Rhyland
1
Ásgard?
A bitter laugh tears from my throat. Un-fucking-believable. The golden realm of the gods spreads before me in all its mythical glory, mocking everything I thought I knew. For centuries, I'd dismissed it as nothing but horseshit stories—tales we Vikings swallowed with our mead, promises of glory in death.
"Well, isn't this a mindfuck?" I growl under my breath, my hands clenching into fists. The same legends my mother beat into my head as a child now stand before me. Not some fairytale paradise waiting for warriors who died with sword in hand.
Restless and raw, my power ripples beneath my skin as reality bends around me. Every instinct screams that I shouldn't be here—that no vampire, not even one with Viking blood, belongs in this realm of gods and legends.
But here I fucking stand.
And somewhere in this golden cage, someone will give me answers whether they want to or not.
My legs nearly give out as reality warps around me. My predatory instinct roars to life, fangs dropping as I face the towering figure before me. Those green eyes bore into me like acid, stripping away every defense I've built over centuries.
"Rhyland of Midgard." His voice crashes like a thousand thunderbolts. "We've been waiting."
This hulking bastard towers over me, a mountain of rippling muscle and ancient power. His dark skin looks like it was carved from granite, and his eyes burn an unnatural green that feels like it could strip the flesh from my bones.
Dark braids fall down his back, adorned with glinting gold, and his armor looks like it was forged in the heart of a star. The sword at his hip thrums with a power that sets my teeth on edge, a silent warning that he's not to be fucked with.
Hecarries himself with the confidence of a god, and every movement is precise and calculated. But I don't give a damn about his power or his posturing. I want answers, and I want them now.
Gold metal walls stretch up into darkness, covered in weird-ass symbols that seem to move when I'm not looking directly at them. Colossal gears and shit I can't even begin to understand spin overhead like some twisted cosmic machinery.
The floor under my boots pulses with light like it's alive, and steam—or whatever the hell it is—hisses from vents with an electric charge that makes my fangs throb. Nothing about this place makes sense to my predatory instincts. One minute I'm about to tear Azrael apart, the next I'm standing in... wherever the hell this is.
This has to be some kind of hallucination. But the raw power crackling through the air feels too real, setting every nerve ending on fire.
The beast inside me snarls, clawing to get out. "Who thefuckis waiting?" I growl. "I'm not some goddamn lapdog to be summoned at will."
The bastard dares to smirk. The air is tense as he steps closer, power rolling off him in suffocating waves. Every muscle in my body coils tight, ready to strike despite knowing I'm outmatched.
"You dare question the will of Ásgard?" His voice drops dangerously low. "Your arrogance blinds you, vampire. You are here because forces beyond your comprehension demand it."
"I don't give a shit about forces or demands," I snarl, baring my fangs. "Tell me who the hell you are and what game you're playing."
"I am Heimdall," the words echo with ancient power. "I am Guardian of the Bifrost, Watcher of Realms. And you, Rhyland Eriksson, are testing my patience."
My ancestors' stories flood back—tales of this very being who stands before me. But none of that matters. I can only focus on the severed connection to my mate, the hollow emptiness where Dani should be. I reach desperately through our bond again, my chest constricting when I find nothing but silence.
"What thehellis this about?" Every muscle in my immortal body is coiled tight, ready to tear through anyone stupid enough to keep me here. "I don't give a damn what you gods want—send me back to my matenow, or I'll paint these halls red."
I'm a live wire ready to snap at any moment. It's different here—stronger, more intense like someone cranked the dial up to max and ripped off the knob. I can feel it crackling through my veins, an electric current that flows through me.
It's a rush like nothing I've ever felt before, and it's all I can do to keep it contained. I feel like I'm a grenade with the pin pulled, just waiting for the right moment to explode.
I don't know what the hell is causing this surge, but I do know one thing—if anyone tries to fuck with me now, they're going to find out exactly how dangerous I can be. And maybe, just maybe, that includes the high and mighty Heimdall himself.
Heimdall's hulking form towers closer, his green eyes blazing. I stand my ground, fangs bared. I might be outmatched, but I'm no one's puppet.
"Watch your tongue,Godborn." His voice thunders through the space between us. A warning. "Your Viking blood may grant you privilege, but even that has limits. Follow me—now—or discover how merciful I've been."
A savage snarl rips from my chest.
Godborn?
