A/N: That's right, folks. I'm back. Happy belated Thanksgiving to all who celebrate. This year I'm thankful for quite a lot, in spite of the nutty year. I'm glad to get this to you finally. Happy reading and thanks for sticking with me!

Unbelievable," Eric spat. "Just un-fucking-believable." He glared at the gore-spattered assassin. Arun had lied to them. He had survived his murder and he had hidden himself, letting them believe he had met the true death. Eric's disgust left him shaking. "All this time you let us mourn you like fools. You despicable coward." Rosalyn gripped Eric's arm, afraid he would lunge. "I won't kill him," he told her defiantly. "Not yet, anyway."

Beside them, Godric had fallen ominously silent. He stood unmoving, his head tilted in lethal consideration. If anyone was going to kill Tarquin's firstborn, it was him. As it was, he did not entirely believe that the vampire before him was truly Arun. It was too good to be true; his every instinct told him to distrust it. "What did I first say to you on your Awakening?" he asked.

Arun erupted in a hearty, unexpected laugh. "A trick question! You said nothing. You refused to speak to me for months."

"And when I finally did?"

Arun gave him a patient look. "It was to call me a liar. I see time has not changed things."

Rosalyn bit her lips to keep from laughing, while Eric sucked at his teeth in aggravation. "Why did I think you were lying?" Godric pressed.

Arun did not hesitate. "You didn't believe that I had served as a translator to Alexander's generals when they campaigned in my homelands. But of course I had. Why else would Tarquin have troubled himself with a scribe if not for the war stories I could tell?"

Godric rocked on his heels, deliberating. Finally, he nodded to himself. "Tarquin chose you for more than your stories and penmanship, Arun of Gandhara, that much is certain. I swear, if you had anything to do with his death -"

"I made a blood oath to avenge his murder," Arun interjected. "I make the same vow to you now, Gohdi. I will see it done or die trying."

His haughty determination brought a reluctant smile to Godric's face. "I knew you had to be alive. I knew Thea couldn't get the best of you."

"But she did, my guide. She broke me. I am not the man you once knew."

"Nor am I." Godric looked to Rosalyn with a mix of amazement and adoration. "We are all changed."

Eric objected. "He looks like a fucking hipster with that beard."

"Eric is not wrong," Godric admitted. "I hardly recognized you."

Arun scratched sheepishly at the manicured crop on his face. "Master did not like me to wear one."

"No," Godric huffed ironically. "He most certainly did not." He gestured to Eric. "Mobilize Pamela. We're done here."

As Eric radioed for the car, Godric ventured a step closer to Arun. He took him lightly by the shoulders at first, then falteringly, giving into the urge, clasped him by the cheeks. His hands lingered for a long moment as he reacquainted himself with the familiar cheekbones and the glossy mane of hair that faded to a burnt umber at its tips. When Godric finally found his voice again, it came in a hoarse whisper. "Your death caused us oceans of pain."

Arun dropped his head in shame. Tears gathered beneath the dark fringe of his eyelashes. "Gohdiji."

Godric ghosted his knuckles across Arun's jaw, then stepped back and leveled his gaze. "If you so much as look at my kin or my allies sideways, you will wish for a death as easy as the one Thea failed to give you."

"I know this, Great Guide," he said, pressing his palms together in supplication. "I will make amends. I swear to you."

"Amends?" Godric said curtly. "There are no amends for what you have done." His voice held a razor-sharp certainty to it – damning and final. He gestured for Emir to load him into the getaway vehicle. As Arun shuffled away, a thought occurred to him. "Is there anything inside the villa worth salvaging?"

Arun twisted in Emir's grip and shook his head. "Burn it to the ground."

Once his children and the prisoner were safely out, Godric surveyed the damage in the courtyard. Flies had not yet started to gather on the dead. Half a werewolf pack lay wasted by his hand. The wolves had been incapable of walking away from a fight.

"You've lost your taste for this," Sebek observed.

After a protracted moment, Godric answered. "I've avoided killing for a long time. But avoiding a thing you desire bone-deep and no longer hungering for it aren't the same. I hadn't realized…" His voice trailed off. He had not realized how much pointless killing had come to disturb him.

"You want the scribe to be innocent."

'Desperately,' Godric nearly said. "Is that so wrong?" he asked instead.

"If you wish, I will execute him for you, if it comes to that."

Godric toed the gravel uneasily. He could not bear the thought of ending Tarquin's bloodline once and for all. Something or someone had to be salvageable from so much death and heartache. When he said nothing, a smile curled at the corner of Sebek's mouth. "I leave it to you. My offer stands. I'll double check the interior for survivors and valuables. You said there is a gas line that can be rigged?"

"There is," Godric confirmed. "I'll meet you back at the helipad?"

"Work quickly. The pack's women will be looking for their mates. They will come here next when they do not find them at their usual watering hole."

The pub in question was not far. "For their sakes, let's hope they do not make that mistake," Godric replied.

Sebek paused before entering Thea's villa. "This marriage suits you, Godric." Embarrassed, Godric slipped back down through the culvert hidden in the garden to puncture the gasworks pipeline.

The humans had foolishly run the pipe in the same underground tunnel where they had buried Athen's most famous river. When he boarded the helicopter, he reeked of gas. Sebek frowned as they took off and gained altitude. "The villa is still standing," he said in concern. He supposed Godric would set the villa ablaze. Godric had bigger plans.

He adjusted the bulky radio headset over his ears and mouth. "I assumed you would want to watch the show." He tugged on Rosalyn's harness to ensure she was securely buckled in, then threw open the portside door of the helicopter. The wind whipped violently at their hair and clothes.

Sebek waited in anticipation. Nothing happened. His frown grew deeper. "Your detonator is faulty."

"Oh, I doubt that," Godric drawled. He turned and narrowed his eyes, focusing on the orange-tiled villa roof shrinking in the distance. Suddenly, the building was engulfed in a plume of fire. The flames built outwards, belching black into the sky. The courtyard around the villa exploded too, gasping more fire and smoke from underground.

Sebek grunted in approval. "Excellent."

Then the street exploded.

More of the ground followed.

Across the sprawling Athenian suburb of Kallithea, the defunct tram corridor leading to the city blew apart in a fiery chain reaction. Concrete and steel railing blasted upwards, filling the sky with rolling, heaving balls of fire. Sebek and the others leaned forward, craning their necks, trying to understand what they were witnessing. The chopper dipped, then righted itself. "Mind the weight balance!" the pilot barked at them over the comms.

"Boom," Godric said, turning to Rosalyn with an impish smile.

"You don't think the fire will spread, do you?" she asked nervously.

"Unlikely. It's not windy, and the safety valves have already shut the damaged pipeline off from the rest of the city. I've used my destructive powers for good, yes?"

She watched the land racing beneath them and her concerned features spread into a grin. Through the waves of smoke, the Ilisos River glistened in the night air for the first time in fifty years. "Maybe now the archaeologists will find that temple. They can tell us who it belonged to after all."

"Perhaps." Godric squeezed her knee, glad that she did not disapprove.

Sebek gestured at Godric's empty hands. He held no detonator. "You used timed switches?"

Godric gave a careless shrug. "I hadn't thought to bring them."

Sebek's confusion grew, creasing his brow in a deep v-shaped groove. "But how did you…?" He looked hard at Godric, trying to piece together how he had set off the explosion. "You didn't -" he began with a scoff, then suddenly exhaled in shock.

"I did," Godric confirmed. He had sent the fire with his mind.

Unconsciously, Sebek wiped his fingers over the corners of his mouth. It was the nervous tick of a man who had once regularly sweated in the Saharan sun. Pyrokinesis was so rare and ancient that most vampires believed the power to be the stuff of legends – the sort of tall tales makers told their progeny to frighten them into behaving. But Sebek knew differently. He was old enough to remember. The last elder he had known to wield fire razed whole cities. He had been put to death, along with all his progeny, in the hopes that the trait would be stamped out for good.

"You are either a very remarkable creature or a very reckless one," Sebek said finally. "Why reveal this to me?"

Godric remained impassive, his expression illegible. "I wanted you to understand exactly what kind of ally you are working with."

The Egyptian's jaw dropped. "Do you mean to hold my friendship hostage with a threat? Love you or burn, is it?"

"Nothing so crass, Vizier." Godric blinked innocently and let his gaze drift out the window. He looked every inch the Boy Death. "Consider it…full disclosure."

"I have never underestimated you, young man," Sebek retorted. "You underestimated yourself." The other passengers flinched at the ancient's heated response.

Godric's lips tightened imperceptibly. The Egyptian had alluded to his past one too many times for his liking. That was the trouble with ancients. They remembered. Too much and never the things you'd like. Eric spoke up, trying to diffuse the situation. "I think, Great Lord, what my Maker means is that you can arm yourself with this information to guide us with your vast wisdom and experience. It is simply one more tool at your disposal."

Sebek let out a guarded hum. "Is that so."

"I meant no offense, Vizier, truly," Godric said.

"It is an offensive power."

Godric laughed bitterly. "Tell me about it."

Sebek studied him. "You wanted to see if you could do it," he guessed.

He nodded reluctantly. "I wasn't sure. Now I am. We might need it."

Sebek stared a moment longer, then burst into laughter. "Rascal!" he said, then laughed even harder.

Across the cabin, Arun appeared neither surprised by Godric's antics, nor did he appear especially relieved to be reunited with him. Eric did not care for the look on his face. "I ought to toss you out of this chopper, you piece of shit."

Arun let out a sharp snort. "I'd like to see you try, Northman."

"Arun, I wouldn't taunt him if I were you," Godric warned. "We might just let him."

"You don't even know what you're accusing me of, Gohdi, and yet you have me in chains. Are you so eager to see me punished?"

"Would it be punishment?" Godric shot back.

"I might survive the fall - if I didn't land on my head." Arun sniffed at the concession. "Calla's blood has strengthened me considerably."

"Aren't you slick," Eric grumbled. "'Oh no'," he mocked, "'whatever you do, don't let me fly off without a single consequence'." Arun appeared confused.

Godric waited. "When did you gain the power of flight?"

"What?" Arun looked between them in genuine surprise. "I haven't. You know Tarquin didn't have that ability."

"Come on, man. We know," Eric said.

"I…I don't know what to say," Arun stammered, realizing they were serious. They actually believed he could fly. "Throw me out of this helicopter and you can scrape what's left of me up, if that is the proof you need."

Eric exchanged a look with his maker. "Do it."

Arun gripped the seat, readying himself for a fight in close quarters. Pamela hoisted her purse out of the way. "Good luck, handsome. It was nice meeting you."

Rosalyn turned to Godric, a plea already half-formed in her mouth. But it was Sebek who spoke first. "Everyone, calm your angry hearts. We have agreed that we will wait to hear Arun's story before passing judgment."

"So we have," Godric conceded.

"Saved by Sebek," Eric hissed at Arun. "That's not one you often hear."

Godric whipped his head sideways at Eric. "Enough. You be silent." Eric pursed his lips and wisely said nothing more. "Forgive my eldest," he said to Sebek. "The fault lies with me. He knows better than to disrespect an elder - even an imprisoned one - but I've not taught him to shoulder grief well." He glowered at Arun. "And this one has given us more than our fair share."

Sebek nodded patiently. "See that he does not forget himself while under my roof."

"He will be a model guest or I'll have his fangs," Godric agreed. "Sebek's safe house is in Cyprus," he cautioned Eric.

Eric straightened. "We're going to Cyprus?" he said, incredulous. "We aren't leaving the Mediterranean?"

"Most convenient for a mission in Turkey," Sebek replied. "Why? Do you have a better plan?" Eric's expression darkened.

"What's the problem with the Mediterranean?" Rosalyn asked.

Godric waved an apathetic hand. "Apart from the fact that we'll be surrounded by enemies in every direction? I have traditionally been, as they say, 'jail-bait' in these parts. I don't care to linger in the region."

"We'll keep an eye on you, Grandsire," Pamela snickered. "Just don't accept any candy or rides from strangers."

Godric did not laugh. Neither did Eric. He shot Pamela a filthy look that promised punishment later.

"I can assure you that my home is safe," Sebek insisted. "We do not permit that kind of trade in flesh anymore." The 'anymore' hung foul in the air, and the remainder of the ride to the airport was uncomfortably quiet. Rosalyn wanted to ask, but she found there was no opportunity to talk discreetly.

~OOO~

Amleth had fallen into downtime. The pull of distant memories lured him away from the novel he had been reading. It clapped to the floor, the page lost. He was somewhere else, in another era, in another life, far from his present prison.

His maker had surprised him one Samhain at a great Fire Feast held in Ireland. The frosts had come early, as they always did in those days, and the pyres were built high. Tarquin's visit had been wholly unexpected, and he had arrived with Arun and Sibyl in tow. Godric feared that Tarquin wanted to reclaim Amleth and entice him away with the siblings he so missed. He grew wildly possessive.

For two straight nights, Godric kept him firmly at his side, a jealous hand on his shoulder, sweet words pouring into his ear. "You are mine," he reminded him repeatedly. "I made you too, magpie." "Don't leave me," he had all but said. When Tarquin revealed that he intended to put more of his children into Godric's care, the old Celt was overjoyed in his muted, bashful way. Godric was loath to admit it, but he was a caring, careful nurturer. Having younglings under his wing brought out the best in him. And Arun and Sibyl made excellent company.

They had celebrated together, the whole motley clan, in the titian glow of the fires: Tarquin and Godric, happy and reconciled, plotting yet more intrigues together; Sibyl and he, dancing nude in the brisk autumnal night; and Arun and Eric, who had only just been introduced, and had immediately fallen into serious, manly conversation. The memory hung snugly around Amleth, warming him from within.

At the edge of his consciousness, he was aware of someone moving near him. Maty was there, tiptoeing toward him. He did not want to leave his thoughts. He did not want to lose the feeling of Godric's fierce love.

She pounced on him, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Shh," she whispered. "Something's happened."

Amleth flipped her over, pinning her to the mattress. "You had better have a damn good reason for interrupting me, little one."

"There was an explosion in Athens."

Amleth balked and let her up. "Tell me." Maty relayed the information as quickly and quietly as possible. The servants had been gossiping in the halls. "You are certain Thea's compound was hit?" he asked.

"Yes. Along with part of the tram system. It was made to look like a gas leak. The humans think it was an accident."

"It's Godric," he declared.

"We can't know that for sure. Thea has many enemies."

"It's him, Maty. He likes to create mass confusion to cover up small tactical hits. A city's infrastructure is readymade for the job." He chewed his lip in thought. "We still have no idea where Thea is?"

Maty shook her head. "No one has said a word."

The reality of his current situation hit him again, full-force. Godric believed he had conspired to bomb a house in his Dallas territory. Blowing up half of Athens was, by all measures, a rather restrained countermove for Godric. "He's on a rampage, and there's nothing to stop him. He's finished with me. He's going to wipe the rest of the Tarquinii off the face of the Earth. We're lucky that he doesn't know about you."

"Maybe he killed Thea?" Maty suggested.

"Let us hope." A strange thought occurred to him. "After Thea, I'm the next eldest. If she's dead...I would inherit the clan." He looked up in surprise. "I'd become the Tarquinii patriarch." In all the years since he had abjured his family, he had never once considered the idea. He had wanted no part of his bloodline. "I could protect you. Maybe even free you."

Maty studied him. "If Thea is dead," she said hesitantly. "But it doesn't matter. I'll follow where you lead." She nestled into his arms, burying her face into his neck. Her mouth found his jugular and she sucked at his silent pulse point, trying to distract him.

"Is that Roman's angle?" Amleth asked, thinking out loud. "Does he want me as the Tarquinii patriarch, kept under his thumb?"

Maty let out a trembling breath against his skin. "I really don't think that's what he is after."

Amleth pushed her back. "Why? What do you know?"

She demurred, looking anywhere but his entrancing emerald eyes. "Please, Amleth. Ask Master."

"I thought you'd follow me anywhere?" When she didn't answer immediately, he grew irate. "As pater, I can lift you up, my dear. I can also punish you with total impunity."

Maty met his penetrating gaze with a set jaw. "I said I'd follow your lead. I didn't say I'd let you push me around. Talk to Master."

~OOO~

The gate of Sebek's safe-house was guarded by a pair of giant ram-headed sphynxes. Rosalyn glanced skeptically at the stone sentries. They watched in cold judgment of the guests that passed below. Behind the property's high walls, Rosalyn expected to find another modular beach-side villa like those lining the rest of the street. The resort neighborhood was brand new and hastily built – a pop-up development for the wealthy. "Oh," she blurted out as they entered. "It's charming!"

Lily ponds and a lush palm orchard spread out before them. At the far end of the property, set beside the sea, sat a stone building whose lotus-crowned granite columns soared against the sky. A linen-skirted groundskeeper set down his basket and bowed to Sebek before scampering toward the building to announce their arrival. The man was not the only human here. The evening breeze carried the strong smell of blood upwind. There were more people inside. Godric tightened his hand around Rosalyn's.

"Odin's beard," Eric swore under his breath. He would recognize the scent of a pleasure palace anywhere. "This is no 'safe-house'."

"No," Sebek agreed. "But it is safe, Northman. This is my personal getaway from court life. I do not usually entertain others of our kind here." He turned to them with a graceful nod. "Welcome to Akhet Place, friends."

They slowly made their way to the main house. 'Tell me you haven't been here before,' Eric said to his maker silently.

Godric shook his head imperceptibly. 'No. I'd heard rumors of it.'

'Goddamnit, Godric. You knew he was taking us here and you agreed?'

Rosalyn looked between them in trepidation and both men automatically set a hand on her. She was not reassured. Eric had that alien stiffness in his features that he got when he became hyper-vigilant and Godric was scanning the property like a hawk. 'I'm still armed,' she told them. They had left their swords with their luggage as a courtesy, but her throwing knives were still strapped around her ankle.

Eric patted her elbow. 'We're all still armed, kitten. Not to worry.'

'Bringing us here is a show of faith.' Godric insisted. 'Sebek wouldn't compromise a home he's had for as long as I've been dead if he meant us harm.'

'You show him yours, he shows you his,' Eric snarked. 'Who knew this trip would be such a bonding experience for you two. Just wait until Little Miss Ethics here figures out what this place is.' Without seeming to move, Godric whacked him up the backside of his head. "Ow!" Eric winced out loud.

Sebek turned on his heel at the sound. "His reminder to behave," Godric explained with a gracious smile.

"Come, my lady," Sebek said to Rosalyn, offering his arm. She took it, and he began to tell her about the island's long history with Egypt.

Inside the building's atrium, potted greenery and paintings decorated the surfaces. Larger-than-life statuary cast dancing shadows in the torchlight. "Nice digs," Pamela noted in approval. She was genuinely impressed. Three human women came to greet them, each more beautiful than the next. The tallest of the three wore a gold mirrored dress that shimmered as she walked. "Very nice digs," Pamela qualified.

"My Queen is generous," Sebek said humbly, then introduced the statuesque human. "This is Niobe, Keeper of the Estate. She will see that your needs are met while you are here." The woman beckoned them to a salon filled with cushioned couches and chaises longues. The scent of humans there was even stronger. Rosalyn did not dare breathe.

"Some music and entertainment, Niobe. We have journeyed far." Sebek left them momentarily to see Emir settled with their baggage. He returned with their prisoner and deposited him firmly beside Godric. The pair sat on the fine furniture, bloody from head to toe. Rosalyn did not miss the way Godric's hand crept over Arun's wrist and clasped it. Whether he meant to restrain him or reconnect with him was unclear.

More humans poured in from the hallway, some bearing stringed instruments, some limbering up to dance. The men and women were varied and beautiful, and all were dressed to entice. Rosalyn sucked hard at her palate in a hopeless attempt to control her fangs.

The women who had greeted them in the main hall brought washbowls filled with orange blossom water. Niobe knelt before Rosalyn and beckoned her to rinse her fingers. "You are most welcome here, Madame." The pulse in Niobe's long neck was riveting. Rosalyn licked her lips unwittingly and too soon the woman stood and offered her bowl to Eric.

Across the room, Godric suddenly hissed. The women had come at him bearing sponges. They jumped back in terror. "Apologies!" one cried.

"Master?" the other asked, uncertain what offense they had given.

Sebek snapped at them. "Lead Lord Godric and his charge to the bathhouse. Do as he tells you."

"And nothing more," Eric added gruffly. Sebek nodded in agreement and they curtsied obediently.

Godric hesitated, torn between his desire to wash the stench of were-blood from his skin and concern for his wife, whose eyes had not left Niobe's throat. "Eric -" he began.

The Viking cast him a look. "She won't leave my side."

Godric swallowed, uncertain. "What is your restitution fee?" he asked Sebek.

The ancient's eyebrows raised in amusement. "For Rosalyn? Nothing. She is an honorary Daughter of Senusret and may enjoy the delights of my house freely. For the rest of you?" He let his gaze settle on Pamela and Eric. "Lay a hand on one of my humans and I will demand a decade of Rosalyn's service at my side - for each misdeed."

Godric shot to his feet. "You will not."

Sebek smiled coolly. "If the Goðríkii value their consort as much as I do, they ought to keep their fingers and fangs to themselves, no?" He quirked an eyebrow at the younger vampires.

"Christ on a cracker," Pamela muttered. "They aren't pets. This is his harem." She looked at Eric in complete annoyance. "Just command me already. I am so not screwing this up for us." Eric quickly ordered her to seduce no one and drink only what was offered.

"These humans are...concubines?" Rosalyn asked, shocked.

"You know your command," Godric reminded her, ignoring the question. He gave Eric a stern look. The servant held a side-door open, and he begrudgingly followed her to the baths, duck-walking a chained Arun alongside him.

The musicians struck their first chords, and Niobe sent out a young man with a tray of drinks. Sebek motioned for Rosalyn to be served first. "Please, enjoy."

"Thank you," Rosalyn murmured, snatching up a glass. She was desperate to slake her thirst, especially now that she understood these humans were kept as playthings. Eric took a whiff of his drink and immediately clapped a hand over Rosalyn's glass, pushing it down from her mouth. The blood smelled like a 17th century AB-negative vintage from Poland. But such a thing was impossible. Preservation techniques and refrigeration were only very recent inventions. "What is this?" he asked.

"Exactly what you think," Sebek replied.

"This cannot be synthetic." None of the synthetics came close to imitating actual blood, let alone the clean flavors that existed before industrialization.

"It is Wiktor," Sebek said, pointing out the acrobat contorting himself suggestively in tune to the music. "Only purified. A sacred Egyptian method. I bottled it myself."

Eric inhaled the glass again and balked in astonishment. "The market value of such a technique - "

"Does not exist," Sebek supplied. "Nothing in my world is for sale, Northman. I do not truck and trade like a common shopkeep." Eric made a disconcerted sound and released Rosalyn's glass. The nuances of unpolluted blood would be utterly lost on her. "Not to worry," Sebek reassured him. "There is plenty more in the cellar." He grinned toothily, pleased to outdo Eric's own attempt at hospitality so effortlessly. His safe-house was a palace, his servants all talented beauties, and the blood he served was beyond exceptional. Fangtasia was a truck stop in comparison.

Eric raised his glass in annoyance. "We are most grateful, Vizier, for your roof, your rare cellar, and for Wiktor." The dancer preened at the compliment, twirled, and landed in a split in front of Eric.

~OOO~

Amleth had not expected to have an audience with Roman so soon. Bora came clanking through the dungeon gate. "You go up now," he told him.

Amleth needed more time to gather his wits. To figure out a strategy around the Athens fire. Anything to gain some slight edge on the elder or a way to surprise him into accidental honesty. "Let's go, then," he acquiesced, sliding off his ratty divan.

"You no change?" Bora asked.

"It's a summons, Bora bear, not a bloody date."

"Master pick you dinner."

Amleth stared. "Well, fuck." He changed into the second nicest kaftan that Maty had brought him and allowed himself to be led upstairs.

The wiry servant called Haleem met him in the parlor and brought him to the dining hall. Amleth took the chair to the left of the head seat. He had not seen Roman since he had been forced to drain the School of Night Fund. Like rancid meat, the memory made him sick every time it wafted up.

Roman left him to wait for an insultingly long period, no doubt meant to remind him of his insignificance. Alone and unrestrained in the drab room, he did not bother to dash for the open door. He would doubtless be caught, and his situation would worsen immeasurably in return. There was also something strange about the fortress which he still did not understand. Even here, above the dungeon, where the air flowed fresh and the rooms were seemingly above ground, he sensed an intense compression all around him, as though he were still encased in stone. It was too breezy to be a mountain tunnel, and too far north to be a pyramid. It made no sense. He would not entertain the possibility of an escape until he knew why. Overlooking details like this would get him killed. Godric had taught him this.

Roman finally joined him and sat with an autocratic air. "Good evening. Thank you for waiting."

"My schedule was remarkably free, " Amleth chimed.

Haleem trailed in and served a foamed blood aperitif. Roman inspected it with some fanfare. Deeming it acceptable, he offered a toast. "To your enduring health." Amleth sipped gingerly at the drink, unnerved by Roman's politeness. The tense silence was punctuated by a scream. It echoed from somewhere deep in the compound. "Your main course," Roman noted. "I took the liberty of procuring it myself."

"How generous," Amleth replied, his mouth tight. He set his goblet down. "Speaking of generosity, good will, and the like – perhaps now is a good moment to take stock of where things stand. I did what you asked. The inter-species school is as good as dead in the water. I am still waiting for you to deliver Thea."

Roman dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "I did not realize there was any urgency to your request. Revenge is, after all, a dish best served cold." He gestured at Haleem for the second course.

"I have waited long enough, Counselor."

Roman ignored him and leaned forward to examine the dishes. The young servant set out a tray of chilled sous-vide blood gels and faux caviar. Amleth schooled his features. He despised molecular gastronomy. The textures and temperatures were almost as abhorrent and unnatural as his host.

"Please," Roman entreated. "Guests first."

Amleth chose the caviar and crunched through the spherical dish with a forced smile. The preparation completely destroyed the flavor. "My compliments to the chef," he lied.

"Tell her yourself. You two cavort regularly enough."

"Maty?" Amleth chewed thoughtfully. "How clever. I didn't realize she could cook. What other handy abilities does she have?"

"Obedience," Roman said without hesitation. "Modesty. Above all? Discretion." He smiled like a snake.

"Discretion, huh? Not much of a Tarquinii, then," Amleth snorted. The clan was anything but inconspicuous. Being a child in Tarquin's line had been about as high-profile as it got. At an age when most newborns were still learning to hide the corpses of their meals, he had been sent out on Council-ordered business with the fate of kingdoms at stake if he failed. Godric had ultimately found the risk unacceptable and had taken him far away from Tarquin and the dangers of his court. "Why go through the trouble of raising Maty yourself, if I may ask?"

Roman sliced a thin layer of the gelled blood and placed it on his tongue. He ate it slowly. "Thea wanted what was best for the little foundling. Unlike you, she values her kin."

Amleth erupted in bitter laughter. "Right. That's why she destroyed the best of us."

"Not you," he pointed out. His eyes wandered over Amleth's fine raiment with a predatory gleam. "Why do you suppose that is?"

"Godric's protection," he said through clenched teeth.

The suggestion amused Roman. "Hardly. Maty is my collateral. She would testify against Thea if I allowed it. But I do not, and so Thea behaves." He waved a magnanimous hand. "And thus you live."

Amleth slapped his flatware down with a clank. "I don't believe for one second that bitch is kept on her leash because you keep a material witness in your back pocket."

"Believe what you want."

"Patricide, Roman. Fratricide! This is intolerable. I can't sit here and pretend with you. You make me sick." He rose quickly and the fast motion and the metallic scent of the dishes turned his stomach. He wavered on his feet.

"Calm yourself, Amleth. You are not well."

"And who is to blame for that!" he shouted. His own voice rattled in his head and he swooned. Haleem caught him and guided him back into his chair.

"May I bring him the next course, Master?" he whispered. Roman nodded.

Amleth squeezed his temples to stop the room from spinning. "I want to see your files on the Dallas bombing. Who engineered the attack? Not the Fellowship. There's no bloody way those rednecks compromised me. Was it you?"

Roman made a sympathetic face. "Not everything is my doing, child."

Amleth struggled to right himself. "I heard about Athens. That was no accidental fire. Is Thea dead?"

"The royal residence was lost." Roman shrugged lightly. "Such things happen. Athens will rebuild as it always has."

"You want me? Give me Thea."

"Surely you negotiate more convincingly than this," Roman mused. "I do not have to bargain for that which I already have."

"You don't have my cooperation – yet. What is it that you really want? The telepath? Prince Niall?"

Roman tutted him. "Tragic prince. Middle child. You never think you alone are enough."

Haleem brought Amleth another goblet. "Enough of your games, you bastard." Amleth slammed the drink back in anger, taking large glugs of the meal, uncaring about this course's preparation. The unnaturally thick blood hit his throat and he gagged, spewing out a mouthful in horror. "What have you…! Whose blood is this?" he shrieked.

Roman raised his eyebrows. "I keep my promises, dear boy."

Amleth wretched, spitting and wiping his mouth out furiously with a napkin. It was too late. He had ingested the goblet of vampire blood and he already felt the warm fire of its power screaming through his veins. "Whose," he said in horror. "Whose!" He shot to his feet, knocking over his chair.

Roman blinked slowly. "Why, Thea's, of course. How else do you think we healed you?"

Amleth's head pounded and the room began to tilt violently. He had woken to his own decayed flesh. He was riddled with hideous, internal wounds. He should have been dead. Of course he had not healed on his own. Of course. Stumbling backwards, he clutched at his chest, gasping. The silent blood bond beneath his heart was not Godric's.

It had been Thea's all along.

"You villain!" Amleth bellowed, before his eyes rolled backwards and he lost consciousness.

A/N: Thoughts, theories, squeals of shock? Leave a review! Reviewers get an all-inclusive three night holiday at Akhet Place. I hear Eric and Godric are in the suite next door XD.

Apologies for the long wait for new material. I've been trying to develop my headcanon for Arun, who wants to be a full fledged novel, and it's given me writer's block. I am also having major issues writing Amleth, who if you don't know by now, is my baby and I love him and I've lived with him in my head now for eight years. He's my dark prince hell-bent on revenge and a total trickster with major Loki vibes. Enjoy how I've painted his character while you can, because soon enough readers will have their wires and faceclaims crossed by Robert Egger's new movie.

I've known for some time that "The Northman" would be based on the Norse source material for Shakespeare's Hamlet. Vikings and Shakespeare? Only my two favorite things. (Hello, my first story, 'Such Stuff'!) Skarsgård? Make that my three favorite things. Uncanny. I'm breathlessly excited about the film, and I hope this gets Alex an Oscar nod. It's seriously too freaking exciting for a super-nerd like me. But I must admit I cringed a little when it was confirmed that Alex's character would indeed be called "Amleth" - Hamlet's original name in Norse folklore and the inspo for my character as well. Perhaps I identify way too strongly with Godric here - Amla is this delicious secret even though he's been around for a millennium. I suppose we can share him with Alex too, but dang if it's not going to get confusing for this story. Alex IS Eric Northman, and if he's as masterful in "The Northman" as I hope, he will make Amleth his own too. SO. My goal is to get this story done in the coming year before the film is released. Just a heads up.

Much love to you all. Hope you're thriving. Xx, M