Taken by the Vampire King (Vampire Warrior Kings 3)

After all, the war with their ancient enemies, the Soul Eaters, would not cease just because he no longer lived to fight it.

When the last of them had given their vow, Henrik met each of their gazes. “Thank you, old friends. Now, head out on patrol. The town fills with tourists for the festival and we must do as we’ve always done and stand ready to defend the humans against evil should the need arise.”

The Soul Eaters—so named for stealing the souls of their human victims by draining them through the last stutter of their hearts—were equally attracted to night’s reign in the north. And the influx of thousands of visitors for Tromsø’s annual Nordlysfestivalen combined with the last days of darkness often made the Soul Eaters even more brazen than usual.

The warriors filed out of the room, quiet and solemn. All except Jakob, who remained in the exact same place since he’d stood to offer his protest. He braced his hands on his hips and shook his head, then slowly made his way around the table until he stood before his king. Tension rolled off the male in palpable waves. “You are giving up.”

Malice shooting through his veins, Henrik got right in his face. “Nei, I am being realistic.”

Jakob’s blue eyes flashed. “Fuck realistic. Warriors fight.” He jabbed his finger into Henrik’s chest. “You have given up.”

The king’s fist was in motion before he’d even thought to respond. His brother’s head snapped back as blood exploded from his lip. The sight further fueled the monster inside him, and Henrik struck again, unleashing a rib-snapping punch to Jakob’s side. The warrior staggered but just managed to regain his footing before he fell. And still he didn’t raise his hands in return.

“Fight back!” Henrik swung again, delivering an uppercut to the jaw that slammed his brother against the stone wall.

“Nei,” Jakob growled.

The next swing split open the warrior’s cheek just below his eye.

“Fight back, damn you!”

Jakob held still against the wall. “Not until you do.”

The words sank into Henrik’s rational consciousness and gave him pause. He stumbled backward, one step, two, until he crashed into one of the chairs at the large table. And then the battle was all in his head between the two diverging sides of himself. Between the monster and the man. The former was getting stronger every day, no matter how hard the latter fought to rein it in.

He dropped his forehead into his hands and curled his fingers into fists in his hair. He was so thirsty. Emptiness ached into the depths of his very soul. Every tissue in his body screamed for sustenance, but what was the use? Feeding brought him so little relief that the torment was greater after each failed attempt.

A hand gripped Henrik’s shoulder.

“Fight, brother,” Jakob said, his tone strained. “Stay with me and fight.”

The king mulled over the words for a long moment, their wisdom sinking deep. No matter how desperate things looked, he had to hold it together. He had to fight. If for no other reason than to prevent Jakob and the others from being distracted out in the field by their worry for him. “All right.”

“Yeah?”

Henrik nodded. “And I’m sorry.” He jutted his chin toward the wall. “I’ll fight. I’ll fight this as long as I can. But you have to promise me something in return.”

“Name it.”

Henrik hated asking this of Jakob, of all people, but his brother was one of the few physically matched enough to heed the request. “I’d rather be dead than a menace. When the day comes that I have lost all humanity, when all that remains is a monster in man’s clothing, I want you to be the one to finish it.”

Chapter 2

Kaira Sorensen stood in the gallery and stared at her photographs hanging on the wall. Her photographs. The thought made her stomach flip-flop and her grin go all goofy. So many of her dreams had gone unfulfilled, but not this one. She’d frozen her butt off for two weeks and scrimped and saved for almost two years. And now she got to see her own shots hanging in a public gallery and entered in a juried competition that could help launch her photography from hobby to career. For however long she had left.

Pressing the back of her hand to her forehead, Kaira hoped the low-grade fever she was running didn’t get worse. The wear and tear of traveling almost seventeen hundred miles from her home in Denmark to Tromsø, Norway, had taken it out of her. And even though she’d arrived two days early and slept for almost eighteen hours straight, exhaustion had left her a little ragged around the edges.