Page 25 of Vow of the Undead (The Bloodrune Saga #1)

O nce the door to the bedchamber slammed shut behind the guard, my captor finally spoke.

“Don’t scream.” His whisper was a mere suggestion of voice, so low and quiet I would have thought him a ghost.

This wasn’t how King Drakkar said his commands. His bold, unbothered nature never broke. Even his whispers were rough, and his beard scratched against my throat when he spoke into my ear.

The one who’d dragged me into the shadows carried none of this same energy.

Before he released me and spun me around, his hands forcing my shoulders toward him, I knew I’d been wrong. This wasn’t the king.

I swept my gaze over him in the dim light, scouring for anything recognizable. Based on the green cloak, this was the same red-eyed man who’d tried to stop me from entering the throne room when I’d first arrived in Mara.

Curiosity mingled with fear, and rippled through me with the prickle of goosebumps.

The man’s wheat hair was cropped short with the swoop of a wave that hung down over one side of his forehead. Unlike the king, his facial hair was close to the skin, shadowy but without a true beard.

His eyes were nearly as dark as mine, two brown abysses beneath the sunny hair that didn’t match the grave demeanor of his furrowed brow and the ragged scar that went from his eyebrow into his hair. The scarred skin cut through his cropped style like a sideways lightning bolt.

He was shockingly handsome for a man who crept through the shadows. If he hadn’t dragged me into the darkness, my heart would be skipping for an entirely different reason.

“I won’t hurt you,” he breathed.

Astrid had said nearly those exact same words when she sank her fingernails into me and then threatened to taste my blood. Both she and Sten spoke about me like I was a tool or toy to be used, and then when I tried to run, they were faster. When I pulled away, they were stronger.

Icy fear melted into fervent anger. No stranger, no shadow, was ever going to grab me again.

I shoved my elbow into him, but the effort did nothing to move him. “Get away from me,” I spat. “I am King Drakkar’s.”

My stomach roiled, resisting the words I’d forced out to deter this man.

“Not yet. He can’t find out about this, Silver.” His eyes flashed red in the dim light from the candles in the room beyond.

I opened my mouth to ask how he knew my name but the gold that followed the red in his eyes swept my breath away. He stared at me hungrily. A sudden echoing clank of metal and heavy footsteps triggered him.

With inhuman speed, his arms were a blur as he dragged me further into the black. This confirmed it, he had to be like one of my monsters. I hadn’t imagined the rapid, impossible movements of Astrid and Sten, nor their strange eyes.

And if he dug his fingers into me like Astrid had, I’d have to fight my way free of him. Asking what he wanted from me was a waste of time. Both Astrid and Sten had refused to give me anything other than threats.

Whoever they had been, whoever he was, they all just wanted to use me.

“You have to come with me,” he said.

I will taste your blood until you’re nothing but a lifeless human husk. The memory of Astrid’s words descended on me like icy ghosts coming to reclaim me. I’d buried their voices only for them to break free again, but with a new understanding.

Eating a human was something only a monster would say.

Astrid and Sten were not just courtiers. Full understanding finally dawned as the image of King Drakkar’s fangs crowded my mind.

“You’re all Draugr,” I breathed.

My pulse raced with a sudden and guttural fear. I had to gulp each following breath as questions seized control of my mind. How many undead crawled through the court at Mara’s Keep? How many craved to gut me? Was this why Embla returned my Y Tree?

And King Drakkar…I truly was engaged to marry a monster.

“Yes, that’s why I need you?—”

I scoffed. Fury stoked higher in my throat and I tried to yank away from him. His grip wasn’t vicious like Astrid’s, and I pulled free.

With my free hand, I reached for the top of the Y Tree tucked into my braid. It slid out, tugging tendrils loose from the weave of hair.

With him caught off guard, I managed to slash the tip of the Y across his arm as he threw his hand out to grab me again. He immediately dropped back, hissing.

The king’s heavy footsteps echoed from below, and the man made no move to step from the shadows. I took the opportunity and threw myself from his reach, running for the fireplace before King Drakkar emerged. I prayed to Odin for the knowledge of what would keep me safe in Mara’s Keep.

The bedchamber was as devoid of life as it’d been when I first slipped inside. I dashed to the door and shoved through. Bursting into the hall, I broke into another weak run. If the Draugr was trailing me, he’d catch up within a single heartbeat.

I glanced over my shoulder but nobody was there. My captor had been cowed by the mere presence of King Drakkar. This would comfort me if the king didn’t have those same red eyes, and fangs like a wild beast.

For now, the king’s unintentional protection served me well.

I slipped around the corner and forced myself faster. My muscles were already racing with my heart to be the first to threaten to give out. Erratic beats left me dizzy and unsteady on my feet. I needed to find my bedchambers before I collapsed.

I’m starving.

Come with me.

Did every corner at Mara’s Keep present a threat? Was every courtier hungry for the taste of human flesh? For our blood?

The blood.

Freya’s vision.

Suddenly, the gray hallway was swept away and a new vision enveloped me.

A woman stood before me, her golden hair tumbling over her shoulders in loose waves. Her pink lips parted. An ethereal voice came from all around us but it didn’t seem to be hers and her lips didn’t move.

I felt rather than heard the words, though I knew these didn’t come from Freya. The presence was a stark contrast from the feminine energy displayed by the woman before me. This was a man speaking.

“Cast off this colorless cage.

Let them think you’re a coward, then rise stronger.”

The woman reached out, something clunky and rough materialized in her hand. Like a small wooden sword, she held the tip pointed at me. Instinctively, I reached for it, only for her to snatch it away again.

A woman’s voice breathed into my ear. “It isn’t Loki’s time.”

The vision cut away with a sharp bolt of pain through my temples.

I came to my surroundings still in a world of stone.

A woman had her arm crooked under both of mine as she helped me straighten.

Bright hair framed her face. I squinted at her, trying to identify if she was the same woman from the vision, but it was already too foggy, like a distant dream after a rough night of sleep.

This woman guiding me around a corner was even more familiar than the person in Freya’s vision.

She had that same golden hair in full waves like a mane, encompassing her slim body. Compared to many of the pale, entranced servants, her shapely lips and the round apples of her cheeks were a healthy pink.

If I believed in the angels of our ancestors’ neighbors, I would have believed she was one of them.