Page 1 of Midnight Sun

Prologue

Thorfinn

Fromtheflanksofthe mountains the drumming of hooves echoes. The air is crisp and clear, and the wind is playing with Finn’s hair. The sun stands red and foreboding in the West. It’s summer, and he’s home. He should be happy, but a strange feeling of urgency makes him coax his horse to a faster tempo. He’s searching for something, or maybe for someone. There’s a flicker of gold in his mind’s eye, a hint of a smile, gone too fast to grasp.

They climb a steep slope, and Finn can hear the screams of the skuas and the crashing of the waves. The ocean is close. He slows his horse down as they reach a little church looking out over the fjord, its white walls painted red in the light of the midnight sun. Finn slips out of the saddle and closes his hand around the hilt of his sword. He has a feeling he might need it.

The church’s heavy oak doors open between one blink and another, the room beyond shrouded in darkness. A sense of fear makes his steps falter and, at the same time, there’s this feeling of urgency again. He needs to go inside no matter what horrors may hide in there.

Finn’s steps echo from the barren walls, the church empty besides the rows of benches and the altar in front. The blood-red light is more pronounced here, and the sound of the sea is distorted to a strange noise on the edge of perception, as if there are voices chanting somewhere just out of earshot. Although the church is empty, Finn has a feeling of being watched.

Open on the humble altar lies a leather-bound book, its pages rustling in the wind that followed Finn through the open doors. He steps closer, expecting to find a bible, but the pages are covered in runes and obscure drawings of animals, trolls and demons.

Finn frowns as he reads the title of the opened page written in English instead of Icelandic like he thought: The Ritual of Love.

“This shouldn’t be here,” says a bell-bright voice behind him.

Finn wakes with a start, disoriented and breathing hard. It takes him a few seconds to remember he’s in a hotel room. London. What the fuck was that dream?

Chapter 1

Jamie

Jamiestepsoutofthe bathroom, leaving wet droplets on the marble floor. He towels off his hair, following the female voices from the living room. Bev has invited guests again, although they’ve other plans for the evening. On the other hand, a few pictures of him partying with some celebrities before heading out to London’s most infamous BDSM club would be good publicity. So why does the thought of bragging about his perfect life to a bunch of strangers and listening to their exaggerated stories in return make him feel sick?

Jamie doesn’t dwell on the thought, but plasters a practiced smile on his face. He’ll make a good entrance dripping wet with only a towel slung haphazardly around his waist.

“Good evening, ladies,” he drawls, surprised that instead of a flock of young starlets ready to party, he only finds Bev talking to a woman with short blond hair.

Their guest turns and scrunches up her nose as she takes in Jamie’s appearance. Oh no.

“Gosh, James. Put something on, will you?” his cousin says in a vaguely disgusted tone.

“I called Rose,” Bev states the obvious, and Jamie has to bite down on a snide remark.

“Hi, Rose. Do you want to go out with us? They're giving live demonstrations atThe Worshiptonight. Shibari, impact play. You’ll love it.”

Jamie drops his hair towel carelessly to the ground and grabs for the bathrobe lying over the back of a plush couch. He doesn’t bother to close the robe properly.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we stayed in after what happened last time?” Bev says in a small voice. “I’m not sure it’s safe.”

“Your girlfriend is worried. That’s why she called me,” Rose says.

Anger bubbles white-hot in Jamie’s chest.

“That wasn’t your place to tell,” he says to Bev, voice cold, not betraying how upset he is. “It’s nothing,” he says, turning to Rose. “Just the normal haters being pathetic. I deal with worse every day.”

“Do those ‘normal haters’ usually know where you live?” Rose isn’t impressed at all.

“They don’t know where I live. They gave a letter to the concierge, who shouldn’t have accepted it in the first place. It won’t happen again.”

“I’ve instructed my colleagues from the Metropolitan to patrol the building regularly, but you should request some bodyguards yourself.”

“I’m spending a single night in London. I don’t need security all over the place.”

“But James,” Bev coos in her best scared-damsel voice. “Shouldn’t we stay in tonight? I’m worried about you. That stalker freaks me out.”

“It’s not a stalker. Stop paying them so much attention.”