  Erik began leading her up the stairs again. “Hawks are known for their vision, for seeing everything on the ground. The falconer depends on his hawks to help him see small game, like rabbits and birds. So it is with the gods.

  “The Draugr are the gods’ eyes. In addition to keeping them alive, we help them to see their mortal enemies. The Valtaeigr are the wise ones, and you direct the Draugr. We are the hawks, the Valtaeigr are the falconers, and the gods are our keepers.”

  She smiled. “I like the idea of you being on my arm.”

  Erik smirked. “Does that make me arm candy?”

  “If the shoe fits…” She looked up at his as he led the way. “How do the Valtaeigr know how to direct the Draugr?”

  “They get visions,” he answered. “The gods make their wishes known that way.”

  “Then why don’t the gods speak to me?”

  “You are melded with Ithunn, and she certainly spoke to you when we battled Hakon.” He put his hand on the doorknob at the next landing. “As for the rest? You just haven’t been introduced to them personally. They will speak to you in time.” He gave her a naughty smile. “I seem to recall Vidar having a few things to say through me to Ithunn within you, if body language counts.”

  She laughed. “Oh, it counts. It counts a great deal. Is Lindstrom bonded with a god?”

  He nodded. “He is one with Forseti, the god of justice, peace, and truth. He will know it if you lie to him.”

  “You should be careful, then.”

  Erik stopped short and looked at her. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you should be careful not to lie to him,” she answered evenly. “You’re not known for being one hundred percent forthcoming.”

  “I have never lied to you.”

  “You’ve never really told me the whole truth on anything, either.” She was surprised by the sudden resentment and irritation she was feeling.

  He searched her face, and she could almost feel that he was reading her. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “I have never withheld any information from you that you needed to know.”

  “So I’m being kept on a need to know basis?” She laughed, but it was an angry sound. “Very nice. I guess that’s what I get for being with a special operator.”

  His voice was flat and hard. “I brought you here to share information with you. No, I don’t tell you everything. Do you tell me everything about you? Don’t play the victim. All I know from you is from your dossier. I have more reason to feel slighted than you.”

  He opened the door and held it for her, his body stiff.

  “And not telling everything is not the same as lying. You have no right to accuse me of such things. This is a very strange time to start an argument.” He glanced down the stairs as if he was looking for someone to blame for the abrupt shift in her mood. He gestured through the door. “After you, my lady.”

  She walked through, and he followed her, closing the door quietly behind them. They were in a corridor with highly-polished floors and white walls, hung with black and white photographs showing scenery in Sweden. One of the photos stood out to her immediately.

  It showed a tiny house high on a hill. The photographer had been standing at the base of the hill, shooting upward, and the building loomed menacingly in the image.

  Nika pointed at the photograph. “What is this?”

  Erik looked and grumbled. “It appears to be a house.”

  “You don’t recognize it? It seems… familiar.”

  He continued walking. “I recognize it.”

  “More secrets?’’

  He looked angry. “It is an old fishing cottage near the sea. There are hundreds of them.”

  “So you don’t know this one in particular?” She didn’t know why, but it felt important. Something in her head was buzzing.

  He did not reply. Instead he opened a door and held it for her. She stepped through.

  The room beyond was an elegantly furnished office with furniture of Scandinavian design. A young man with a shock of dark hair rose as soon as they came in, standing so rapidly that he nearly knocked over his mug of tea.

  Nika looked at him and felt a shock run through her, emanating from the goddess melded with her soul. They stared at one another for a moment, both of them electrified, him with excitement, her with dread.

  Erik closed the door. “This is Johan,” he said. “He is melded with Bragi.”Johan put out his hand and took Nika’s, then brought her knuckles to his lips for a reverent and surprisingly passionate kiss. He looked into her eyes, and she realized that she had forgotten to breathe. Her head was swimming. Inside her soul, the part that was Ithunn began to shake.

  Erik spoke again, his voice redolent with displeasure.

  “Bragi is consort to Ithunn. In a manner of speaking, he is your husband.”

  Chapter Three

  Johan and Nika were staring at each other as if they’d both been struck by one of Thor’s lightning bolts. Erik set his jaw and waited for them. Behind the desk, the door to Consul Lindstrom’s office was closed.

  This day had very quickly gone entirely wrong.

  He went to the door and knocked sharply. Lindstrom’s voice responded. “Come in.”

  Erik took one last, resentful look over his shoulder, and then went inside, closing the door after himself.

  Lindstrom looked up and smiled. He was an elegant older gentleman with silver hair, a kind face and bright blue eyes. He looked the way a diplomat of a friendly country should look. He offered a hand, and Erik accepted the handshake.

  “Captain Thorvald,” he greeted. “I’m happy you stopped in. I was hoping I would have a chance to say goodbye before you returned to Stockholm.” He glanced at the door. “Is Miss Graves with you?”

  “She is. She and Johan are getting acquainted. Or, rather, Ithunn and Bragi are having a moment.”

  Lindstrom’s eyes flickered, but his placid expression remained the same. Erik knew he understood far more than he let on, which befit a diplomat, as well.

  “I see. Please, sit down.” He smiled. “What can I do for you?’

  Erik sat in one of the visitor’s chairs, occupying only the forward edge of the seat. He rested his hands on his knees. “I need to ask you something, sir.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  “Who is Sigurd and why is he here?”

  There was that knowing flicker again. Lindstrom folded his hands on the desk. His fingernails were immaculate, his hands free of calluses.

  “I don’t know whom you are speaking of,” the Consul finally answered.

  Erik narrowed his eyes. It had not occurred to him that the vessel of the god of truth might be a liar. It was an interesting combination.

  “The curator at the museum said that Stockholm had sent a man named Mr. Sigurd to accompany the Rune Sword back home. I thought that you must know who he was, since any entry visas would be known to your office.”

  The diplomat smiled. “I cannot possibly be personally aware of every visa that our government approves, Captain.”

  “No, but when they’re given for such a high-profile exhibit in the city where you reside, I would think you’d take a special interest.”

  They regarded each other squarely, each man keeping his own thoughts to himself. Finally, Lindstrom picked up his phone. Still watching Erik, he spoke into the handset. “Miss Andersson, please send me a listing of all visas associated with the Rune Sword exhibit.”

  On the other end of the line, the receptionist at the front door replied. “Yes, Mr. Lindstrom.”

  The Consul put the phone back in the cradle. “There. The list will arrive in a few minutes’ time, but there will be a slight wait. May I offer you a refreshment?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Not even some dreyri? I heard you had begun drinking it again.”

  Dreyri. Bottled and enchanted human blood. Erik had gone many years without tasting its power, holding to the vow that he would not imbibe until he had found his lost lover again. She had been reborn at last, and now her spirit was inside Nika. He had permitted himself to taste the powerful drink again, and it had given back much of his vampire potency.

  He thought of the strange confrontation in the stairwell and the meeting going on outside the office door. He needed to drink something a good deal stronger than blood.

  “All right,” he said, forcing a bland and civil smile. “That would be appreciated.”

  Lindstrom opened one of the bottom drawers of this desk and pulled out a black glass decanter. A silver dragon coiled around it, its head at the lip of the bottle where the stopper went in. The Consul brought out black glass stemware and pulled the stopper out of the bottle, releasing the dreyri’s scent into the air. He poured a glass for Erik and one for himself, and then filled a third glass and handed it to the Huntsman with a smile.

  “In case Ms. Graves wishes to join us,” he said. “Terribly amusing about her last name, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  He put Nika’s glass aside. Erik brought his own drink up to his mouth, hesitating while the intoxicating scent curled into his nostrils. He could feel the magic of the enchantment tingling against his lips.

  Consul Lindstrom raised his glass. “Skål.”

  “Cheers.”

  They drank. The power in the dreyri coiled into his guts, penetrating into their bodies and souls with a thousand little tendrils. Erik could feel that power nudging at Vidar, prodding the sleeping god into something more like wakefulness. He swallowed the rest of the drink and put the glass aside.

  “Would you like another?” Lindstrom offered. “I find that I can so rarely stop with only one.”

  Erik nodded. “Thank you.”

  He poured their glasses full of the ruby liquid, and they toasted one another again. They drank, their eyes locked, silently taking stock of each other.

  ***

  Johan came around the desk, still holding her hand, his eyes boring into hers. She could feel the spirit of Ithunn in her heart, trembling in anticipation and fear. He pressed her fingers to his lips tenderly. Nika shook herself, trying to will away the overwhelming feelings that Ithunn was pouring through her. She did not know this man. She felt strange and off-balance.

  Johan pulled her closer, putting his hand on his chest. In a deep baritone voice, he said, “Ithunn. You have returned to me.”

  She was worried that if he embraced her, she might never get away. There was menace there, and possessiveness, along with desire and dread. It was a heady combination. She pulled away gently.