Page 2 of Blood of Ancients

I had never considered myself a vigilante or rabble-rouser or rebel leader, yet that was exactly how my focus had shifted over the past few months. I learned about the dark secrets and underbelly of Vikingrune Academy. Namely, that the entire school had been founded on a mountain of lies, and its leaders shamelessly perpetuated those lies. With that learning came a new perspective, much more important than me and my family name.

Assassinating my family’s enemies, to give atonement and justice to my people, was the furthest thing on my to-do list these days.

Now, I was more worried about said “family” exacting their own revenge on me. My younger half-brother Damon Halldan showed up a few weeks ago. He presented a problem, because it was Damon I’d betrayed to earn my place here.

I knew the skirt-chasing, alcoholic asshole would carry that shame and anger with him to the grave. Or until he buriedme.

More important than my inconsequential half-brother was the fact my second term at Vikingrune began tomorrow. Down in the depths under the school, advanced classes would be held for cadets until the snows ceased.

Luckily, hopefully, that would be in a matter of weeks. I’d heard only the first half of winter was torrential aboveground, and then we’d be able to get out of these stuffy corridors and stretch our arms in the brisk second half of winter.

I sat on a carved stone bench affixed to the side of a small empty dwelling—a waiting hall—with my eyes glancing over at the ladder at the front of the room every few seconds.

Shrugging my fur coat tighter around my shoulders, I staved off the chill, which which haunted us even down here below the snowfall. I stared down at the small slip of paper in my hands, wishing Vikingrune Academy had central heating and electricity.

Alas, this thousand-year-old school had never been anything if notfirmlyoff the grid.

In my hand was my cadet schedule. Some classes with the word “advanced” next to them, which both thrilled and scared me. The lessons would be taught by familiar names—Hersirs, or professors—with the addition of a new one.

There was “Herbs & Elixirs” with Hersir Kelvar, “Advanced Runeshaping & Wards” with Hersir Selken, “Advanced Team Tactics” with Hersir Osfen, “Races & Realms” with Hersir Kardeen. And the newest addition, “Shipbuilding,” with Hersir Ingvus Jorthyr.

Ingvus was the stern academy Warden, or the steward who manned the prisons and security of Vikingrune. I was surprised to find his name teaching a second-year class.

My eyes darted over to the ladder and the heavy capstone above it hewn into the ceiling. The thudding of snowfall continued, worrying me.

I returned my gaze to the schedule, blinking, my mind pulled in a million directions. I was still thinking about my mates, how far we’d come, and how we all had things going on that made life here harder than it needed to be.

There was a fifth member of my group who had more to worry about than any of us. Because he wasn’tone of us. To everyone else, he was a novelty, a marvel, and a feared enemy.

My poor, misunderstood captor-turned-teacher-turned-lover-turned-prisoner—

The capstone shook, flakes of ice fluttering down from the ceiling, whipping my attention over to the ladder.

I shot to my feet, stuffing the schedule away, worrying my lip with my teeth. A loud, muffled grunt came from outside, above. Seconds later, the stone slid aside with a groan, and a heap of snow crashed down into the room, joined by a frigid-white beam of sunlight.

A snow-ridden face appeared in the opening of the ceiling. The figure submerged into the room with the snow on his back, the ladder trembling from his weight.

He grunted and slid the capstone back into place, silencing the underground from the flurrying surface.

With a hop and a sigh, the man landed hard on the ground, shaking white flakes from his body. He turned, eyes flashing wider when he noticed me standing in the corner.

I smiled at Sven Torfen, my maddening mate who was probably more toxic than I gave him credit for. I lived on the edge with this man, and the shock on his face at seeing me there was all I needed.

“Little menace,” he growled in a gravelly voice, pulling back the hood of his oversized coat. His face bristled with frozen whiskers and tiny icicles. His perfect eyebrows were caterpillars of white snow, yet he was still stupidly attractive beneath it all. With a shake of his head, rustling his shaggy black hair free, he tilted his head. “What are you doing here?” A wicked smirk curved his lips. “Come to welcome back your hero from war?”

I rolled my eyes. “A little dramatic, no? Braving a winter snowstorm is one thing. But war?”

He snorted and stepped toward me, snow dripping off him with every step. “It’s Hel out there.”

“You look chilly.”

“Chilly? My balls have been sucked into my stomach, girl.”

He stood over me, a few inches taller, chin dipping as his voice lowered. Puffs of warm mist blew in my face. I wanted to suck on his full lips and bring some color back to them.

When he slid his gloves off, I took his frigid hands in mine. Moving closer, I rubbed our fingers between our chests, staring up at him with a smirk dancing in my eyes. “Maybe I can help warm you up. Help bring your balls down to their rightful place.”

I bobbed my eyebrows, my smirk turning into a devious, crooked grin.

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