Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

weapon were forgotten, he studied her face, his eyes lingering on each of her features. His blatant appreciation unsettled her, and she clutched the hilt tightly, something she never did.
    Honed to masterly sharpness with her diamond file, her sword cut through bone and muscle with little effort. It swung perfectly from her loose wrist as though it were an extension of her arm. She’d never needed to hold it tightly.
    Take his head. One less vampire. The species checked in the tiniest way.
    “What is your name?” His speech was clipped like an aristocrat’s, but held a familiar accent. Estonian. Though Estonia bordered Russia to the west and its inhabitants were considered a Nordic breed of Russian, she recognized the difference, and wondered what he was doing away from his own country.
    She tilted her head. “Why do you want to know?”
    “I would like to know the name of the woman who will deliver me from this.”
    He wanted to die. After all she’d suffered from his kind, the last thing she wanted to do was oblige the vampire in any way. “You assume I’ll deliver your death blow?”
    “Will you not?” His lips curled at the corners, but it was a sad smile.
    Another tightening on the sword. She would. Of course, she would. Killing was her only purpose in life. She didn’t care if his eyes weren’t red. Ultimately, he would drink to kill, and he would turn.
    They always did.
    He stepped around a stack of hardbound books—some of the hundreds of texts throughout the room with titles imprinted in Russian and, yes, Estonian—and leaned his massive frame against the crumbling wall. He truly wasn’t going to raise a hand in defense.
    “Before you do, speak again. Your voice is beautiful. As beautiful as your stunning face.”
    She swallowed, startled to feel her cheeks heating. “Who do you align with... ?” She trailed off when he closed his eyes as though listening to her were bliss. “The Forbearers?”
    That got him to open his eyes. They were full of anger. “I align with no one. Especially not them.”
    “But you were once human, weren’t you?” The Forbearers were an army, or order, of turned humans. They refused to take blood straight from the flesh because they believed that act caused bloodlust. By forbearing, they hoped to avoid becoming like crazed Horde vampires. The Valkyrie remained unoptimistic about their chances.
    “Yes, but I’ve no interest in that order. And you? You’re no human either, are you?”
    She ignored his question. “Why do you linger here in this castle?” she asked. “The villagers live in terror of you.”
    “I won this holding on the battlefield and rightly own it, so I stay. And I’ve never harmed them.” He turned away and murmured, “I wish that I did not frighten them.”
    Kaderin needed to get this killing over with. In just three days, she was to compete in the Talisman’s Hie, which was basically a deadly, immortal version of The Amazing Race. Besides hunting vampires, the Hie was the only thing she lived for, and she needed to confirm transportation and secure supplies. And yet she found herself saying, “They told me you live here alone.”
    He faced her and gave a sharp nod. She sensed that he was embarrassed by this fact, as if he felt lacking that he didn’t have a family here.
    “How long?”
    He hiked his broad shoulders, pretending nonchalance. “A few centuries.”
    To live solitary for all that time? “The people in the valley sent for me,” she said, as if she had to explain herself. The inhabitants of the remote village belonged to the Lore—a population of immortals and “mythical” creatures kept secret from humans. Many of them still worshipped the Valkyrie and provided tributes, but that wasn’t what made Kaderin travel to such an isolated place.
    The chance to kill even a single vampire had drawn her. “They pleaded for me to destroy you.”
    “Then I await your leisure.”
    “Why not kill yourself, if that’s what you want?” she asked.
    “It’s... complicated. But you save me from that end. I know you’re a skilled warrior—”
    “How do you know what I am?”
    He gave a nod at her sword. “I used to be a warrior, too, and your remarkable weapon speaks much.”
    The one thing she felt pride in—the one thing in her life that she had left and couldn’t bear to lose—and he’d noted its excellence.
    He strode closer to her and lowered his voice. “Strike your blow, creature. Know that no misfortune