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“You ordered it.”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

“Think.” His voice was barely audible.

“Why kill her?”

“Because you wanted to hurt me.”

“No.” He smiled. “I wanted you distracted.”

My blood turned cold. “From what?”

His eyes moved past me, that was when I felt it. There was something behind me. I turned but it was too late. The blade entered beneath my ribs, I felt it slide into my body and for one strange second, I felt nothing. Then fire ripped through my body. I looked down, a black blade protruded from my stomach with runes burned along its surface.

The Berserker ignored and continued fighting, but deep down I acknowledged that it was a Demon weapon. Fuck. The creature behind me twisted it, and pain explodes through every nerve which has me roar in rage.

“VIKING!” I hear my brothers as they lose their fucking minds. Volken hit the demon first. He didn't kill it, he obliterated it. Lucien was screaming as Draugr moved toward Ceasar.

I tried to stand but my legs stopped working. I dropped to one knee, grab the handle of the blade and slide it free. Blood poured down my stomach. Too much, too fucking much. I pressed my hand against the wound, but it didn't close. That was wrong because Vampire wounds healed immediately. This wasn't healing.

“Viking!” Volken caught me before I fell forward. His face changed when he saw the wound, my vision coming into focus, the red bloodlust slipping away. I'd never seen fear on Volken. Not like that. “No.”

“I'm fine.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Ceasar.”

“Fuck Ceasar!”

I looked toward where my uncle had just been, but he was now gone.

“Draugr!”

“He's gone!” Draugr shouted. Rage exploded through me, I tried to stand but Volken shoved me down.

“DON'T FUCKING MOVE!”

“Get off me!”

“You're bleeding out!”

“I said get the fuck off me!”

Lucien dropped beside us. His face went white. “Why isn't he healing?”

“Demon blade,” Volken snarled. Draugr appeared next to us, he looked at the wound and then his eyes met mine. That was when I knew. Bad, really fucking bad.

“Blood,” Draugr said.

Volken was already moving as he tore open his wrist with his fangs. “Drink.”

“Fuck no.”

“Viking.”