Dreams of a Dark Warrior

Strands of Christmas lights dangled from the ceiling, only these had strings of vampire fangs wrapped around the cords. Tightly closed tie-dyed drapes blocked out all but a few needle holes of sunlight.
    The bedding?
Star Wars
sheets.
    “You’re healed now,” Brandr said. “Your wound’s completely mended.”
    Declan glanced down. There was no new scar to join his others.
    All his life, he’d suffered nightmares of that blow, of Regin’s screams.
    Her grief had hurt him far worse than any cold steel could.
    “So I’m a vampire now.” Bitter disappointmentsettled over him. She might say she wanted him like this, but he could never walk in the sun with her again. And what if his blood-drinking disgusted her?
    At the thought of drinking blood, he grew nauseated, still disbelieving that Lothaire’s ran through his veins.
    “You’re an immortal, and that’s what matters,” Brandr said firmly.
    “How long have I been out?”
    “Two days. Here”—he tossed him a pair of jeans—“I know you’re keen to see Regin.”
    As Declan rose to dress, he thought he heard someone outside yell his name. “What was that?”
    Brandr gave him a rueful look. “There might be a few dozen beings gathered outside. And they might be bent on revenge against you, even for things you didn’t do. Apparently, you’re the poster boy for the Order, and Loreans want their pound of flesh.”
    This is what I’m bringin’ to the table, Regin.
    Brandr continued, “Although there are only about three hundred mortal berserkers left, they are your men to lead, Aidan. Dispatch any of us against your enemies.”
    “I’m no’ Aidan. And I’ll clean up my own mess.”
    “Not Aidan? But you claimed Regin. The curse …”
    “He’s a part of me, but he’s long gone. I’m still a scarred and surly Irishman.” He reminded himself that he was what Regin wanted. At least, before he’d been turned into a leech.
    “You have his memories?”
    “Oh, aye, I remember you from before. You were a young smart-arse whose guard was too low.” Then he grew serious. “I also remember that you made me a vowages ago, one you kept for centuries.” Holding the man’s gaze, Declan said, “I’ll protect Regin from now on. I’m releasing you from that oath, Brandr.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve been a true friend. You have my gratitude and always will.”
    Brandr was looking at him strangely. Not surprising, considering the circumstances, but still … Yet he said nothing, just stalked around the room, batting a boxing speedbag, toeing a pink bowling ball on the floor.
    Declan exhaled. “Say what’s on your mind, ber-serker.”
    “Your eyes were just glowing as you spoke. And when you were unconscious, I noticed that—”
    “Release the hounds, muthafuckas!”
Regin screamed from outside.
    Eyes wide, Declan charged toward the sound, with Brandr right behind him. When Declan threw open the bedroom door, it exploded off its hinges. As he stomped down the stairs, he laid his hand on the railing, rendering the wood to splinters.
    “Regin!” He stormed out the front door onto the front porch … directly into the sun.

FIFTY-SEVEN

    “
L et us have him!”
    “This has nothing to do with you, Valkyrie.”
    “He’ll pay with his life!”
    Loreans were out for Chase’s blood, which meant Regin was out for theirs.
    But at her command, Lucia sighed. “Really, Regin? Release the hounds?” She stood at the gate, her hand on the mystical lever.
    “Nut up or shut up, Luce. I’m tired of looking at these assholes, tired of listening to them. Let’s do this.”
    With a roll of her eyes, Lucia said, “I’ll be on the porch with Nïx, acting as your spotter.” Then she opened the gate.
    As beings of all stripes stalked toward Val Hall, Regin choked up on her sword hilt, ready to swing for the fences—
    A man’s deep voice rang out.
“Regin!”
    “Chase?” Barely daring to believe, she glanced over her shoulder. He was alive!
    He and Brandr had come barreling out the front door, but when they tried to make it past the wraiths, those guards hurtled them back.
    Lurching to his feet, his face a mask of fury, Declan charged forward again, hitting the barrier like a freight train. The wraiths shrieked.
Never heard them do anything but cackle.
    The third time he charged, he was in full-on berserkrage. Nïx negligently tossed a braid, and the wraiths were all too happy to let him alone speed through.
    As he closed in on her,