Agnar looked at him, tears in his eyes. “But...brother…”

  “I am not your brother,” he bit.

  Compelled by the power of the witches, they knelt. Erik looked at Ardrik and nodded to him. The alpha nodded back in understanding.

  He gestured to the runic net and the two would-be escapees that were held within it. “Bring them here.”

  “I’ll do that,” Nika said, her voice quiet but firm.

  The net closed around them, and though they fought the suggestion, Dag and Magda were forced to walk back to the platform. They struggled against every step, straining with every fiber of their beings, but the power of the Rune Master was too strong. Magda screamed in rage when they reached the platform. Nika forced them to kneel, as well.

  “Look upon these traitors,” he told his people. “The dreyri that they have been giving you has poisoned you. They are enemies of us all.”

  He released Nika’s hand and took up his axe. With a mighty swing, he severed Olaf’s head at the neck. The ancient vampire exploded into a shower of dust and ash, and the crowd cheered. Brevik and Agnar followed their brother to the afterlife in the same manner. Halvar began to weep.

  “Please, brother,” he begged. “Please. No.”

  Erik was unmoved. Halvar died.

  Only Dag and Magda remained, and they both glared at him with deep ill will. If they could have reached him, he knew, they would have happily torn him into pieces. Quietly, he said to Magda, “I do not blame you for the hatred you hold for me. I earned every bit of it. I do blame you for the excesses that it drove you to, and the crimes you have committed.”

  He signaled to Nika. The net of runic magic vanished, and Erik swung his axe. Dag was lost in a puff of ash, and Magda screamed in impotent rage as the blade fell on her neck.

  It was over. Nika and Erik stood alone on the platform once more. He took her hand and raised it into the air. The Draugr in the crowd chanted his name.

  “Erik! Erik! Erik!”

  The shouting and celebrating continued for what seemed like hours. Finally, he gestured for silence, and the crowd obeyed.

  “From this moment on, we are at peace with the Ulfen and the Faery. Any acts against them will be acts against me, and you will fare no better than these Draugr here at my feet.” He rested his axe on the ground and folded his hands on the grip. “Return to your homes. Go in peace.”

  The Ulfen alpha came forward and shifted into his human form. He called out, “I will tell the Faery what I have seen. The war will end.”

  Erik inclined his head toward him. “Thank you.”

  Ardrik turned back into his wolf form and raced into the cover of the trees, his pack following closely behind. Erik pulled Nika closer and put an arm around her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her temple.

  “Are you ready to be my queen?”

  She put her hand on his chest and looked up at him with a smile. “I would follow you anywhere.”

  He kissed her deeply as the crowd dispersed. “Don’t follow me,” he whispered. “Walk at my side.”

  “Gladly.”

  They embraced again, relieved to have finally ended the threat of war, and relieved that the danger of Magda and the First had been defeated. Nika stroked his back with both hands, and he relished the sensation of her warm touch.

  “What do you think,” she asked as they finally separated, “about taking over Snake Eyes and making sure the barrels and whatnot of faery blood are all destroyed?”

  “That was definitely on my list of things to do,” he nodded. “But there’s something else that we need to do, too.”

  She frowned. “What’s that?”

  He grinned. “What good is being royal if you can’t have a royal wedding?”

  She gasped. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course. Why would I joke about something like this?”

  Nika smiled, and the smile became a grin that threatened to split her face in two. “Are you seriously asking me to marry you?”

  “No, I was talking to the axe. Of course I’m asking you to marry me!”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.”

  He pulled her into a kiss to seal the deal.

  *****

  THE END

  Rune King’s Daughter

  Rune Series Book 4

  By:

  Amelia Wilson / J.A.Cummings

  Table of Contents:

  Invitation From The Author

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2017 by Amelia Wilson/J.A. Cummings

  All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Invitation From The Author

  I am currently recruiting readers for my review team.

  If you would like to participate by volunteering to read advance copies of my latest books, and leaving an honest review on Amazon, please sign up for my email list here: JOIN NOW! I contact subscribers through email when each book is ready for review. You will be under no obligation, and can accept of decline on a book by book basis.

  ∞ Amelia ∞

  Prologue

  When the train slowed at the station, she barely waited for it to stop before she leaped on board. The passengers who were trying to exit the train gave her nasty looks as she pushed past them, but she cared little for their opinions. She only wanted to get the hell out of Sweden.

  She sat in the middle of the car, more than arm’s length from any of the windows, just in case someone tried to punch through and grab her. Her father was powerful and had many, many soldiers who would be more than happy to drag her back to him for punishment. She had seen the things he was capable of doing, and she wanted no part of it.

  The car exchanged riders with the platform, and several men and women, and even a few children, pressed in past the doors. She crossed her legs and clutched her duffel bag on her lap, her hand covering her face. She let her fingers stroke the tattoo of Hagalaz on her neck, a nervous habit she had developed since her father’s woman had become Rune Master. She nervously studied the people who climbed on board, but to her vast relief, there were no Draugr among them. She felt like she could almost breathe again.

  Then he walked in.

  He was no Draugr, but he was just as unwelcome to her as a Draugr would have been. He was tall and dark, with long hair and a black leather jacket that was more than a little worse for wear. It looked like someone had taken scissors to it, totally shredding the motorcycle club logo on his back and severing the attached belt. The dangling buckle bounced against his muscular thigh as he walked in and sat on a bench in the other half of the car. There was something strange about him, a shimmer around him that prevented her from seeing his true nature. He wasn’t human, but she wasn’t able to see what he was, which was so much more frightening.

  She realized that he was staring at her, and the hand that she held to conceal her face began to tremble. He looked away, maybe to trick her, maybe to be polite. It was so difficult to tell. She gathered her bag and rose, determined to wait for the next train, but a trio of Draugr men appeared on the platform. One of them, dressed in an immaculate black suit and a matching woolen coat, both far too warm for the heat of the evening’s summer weather, lit a cigarette and shook out the match. His eyes locked onto hers, and he took a long drag, then breathed out smoke in a long stream that he sucked back in through his nostrils. He pointed at her.

  The doors closed. The train began to pull away. The Draugr and his companions, who were in suits of a less-expensive variety, just watched her as she was carried away from them.

  What are they doing? she asked herself, panicking. What are they waiting for?

  She looked back and watched them as they receded, vanishing around the bend as the 9:15 from Stockholm to Paris sped away.

  She clutched her bag, looking at the dark-haired man in the shredded jacket. A lock of blonde hair, recently bleached to conceal her native red, fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away. She shouldn’t have cut her hair. It got in the way too easily now, which she would not have expected. Maybe she should have cut it shorter. Maybe she…

  She took a deep breath and realized that the man in the shredded jacket was staring at her again. Maybe she should have flown.

  The DSB train line she had chosen was her cheapest option, but it would take 20 hours to get to France, including a three-hour transfer in Germany. There would be stops in Malmö, Copenhagen, Hamburg, Cologne and then Brussels before it finally reached Paris tomorrow night. She clutched her route map and tried to stop shaking. There would be five options to bail out on this train before she committed to the final destination, five opportunities to run if the man in the jacket didn’t stop staring.

  Why is he just staring?

  She whispered words of magic, and she tried to put up a protective enchantment. The man saw her spell and chuckled, unimpressed. She wanted to scream.

  She jumped to her feet and headed back through the train toward the dining car. Hopefully she could find a private berth that she could sneak into before the man in the jacket caught up with her.

  She looked over her shoulder. He stood up, too.

  She walked faster, heading through the sliding doors at the end of the car, passing the connector and going into the next car. She cut through that car, and then the next, moving quickly. There were no private cars that she could break into, unless they were on the other end of the train, which meant that she would have to pass him to find out.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she turned around and faced back the way she had come. A man and woman, speaking quietly to each other with their heads together like lovers came into the car. They were the only people moving around, other than her. The seats were nearly full, all the way from this car through to where she had been sitting. That knowledge gave her some comfort in knowing that the man in the jacket wouldn’t be fool enough to attack her with so many witnesses.

  She hoped.

  A cold breeze blew past her, and she looked for an open window. There were none that she could see. She gritted her teeth and slung her bag over her shoulder, shoving her ticket and train itinerary into her pocket as she did. She was getting so tired of being afraid.

  A hand grasped her elbow, and she nearly screamed. She spun toward whoever had grabbed her, but there was nobody standing there. The man in the seat beside her looked at her with disapproval, clearly thinking she was drunk or high or something equally foolish. She looked at him and wanted to beg him for his help, but he was only human and would be worse than useless. She tried to turn away, but the hand on her elbow - the invisible hand - held her fast.

  “Stop running and walk back to the car you came from,” a deep masculine voice said in her ear. “Nod if you’ll cooperate.”

  She had no choice. The hand on her arm was like a vice, and she was not strong enough to break free without resorting to magic. Doing something like that would be suicide in a place as filled with humans as this car. She nodded.

  “Good. Walk.”

  She felt another hand take hold of the collar of her jacket, and the hand on her elbow let go. She could have pulled free, could have dropped the bag and struggled out of the jacket and tried to get away… but no, that would have accomplished nothing. She could not get away from this invisible captor without starting a riot.

  She walked.

  Step by step, he force-marched her back to the first car, depositing her back onto the seat. She felt his hand release her, and then he was sitting beside her, fully visible. His dark hair was hanging down over his golden-brown eyes and his shredded leather jacket was stained with old blood. She could smell it.

  “What do you want?” she whispered, terrified.

  “I think that we can help each other,” he said. “You are Valtaeigr.”

  “And you are…”

  “Ulfen.” The corner of his mouth turned up, somewhere between a smirk and a sneer, and he added, “Mostly.”

  He didn’t feel Ulfen. She wanted to ask him why that was, but instead she stayed silent, sullenly holding her bag between them, trying to shelter behind it as if it were a shield. The Ulfen did not take offense. Indeed, it seemed as if he understood. He sat back in his seat and consulted his own ticket and itinerary.

  “I figure we’ll be out of their immediate territory once we get to Cologne,” he said. “There’s currently no pack there. I don’t know about Draugr.”

  When she spoke, her voice was a husky whisper, filled with dread. “The Draugr are everywhere.”

  “Not everywhere. Most of them are still in Sweden, I believe, waiting to celebrate the royal wedding.” She could feel her expression sour, and she looked away. He chuckled. “Not a fan of the new king, I see. Or maybe it’s his intended you don’t care for.”

  She didn’t respond to his implication. “Is there a pack in Paris?”

  “Of course. And in Brussels, and in Copenhagen.” He tucked the itinerary into his jacket’s breast pocket. “I was planning to get off at Cologne. You could get off with me.”

  “There are vampires in Cologne.”

  “Maybe. But there are more of them in Paris. I thought you’d know that.”

  She cursed under her breath. Of course there were. She wasn’t thinking.

  “You smell like a runner,” he told her. “Your fear is coming off of you in clouds. You might want to reel that shit in.”

  “Well, you just jumped me from under camouflage, so pardon me for being a little nervous,” she snapped.

  This time, against all odds, he actually did smile. He offered her his hand. “Dominic, formerly of the Pikkarala Pack.”

  “Formerly?”

  He smiled more broadly, revealing a set of white, even teeth. “When a person introduces himself, it’s customary to introduce yourself in return.”

  She sighed, irritated with herself and with him. “Mia.”

  They shook hands. His skin was warm and calloused. He had done a lot of manual labor in his day, she thought, or perhaps the roughness of a werewolf’s paw pads translated to the palms of their human hands.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mia.”

  “If you say so.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t want your help.”

  Dominic nodded. “All right. Far be it from me to force you to accept my company.” He rose. “Have a good trip, Mia.”

  He walked back to his seat and sat down, looking out the window. He was ignoring her now, which seemed strange after he had spent so much time staring at her so fixedly. Paradoxically, she almost missed his attention.

  It didn’t matter. The last thing she needed was a werewolf hanging around when she was trying to get to America.

  There was a thump on the top of the car, barely audible over the noise of the wheels on the track. Dominic looked up, immediately on his guard. The thump was followed by a series of slow, deliberate footfalls, moving across the roof until they stopped directly over Mia’s head.

  It was the Draugr.

  The Ulfen rose and rushed to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her after him into the next car, moving in the direction opposite the one she’d been traveling in before. She clung to her bag and followed him, preferring the company of a strange werewolf to that of the vampires who were hunting her on behalf of her father. They burst through first one set of doors, then another, traversing three cars in their flight. The Draugr footsteps followed them on the roof, keeping pace all the way.

  “Pray for a tunnel,” Dominic told her.

  He found a toilet and pulled her inside with him. There was barely room for both of them to stand, especially since he was so broad. He pressed up against her, his chest against her back, his pelvis tight against her buttocks, and he wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his camouflage envelop them both, and she held her breath, although she knew that it made no difference if she were breathing or not.

  The footsteps continued past them on the roof, running farther down the car before they stopped short and turned. The Draugr circled back, then hesitated. He had clearly lost the scent. His footsteps raced away.

  “Is he gone?” she asked.

  “Shh.”

  They heard the car doors open, and the same footsteps stalked down the aisle. They hesitated outside the toilet, and Dominic covered her mouth with his hand to keep her quiet. She grabbed his hand with hers, simultaneously clinging and trying to tear it away from her face. He resisted her efforts, and then, miraculously, the Draugr outside the door walked away.

  They listened until the footsteps vanished completely in the rushing of a car door as the Draugr abandoned the train. Mia sagged against the wall and closed her eyes. She nearly dissolved into tears; only her pride and her unwillingness for a werewolf to see a Dark Sister in tears allowed her to keep her composure.

  Dominic released his hold on her mouth and backed up as much as he could in the confined space. “He’s gone,” he told her.

  She slid away from him, stepping out of the toilet and into the aisle. He followed her. “Whose blood is all over your jacket? Your last kill?”

  He looked insulted and tossed his head. “Mine.”

  When he moved his jaw, she saw a raised scar on his throat, the clear mark of a Draugr attack that had not healed well. She had never seen an Ulfen who didn’t heal from a vampire bite.