When morning finally came, it found him in her kitchen, his suit jacket discarded. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, and he was standing at the stove, beating a trio of eggs. His culinary preoccupation contrasted sharply with the shoulder holster and pistol that he was wearing, but somehow he made it look completely natural.
She wrapped herself in her robe and wandered out of the bedroom, a quizzical look on her face as she watched him puttering about. Erik looked up with a smile.
“Omelets,” he announced. “And toast, and bacon if you want it.”
“Wow. All this, and you cook, too.”
“A man has to eat, and knowing how to cook is a good way to ensure that.” He poured the eggs into the pan before him.
“Don’t you… uh… Don’t you drink blood?”
He paused in his busy work. “No. Not anymore.” He glanced at her, looking almost embarrassed. “The Veithimathr are spared from the thirst, so we can go without… for a while.”
She sat at the counter on one of the two stools that stood there. For the first time, she thought perhaps she should invest in a larger apartment, or at least in more furniture.
He turned from the stove and popped a cup into the Keurig. “You like expensive coffee,” he commented. “And you’re almost out.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “Do you object?”
“Not at all. Whatever you like.” He flipped the omelet in the pan, browning the other side. “I’m just more of an herbal tea guy, myself.”
The image of him as an herbal tea swilling latter-day hippie made her smile. “Do you meditate?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Erik put her mug into the right spot in the Keurig and turned it on, then plated up the omelet complete with a little vine of currants from her crisper. He put the plate in front of her and handed her a fork.
He smiled. “Bacon?”
“No, thanks. This is amazing.” She took a bite. “You’re hired.”
“Glad to hear it.” He retrieved her mug and provided her with her aromatic coffee, then took the bread out of the toaster and slathered it with butter. He put the toast onto a saucer and put it beside her plate.
“I’ll say it again, wow…”
He smiled and made scrambled eggs for himself, which he piled onto a piece of toast he had already smothered in jam. She raised an eyebrow.
“That’s different.”
“I don’t judge you for your hipster coffee,” he teased. “Don’t judge me for my Danish egg sandwich.”
“No judging, I promise.”
They ate together in companionable silence, and when they were finished, he cleared the dishes away. He had evidently made himself quite familiar with her kitchen and its contents. She wasn’t sure if the end result was creepy or charming.
She retreated into the living room with a second mug of coffee and curled up on the couch. She had her feet tucked beneath her, the robe wrapped tightly closed. When he was done clearing up, he joined her, sitting at the other end, keeping a respectable distance between them. She was sorry that he hadn’t sat closer.
She watched him as she sipped her coffee, and he sat placidly, allowing her to look and bearing the weight of her mild scrutiny. Finally, he smiled. “What?”
“Tell me about yourself,” she said. “You know about me.”
“I know about your ancestors. Not about you.”
Maybe we can fix that, she thought. “No? Well… Tell me about this strange man I’ve invited into my apartment overnight.”
Erik said, “Well, you know my name, Erik Thorvald. I’m the oldest of four brothers.”
“All vampires?”
He looked surprised by the question. “Yes.”
“Are you all soldiers?”
“Yes.”
“Family tradition?”
“All Norse men are warriors,” he said. “I thought you knew that.”
“How long...”
“How long have I been alive? Centuries.” He looked sad for a moment before he repeated, “Centuries.”
“So you’re a real Viking,” she said.
“All Norse men who go out into the world in search of adventure and booty are Vikings, Nika,” he said. “I know you know that.”
She laughed, mildly uncomfortable and unable to say exactly why. “So you left Sweden to go a-viking.”
“Exactly.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Until last night? Not so well.”
He looked into her eyes, and her mouth went dry. There were a million unspoken words in those blue depths.
“What made last night different?”
He closed the distance between them in less than a heartbeat, his hands on her face, turning her gently toward him. His lips grazed hers, then returned to steal a kiss that took her breath away. She put her mug aside and leaned into him, her hands sliding up his biceps to rest upon the rock-hard muscles of his shoulders. She pressed her lips to his, and for a long moment, there was nothing in the world but him.
He pulled away, his fingers soft as a whisper along the corner of her jaw. Her eyes were still closed when he sat back.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She wanted to tell him not to apologize, that she wasn’t offended, but words didn’t come easily. Instead, she scooted forward, negating his retreat, and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him closer. He went willingly, bearing her gently down onto the couch.
He kissed her gently, as if she were a treasure. She delighted in him and his expert touch. Once she felt the tips of his teeth score her skin ever so slightly, just enough to make her skin tingle but not enough to make her bleed.
She put her hand in hair, holding his head to her throat. She knew she should not ask it of him, but she wanted so badly to experience the combination of his body and his teeth.
“Drink from me, Erik,” she begged. “Please.”
He kissed the throbbing vein at the corner of her jaw, and she could feel him quickening with the double desires that raged within him. Her spirit ached for him, reaching out, as if she had lifted ghostly arms around him as surely as she had wrapped him in her physical embrace.
She could feel a part of him stirring, his soul extending out toward her. His spirit, thrumming with life and with desire, seemed to reach out with invisible arms, wrapping around her and pulling her closer. She felt electrified and ecstatic.
She had never felt anything like this. It was as if he was loving her with his body and his soul at the same time. She was transported, and she ached for him to take more of her, to reach farther into the center of her being.
He lifted his head and opened his mouth, but at the last second, he turned away. The tendrils of his soul that had been pushing into her retreated, and though the physical pleasure was profound, she nearly wept with sorrow and frustration at the incomplete connection.
Erik pulled away reluctantly. He stroked her face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can make love to you, but the rest… the rest I cannot do.”
Nika tucked her head beneath his chin and simply held him.