Nika was dumped unceremoniously in one of the bedrooms on the second floor, still hogtied. Sigrunn dropped her onto the bed and looked down at her with a sneer. She said nothing, but her opinion was clear to see in her expression. She left the room, locking the door behind her.
She worried at the ropes, tugging and twisting until her skin was rubbed raw, and finally one of the loops loosened enough that she freed one hand. After that, it was an easy thing to untie herself the rest of the way.
She tested the door, although she had seen Sigrunn lock it. There was no escape that way. There was only one window in the room, and it overlooked a sheer drop down to the driveway. The window itself had been painted shut, and though she tried, she could not open it.
She looked around the room and found nothing that she could use as a weapon that would hurt vampires. There was a brass candle holder, tall and ornate, but it would do nothing against her captors. The hinges on the door were on the inside, but the screws had been painted over, as well. She didn’t have anything she could use as a screwdriver, anyway.
Nika went to the door and listened. She could hear no voices, and there was no indication of anyone moving around outside her room. If she was going to make a move, she would have to do it now.
She grabbed the candle holder and swung it like a baseball bat, shattering the window glass. The sound was startlingly loud. She grabbed the coverlet from the bed and put it over the broken shards, said a prayer for luck, and climbed out of the window.
She tried to grab the window frame and lower herself down, but the glass still bit through the coverlet, slashing her palms. She clenched her teeth to keep from crying out. Blood dripped down her wrists.
There was nothing to do but let go. She dropped to the ground and landed feet first. The impact was jarring but not as damaging as she would have expected. It was bad enough to jam both of her ankles, but she was not hobbled for long.
The limousine was gone, and there were no other cars in sight. She had no idea where she was. She only knew that she had to get away, and fast.
She ran across the yard to the stable, hoping she remembered how to ride a horse. She burst through the doors and looked around, taking stock of the seven stalls, each one occupied by a high-quality equine. She ran to the eighth stall, hoping to find something she could use.
When she saw the contents of the eighth stall, she stopped short, her blood turning to ice. There was a man hanging from the roof, naked and suspended by one ankle, his wrists bound and scraping the floor. He was surrounded by a pool of blood. His back was horribly mangled, the ribs shattered and his organs exposed. Horribly, she could see his heart, and it was beating.
He opened his eyes.
“Radio,” he rasped.
She was in shock and did not respond immediately. After a moment, though, she searched the stall and found a heap of clothes and gear in the corner. There was no radio.
“I can’t find one,” she told him.
He struggled to breathe, barely able to inhale at all. He mouthed, “Phone.”
She dug further into the pile, finding nothing. She was about to give up when she saw the edge of a smart phone sticking up out of the straw. She grabbed the phone and brought it to him.
He was silent, his eyes closed again. His heart was still beating, but it was ragged and irregular. She had no idea how to help him.
She turned on the phone and dialed 911. Before the operator could answer, she hung up, once again stymied by what she should say to the mortal authorities.
She was saved from her indecision by an incoming call. She answered it.
“We need help.”
There was a pause on the line, and then a man spoke. “Who is this?”
“You’ve got to help me. Astrid kidnapped me and brought me out to this house – I don’t even know where I am – and there’s a man here whose back has been shredded and…”
“Who is this?” he repeated.
She took a deep breath. “Nika Graves.”
“Why do you have Rolf’s phone?”
“He… Rolf is injured. You have to help him.”
“Stay where you are. I will get help to you.”
The phone went dead, and she turned to look at the unfortunate man. “Rolf?”
He opened his eyes with some difficulty.
She tried to find a way to cut him down, but there was no way that she could reach the beam from which he was hanging. She went to him and knelt beside him, trying to offer him whatever comfort she could.
“Help is coming. Hold on.”
***
Erik drove as quickly as he could to Nika’s apartment. He parked in the alley and raced up the stairs to her door, the Rune Sword in his hand. His heart sank when he saw it standing open, the chains for the locks dangling down the frame.
He went inside, feeling a slight tingle at the threshold but having no trouble crossing over, since she had invited him inside. The sword began to shiver in his hand, pointing toward the couch, and in the shadows, he could see the Soul Stone glowing.
He knelt and reached under the couch, and the stone leaped into his hand as if someone had thrown it. It was burning hot, and he hissed in pain as he pulled it out. He heard a voice whispering in the back of his head.
Without taking a single moment to consider his action, he pushed the stone into the hole in the sword’s cross piece. It melded into place with a burst of heat like an incendiary grenade that sent him tumbling across the floor. He rolled up unto his feet, his eyes wide.
The sword was hovering in mid-air, spinning slowly, point down. The Soul Stone was gleaming like the bulb in a flashlight, and the runes on the blade were shifting again. They moved and flowed like quicksilver. The whispering in his head grew louder, and he recognized the voice of Vidar, the deity who had melded with his soul so many years ago.
The runes on the blade coalesced so that on one side they said Ithunn, and Berit on the other side.
In his head, Vidar spoke. Nika.
Erik’s mind filled with a vision of Nika in a stable, kneeling in bloody straw, tears on her cheeks. He knew without a doubt that she was in danger, and that he needed to go to her.
He also knew exactly where she was.
***
Hrothgar was just ending his phone call when Gunnar came into the vault. “Nika Graves answered Rolf’s phone. She said he’s hurt. I don’t know where they are.”
“Nika Graves?” the new arrival echoed. “Why would she… Oh.” He got out his phone and dialed Erik.
There was no answer. The voice mail greeting played, and then he left a hurried message.
“Get to the house. Graves is out there with Rolf’s phone. I don’t know how we missed it.”
Magnus was standing near the open-topped wooden box holding Hakon’s remains. He was staring into the Draugr’s face. “Do you think he can hear us?”
They never had a chance to answer. The door to the room burst open, shattered by a grenade. The three men were showered with shrapnel and tossed into the air by the force of the blast. A trio of men in black fatigues rushed in, and while one kept an assault rifle trained on the fallen Huntsmen, the other two stole the body.
Hrothgar drew his weapon and fired into the rifleman’s chest, striking him squarely in the heart with a bullet made of silver and salt. The man dropped to the ground and disintegrated into a pile of ash. Gunnar appropriated the rifle and chased the retreating thieves into the hallway.
There were more Draugr outside, and as soon as he stepped foot out of the vault, he was riddled with silver bullets that tore through him. He managed to squeeze the trigger as he fell, but his shots hit the walls and ceiling.
Sigrunn stepped into view, standing over him while more Draugr rushed into the vault. He could hear gunfire as they raked his brothers in arms with bullets. He looked up at his enemy, and she smiled, raising her axe. The blade was the last thing he ever saw.