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“No.”
“I’ll pick you up for the Saturday service. We can do dinner after.”
Jesska kicked his leg. “I’m busy on Saturday night.”
“With Merlot or Pinot?”
“I don’t know, maybe both.”
“Jess, just how much are you drinking?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, Cam. I’m not going the way of my mother. I cap myself at a bottle or two of wine a night. If I’m really upset, I use the heroin.”
“Not funny, Messka.”
“Not even a lot a bit?”
“Where did you get your warped sense of humor?” he asked.
“Television. Where else?”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “Five-thirty.”
“Why do you go to a church in the ’Couve? It’s so far away!”
“Fine, I’ll find one near you. I’ll pick you up at ten on Sunday. We can do lunch instead.”
“I really can’t this weekend, Cam. Seriously. I promised Adalyn I’d help with Kiana. Marc’s out of town.”
“Then next weekend.”
Jesska groaned in irritation. His manipulation was unmatched. “I hate you so much right now.”
Cameron laughed. “You hate me because I’m right. Let’s pop some corn and watch a movie.”
“Only if we can find one where the sister murders her brother really slowly.”
He rose to his feet. “I take back any references to you being normal.”
She laughed and followed him into the kitchen.
Chapter Three
Kaspar’s driver opened the door for him, and he joined his brother in the back of the large SUV. He had a lot to do today and, although Gunnar felt it would have been more convenient for the woman to come to them, Kaspar was a stickler for his privacy, and no one came to his home unless invited. “Where are we meeting her?” he asked.
“Vegamót,” Gunnar said, and raised a hand, cutting off Kaspar’s objection. “There isn’t really anywhere else.”
Kaspar sighed. “No, I don’t suppose there is.”
Bíldudalur was a tiny little fishing village on the coast of one of Iceland’s Westfjords, Arnarfjörður. It had one tiny little eatery, slash general store, Vegamót. Kaspar wished there was another option, something bigger, some place they wouldn’t be noticed.
Kaspar’s grandfather was one of the original Norsemen who emigrated at the end of the ninth century. It was the perfect place to hide what they were and control the information they could provide to the new world. No one expected they were anything other than human. They’d settled in Bíldudalur and the town flourished until the twentieth century, when the fishing industry declined. Only a few families remained faithful to the village and stayed on. For the most part, the Kalt Einn didn’t interact with humans, but on rare occasions such as this one, it was necessary to meet in town.
Their driver pulled up to the small restaurant and the shop owner smiled, his friendly demeanor a little off-putting for Kaspar. He was wary of people who were overly friendly... they usually wanted something from him.
“Wipe that look off your face, brother,” Gunnar warned.
Kaspar tried to do as his brother said as he followed Gunnar to the back of the building. A feminine gasp pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a tiny woman huddling under the eaves for shelter from the blinding sun. She curtsied, blushing bright red. “Sire. I was not expecting you.”
