Page 27 of The Dragon's Omega

Vidar had motioned toward himself in a way that said, Bring it on.

“Make me squirm, darling,” he drawled, the timbre, the gravel and grit of every word unleashing a delighted mist of my perfume. Still, I had kept my composure, enamored with an alpha who could be playful.

“Brutal honesty time.”

“Go on. I can take it.”

Since then, I had learned that my fated mate was a native Norwegian. Born long before Vikings made a fearsome name for themselves, he protected villages from ice giant raids, like his father and his father before him. It was a family legacy, defending little humans from the bigger, badder monsters of this world and beyond.

His passion for battle, for protecting what he considered his, sparkled in his eyes as he regaled me with stories.

In time, the old gods he lived alongside fell out of favor, traded for monotheistic practices. Reality became myth, legend, stories passed down around bonfires from one generation to the next. Supernatural beings retreated into the shadow, fearing war and persecution. They were more powerful, yes, but Vidar assured me that humans had the numbers.

Some five hundred years ago, the Cult of the Deathless Gods was born.

A cult Vidar had been a member of for three centuries, apparently, which still made my head spin.

According to him, the cult was started by harvest and nature deities from European and Celtic pantheons. They feared that one day, with all of mankind’s technological growth, we would turn away from the earth, the seasons, the harvests—the life that had sustained us from the start. The Deathless Gods, therefore, were recruited from supernatural beings who either supported, worshipped, or agreed with the old gods, and they were tasked with keeping some of the older traditions alive—in ways that made sense to modern humans.

Eight dates throughout the year were eventually chosen from solstices, equinoxes, seasonal shifts and ripples in the ether, the thinning and thickening of the veil between our world and… others. Deathless Gods were each assigned one such date to specialize in, and wherever they settled, they would see that it was honored by the nearby humans.

“So, you were assigned midsummer? The summer solstice, right?”

“When the sun is at its peak,” Vidar rumbled. “I revere the longest day of the year.”

He said it with such affection that I couldn’t help but smile. Slowly, we had drifted around the shallow end of the pool, and at the end of his origin story, his explanation of the Deathless Gods, he had left the water altogether, grabbed a full-length mirror with a gilded ornate frame, and sat nearby to trim his beard and neaten his hair.

I couldn’t look away. For such a huge, burly alpha, he gave me cute aggression, just sitting there, all unassuming and naked, cross-legged as he snipped, snipped, snipped at his facial hair with a pair of silver scissors.

Every time the thought of getting out of the pool and grabbing a fluffy towel hit, I shoved it as far away as possible. If I got out, the bubble burst. No matter how prune-y I was, no matter how enticing his pheromones, the second I climbed out, we might have to… move forward. Come back to Earth.

Deal with reality.

Fucking reality.

“I was invited by the goddess Jord to become a Deathless God.” His accent really shined bright when he talked about home, about the northernmost tips of the world. Vidar paused for a moment, squinting at his shorter, neater beard, his attention to detail so goddamn attractive. “The solstice marks the height of summer. Our world is in full bloom, all light, life, and color—the richest it can be. It is to be honored, the sun respected, so there can be bounty beyond measure come the harvests.” He shot me a playful grin in the mirror. “It is now, this day, the days to follow, that would dictate if the old clans would survive the winter. They used it to gain favor with the gods—to see the abundance through until harvest, to ensure the sun stayed shining, to stave off foul weather and bloodshed.”

Elbow perched on the edge of the pool, I picked distractedly at one of the square blue tiles. “Not really the case anymore, I guess.”

He hummed, his focus back on his beard’s symmetry. “No. Time changes priorities. Technological advancements assist in continued prosperity far more than the gods. But we deathless few ensure these festivities, these rituals, are not wiped from human consciousness completely. I gift my fire to Pack Synn because dragonfire is the closest flame to the heat of the sun. It’s… ceremonial, symbolic. It’s a reminder of past struggles.

“Fire on the solstice, traditionally, was seen as fuel for the sun, to support it until summer’s end. Today, our purpose is to make humankind think, make them remember the trials and tribulations of their ancestors—and respect the world around them.”

I gave his strong back a once-over, gaze snagging on the rippling definition at his shoulders. “Do you… get anything by being a Deathless God?”

“Beyond the satisfaction of serving a cause I believe in?”

“Yeah.” I met his smirk in the mirror with one of my own. “Besides that.”

“The Aesir turned my scales to gold,” he admitted with a shrug. I, meanwhile, went back to our platter of grapes, brie, and crackers. The tray was almost demolished at this point, and my hand briefly wavered between the last trio of grapes and the final slice of brie. Vidar seemed to prefer savory to sweet, so I left the cheese to him and popped a succulent purple grape in my mouth as he added, “They healed my old wounds. Gave me a deathless existence.” Hunter greens darted my way in the mirror while I chewed. “My kind cannot die. We can suffer, but so long as we do our duty, ours is a life eternal.” He cleared his throat and tipped his head to the side, scrutinizing his handiwork again. “We are all gifted with additional magic of the old gods, making us closer to them than we were before. I have abilities my dragon brethren lack.”

I nodded, entranced by his voice, his story, his life—him.

“And…” Vidar let out a soft sigh, then set his scissors down. “If I take a mate,” he said slowly as he swiveled around to face me, “if I bond to them, our lifelines will entwine. I-I wanted to mark you when I knotted you, Lianna, but immortality can be a curse to some. I would never force it on you until you understood what a bond bite from me would truly mean.”

Stunned, I blinked mutely back at him.

Was he saying that I would be immortal if he bit me? Deathless, like him?

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