Kresley Cole: Dreams of a Dark Warrior

Dedicated with much love

to the amazing Roxanne St. Claire,

a bright shining star of a writer and dear friend.

THE LORE

“… and those sentient creatures that are not human shall be united in one stratum, coexisting with, yet secret from, man’s.”

*Most are immortal and can regenerate from injuries. The stronger breeds can only be killed by mystical fire or beheading.

*Their eyes change with intense emotion, often to a breed-specific color.

THE VALKYRIE

“When a maiden warrior screams for courage as she dies in battle, Wóden and Freya heed her call. The two gods give up lightning to strike her, rescuing her to their hall and preserving her courage forever in the form of the maiden’s immortal Valkyrie daughter.”

*They take sustenance from the electrical energy of the earth, sharing it in one collective power, and give it back with their emotions in the form of lightning.

*They possess preternatural strength, speed, and senses.

*Without training, most can be mesmerized by shining objects.

THE BERSERKERS

“A berserker’s lonely life is filled with naught but battle rage and bloodlust. …”

*A cadre of human warriors, known for their merciless brutality, who swear allegiance to Wóden.

*Stronger and faster than mere mortals, they carry within them the spirit of the bear and can channel its ferocity into a berserkrage, temporarily becoming as powerful as an immortal.

*When a berserker wins his two hundredth battle in Wóden’s name, the god will grant him ohalla —immortality with untold strength.

THE ORDER

“The immortal takers. Once captured by the Order, immortals do not return. …”

*A multinational mortal operation created to study—and exterminate—nonhumans.

*Thought to be an urban legend.

THE VAMPIRES

* The Fallen are vampires who have killed by drinking a victim to death. Distinguished by their red eyes.

* Tracing is teleporting, the vampires’ means of travel. A vampire can only trace to destinations he’s previously been or to those he can see.

THE TURNING

“Only through death can one become an ‘other.’”

*Some beings can turn a human or even other Lore creatures into their kind through differing means, but the catalyst for change is always death, and success is not guaranteed.

THE ACCESSION

“And a time shall come to pass when all immortal beings in the Lore, from the Valkyrie, vampire, Lykae, and demon factions to the witches, shifters, fey, and sirens … must fight and destroy each other.”

*A kind of mystical checks-and-balances system for an ever-growing population of immortals.

*Occurs every five hundred years. Or right now …

The Northlands

In ages long past

“So this is debauchery,” Reginleit murmured as two guards led her into the mead hall of the notorious warlord Aidan the Fierce.

At twelve years of age, and newly quit of the paradise of Valhalla, Regin was certainly getting an eyeful.

As she and the guards wound through the crowd of hundreds of berserkers, she gaped at drunken warriors sparring in naught but loincloths while half-clad whores served ale, trenchers of meat, and … other needs.

Luckily Regin’s disguise would conceal her expression—and her glow. She rechecked her cloak with gloved hands. The hood was deep, falling far over her face.

By the light of the fire pits smoking up to the thatched roof, she glimpsed kissing, fondling, and some acts her young mind couldn’t yet attach names to.

Yet none within this battlefront encampment laughed; no jaunty music could be heard.

Though they’d seized a bloody victory today—from the cliffs above the field, she’d observed their clash against an army of vampires—all the many warriors here seemed to be simmering, snarling even. Much like the bears these mortals revered.

Mounted bear heads with ominous fangs lined the walls. Viking glyphs of ravening bears decorated the rafters and doors.

Everything she’d ever heard about the uncivilized berserkers was apparently true. Her favorite half sister, Lucia, had once told her, “Berserkers are grim, covetous, and possessive, savage when faced with the loss of something that belongs to them. They are obsessed with war and intercourse—they think of nothing else. Even our older sisters avoid them.”

Regin had known the risk in coming here, but she wasn’t fearful. As Lucia had also told her, “Sometimes I don’t think you have the sense to be afraid when you should.” Regin had interpreted that to mean, “You have no sense of fear, oh, great Reginleit.”

Besides, she had no choice. She needed the aid of these mortals. She was horseless and had barely escaped a vampire ambush just days ago. Her belly was empty—the trenchers of stew and haunches of venison atop laden tables made her mouth water.

And Lucia was in danger.

Reminded of her purpose, she straightened her shoulders. Since the berserkers were her father’s guard, surely they’d be duty-bound to serve her as well. But if she met with trouble here, she wouldn’t hesitate to use the long sword holstered across her back or even her claws. They extended through slits in the fingers of her gloves, concealed by her draping sleeves—

Two nearly naked warriors locked in combat lurched past her. Fights continued all around, brawls over women, wine, and weapons. These men fell into their berserkrage, with their eyes glowing and muscles burgeoning, at the smallest slight.

Fitting that this encampment had been built at the edge of a war zone. For decades, these berserkers had defended this strategic pass against an immortal menace, protecting the villages in the valley below; she began to see that anything keeping these men here on the battlefront—and out of civilization—was a boon.

As she and the guards wended deeper within, Regin stopped abruptly. A short distance away, seated atop a throne on the hall’s dais, was a male she’d seen in frenzied combat earlier. One she’d watched raptly.

Considering his unmatched speed and power as he’d wielded his war ax, she’d suspected he was their leader Aidan.

A buxom brunette sat on the arm of his throne, serving him a tankard of drink and murmuring in his ear.

The wench’s eyes were excited, her breath shallow. She thinks the warlord handsome? Regin’s gaze flicked over him. Then the wench and I are in accord.

He had broad shoulders and muscular arms, his build as massive as a bear’s. His blond hair was thick, some hanks plaited in ravels to keep them from his field of vision. He possessed all his teeth, and they were even and white. His sun-darkened skin made his wintry gray eyes stand out.

Today, when he’d been in his berserkrage, those eyes had glowed like storm clouds ablaze with lightning.