All Things Devour

twenty-one

The room had not seen use for quite some time.

Dust coated the shelves and various bric-a-brac stored there among the hanging armaments. It had the air of a place that once, in a lifetime past, saw a great deal of movement and activity, the floor slightly discolored from tromping boots, the wooden counter scarred where blades had been deposited without care years ago. There was a window as well, but the shutters had been sealed shut over it with only tiny flecks of light escaping through the cracks.

It looked utterly gloomy.

Sonya inspected all this with pursed lips, Anton standing next to her. He wore a curious expression halfway between relief and disappointment, watching Calder as the draugr entered the room and snapped his fingers at a dirty brazier to light it.

They had spent an additional hour in the main study discussing what defying Ylva and her coven would mean. Neither Calder nor Anton rightfully knew what to expect, as the seidkona had worked with particular tenacity to keep the extent of her burgeoning power a secret. Now, Calder had directed them to the armory in search of provisions.

Looking about the room, Anton commented, “I see things are peaceful under Asger if the armory’s been abandoned.”

“Aye,” Calder said, distracted, swinging the metal latches on the lower cupboards open. The latches had bits of cloth knotted about the handles that Calder used instead of the handles themselves. “I blame it on the modern age. Nobody has the courage to pick up an ax anymore. Everything’s done via cyber-attacks and digital pirating.” He picked up part of a broken haft, distracted, then tossed it aside. “A shame.”

Sonya didn’t think it much a shame that meandering Viking vampires didn’t find cause to go raiding anymore, but she kept her opinion to herself.

“I’m surprised you even know what a computer is,” Anton noted as he brushed his finger along a blade’s unhoned edge. The poor weapon looked ready to crumble to dust.

“Didn’t have much choice now, did I? And fuck you, how do you even know what one is?” Calder retrieved a square box from the cupboard innards, dropping it on the table situated by the crowded counter. He flipped the lid open and recovered a dagger— no, Sonya revised, a throwing knife . Not one done in a design or fashion she was familiar with, but one made in that same dark iron, the edges crenelated and surprisingly dull.

“I ate,” Anton answered, his tongue lingering in a small, subtle way to give the latter word emphasis. “In the village before we returned.”

“Ah. You picked it up through the blood. I have always hated doing that. What a waste of seidr.”

“What choice did I have?” Anton retorted, sounding testy. “I had only the barest idea of how much time had passed and if not for dear Sonya, I wouldn’t have been able to find a place to stay for the day.”

“More’s the pity.” Calder studied the throwing knife. “I had hoped the internet would be—what do you call it? A fad?”

“It can’t all go the way of VHS.”

“What in Thor’s name is a VHS?”

“It’s—never mind.”

Sonya explored the room as Anton and Calder bickered—both snide, bitter, but not outright hostile. A peculiar block of unprocessed ore sat atop a rotting crate, and when Sonya reached out to brush the dust from its surface—.

“Ouch!” Her fingertips burned, and Anton was there in an instant to cradle her hand, inspecting it for damage. Calder rolled his eyes.

“It’s fey-iron,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I wouldn’t recommend touching it.”

Sonya remembered the bars on her cell door, the careful way Calder unlocked them without skin contact, and her lips thinned in displeasure.

Calder found a dirk and a scabbard, blew the filmy dirt from the surface, and dropped the pair on the table, followed by some kind of talisman. “Girl, come here.”

“You could try saying please ,” she remarked, approaching the table. “Though if you did, I might be confused about who you were.”

Calder did not react to her comment, instead demonstrating how to sheathe and remove the blade, the man being unaware of Sonya’s prior proclivity for blades.

A brow raised, Anton observed the pair and said, “…What do you think she needs that for?”

“For protection,” Calder retorted.

“She has me.”

The blond draugr made a noise of blatant disgust as he looped the talisman’s leather strap over Sonya’s head, making as little contact with her as he could. “Ylva will have raised the wards after you escaped. She is not as trusting or as naive as you, and neither are her crones. I would be wary these coming days. Do you think her incapable of sending Dagmar or Eydis after you?”

Anton scoffed. “Both are pathetic excuses of seidkonur. They wouldn’t get close to Sonya.”

“The consequences be on your head then.” Calder shrugged.

“What is the plan then?” Anton asked with a skeptical eyebrow raised. “You wish to simply tromp onto the island? You just said it; she’ll have the wards risen.”

“We’ll council with the Jarl on the morrow, or the day after. We’ll get his aid, or at least his interpretation of how we should proceed. Asger is slow to the uptake, but we’ll express the need for expediency in this matter. The longer we wait, the more Ylva will fortify herself and Gebo. Too long, and we will never breach the island, let alone get close to the witch. She could spell doom for Vidarheim.” Calder paused, mouth pursed as he considered something unsavory. “It might be best in the end if you bring Sonya.”

Sonya blinked at him, baffled, her fingers tracing the little carved arms of ?gishjálmr on the talisman, the Helm of Awe. Anton cursed at him.

“It isn’t safe for Sonya.”

“It isn’t safe to leave her behind, either. I wouldn’t trust anyone in the realm if they think you’ve left to Gebo and the girl remained behind. Ylva knows you’re soft for her and she’s not above using that.”

“Mm, I am quite smitten,” Anton replied, sounding snide and unhappy. “I’ll bow to your knowledge in this, as I’m not nearly as versed in understanding the mind of a traitor as you , Calder.”

“No, you’re not.” There was no menace in the reply, only a hard, short kind of finality. “You’re ignorant and soft-headed and much too trusting. Daufi . This is why I have always said you would not serve well in my position.”

“I don’t bloody want it,” Anton retorted.

“Then keep it that way,” Calder turned his back, sorting through a collection of leather straps and holsters Sonya couldn’t recognize. “Gods willing, her involvement won’t be necessary.”

Anton glared at Calder, gaze cold and unflinching, and had Sonya not been facing him, she would have missed the easy, surreptitious motion of his nimble hands palming an iron knife and hiding it in his trouser pocket. His hands returned to his side, the blade gone.

“Come, Sonya. Let’s find somewhere to rest for the day. We’ll return home tomorrow.”

Sonya hadn’t been awake for very long, but the sunlight—no matter how paltry—made her tired, and her anxiety over what would occur on Gebo felt like a lead weight on her chest, so she acquiesced. Calder’s voice followed them into the corridor like the echo of a solemn bell.

“I will arrange a meeting with the Jarl. Do not be late.”

X

Anton retained enough memory of the Jarl’s house to know where the guest quarters’ corridor was.

He seemed distracted by what Calder had said to him, or perhaps his mind had drifted farther afield to his issues with Ylva and the witches on Gebo. Sonya squeezed his arm and asked, “Are you all right?”

A startled look was her answer, followed by a chuckle. “Yes. I’m—I’m fine.”

He chose a door, and upon finding the inner bedroom unused— Good lord, the draugar need to learn how a feather duster works —placed his hand on the small of Sonya’s back to escort her inside. She went to the room’s sideboard to find the matches and light the candelabrum before Anton sealed the door shut. She could definitely see better in the dark as a draugr, but it had limitations; when the match caught, the light burned her sensitive eyes, and she nearly dropped the little wooden stick.

Her tongue gave her new teeth another nervous inspection.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, he—.” Sonya hesitated, fidgeting with the matchbox as she returned it to its place. She went to the bed and rolled the top blanket and the accompanying dust to the footboard. “He was insulting and shoved me, so I fell, but I was provoking him intentionally.”

Anton kept his back to the room as he ran his hand over the lintel, a whisper of seidr coloring the air. “Calder has always been a brute,” he said. “But I promise he will not mistreat you or your bond. I will not allow it.”

Sonya’s eyes flicked to his trousers, specifically to the pocket wherein lay the knife that caused a slight distortion in the outer fabric.

“What happened with Ylva? And what are you doing?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I am not that trusting,” Anton grumbled as he drew sigils over the door’s frame. Most prevalent among those he painted with his magic was Algiz , which Sonya knew represented protection. Each sigil glittered like a jewel in sunlight until it faded. “And I certainly don’t trust Calder farther than I can throw him—which is probably still farther than I should trust him at all.” A dark snicker left him, and Sonya guessed the man was thinking about the times he’d hurled Calder about with seidr. “As for Ylva, her bloody hanger-ons spelled me into a cell while I was waiting for your return. I was…distracted, worried about where you’d gone, and I let my guard down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is not your fault.”

He crouched to finish the last of his preparations, releasing a low exhale of exhaustion as he did so. Sonya wondered if he really had swum from Gebo back to Vidarheim through the frigidly cold water and lashing rain. He must be exhausted.

“Do you agree with Calder, my Sonya?” he quietly asked. “Do you find me too gentle and forgiving? Do you think me a fool?”

“Kindness and decency are not flaws. It is the flaw of others who prey upon them. Had you not been kind and decent, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

He sighed and continued to study the protections he’d created. The play of glimmering lights evoked by his patient touch mesmerized Sonya, filled her with an inexplicable urge to take that elegant hand of his and place it on her chest so she could feel his magic thrum over her heart.

“You are too good to me. I’ve failed you many times.”

“Not intentionally, and you have never once given up. Failure doesn’t define you.”

Anton sighed again as he straightened and attempted to shake the contemplative mood from himself. “If you say so.”

Sonya sat on the edge of the bed and studied him, the long line of his back, the graceful set of his posture. The drying fabric of his shirt clung to his shoulders, displaying the shoulderblades like mountain ridges, his muscles like the smooth slope of a valley leading down toward his tapered waist.

She had missed him terribly in their short time apart. She was awfully aware of where they were—a bedroom, alone, and the idea sent a thrill through her chest. Her nerves almost got the best of her, but Sonya licked her lower lip and steeled herself.

She cleared her throat and averted her eyes as she said, “You should get out of your wet clothes.”

Anton turned from the door, a brow raised. He considered her. “Oh?”

“You must be cold.”

“Mmm, certainly.”

“And tired. So you should…come to bed. Get warm.”

A chuckle left the draugr, a sound that went straight to Sonya’s middle and fluttered inside her ribs. He stooped to unlace his shoes and step out of them, shoving the footwear aside.

“I guess you have a point, but my my. Are you going to warm me, Sonya? I don’t think I can handle all these buttons on my own.”

In Sonya’s estimate, there were very few actual buttons on his attire, perhaps two on his trousers and three at the collar of his tunic, one already undone. They both knew her intent, the devilish smile spreading on his mouth at her bashful gesture to come closer, and he stepped up to her, hands not hesitating before delving into her untidy hair. Sonya tugged at the damp hem of his tunic as Anton undid her braid. Her hair fell past her shoulders, tangling in his questing fingers, and Sonya sighed at the slight scratch of his nails against her scalp.

“Who did your hair?”

“I did.”

“Not Calder?”

“No.” Sonya blinked at the odd question, leaning back ever so slightly into his hands. “I wouldn’t allow him to touch me. Not that I think he’d wish to.”

“No? He is your v?rdr.”

“That means nothing to me.” Shy, she turned her head and kissed his palm, stilling his movements. “I…only like when you touch me.”

A grin spilled across his mouth, and Sonya reached out to trace the slight pout of his lower lip, Anton nipping at her fingers. “ Good. ”

He gathered the loose strands of her hair and let it spill down her back, exposing her neck, the shallow hollow of her throat. His hands framed her face, thumbs caressing her cheekbones, then moved downward as if attempting to memorize the shape of her by touch alone. Sonya’s head felt light, her pulse thrumming, heat building between her legs.

“Why is it they call me your wife?” she asked, tentatively loosening the ties on his trousers as he paused and lifted his tunic up and over his head, letting the heavy fabric fall in a heap. She stared at his naked chest, uncertain but intrigued, and when she touched him—his skin colder than usual, chilled by the sea and the cool air—his hand captured hers, cradled it, and lightly drew it higher in its exploration.

“Well, it’s not exactly common for a man to leave and come back toting a woman with him.”

“You were imprisoned.”

“Yes, a fact most in Vidarheim like to conveniently forget,” he grumped, snagging the edge of her dress sleeve. He eased it from her shoulder and watched the loose collar pull and widen, baring more flushed skin to his eager inspection. “They’re from an older world, Sonya, where nuances like courting or dating don’t exist. To them, when a man brings home a woman, it means she’s his .”

She chased her fingertips through the sparse hair on his sternum, following the dark trail toward the noticeable bulge in his trousers. “ You’re from the same world, you know.”

He lowered his face, his eyes like fog trapped inside of crystal, a promise for something more swirling in their depths. “So I am,” he said before his mouth pressed to hers, and Sonya met him with equal urgency.

Anton pulled her up just enough to gather the skirt of her dress in his quick hands and glide the fabric over her hips, cold air nipping at her thighs and then her stomach as the dress was removed. It left Sonya in nothing but her knickers and Calder’s talisman. Then, before modesty could set in, Anton had her on her back, Sonya exhaling a huff of air as he followed her down like an inexorable wave, mouth latched to the skin of her neck.

She could smell the ocean on him, the salt and wind and storms of Vidarheim a veritable bouquet in her nose—and below it all, his blood, like a whisper beneath the thunder, all the sweeter for its hidden mystery.

Sonya’s fingers curled into his trousers and tugged. Grunting, Anton sat up, nipping at her throat as he went, and leaned on one arm as he divested the last of his clothes and shuffled them off his legs. Sonya could not help how her breath caught or how her face grew scarlet in color when she stared at his cock, her apprehension rising. Of course, she had theoretical knowledge of the male anatomy, and one unfortunate incident wherein a roommate’s boyfriend had decided to exit the shower in the nude, thinking no one else was home. She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for about a week.

“If you’re uncomfortable…” Anton started, but Sonya shook her head.

“No, just…nervous. But—excited? You know I’ve little experience.” A small, breathy laugh escaped her. “I want you, Anton. Please.”

“Well, let’s see how I can help….”

His smooth hand skimmed the inside of her thigh as he leaned over her, the warmth of his breath on her cheek. He repeated the motion, sending a shiver down Sonya’s spine, his eyes taking in her nudity, the shape of her breasts, his hand rising to ghost one finger around her navel and then explore lower. His sex rested against her thigh as he gave her knickers a playful tug, snapping the elastic against her skin.

“Take them off,” Sonya murmured, her arms coming about his neck, drawing Anton closer. A low rumble of approval vibrated in his chest as he did as requested, making quick work of Sonya’s knickers and dropping them to the floor. His hands found her thighs and parted them, pulled them until her legs hooked themselves over his insistent hips, and she felt his manhood settle against the heat of her.

Anton hummed in approval when Sonya’s eyelids dipped in pleasure, her cheeks warmed by anticipation. His mouth grazed hers, and the tip of his tongue slowly slid against the inside of her lip.

“I want you for always,” he whispered as if the words were secret, meant to be kept close, just between them and those comfortable quilts. His accent thickened with ardor, and Sonya opened her eyes to study his face made bright and soft in the candlelight. “Always and always, until the gods bring about their end and the sun swallows us all. I will want you until I am ash and dust, and then whatever spirit remained of me would dream only of you. If you would have me.”

Sonya carded her fingers through his hair, leisured in the weight of him, so solid and grounding and present, as they looked into each other’s eyes and she wondered what he saw. She adored this vampire who had come to mean so much to her so swiftly, so easily , it dazzled her like the sight of a million stars in a spangled sky, each a diamond of an infinite world. She had only ever believed in logic and science before her change, before Calder arrived with his indiscriminate teeth and her poor classmates lost their lives to their own unfortunate curiosity—but Anton made her think on fate and understand.

She thought that in another world, should they have met on a London street, in a lecture hall, over cups of coffee, or at a pub, she would have adored him then, too. Because Sonya was weird, and others found her unsettling or worth contempt while Anton simply looked at her with fascination, with an endearing gentleness that defined his being despite his nature, despite how others had misused him in his long, meandering life.

“ We’ve always considered him a bit strange ,” Gudbrand had said. Sonya just wanted to be strange with him.

“I love you, Anton,” she whispered.

He smiled, and his lips brushed her cheek. “Oh, I love you with every ounce of my soul, dear Sonya.”

He ground his pelvis into hers, and Sonya breathed out as the snapping sparks of pleasure alighted through her middle, and he grinned with delight. The warmth of his skin on hers overwhelmed, and Sonya’s hands moved slowly over the shifting muscles in his smooth back. He mimicked her lingering admiration with his own hands skating up her sides, cupping her breasts, brushing higher over her collarbones until he cupped her face and kissed her soundly.

“I did not lie to Gudbrand, you know,” he murmured against her lips, lowering his mouth to her throat, then her chest. “When he asked where I had found you, and I said I was certain I had stolen you from an elf. Very mean-spirited creatures, elves. Very greedy of precious things.”

Sonya could barely comprehend a word he said, dizzy with lust as he continued to circle his hips into hers, the length of his member dragging between her damp folds.

“What say you, lovely? Have I stolen you away from an avaricious fiend? Will an elf looking for his treasure call the Wild Hunt down upon my head?” His mouth found her breast, teeth ensnaring her nipple, tongue chasing away the sting. “I would welcome the challenge if only to prove no one could steal you away from me.”

“I think we have enough challenges to face without inviting vengeful hill-dwellers,” Sonya remarked, tracing his hipbone and the outer edge of his lean, muscled stomach. “Besides, you cannot steal what willing comes to you.”

“I stole your heart, did I not?”

“That went willingly as well. You’re not a very good thief at all.”

Anton laughed, an adoring sound, and there were no more words shared between them, only the hush of mingled breaths and the steady creak of the bed’s frame. His hand trailed up her thigh until it sank between them, his eyes dark and hooded as his fingers teased her entrance, enticing low moans from Sonya. She felt none of the nervousness she had before as two of his digits slid inside of her, his ministrations blossoming heat in her cheeks.

“Sonya…” Anton crooned in her ear, teeth grazing the lobe. He whispered something else, something in a language she didn’t know, and Sonya let her eyes close, her mouth brushing his bare shoulder. Tension coiled low in her belly.

The fingers retreated, replaced by the blunt head of his cock, and Sonya folded her arms more securely about his shoulders as he slowly pushed forward. She closed her eyes against the stinging stretch and breathed when Anton remained still, their hips snug against one another, skin pressed to skin. It overwhelmed, made Sonya feel dizzy and drunk with bliss. Even the slight prickle of pain made her groan with delight. Watching her, he cupped her cheek and waited. He waited until she opened her eyes again, smiled, and then started to move.

The ache persisted, but it dulled below the roar of pleasure stirred by Anton’s measured thrusts. The familiar tension elicited by his touch bubbled and swirled like a pot too long on the cooker, and Sonya moaned, panting for breath, as that tension rose.

She tried to match his rhythm, hips rising to his, and clenched her muscles around his invading member. Anton sucked air through his sharp teeth and growled— growled! —at her. He nipped Sonya’s chin.

“I want the moment to last, you tricky thing, you,” he murmured—but Sonya didn’t care about him lasting. She felt like a glutton long denied a meal, and she couldn’t stop herself from wanting more.

“We’ll do it again,” she told him, desperation tinging her words as much as it affected her needy grip on his back. “Please, please— oh! ”

He thrust again, harder, grunting as he pressed his face to her neck, teeth grazing her pulse. Sonya gasped as his strong hands gripped her waist,

“Too rough?” he asked around a sigh, and when Sonya shook her head, urging him on, he continued. She tossed her head back on his next thrust and moaned.

He kept talking, his words a rough, pleasured croon, none of the words in anything even close to English. Sonya didn’t need to understand to feel his fervor, the reverence in his touch that turned possessive as they climbed higher and higher still. It felt like he would never let her go.

She was close, every nerve in her body buzzing, muscles tightening, so close, sounding delirious as she sobbed Anton’s name—and then, she came.

She cried out, eyes squeezed closed as every muscle in her body seemed to tighten and release in an instant. Her nails scratched along his spine, and her teeth made red indents in his flesh. Anton groaned, shivering, his rhythm becoming erratic as his hips surged between her thighs.

She could taste blood on her tongue.

He followed her into release a few thrusts later, hips meeting hers with a sudden, shuddering finality. He breathed Sonya’s name like an oath, or perhaps a blessing, the syllables lost against her skin. They laid together, Anton’s weight sagging atop her, their slowing gasps mingling.

After a few minutes, he lifted his head, his cheeks sporting a lovely flush, lips swollen from kissing. “So…” he said. “I heard mention of again ?”

Sonya laughed. It burst out of her, and Anton ran his fingers over her ribs, making her squirm. “You greedy man!”

“But you did promise,” he teased, his hands coming down to frame her hips, brushing the tops of her thighs. “And it’s only fair you make good on your promises.”

Sonya rolled her eyes, but she smiled and nodded. “Okay,” she told him. “We’ll do this again.”

“And again?”

She snorted, and Anton chuckled as he resituated himself, settling on his forearms over her so his chest rumbled where it pressed against Sonya’s. He peered into her face with half-lidded eyes, then gently kissed the corner of her lips. “I think I should press my luck now and simply ask for forever.”

It should have frightened her, his easy mention of forever, a concept Sonya had no reference for understanding. But it didn’t. It didn’t.

She pictured it—a life with Anton, a life in Vidarheim. She didn’t know what she’d do yet. After all, she’d only been a vampire for a day, but she was excited for the possibilities. There was so much to learn here, so much to see, and she’d get to do it with someone she loved. It made thoughts of Ylva and her terrible island seem much less frightening.

Lashes fluttering, her mouth sought his, placing a warm, lingering kiss on Anton’s lips. He hummed and ran the end of his nose along hers. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated as if surprised, then he smiled, and his arms curled about her as they lay on their sides and Sonya tucked herself against his chest.

They braced against the cold of the storm, forgetting their worries to instead embrace one another and allow lethargy to drag them under the needed warmth of sleep.

Nightfall would come too soon.