9. Lianna

I had been a shit sleeper since I was a kid.

In Vidar's arms, I slept like the dead and woke up energized.

And sticky.

Overstimulatingly sticky. Like, carefully pry our skin apart so the dried slick didn't tear anything sticky.

Fortunately, dragons were luxury magpies, and Vidar had spared nothing when he decked out this underground maze with everything he'd need to survive—and thrive—in the event of an apocalypse. Zombies? Nuclear war? My mate had it covered.

Of course, he insisted he hadn't been thinking of a cataclysmic event when he designed his Pacific Northwest hoard. No, according to him, the steaming Roman bath and huge, fully stocked pantry and pricey collection of every cream, soap, and oil known to man were just the essentials.

"It's the bare minimum," he'd insisted incredulously, adorably unaware how spoiled he sounded while I gawked at the enormous bath chamber for the first time. Somehow, this was just a bathroom in his mind.

I mean, yes, technically there was running water for the sink, the toilet, and a shower—but then there was also an Olympic-sized pool dressed to the nines in glittery Mediterranean blue tiles, marble columns, and an arched ceiling with medieval-style engravings in the stone.

I had never been moved by opulence, but as an artist, my soul appreciated beautiful work. More than that, it craved passion. Cedar Cove alpha luxury was ostentatious, flashy, and braggy. It was a cash splash—not a celebration of form, history, or culture. Local alphas moved through the world with their bling and designer brands like everyone else was beneath them, like they were owed deference just by being.

But Vidar had built this hoard from the ground up. With magic and his bare hands—and claws, apparently—he had chipped, chiseled, and molded this secret retreat to his exact liking. He had taste. He had style. He put in the work, personally, evidenced by the constant stop and go anytime we moved to a new room.

No longer trapped in a heat haze, I listened, admired, and gushed as he pointed out finer details in certain design choices, or relayed the historical significance behind the more consistent themes I'd spotted throughout.

This alpha, he was passionate about his home, his space, his sanctuary, and that spoke to me as an omega. Usually we were the ones obsessed with hearth and home. It was biological, programmed into our DNA. Alphas traditionally defended territory, and we were ridiculous little psychos about everything inside our four walls.

Vidar seemed intense about both.

And about me.

Because the first thing he did after we roused from that glorious nap was insist on a bath and food—stat. In this giant pool, we both de-stickified with soaps and scrubs and slow, thorough massages that went both ways.

Next came a feast from a pantry that was about the size of my apartment, a dimly lit maze of shelves, temperature-controlled to accommodate everything's needs despite there being no walls. Magic, apparently, played a big part in keeping his hoards alive in his absence. The invisible temperature clouds ranging from freezing to lukewarm blanketing Vidar's supplies? Magic. I couldn't get enough of it. How much easier would life be if we could all snap our fingers and will something into existence?

Much to my relief, he didn't try to ply me with wine or liquor. No, Vidar insisted on electrolyte-heavy juices and lots of water, paired with a bevy of sweets to keep the energy I woke up with burning. Pastries with a delectable icing glaze. Chocolates dripping caramel with every bite. It was heaven.

I, like many omegas, had a sweet tooth, but Vidar also insisted I hit my macros: protein, fat, and carbs. He whipped a feta, tomato, and spinach quiche out of nowhere, followed by jerky he made himself for poolside snacking. He was so focused on supporting my post-heat recovery that I just…

I fell for him. A little.

A lot.

And I showed it with a steady stream of surprise kisses—ones we kept from going too far, even if it hurt to stop. Fortunately, the temporary sting wasn't enough to ignore the dull, lingering ache down south. Despite the heat of the water, the sumptuous lotions, and Vidar's safe, soft massages, my hips and inner thighs were sore. I mean, I tried to do all the things to counteract my sedentary work life: yoga, occasional Pilates, stupid little walks around the block for the sake of my stupid mental health…

But nothing prepared you to ride a real alpha and take his knot.

A knot my omega side, my heart side, was eager to lock onto again, but my body needed more recovery. My actual heat was due in about a month, so there would be plenty of opportunities to escalate these stolen kisses and heated glances.

For now, I practically purred under his attention, his care, and his curiosity. Unlike the Synn idiots who I'd had plenty of dates with over the last few months, Vidar asked questions about me.

Then there were actual follow-up questions to my answers, like he was listening, digesting, and then probing for more details because he genuinely wanted them. Flattered, safe in his orbit, I answered freely.

As we munched from trays at the edge of the pool, seated on tiled benches or dangling off the side in the deep end, I gave him all the details of my family's recent tragedies. He got a big picture overview of how our happy home fractured into the broken pieces it was now, not because anyone was a bad person, but because circumstances hadn't been kind. I shared how close I was with Louis growing up, how much I missed him now, that it wasn't the same visiting him in his ward but I did it, every other day, because I was determined not to lose him like I was losing Dad.

When that got too heavy, we moved on to other topics. My education. My interests. My nest back home. My graphic design business. My cover art. My desire to move into tattooing—which I had told no one but him, and, fuck, did it feel great to finally say out loud.

But not as great as his support of my dreams, his excitement to see me through them, his promises to encourage me—if I chose to keep him.

Like that was a choice. He was my scent match. My fated mate. This dragon was stuck with me.

And I had questions of my own. Lots.

"Okay," I'd said at the time, rubbing my hands together as we sat on a bench in the shallow end, his ale bubbling and my hot chocolate cooling just off to the side, "you ready?"

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?

Another casual bomb dropped, albeit more gracelessly than the grenades those Synn morons threw for fun.

"It's the same for all the Deathless Gods," he told me, his tone velvety and, maybe, if I was reading it right—a little uncertain. "Our fated mates may be mortal or magical. Not all will have endless lives from birth, and to stop, well, a high turnover rate—" Vidar forced a weak grin, this one, for the first time today, coming nowhere near his eyes. "This is a gift from the gods. We are unburdened by the choice between love and duty. We can have both. It is encouraged, in fact, to bring our fated mates into the fold. We work alone—and can feel quite alone sometimes. Should I mark you, we would live as one forever, or until I left the cult. If I renounced my title of Deathless God, you would be made mortal again."

A pitchy whine stretched between my ears, followed by a dizzying heat in my cheeks. "That's… heavy." Fuck's sake. What a stupid thing to say. "I mean, uh, it's… That's… I j-just learned dragons and everything are real today, or yesterday, or whatever, so?—"

"It will be your choice to make, if you intend to keep me." Vidar crawled over and settled in front of me on his stomach, his chin pillowed on his folded arms. "A mortal life, or the life of a mate to a Deathless God—are two ends of a spectrum. Make no mistake, I would suffer your mortal lifespan unbonded to you, if that is what you desire. The choice is yours, my omega. And it is not one you should make today." He tapped my nose with his pinkie, drawing a hollow chuckle from me. "Or tomorrow. Or even this year. I only thought it fair that you have all the facts."

Yeah, there was no way I could even process half the stuff he'd told me today. Deciding if I wanted to bond to my scent match properly—which I did—was one thing. Becoming immortal the second it happened? Information overload. If I tried to make a decision, any decision, I'd fry a circuit.

Still, one thing stuck with me, cemented in my brain: he was giving me a choice. An alpha putting his fate, his future, in the hands of his omega. Not exactly the most common thing in our world today, and from the way he spoke to me, looked at me now, his gaze dark and vulnerable—I believed him.

I believed that, in the end, what we shared would be left to me.

After a few calming breaths, anxiety all aflutter, I pushed off the pool seating and nudged his nose with mine, then stole a quick kiss.

"Thank you," I whispered. Vidar's rumble sounded more like a purr this time, like pure alpha contentment, and he gave me a slow blink, a nose nuzzle, and a deeper kiss in kind.

"Now," he murmured against my lips, "I know you are just a little kitten in a sunbeam in those bathwaters, but—" My alpha let out deep, delicious chuckles as I chased him, stealing kiss after kiss until he folded and came back for more. Gripping my chin, he devoured my affections hungrily, his noises rougher, wilder.

"Omega," Vidar eventually chided, all wolfish smiles and dark eyes when he tore himself away. "We can come back right away, spend the rest of the summer here, but, darling girl, I should attend the Summer Solstice Festival now that I'm able." He pushed onto his knees and ambled back toward the mirror, taking his thickening erection with him. "See that it has gone on without me. Lend my fire, given my—" His gaze snagged mine in the mirror, holding it. "—absence."

Right. The festival. The influencer-core, music-centered, rutting cacophony on the waterfront that I had been dreading for weeks.

"Uh, Vidar?"

"Lianna?" He flashed another of his crooked grins in the mirror as he finger-combed his hair. It still made me blush, no matter how many times I'd seen that adorable quirk of his mouth. Still, a few of the anxiety bees that lived alongside the flock of tummy butterflies suddenly buzzed into existence, making my palms sweat.

"I just…" I pulled my hands underwater when I caught his reflection frowning at them, like he could scent my concerns. "Do you know anything about the festival's reputation?"

He lowered his arms, hair extra floofy after its tease. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Clearing my throat, I pushed up to kneel on the bench, elbows planted on the edge of the pool. "It's a summer solstice celebration in name only. Nobody goes there to reflect on the summer sun or learn about the history of the solstice, or, you know, whatever. It's… a place to get drunk and take photos. It's a status thing, just something to tick off the list, because there's another festival next weekend that all the same people want to show their face at." Vidar rounded on me, his arms crossed, his cock slowly deflating. Yeah, having your expectations dashed was kind of a boner killer. "Pack Synn markets their fire wall as a feat of, I dunno, technological brilliance?"

His expression hardened for a moment, making my breath catch in my throat, but it softened on his next exhale.

"If only Pack Synn honors the solstice, if they throw the festival in its honor, I have done my duty?—"

"It's about making money. There's no reverence." I'd listened to Chad, Thad, and fucking Dewey talk about this midsummer blowout on every one of our awkward Friday night dates. Even if they hadn't brought me into the know yet about dragons and such, they could have added some depth to their mind-numbing shallowness by talking just once about the solstice itself. I might have actually liked them more if they did. Not by much, but the bar was on the floor; anything above was a net positive. "There's nothing solstice-y about what they do. Attendees go to drink and party, and, you know, have a fun beach day, a crazy night."

"Past humans did the same?—"

"Alpha." His gaze snapped to mine. Never did I ever want to call some dude Alpha, because no alpha needed the ego boost. But, right now, I needed mine to hear me. "It's not about midsummer, or the solstice, or anything that would make people think, ‘hey, I'm celebrating the longest day of the year, a day of bounty——all that." My heart ached the further his expression fell. "I just wanted you to know, because you've been out of the game for a while with the arrow thing, and?—"

"We made a deal." Goosebumps erupted up my arms and down my legs. My nipples pebbled, hidden behind my forearms, and I shivered, shrinking at his tone. Vidar glared at the floor, his brow furrowed, his gaze hard, his voice pure dragon. "Pack Synn and I… signed contracts." Rough, harsh echoes reverberated around the space, his words hissed back at me. "The use of my fire, the divine properties in the ash that I insisted be used for good." His jaw slid to the side briefly, his fists tight. "For healing, and fertility, and…"

In the face of a snarling monster, literal or metaphorical, omega instincts always came to a fork in the road: flight or fawn. Fight was a modern concept for modern omegas—and traditionalists hated it. My gut told me to sink underwater and disappear, make myself invisible, so Vidar could work out all these big alpha feelings on his own.

I forced my prune-y ass out of the pool instead.

"What little I've gleaned about the inner workings of Pack Synn during this bullshit courtship," I started as I brushed the drips from my limbs, eyeing a nearby towel, "makes me think that they probably sell your magical ash to the highest bidder." Assaulted by cool air from every side, I grinned thankfully when Vidar grabbed the towel and handed it over. "That's just the vibe I get from their pack, and, honestly, so many wealthy packs these days. It's get rich, stay rich, especially out here."

After a proper rubdown, I looped this towel that was built for alpha proportions around my middle—twice—and tucked a corner under my armpit. Then, squeezing out the moisture in my hair, I moved closer, one cautious step at a time. My heart said he wouldn't snap, wouldn't go full feral and take it out on the nearest target?—

And my heart was right. Vidar grumbled softly the second I touched his arm, and his furious gaze shuttered closed as I rubbed his bicep. Feeling safe again, I cuddled into his chest, my perfume misting cozy, rich vanilla. He rumbled again as he uncrossed his arms and wrapped one loosely around my waist, drawing me in, while his other hand went for my hair, smoothing it out of my face and looping it behind my ears.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, hugging his steely torso and resting my chin between his tattooed pecs. "Maybe I'm wrong." He dipped his head to meet my gaze properly, and something told me we both knew I wasn't. Pack Synn had a few reputations, some they played up for the media, others they tried and failed to silence behind closed doors. "But why don't we just go? Walk around for a bit, get the lay of the land. Then you can decide for yourself."

After all, who was I to say the festival wasn't up to Deathless God standards? Maybe it was just scooting by with a passing grade, and all this worry, this speculation, was baseless.

"Don't apologize," he murmured gruffly, brushing his knuckles along my jaw to cradle my chin. He tipped my head back, lightness slanting over his features again. "My mate's word means a great deal to me. Never fear sharing the truth, Lianna. I'll always listen."

My alpha plucked at my lower lip thoughtfully for a moment, his pheromones suddenly pumping harder, thicker. "We should go—see what they're up to, if they've breached our old contract." Vidar gave me a quick once-over, followed by a slower, more sensual up and down that made my heart pitter-patter. "While this is, without a doubt, my favorite look on you?—"

"Oh, you like my towel gown? It's haute couture, actually."

He snorted, then kissed my forehead, my nose, and my lips.

"I suspect you could make a sack look couture, little omega." His grip tightened around my waist, and I squealed as he scooped me off my feet. "But I think we should get you proper attire—clothing worthy of a dragon's mate."

Delight split my face wide and made my cheeks ache. Flushed, weightless in his grasp, I squirmed and threw my arms around his neck, kissing him ardently, desperately, as he whirled away from the pool.

Whisking me off to a wardrobe stocked with pieces he had collected over the years.

And then, sooner than I would have liked, it was back to the real world and all its problems.