

### To Trust a Wolf

Danielle Hardgrave

Published by Caldwell Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Caldwell Publishing

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## Chapter One

"Hello Helen Jurist speaking."

"Yes, Ms. Jurist, I'm Alex Parker, with the Star. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the Cutler Hoard."

Slam.

I stood and straightened my skirt, then walked out of my office and down the hall. When I reached the administration desk, I plastered on a polite smile and regarded the receptionist. It took her a few seconds to notice I was there, consumed in whatever she was looking at on her screen—probably Facebook—and the bag of popcorn on her desk.

"Oh!" she said when she noticed me. "Helen! Hi."

"Anna, do you remember what I told you about reporters?"

She popped a kernel into her mouth and chewed.

"Mhm."

"That man you just forwarded to me was a reporter." I was trying to be patient and kind with her, but she made it so difficult sometimes.

"Whoops!"

I waited to see if she was going to follow up that statement with anything else, but she apparently found her non-apology sufficient. I sighed.

"Anna, perhaps it's better not to let anyone through until after the gala. Unless it's Don, just take a message."

She tipped her head back and dropped some more popcorn into her mouth. "Sure thing, boss."

The phone rang and Anna chewed, staring at me, until I gestured for her to answer it. I turned as she began to loudly take a message for me from my mother. I would have interrupted her and picked up the call if I weren't so busy.

Sometimes I wasn't sure whether Anna was incompetent, or whether she simply didn't like me much. If I were her, I probably wouldn't like me either. We were the same age but my twenty-five was landing a great job right out of grad school and her twenty-five was answering phones and being bossed around by me.

As I took a step back to my office I spotted my boss, Don, who was chatting away on his cellphone. I gave him a sympathetic nod, and he rolled his gray eyes and imitated a blabbing sock puppet with his free hand. I chuckled as he breezed past and watched his bald head bob out the front door. Then I went back to my office and sat down with a hefty sigh. I saw how many emails had come in during my brief absence, and sighed again.

The museum didn't have enough staff or resources to deal with this amount of attention. Normally it was a few Native American artifacts here, a couple exhibits on loan there. I would have never dreamed that our little archaeology lab would be the first stop for Viking artifacts found on the coast of Maine. I wouldn't have guessed there would be Viking artifacts in Maine to be discovered in the first place, but life is full of surprises sometimes, no matter how much we plan.

And planning things was my speciality. I had planned what was to be an engaging and exciting special exhibit for upcoming Annual Donor Gala attendees, and I found it irksome when the museum wanted me to scrap it at the last minute and put out the Hoard instead. Sure. And while I was at it, why didn't I toss out the catering I ordered months ago and order a bunch of pizza instead?

My phone rang, and I half expected it to be a telemarketer or a pre-recorded message saying that I'd won a cruise. I wouldn't put it past Anna.

"Hello, Helen Jurist speaking."

"Helen, it's Don."

"What can I do for you?" I tapped my pen against my cheek. I didn't really want to know the answer.

"There's someone I need you to give a tour to," he said.

"I'm not a tour guide, Don," I reminded him, although I was used to being treated like his assistant. "I think Sonia's around. Is this person coming in today?"

"No, I need you to do it," he insisted. "I need you to give a tour of our work on the Cutler Hoard."

My mouth immediately sunk into a frown. "Don, we talked about this. You, yourself were the one who insisted that nobody go in there until everything is cleaned and catalogued."

"I know," Don said, "but it's taking so long. And this gentleman is a friend of the museum."

In other words, he had just donated a bunch of money.

I wrinkled my nose. "It's not Doctor Bernshaw's fault that none of his colleagues showed up. He's doing the best he can."

"Helen," he intoned. "This is important for our work."

I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him that if we broke this rule then it would set a potentially harmful precedent and could even end up jeopardizing the very work that he was referencing. But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I deferred to his authority and asked who the man was.

"His name is Rune Helsen. He's a scholar who studies medieval Scandinavia, and he's very interested in the Hoard."

Of course he was. Everyone was right now. He, apparently, was just the only one capable of producing enough money to bribe my boss.

"Roohna?" I repeated. "How do you spell that?"

"R-U-N-E. He's Danish or something."

"Great."

I hung up the phone and rested my head in my hands. Don would be the end of me. I was up to my neck in last minute gala preparations, and I had already given up on explaining to people why the discovery wouldn't be the centrepiece of the event. It was like herding cats away from a canary. And now I had to show around some rich Viking enthusiast, too.

I sighed, pushed out my chair, and strode over to tell Anna I would be in the basement with Doctor Bernshaw, and that I had my cellphone if she needed me. I knew that Rune would be arriving within the hour, but I didn't tell her that. I would leave it to her whether he ended up waiting or not. I might have to do as Don said, but I would rebel in my own tiny way.

At the top of the stairs I swiped my keycard three times before the door finally unlocked. I swore under my breath. Everything in the museum was just as dated as the man currently inventorying the Cutler Hoard.

The lab in the basement was cool and bright. I immediately spotted Doctor Bernshaw huddled over a workbench in the far corner. He didn't acknowledge my presence, but he knew I was there. The man was impossible to sneak up on.

I passed by several pieces from the Hoard that he had cleaned already. He seemed to be working through the silver first. I resisted the urge pick up and examine a few of the relics; I'd have plenty of opportunity to do so when I was showing them to our generous benefactor.

"Doctor Bernshaw," I called.

The stout old man craned his head to look at me, his bushy eyebrows raised above his wire framed spectacles.

"Ms. Jurist," he replied. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He put down what he was working on and turned around, pulling off his gloves and fixing me with a smile. I smiled back.

Bernshaw had only been at the museum as long as the Hoard had, but so far we got along very well. He was polite and calm, and he never asked for anything. In return I was polite and calm back, and I tried to bother him as little as possible. He spent more hours down here than anyone else, and I felt bad for him. There were over two hundred pieces that needed his attention before they could be moved to a larger, better-equipped research facility.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," I said. "I have someone coming to view the collection."

His eyes flashed with irritation, but he was calm as ever when he spoke. "I was under the impression that Mr. Larson was placing a premium on privacy for the time being."

"He was," I said. "But this man is an exception, apparently. Anyway, I'm so sorry if this is inconvenient for you. I'll try to be quick."

He gave me a reassuring smile, but it failed to reach his watery blue eyes. "It's fine."

"On the bright side," I said, "he studies in your field. I'm sure you'll have plenty to talk about."

I thought it might cheer him up to have someone to talk to, but his hurried response told me I was wrong.

"Actually, I have some errands I have to attend to," he replied. "May I go do that instead? I'm afraid I don't think I would enjoy watching someone rifle through my work."

I felt a pang of guilt in my chest. Bernshaw was very particular about his work, and I knew that I was causing him anxiety. As someone who respected routine as much as I did, I understood that this interruption was thoroughly unpleasant to him.

"Of course," I told him. "Please take your time. You've been working so hard."

He nodded his silver head toward me and turned back to the corner beginning to clear away his supplies. His arms stretched up to put his brushes back in the overhead shelving.

"Let me help," I offered, gently taking the brushes from his hand.

I reached up and placed them inside the cabinet, which was overflowing with useless stuff. I made a mental note that we would have to clear out the nonessentials soon. There were things in there that I didn't think anyone had touched in years.

"Thank you, my dear," he said after everything had been put away.

Judging by his tone, he didn't seem like he was grateful at all. I wondered if I had made a mistake in helping him. Was he irritated? Embarrassed? Whatever the case, I doubted he would ever say. In the future, I vowed to refrain from offering my help unless asked. He was so small though, so fragile looking. I doubted he was more durable than any of the artifacts he handled.

When I was back on the main floor, I ducked into the bathroom to assess my appearance. I wiped away the bits of makeup that had migrated below my eyes and tousled a little water in my chestnut waves. I straightened my skirt for the millionth time that day, but it had stretched out from a long day of running around like a crazy person. I decided that if my client thought I looked shabby then he should think before dropping by with almost no notice. The nerve of some people.

I steeled myself for the museum's mysterious patron and his elitist attitude. I wondered how long he had badgered Don before Don had given in. I wondered how much money he had donated. I coated myself in this distaste like a shell, and I was prepared to be stern if he tried anything funny. I wasn't expecting him to try and steal anything, but he might try and buy something. People like him often did.

I hadn't been in the lab for long, but when I got back to the front desk he was waiting there for me. I assumed it was him, at least. A traitorous part of myself hoped it was him.

The first thing that struck me was his height. He towered over the desk like a marble statue, all hard lines and serenity. His hair looked jet black under the fluorescent bulbs, and it was pushed back from his forehead. I had a feeling that when he was stressed he ran his hands through it. His skin was fair, but he clearly got some sun. I was just wondering whether his stubble was intentional or the product of a late night when he turned to me and skewered me with his gaze.

"Uh—hi," I stammered.

I flushed, hoping that he hadn't seen me so obviously checking him out. The way his thin lips curved at the corners told me he had.

"Are you Mr. Helsen?" I asked.

"I am," he replied. "But just Rune is fine."

His voice was melodious and low with a faint accent that rounded his syllables. It made me want to lean closer into his every word.

"I'm Helen Jurist."

I thrust my hand out for him to shake, and he took it without breaking eye contact. His grip was firm and warm.

"You must be very excited to have the first examination of such an amazing discovery," he said.

He released my hand and I felt a silly pang of longing for his touch. I internally shook myself to re-calibrate.

"It has truly been an honour," I replied. "Please, follow me."

I began to lead him down to the basement, conscious of his eyes on my back. I tried to walk as straight and proud as possible.

"Did you travel very far?" I asked as we descended the wooden stairs.

"I've been in town for a few days," he said. "Before that I was in Seattle."

We entered the cavernous room and I flicked on the lights. The room wasn't state-of-the-art as far as museum facilities went, but it was more than adequate for the kind of work we did. Controlled humidity and temperature, no damaging natural light, and lots of space to work in—as long as you didn't open any of the cupboards.

"Our director said you're Danish," I commented. "What are you doing all the way over here?"

He breezed into the room but stopped before approaching any of the benches. At least he didn't go over and start rifling through stuff.

"I seem a lot taller among Americans. It feeds my ego." He delivered this with such deadpan sincerity that, until he winked, I almost thought he was being serious.

I let out a polite laugh and grabbed the two pairs of cotton gloves I had left on one of the benches, near the door, before I left Bernshaw. I handed a pair to him and put on the other.

"I will ask that you not touch anything without my express consent," I said. "There are several items that are too fragile for untrained hands at the moment. And please, Mr. Helsen, don't drop anything."

"Have no fear. Don went through the rules with me on the phone, Ms. Jurist," he said, mocking my formality.

I slipped on another smile and began showing him around the room, stopping to examine some of the items in more detail. He showed very little interest in the buckles and broaches, which I found odd. In my opinion, they were the most beautiful items in the whole collection. He seemed more intrigued by some of the old coins and bracelets. One bracelet, in particular, he stopped and examined for a good five to ten minutes.

It was awkward, but only because I didn't have anything to say about the items. I had my masters in American History, not Scandinavian. Bernshaw hadn't even begun cataloguing the artifacts yet, so I had no notes to read from. I just followed him around the room, watching over him like a hawk.

He demonstrated great care with the artifacts, and for that I was grateful. He was generally quite silent, but every once in awhile he would theorize about the symbolism of a certain piece, or explain a motif to me.

My shell of distaste was cracking, but I was determined to keep it from caving in. I remembered how much work I had to do and how much I disapproved of him buying his way into this room before anyone else. Then I would catch a whiff of his spicy, warm aroma, and I'd be back to wondering why I'd put up the shell in the first place.

I was still dithering to myself when Rune announced he wanted to look at one of the bracelets again and then he would be out of my hair. I wasn't surprised to see him go back to the one he had held up for several minutes, and I sidled up to him in order to examine why he found it so interesting.

It was a simple silver bangle with few artistic touches. When I looked closer I could see that it was fashioned in the design of snake and, where the ends were fused together, the snake was biting its own tail.

"Jormungandr," he said when he saw me looking.

"Bless you?"

He chuckled. "The World Serpent," he explained. "One of Loki's monstrous children. He was thrown into the sea, and he was so large that his body circled the Earth. He was doomed to a cursed existence of biting his own tail until the end of days."

He held the piece up to the light, and I could see that the snake's eyes were embedded with clear stones.

"Are those diamonds?" I asked. I cursed myself the moment I did. I wasn't supposed to be asking questions. I had completely undermined my authority.

"I believe they are," he said, seemingly unaffected by my lapse.

He placed the bracelet back on its cloth gently and began sliding the gloves off of his large hands. I removed mine as well, and indicated for him to exit in front of me. I still didn't trust his intentions.

"Will you be staying in Alexandria long?" I asked on the way back up.

"Back to the small talk, are we?" he shot back with amusement.

"Simply taking an interest in our newest donor."

"I haven't decided," he said, holding out the door at the top of the stairs for me. As I brushed past him in the narrow doorway, he added, "Would you like me to?"

I nearly tripped, but managed to steady myself at the last second. I turned to look at him, making sure that I had heard him correctly. His fierce gaze told me all I needed to know. It was all I could do not to get lost in the promise of lust those dark eyes held.

"I have no opinion on the matter," I replied, trying not to let a blush creep into my cheeks.

"What's your opinion on dinner?"

He left the doorway and walked in front of me, thrusting his hands inside the pockets of his charcoal slacks. I tried not to let my gaze drag across his matching suit jacket and waistcoat, but I may have faltered slightly.

"It's overrated, as far as meals go." I desperately tried to cling onto my shell, but the damn thing was crumbling around me.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." His eyes flashed with humour. "Perhaps you'd like to not have dinner with me then?"

I tried to keep my face as impassive as possible. "I'm afraid that would be very unprofessional of me, Mr. Helsen." Guiltily, I searched his face for signs of disappointment. Whatever he was feeling on the inside, his face betrayed none of it. Before he had a chance to reply, I muttered, "Enjoy Virginia," and strode off in the direction of my office.

Once there, I closed the door and sat down heavily at my desk, wondering why I couldn't just let my hair down for once.

***

"How was the tour?"

I looked up to see Don in my doorway, munching on what looked like a gas station sandwich. That man would eat anything.

"It was...fine," I said. I wasn't sure that fine was the word to use, but then again I didn't know what word would be more fitting.

"Fine?" Don eyed me suspiciously and took another bite from his sandwich.

Don knew me. I didn't describe things as fine when I meant something else. Not around him, at least. What was I supposed to say to him though? _The walking pot of sex that you sent my way was a perfect gentleman and part of me wishes he hadn't been_?

"He was very polite," I said after a moment. "He uh—asked me out though." I laughed to ease the tension that only I felt then added, "Crazy, right?"

Don stopped chewing. "Please tell me you said yes."

I gaped at him. "Are you serious? Don, that's highly unethical!"

"So is tapping the vending machine on that sweet spot that gives you an extra Coke," he said, "but I don't see you complaining when I drop one off at your desk every now and then."

He waved his sandwich at me when I narrowed my eyes.

"Don't look at me like that Helen. You know that we're tight on funds right now. Think of it like a business meeting." He took another bite and then spoke with his mouth full, ignorant to my evolving look of disgust. "Think of all the projects we've had to put on hold."

"Let me get this straight," I said, spinning so that I was facing him head on. "You want me to date this guy for money? Like an escort?"

"Nothing like that!" he denied. "Just go out with him this once, make him laugh, and make sure he hears about all the good work we're doing here."

I bristled at the thought of it. Accepting the attention of some guy who I was trying very hard not to like, just so that I could (hopefully) secure another donation to the museum was so far beyond my code of ethics, I couldn't believe Don had even thought to bring it up to me. Still, he had a point. Sure, it wasn't the most morally outstanding move I could make, but we were talking about a guy who had arrogantly paid his way into my museum. Who would I really be hurting?

"Do you have his number?" I said after a minute, defeated.

Don thrust his sandwich in the air in victory. "I'll email it to you."

## Chapter Two

I shifted in my heels, rubbing my hands across my bare arms. Rune had offered to pick me up, but I was trying to keep things as professional as possible.

In light of this endeavour, I had picked out a tasteful black dress that was sleek and elegant, but could still easily be worn to work. I had dressed it up a little with a silver statement necklace and hoisted myself up with a midsize heel, but had done little else to transition from day into night. My hair and makeup was exactly the same as when he had last seen me, and I hoped that would help display my innocent intentions.

I hadn't been on a date in a long time. Though I technically wasn't counting this as a date, I couldn't help but feel a bit nervous as I waited to catch a glimpse of his black hair in the crowd. Not that there was much of a crowd. Even in the summer, when Alexandria was at its busiest, it wasn't the most bustling of locales. People didn't come to party—they came to relax by the waterfront and submerge themselves in a sea of blushing oaks.

Rune arrived exactly at seven, the time we had agreed to meet outside the restaurant. He hadn't changed from his earlier clothing, but I couldn't fault him for that. There was nothing better than a man in a well-tailored suit. He stared at me appraisingly as he approached, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Ms. Jurist, you look beautiful," he said silkily, kissing me on the cheek.

My heart fluttered. "You can call me Helen," I told him.

He smiled graciously. "You look beautiful, Helen."

How I was going to make it out of there with my resolve intact, I wasn't sure.

We stepped into the dimly lit interior of the restaurant, and the hostess led us to a table in the corner. Rune pulled my chair out for me, and I lowered myself into it shyly. When he took his seat on the other side, I tried to regain my composure and put on my best challenging stare.

He ordered some sort of wine from the waitress that scuttled over, then turned to me. "Have you always wanted to be an archivist?" he asked.

The truth was that I hadn't. Growing up, I had always pictured myself doing something that involved traveling and adventure. When I got to university, I realized that I wasn't built for adventure. It was easier to seek a quieter career, one that facilitated my need for stability.

I didn't tell him that. Instead, I simply said, "Since I was a little girl. History has always been my passion."

The waitress reappeared with a dark bottle. After receiving his approval, she filled our wine glasses with the burgundy liquid.

His eyes levelled on me over the top of his menu. "I don't believe that for a second."

Who did he think he was? Thinking he could determine my life's desires after having such a brief and unauthentic encounter with me?

I didn't tell him that either.

"And what about you, Rune?" I took a sip of the wine. It was delicious. "Have you always greased your way through life with money?"

He appeared unfazed by my comment. "Always," he stated simply, taking a sip from his own glass. "What else is it good for?"

"Touché." I didn't mean to come with my claws out, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, that grin was creeping up again. I reminded myself I shouldn't spend the evening staring at the man's perfect lips.

"You don't seem too thrilled about the Cutler Hoard," he noted.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. "Now, now, Helen. There's nobody here but us, and I promise I won't tell."

I considered lying anyway, but I decided against it. What harm could it do?

"It's not that I have anything against our museum being chosen to host it for the time being," I said. "The timing is just awful." I took another drink of my wine, a bigger one. The frustration that I had been dealing with for the past few days began to pour out of me. "We have our Annual Donor Gala coming up in a couple days, and I'm in charge of planning. Ever since word got out that the collection was being catalogued here, I've had stodgy old widows crawling up my ass about putting it on show for the gala."

I paled.

"Oh god," I muttered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that." But damn had it felt good.

Rune let out a great rumbling laugh. "Please, don't apologize for your refreshing honesty," he said. "I can only imagine the stress a responsibility like that would bring." He raised his glass and I held mine up in response. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing a damn good job."

I clinked glasses with him, but chose not to mention that he had witnessed absolutely none of the work I had done so far. I was barely involved with the Cutler Hoard. Still, the praise was nice. I had an itching suspicion that anything coming from those lips would be nice.

"What is it you do then?" I inquired. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all," he replied. "I help run my family's business. We've made a few good investments over the years and it's mostly just a lot of boring asset management."

The way he said it made it seem like it wasn't boring at all. But, having zero expertise in business, I chose not to dig further.

"Why are you so interested in the Cutler Hoard?" I asked instead. I hoped that stolen relics weren't any of the assets that he managed.

"It's a hobby."

He didn't elaborate further, but this was an area in which I had a vested interest. "Seems like an expensive hobby."

The waitress came over and took our meal orders. When she left he turned his smile up to a dazzling degree.

"I don't let paltry things such as money get in between me and what I want."

I got mixed signals from his statement. On one hand, his expression was light and playful. On the other, his tone was dark and had promising sexual undertones. I wasn't sure whether I should be frightened or turned on. Inevitably, I was a bit of both.

"Right." I took another swig of wine. I tried to think of something else to say to bring the conversation back into my court and quickly realized that it never been in my court. From the second I had been caught gaping at him that afternoon, he had been in complete control.

I should have been alarmed. I didn't like wandering around without a clear goal and at least three separate paths in mind for how to get there. Somehow, though, I wasn't ill at ease with the power dynamic. That wasn't to say I was happy being so off balance, just that I certainly wasn't distressed that he was standing there with two firmly planted feet. I also realized that my new goal wasn't to find my own balance and carry on with my day—I wanted to knock him off-kilter too.

"What are you doing Friday evening?" I asked. I tried to level my gaze boldly.

"Nothing I can't rearrange."

"Come to the gala with me." I took another drink of my wine—a long, measured drink.

"Ms. Jurist, are you trying to seduce me?"

I sputtered, nearly spitting wine out onto my bread plate. So much for trying to keep my cool. "What? No!"

"Keep giving me sultry stares like that and I might have to call you a liar again." He laughed, and my tension ebbed. He was messing with me, but his intent was clearly lighthearted.

"I'm not sure I should be letting you near my artifacts," I retorted.

"Rest assured, gorgeous, your treasures could be in no better hands than mine."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

The waitress arrived with our food and we dug in, all the while exchanging flirty comments and little tidbits about our lives. He told me about growing up in Denmark and how he and his brothers had moved to America after their parents died. They had family over here, and stepped in to help manage the business. I told him how I had moved to Alexandria for my position at the museum straight out of college and how my parents were spending their retirement cruising around the world.

I don't know whether it was the wine or the conversation, but I somehow found myself forgetting about everything—about the gala, about how much disdain I held for Rune, about how I was supposed to be there on business. It was as if I was on a real date, a normal date. Like Rune had picked me up at my house, and I had gotten shyly into his car and watched him through my lashes as he drove to the restaurant. Everything slipped away.

A ringing jarred me back into the present. It was my phone. I checked the caller ID.

I looked up at Rune. "It's my boss," I said. "I have to get it. I'm sorry."

"Please," he said, sweeping his hand toward me.

I tapped the answer button. "Hey Don, what's up?"

"Have you been in the security office lately?"

An odd question, I thought. Of course I hadn't been in the security office; I was an archivist. Frankly, very few people ever went in there. We only had a handful of security guards, and they were mostly left to their own devices.

"I haven't," I replied. "Did you leave something in their fridge again?"

Jacob, our Operations Manager, occasionally pilfered Don's food. Sometimes Don left things in unique places. I figured he'd discovered that the fridge in the security office was just as viable an option as any.

"No, this is serious," he snapped. "Somebody's been in there and taken all the security footage for today."

"What? Where's Al?"

Al was the sweet old man who usually did the late afternoon shift. He always wished me a good evening before I went home.

"Nowhere to be seen. The damn door was wide open."

My pulse spiked. What the hell could have happened?

Rune was giving me a questioning look from across the table, but I wasn't about to let him in on museum business. I stood abruptly and stalked to the back of the restaurant.

"Did you call the police?" I hissed into the receiver.

"I wanted to make sure it wasn't you first," he replied. Then, hesitantly, "I...I don't want anyone to think that we've been compromised. They'll take the Cutler Hoard."

"Don!" I was so angry that I didn't even know what to say. I settled on, "What if something bad happened? The tapes didn't just walk off themselves."

There was a long sigh from the other end of the line.

"I know, I know. But you know Al, maybe he was changing tapes and spilled something on them...took them off somewhere to be salvaged."

We both knew how illogical that theory was. But, if I knew Don, I knew he was going to stick with it until the end. That left it up to me to make things right.

"When was the last time you saw Al?" I asked.

"When I left for my lunch break."

Don's "lunch break" was an excuse for him to go home and take a midday nap. He made up for it by going back and working late hours, hence why he was there now, but it had always irritated me. I had a feeling he did it specifically to avoid having to deal with people.

"And which tapes are missing?"

I hated that the museum still used physical tapes. But we were old. Nobody had ever tried to steal anything before. I couldn't even recall the last time we had to look back on the tapes.

"I'm not sure," he replied. "It was a mess in there."

I could practically feel the vein on my forehead pulsing.

"You mean you saw signs of struggle," I stated lowly. "Goddamnit Don, if you don't call the police right now then I will."

He hesitated. The bastard hesitated. He knew that something was up and he was considering whether it would be worth it, financially, to do something about it.

"Fine," he said, just as I was about to hang up and call the police. "I'll do it. But we have to keep this quiet. If it turns out to be nothing, I don't want to start a ruckus."

I sighed and agreed.

When I hung up I turned around, coming face to face with a broad chest. Rune was looming over me, and my nostrils filled with his scent. I shivered.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

He looked concerned, but it did little to warm me. Part of me wanted to mentally regress the last ten minutes, go back to the table, and allow myself to get sucked into the depths of those big brown eyes. In doing so, however, I would be allowing myself to slide into the territory of irresponsibility. Something about this evening didn't feel right to me, and something about Rune didn't make sense.

I wasn't someone who believed in coincidences.

"Yeah, it's fine," I lied. "Don just wanted to check in to see how our dinner was going."

Rune crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow at me. "You told your boss about our date?"

I was wavering under his inquisitorial gaze, so I brushed past him as I said, "I told him about our work dinner, yes."

My heart pounded in my chest, but I tried to make it to the table without stumbling. Was I in danger? Were tonight's dinner and what happened to Al somehow connected? I chanced a look back at Rune, who was following me to the table, and assessed him. He was a large man, and undoubtedly beneath that suit he would be corded with muscles. He could have quite easily overpowered poor old Al if he wanted to.

The traitor in me snuck up again, wondering what it would feel like to have those muscles overpower my own body. I halted that train of thought and mentally slapped myself.

I settled back into my seat and Rune took his. My plan was to finish dinner as quickly as possible because it would be suspicious, not to mention rude, if I left early. I could be entirely wrong about Rune. Maybe Al was fine, like Don said, and I was getting all worked up over nothing. Even as I thought that, though, I had a flashback to the way he studied that bracelet with such fierce interest. Something wasn't right.

"You seem troubled," Rune observed. I had never been particularly good at hiding my emotions.

"I just have a lot on my mind," I replied. "With the gala coming up, it's been all hands on deck."

"Just as it was a few moments ago, yet only now can I see it on your face."

I didn't answer. I had never been adept at lying. I could barely look at his face, with his aristocratic nose and angled jaw, without wanting to throw my suspicions to the wind. That wasn't something I could allow. Instead, I shoved a big hunk of steak into my mouth and chewed at it with gusto.

Rune didn't pry further, but I suspected it wasn't just because he was happy to let me have my space. No, he didn't ask any more questions because I'd given it all away already. If he did have something to do with Al's disappearance, then he already knew what it was that Don had told me on the phone. If that were the case, then his leaving me alone was a savvy move. Why risk incriminating yourself when you could just as easily let it go?

The rest of the dinner passed in relative silence. I had no words for him but accusations, and he seemed content to watch my movements with a smug grin on his face. He seemed to almost revel in my discomfort. Or perhaps it had more to do with my apparent determination to get through dinner as fast as possible, proper table etiquette be damned.

When our plates were cleared away, Rune eyed me over the empty table. "Tell me what's on your mind, Helen."

"My bed," I replied without thinking.

I immediately turned bright red. He, on the other hand, couldn't have looked more like the cat that ate the cream if he had pointy ears and a tail.

"I mean going to bed—like sleeping!" I stammered.

I turned my eyes down to the table cloth and shook my head. I had to get out of there. My hormones were at war with my rational thought process and that wasn't the kind of fight I was familiar with. I wasn't sure if I could win.

Luckily, Don texted me just then asking if I could go back into work to help him talk to the police. By that he likely meant to do all the work for him, but I was grateful for the respite. Well, part of me was. There was still the part of me that wanted to stay out with Rune until the early hours of the morning to see where things went. The stupid part of me.

"I have to go," I announced. "Something has come up."

I stood from the table and reached around in my purse for some bills. A warm hand pressed on top of mine, sending shockwaves through me. I looked up and saw Rune in front of me. Damn, he could move fast.

"That won't be necessary," he murmured. Then he leaned in toward my ear. "I had a nice evening, Helen. I look forward to seeing you on Friday."

He left a lingering kiss on my cheek that felt way more sexual than it should have. I tried not to let it faze me. I was a professional woman with a business agenda. I was out to dinner with a man whose intentions were suspicious at best. I should not be feeling butterflies from a cheek kiss, like some sort of lovestruck teenager.

I didn't say goodbye. I turned and strode straight out of the restaurant, determined not to look behind me to see if he was watching.

## Chapter Three

The situation back at the museum was exactly what I had expected.

Don looked stressed, an emotion he didn't wear well, and the police officers looked irritated. There were two of them, and from the tail end of the conversation that I caught, they appeared to be finishing up their interview. The female officer was halfway through her sentence when Don called out to me.

"Helen! Come here!"

I rolled my eyes and walked over.

"Officers, this is Helen Jurist, the woman I was telling you about," he introduced. "Helen, these are officers Colt and Murray." He pointed to the male and female, respectively.

Officer Murray resumed her sentence, without so much as acknowledging my presence. "You're sure that you saw no one else in the building?"

"Not that I know of, though I don't know everybody's schedules," Don replied, turning to me. "Helen, was anyone else here around seven?"

I gave the officers my best polite smile, trying to communicate that I was sorry for my boss' poor behaviour.

"Doctor Bernshaw is often here late, but I didn't see him come back after he left this afternoon to accommodate a private tour."

"A private tour?" Murray questioned. "Is that common?"

I shrugged. "It's not uncommon." I couldn't say much else without putting Don on the chopping block. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but he was standing right next to me. It didn't seem prudent.

"Is anything actually missing?" I asked after a moment, as the two of them continued to write notes in their pads. "Are there signs of forced entry or anything like that?"

Officer Colt shook his salt and pepper head. "Nothing missing except a couple security tapes and your security guard. No signs of forced entry and, according to your boss, the doors were still locked when he discovered the mess." He closed his pad. "We'll put out an APB for Mr. Wrighton, though. If he and the tapes are the only things missing, and nobody else was here, I think it's safe to say that he was the one who took them."

I bristled. "Al wouldn't do that."

Neither officer seemed swayed by my words.

"Most criminals don't seem like criminals," Colt said. "You'd be surprised by the lengths people will go to to cover up their mistakes."

"Which tapes are missing?" I asked.

Don answered, "The ones for the basement from today."

My heart nearly stopped. There had only been three people in the basement today and only one of them would have any reason to steal the tapes.

"Al wouldn't have been in the basement," I stated. "So it's illogical that he would steal the basement tapes."

Murray sighed.

"Look, Ms. Jurist," she said. "There's no way we can know what happened until we have those tapes or Mr. Wrighton in custody. Unless you have anything else to add, all we can do now is try and bring him in."

I swallowed. Did I have anything to add? What would I say? _Yes, officers, actually there is someone I would like you to look into. What was he doing around seven PM? Oh yeah, he was on a date with me._

I kept my mouth shut. I knew that my misgivings about Rune didn't make sense. I also knew that there was a better chance of this being a misunderstanding than there was of it being some sort of criminal conspiracy. I wasn't about to start pointing any fingers—not unless I was absolutely sure.

That didn't mean I couldn't keep an eye out on my own, though.

Don and I exchanged information with Murray and Colt, then locked the museum behind us and watched them from the steps as they got into their squad car and cruised away. Only once they were gone did I turn to Don.

"Are you telling me the whole truth about whatever happened tonight?" I asked.

"Cross my heart. I know just as much as you do."

I chewed on my lip as I thought. "We have to call the Trust."

Don moaned. "Surely not!"

I gave him a soul-melting glare. "Don, someone wanted the tapes to the basement—"

"—Unless Al spilled something on them—"

"—so it's not safe for the Cutler Hoard to be here anymore."

Don huffed. "I'll call the Trust tomorrow. Maybe this will all be cleared up by then."

***

The next day, things were not cleared up. Reluctantly, and at my behest, Don called the relevant authorities and informed them that the security at our facility had been compromised.

Doctor Bernshaw threw a fit when he found out he was going to have to prepare the materials for transport and insisted he could have them ready no sooner than the following evening. In other words, the night of the gala.

Whether it was inconvenient or not, I wanted the artifacts out of our facility as soon as possible. Unfortunately, a vehicle and driver were not available until early Saturday morning, but that would have to do. We hired a few extra security guards for the night of the gala specifically to ensure nobody wound up somewhere they shouldn't be—accidentally or otherwise.

Don thought I was being dramatic. Doctor Bernshaw thought I was being downright meddling. When I approached him about the incident on Thursday morning, he peered at me with such contempt that I practically felt a hole burn through my blazer on my way out of the basement. With every second that Al didn't come stumbling through the door, however, I was becoming more and more anxious.

I spent all of Thursday as a big ball of stress.

On one hand, I had dozens of unanswered questions regarding Al, the tapes, and Rune. On the other, I had all my final finishing touches for the gala to consider. I didn't have a single moment where I was allowed to sit back and relax. Or where I allowed myself to relax.

I was hesitant to leave the museum on Thursday evening, but what was I going to do? Hold a vigil outside of the basement door all evening? Keep an eye on the relief security guard and see if he made a great escape like Al? There was no reason for me to stay, though I did hang behind doing paperwork for an extra half an hour. I had to satisfy my nerves somehow.

When I got home, I walked straight through my house to my bedroom, where I tossed myself onto the bed with a hefty sigh. Across the room, I could see the hanger hooked onto my closet door, holding my formal dress, and I sighed again. Two more days and this would all be over. I'd be back to doing normal archivist stuff, the Cutler Hoard would be in safer hands, and Rune Helsen would probably be out of my hair.

The problem was, I wasn't altogether sure if I wanted him out of my hair.

True, I suspected him of having something to do with Al's disappearance, but I knew those suspicions were largely unfounded. I was more concerned that something about his intentions in going to see the Hoard didn't feel right. I wished then that I had known more about Viking history. Perhaps I could have quizzed him, and seen if he stood up to the challenge.

That was dumb and I knew it.

In all the flurry of activity going through my head, I still wondered how handsome he was going to look in his tuxedo. I wondered what he was like underneath his tuxedo. I tried to remember to be cautious with him. I wanted to not be cautious with him. I also wanted to believe that he genuinely liked me and hadn't asked me out for some nefarious reason.

I was a mess and it wasn't okay.

As if on queue, my phone rang, and Rune's name flashed up on the screen. I hesitated. I wondered whether I should answer it or whether I should let it go to voicemail. I darted my hand out on the fourth ring and tapped the screen.

"Hello?"

"Helen, it's Rune."

His deep, melodious voice seemed to flow right out of the receiver and into me, calming me from the inside out. How had I already forgotten how nice it sounded?

"Hi Rune," I said awkwardly. "What's up?"

I couldn't believe that I was asking one of the most dignified men I'd ever met what was up. Could I not think of something a bit more eloquent to say?

"I'm just calling to let you know that I'll be picking you up at eight tomorrow evening."

My stomach did a somersault. If he had asked if we were still going together, I might have come up with an excuse as to why I couldn't go with him anymore. But since he didn't ask, that meant I was obligated to go with him, right?

That's what I was going to tell myself, anyway.

"Yeah," I said. "That's fine." I took a deep breath. "I guess I'll see you then."

"I dare say you will."

Like everything with Rune Helsen, I wasn't sure whether to be concerned or excited with the somewhat ominous way he ended the conversation.

He was, at once, a poison and an antidote to my nerves.

## Chapter Four

After work on Friday, I rushed home in a frenzy. I couldn't recall the last time I felt this way. The best I could recall, it was in my first year of university—the day I overslept and nearly missed my Anthropology exam. But this was a different kind of unhinged. I wasn't running around with a stomach full of panic and a head full of anxiety; I was buzzing with life, as if an electric current was running beneath my skin. I was nervous, but it felt good.

I was clearly going crazy.

I had stayed a little late to make sure that everything was going as planned. I had prepared for every possible scenario the night could throw at me, and I was confident in my ability to pull off a flawless event.

Now if only I could get my hair to cooperate.

I was trying to pin it back into an elegant chignon, but my shaky hands and unkempt locks were proving to be formidable foes. I wasn't well practiced with intricate hairstyles. I usually gave my hair a quick blow-out after the shower and was on my way. Today I was determined to look fabulous—just as fabulous as the gala.

After half an hour of wrestling to pin my hair back without any loose strands peeking out, I observed myself in the mirror and smiled. After swiping on an elegant cat eye on my upper lids, brushing on some black mascara, and plumping my lips up with bright red lipstick, I looked pretty damn fine.

I put on my dress, a royal purple halter that brought out the blue in my eyes, and slipped on my sparkly heels. Nobody would see them under the long hem of the dress, but they made me feel like I could take on the world. Nothing bad could happen to you when you were wearing sparkly heels, right? Next I grabbed the gauzy black shawl hanging over my vanity chair, and slipped it around my shoulders. The final step, I grabbed a clutch from the depths of my closet and stuffed it with my lipstick, keycard, and ID.

I looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly eight, and my stomach grumbled. Crap. I hadn't eaten since noon. Would I survive on hors d'oeuvres alone? I had just enough time to stuff a bagel in my face and reapply my lipstick before there was a knock at the door. After one final look in the mirror, I walked as calmly as possible to my foyer, and opened the door.

Rune looked amazing. He was a dark knight with silver cufflinks, a fallen angel that had landed on my front steps. His charcoal eyes gazed at me with all the intensity of a starved wolf seeing an injured deer. Without realizing it, we stayed there just a moment too long, hungering for each other, until we both realized our fatal error. Or perhaps it was just me that had erred. Maybe this was a part of his plan too.

Rune was the first one back to Earth.

"You look gorgeous, Helen." He gestured toward the black Audi in the driveway. "To Troy."

I walked past him and was almost at the car when the implication of his words hit me. I turned my head and gave him a sardonic smile.

"Did you just compare me to Helen of Troy?"

He sidled up to the driver's side and propped open the door with a cheeky grin. "I can neither confirm nor deny."

I laughed and ducked into the car, then gazed over the console at him. "Doesn't that imply that you're stealing me?"

The engine revved to life, and he thrust it into reverse. "Who says I'm not?"

***

Mark Twain once said, "All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure."

I always questioned everything, and was never sure of anything unless it had been proven without a shadow of a doubt before my eyes. When I walked up to the front of the museum though, with Rune on my arm, I allowed myself to fall into the trap that Twain so eloquently described.

I couldn't help it. People were staring at us, and I had a feeling that his intimidation value was going to be useful in dissuading the normal circle of peevish old men from boring me with their stories of yachts and oceanfront real estate. When we stepped into the entrance hall, the decorations and lighting were exactly as I had instructed. Wait staff were circulating with hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne, and Don was safely tucked into a corner, near nothing breakable, and was two shades of pink below where he normally was at this point in the evening.

It was easy to let my guard slip. It was understandable that I felt at ease with the tall man at my side and felt assured that the evening could not possibly fail.

We detoured down the hallway to the coat check where Rune, ever the gentleman, relieved me of my shawl and clutch. I took the ticket and, in a conversely unladylike manner, shoved it into my bra.

He eyed me but I simply said, "in case I need to get my lipstick."

Back in the entrance hall, I scanned the room for familiar faces. Besides Don, I spied several employees of the museum, a few donors that I was familiar with, and a couple minor local celebrities. I began to make my rounds, taking careful note of the features of each new person I came across. Their identities ran through my head like a revolving sign: Jared Blundstone, head is shiny like a stone, Blundstone, shiny stone...

All the while, Rune patiently accompanied me. Unlike many of the plus ones in attendance, mostly the husbands and wives of Don's "friends of the museum," he seemed to fit in effortlessly. He both commanded and gave respect in polite conversation and swept through the room as if he had been born in that very environment. He was at home amongst the university professors and amateur history buffs, but left enough room for me to master the conversation and dazzle my guests. We worked around the room like a well-oiled machine, until Rune excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Feeling a bit put out, I spotted Doctor Bernshaw sneaking away toward the back, probably wildly uncomfortable with the level of human interaction occurring in the small room, and I made a beeline for him. He was still wearing his lab clothes, which meant he had been working until the last moment on packing up the hoard. I felt horrible.

"Doctor Bernshaw!" I called out as his footsteps became more hurried. It was as if he had known the precise moment I had started heading for him. He was a funny old man.

Apparently resigned that I wasn't going to let him scurry away just yet, Bernshaw halted and turned on the spot, fixing me with a pained smile.

"Ms. Jurist," he said sweetly. "I must congratulate you on such a splendid gala. You have outdone yourself."

"No, no, Doctor Bernshaw," I said, smiling. "It's you that deserves the praise. I am so sorry about having to ship out the collection before you finished working on it."

I tried my best to look sincere, but it still didn't melt the frost in his eyes. I could tell that he blamed me and only me, not whoever had broken into our museum, for the removal of the artifacts.

I didn't understand why I was the only one who seemed concerned about Al's disappearance. Don said that it wasn't the first time a security guard had gone AWOL. Sometimes, he had told me, the loneliness of the position just got to them. I thought that was a crock, but hadn't want to start a fight with him right before the gala.

I wondered how much money the museum stood to lose if it came out that our security guard had mysteriously disappeared with all of the doors locked from the inside. Don had had a hard time glazing over the details with the Trust.

I was just about to ask Bernshaw whether he would stay for the rest of the gala when a man slid up from beside us.

"I couldn't help but overhear," he purred. "You're the person who arranged this shindig?"

I turned to face him and cocked my head. I had never seen him before, which was odd since I had done a lap of the whole room. He must have come in late.

He had sandy blonde hair and sea green eyes, and stood just a little bit taller than me in my heels. I would have placed him at about six foot. Despite his size, he seemed to blend into his surroundings—unlike Rune who commanded all the space around him. He had a young face, but there was a sense of age in his eyes. I didn't know who he was, but my curiosity was piqued.

"I am, yes." I smiled and reached a hand out to him. "I'm Helen Jurist, archivist–cum–party planner extraordinaire."

He shook my hand lightly, then swept his eyes over me. It wasn't licentious, just curious. He seemed to have decided something about me before he spoke next—and I would have paid good money to know what it was.

"My name is Benjamin," he said. "Benjamin Smith."

I noticed that his voice was slightly accented. As best I could place it, he was British.

"And what do you do, Mr. Smith?"

"A bit of this and a bit of that," he replied, smirking. "I currently spend my days arming myself with knowledge for the oncoming war."

## Chapter Five

He spoke so casually that I didn't even register that what he said was unusual. Maybe it had nothing to do with the way he said it, but everything to do with the person speaking the words.

If he melted back into the crowd, would I have been able to pick out our encounter from my memory, or would it get lost among the sea of faces I became acquainted with that night?

"And what does that entail?"

"A bit of this and a bit of that." There was a glint in his eye. "You're one of the few people who has seen the Cutler Hoard in person, aren't you?"

Frustration fretted at the edges of my consciousness, but never managed to seep into my thoughts. Instead, I felt oddly calm.

"I am," I said. "You're interested in it?"

He shrugged. "No more than anyone else."

"So you're obsessed with it then," I deadpanned.

He cocked his head in a way that, for a second, didn't seem human. I dismissed that thought as ludicrous as soon as I had it.

"You aren't?"

"I don't know much about the Vikings," I admitted. "I have only professional interest in the artifacts."

He made a tutting noise, a sly grin crossing his face. For some reason, it made my skin crawl. He was undoubtedly attractive, but there was something...wrong about him.

"Ms. Jurist, willful ignorance is not a good shade on you." Before I could protest, he offered his hand to me. "Will you dance with me?"

I sputtered. "Wha-?"

"Don't overthink it. It'll be groovy."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the empty dance floor.

"Mr. Smith!" I protested, trailing behind him. "There's nobody dancing. The event just started!"

Once at the centre of the floor, he pulled me to him and slid an arm around my waist. He raised the hand that was holding mine to shoulder height. "That's the idea," he said jauntily. "We've got the floor to ourselves." He guided me out and under his arm in a spin, then pulled me back in.

The impromptu spin caused me to nearly lose my balance. I landed against his chest with an _oof_.

"And you can call me Benji."

Benji began to lead me around the floor in what I think was a foxtrot. I'd never actually learned to dance, but I knew enough about moving my feet to get by. The odd thing was that nobody spared us a glance, even when we danced right past them. Before long it slipped my notice that there was even anybody else in the room.

"Didn't you think a discovery of Viking treasure in somewhere like Maine was odd?" he inquired.

"I hadn't really thought about it," I said. "I heard that they settled somewhere else in North America one time, so I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Ah, Helena." He spun me. "But what were they doing in Maine before they cut out?"

Puzzled, I narrowed my eyes at him.

"What do you mean?" Then I added, "And my name's Helen."

"Are you sure? I think Helena sounds better."

Had I at some point been called Helena? As soon as he said it, doubt slipped into my mind. Maybe my name wasn't Helen in the first place.

No. That was stupid. What was with me tonight? I hadn't even had anything to drink yet.

Ignoring my momentary identity crisis, Benji continued. "Vikings never settled in Maine. At least, that's not what the evidence suggests."

"What are you trying to tell me, Benji? Are you implying that the Hoard is a fake?" I asked as he guided me backward. "I don't like guessing games."

He let go of my hand just long enough to tap me on the end of the nose. "You're not thinking. Use that brainbox of yours."

His movement jarred me, but before I had time to say anything about the demeaning gesture I was being spun again. When I was back to facing him, the slight had been all but forgotten.

"What evidence are you referring to when you say there wasn't a settlement?" I asked.

"They haven't found any remains, human or otherwise, nor have they uncovered the remnants of any dwellings. Besides the Hoard, it's as if they were never there."

I broke eye contact with him to mull it over; something about his gaze made me feel foggy. I looked over his shoulder as I considered what he'd told me.

"What if they just haven't found anything yet?" I asked, looking back into those eerie green eyes. "Or maybe it was all destroyed somehow."

He spun me.

"Maybe," he said once I was back on two feet. "But it's doubtful. No reference in the Sagas to anywhere even remotely resembling Maine, and no reason for them to go there. Also, I've been keeping a close eye on the excavations."

"And they haven't found anything else?"

"Zilch."

We took another circle of the dance floor while I gathered my thoughts. They weren't as forthcoming as I would have liked.

"What if they were just keeping it there for a bit?" I said finally.

He gave me a flat look.

"What? Maybe they just forgot to come back for it," I argued.

"Helena," he intoned. "When you have something important that you still want access to, you keep it in a safe in your house. Not on a continent at the farthest reach of your imagination."

It hit me. "You think they were hiding it," I said. "And that they never intended for it to be discovered by anyone, including themselves."

"Bingo bongo," Benji said, grinning. "I knew you'd get there eventually."

He spun me again with flourish. Twice.

"Why would anyone do that, though?" I asked, feeling slightly dizzy.

"And that's the million dollar question." He winked.

I took a moment to digest what he'd said. What did that mean to me? Did it mean anything to me? Was there something I was supposed to do? How long had we been dancing for? It felt like seconds. It felt like years.

"I heard Doctor Ernest Bernshaw is the archeologist in charge of organizing the bits and pieces," Benji said, interrupting my thoughts. "He's an acquaintance of mine and I would have liked to catch up, but I haven't seen him around."

"Did you not see him?" I craned my neck, but couldn't spot him amongst the crowd. "He was with me when you first came up."

Benji stared far too intensely into my eyes, then broke into a disconcerting laugh. He looked truly amused.

"Interesting," he murmured as we swept along the floor. "What a pickle."

I meant to ask him what he meant by that, but that nagging feeling at the back of my mind started up again. What was I supposed to be remembering to do?

Rune. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on Rune.

"I have to go," I blurted.

Benji looked genuinely disheartened. "That's a pity. Can't you stay just a little longer?" he asked. "The song just started."

It was a jarring thing to realize that I hadn't noticed there were songs playing at all. Suddenly my awareness expanded and I could hear music again. How zoned out could I have been?

I wondered if I maybe should just stay for one more song.

"I'm sure you won't mind if I cut in," a deep, commanding voice said.

I blinked and turned my head to see Rune standing just behind me. Just like that, the rest of the room—the sights, the sounds, the smells—came back into focus. It was like I had been in a bubble, and Rune had burst it. I turned back to Benji, whose face was a blank slate.

"What a drag," he muttered. "Looks like our time's at an end, Helena."

"It's Helen," interjected Rune. He looked more than mildly irritated.

"Sure it is." Benji directed a charming smile at me, raised my hand to his lips, and kissed it. "Another time, another place, doll."

## Chapter Six

I didn't watch Benji leave. I turned around to face Rune, happy to see that he was there and not somewhere else making trouble.

"Thanks," I said. "I think."

"You think?" He stepped forward and put his arm around my waist and his hand over mine, just as Benji had.

"I'm not sure."

"Of what?"

"Of anything."

It was the truth. As we began to dance, something about my encounter with Benji chafed at me, but I wasn't sure what it was. I was having difficulty remembering what we had talked about.

"Take a few minutes and think about it, Helen," Rune instructed calmly.

Did I look sick or something? Is that how he knew I was feeling muggy? Well, I wasn't anymore, at least. Now that Rune and I were dancing I felt everything—including soreness in my feet that I hadn't felt before.

After taking a couple moments, while Rune guided me around the floor, I pieced together the information that Benji had provided. Everyone was so fervently interested in finding out what was in the Cutler Hoard because nothing about it made sense. Something about Doctor Bernshaw had amused Benji, though he claimed not to have seen him all night.

And there was something seriously weird about Benji.

"Do you know him?" I asked finally. "Benji?"

Something flashed in Rune's eyes, and his mouth was a flat line. "You could say we run in similar circles," he replied.

"A cryptic answer about a cryptic man," I mused.

Rune spun me around, but it was slower than when Benji did, and left me feeling much less dizzy. I noticed that other people had begun trailing onto the dance floor, and that it was slowly filling up. What was it with Rune? Did he just attract people like moths to a flame?

"What did you think of him?" Rune asked.

I was lost in my own thoughts. "Who?"

"Benjamin."

"He was an interesting character," I said carefully, conscious of my surroundings.

I was at work. I couldn't be heard bad mouthing the donors. Apparently I didn't need to though, as the sly grin that crept up Rune's face told me he'd read it all in my eyes.

He pulled me close to him and whispered in my ear, "I don't like him either, don't worry."

His breath fanned my neck and sent shivers rocketing up my spine. To make matters worse, he lingered there, so close that I could feel his heartbeat—and I loved every second of it. He smelled like pine and earth, but with a trace of something sweet that pulled me in closer. I wanted to let him hold on to me like that forever, but I needed to get a handle back on the situation.

I backed away and made a show of scanning the crowd. I had no particular person in mind, I just needed an excuse to separate from Rune politely. I didn't want to have a conversation with him about appropriate work behaviour in the middle of the dance floor. When I turned back to face him, his expression showed that he in no way bought my fake survey.

"He talks strangely," I said, trying to restart the conversation. "Where is he from?"

Rune chuckled. "He's been around."

Realizing that talking about Benji wasn't going to get us far, I decided to try another tactic.

"What did you get up to while I was dancing with him?" I asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Right. Well, that went about just as well as it could have. I decided that I was done dancing.

"Can we go get a drink?" I asked.

Rune nodded and pulled me across the now packed dance floor. We headed to the back of the room, where a bar had been set up close to my special exhibit. Interest in the exhibit was noticeably at a minimum. Rune ordered wine for both of us, and I was too tired and cranky to care about propriety so I accepted.

When we headed back toward the crowd, I saw Don shoving a mini sausage roll into his face as he headed up to the podium. Was it time for the speech already? Time flies when you're having the weirdest night of your life.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Don began, standing just a little too far away from the microphone. Only a handful of people looked up.

I waved to him and gestured for him to get closer. He nodded and gave me a thumbs up.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said again. This time he grabbed the attention of the whole room. The music came to a halt, and people began to filter in from the corridors.

His speech was short and not very sweet. He talked about how grateful we were for participation in museum activities and events, and thanked everyone for their contribution to the preservation and study of America's rich history.

That part wasn't so bad.

The rest of it—when he muddled up the names of several important donors, forgot which items I had put together for the special exhibit (and so just called it "Helen's stuff"), and tried to tell a museum related joke that wasn't funny—made me cringe.

I nearly went up and took the microphone from him, but he, through some divine intervention, managed to read the room enough to cut his speech short. When he was finished, he made a beeline for me.

"Was it that bad?" he asked.

I noticed then that he had added three shades of pink to his face in the time since I'd seen him last.

"They don't come for the speech, Don," I reminded. "Don't worry about it."

He left for the bar, snagging another sausage roll on the way, and Rune shook his head as we watched him go.

"I don't know why you put up with him," Rune commented. "You're clearly a better fit for his job than he is."

Normally, through a sense of duty, I would be defensive of Don. Normally, though, I wasn't receiving a compliment from the most attractive man I'd ever met. I blushed.

"Jobs in the industry are few and far between," I replied. "I don't know what else I'd do."

"For a start you could get out of this town," said Rune. "Go see some of the world, travel to all the places that you've read about."

I snorted. "Yes, Rune, what a fabulous idea. I'll just go grab my suitcase of money and be on my way."

Rune chuckled, and I blanched.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. That was rude."

"You needn't apologize, Helen," he said. "We're there."

I wasn't sure where exactly "there" was, but frankly, as long as it was with him, I didn't mind. I liked having him beside me, and I liked that he had come to save me from Benji's odd embrace. I just outright liked Rune.

That didn't mean I wasn't suspicious of him, though.

Well, I was a little bit, anyway. I had no idea what he'd been up to while I was dancing with Benji. But, as far as I could tell, he seemed to have been behaving. And now he had his attention entirely focused on me—no sketchy looking around the room, no checking his phone, nothing. As far as those eyes were concerned, I was the only thing in the room.

It felt nice.

I was enjoying chatting with Rune and drinking my wine. I was trying not to worry about every tiny detail, and having Rune to distract me definitely helped. I kept an eye out for Doctor Bernshaw, so I could go ask him about Benji, but he must have been down in the crowd somewhere, too short for me to see. Or in another room.

For that matter, I didn't see Benji either. Maybe they had found each other and were off somewhere talking about the Hoard.

Rune and I talked and flirted for awhile—I actually let myself flirt with him—and then he announced that he had to use the facilities.

By that point I was on my second glass of wine, and it didn't occur to me to watch him to make sure he actually went to the bathroom.

I loathed to admit it, but my vigilance slipped so completely that I didn't realize something was off until he'd been gone for nearly five minutes. I had been talking to one of the city councillors when it struck me just how long he'd been. I excused myself and walked over to the men's bathroom.

"Excuse me," I asked a man on his way out. "Was there a tall, well dressed guy in there? Dark eyes, really dark hair, ridiculously good looking?"

The man scoffed. "You're looking at him."

I rolled my eyes and shooed him away. I tried again with the next person leaving, and he said that he'd been the only one in there.

My stomach did a flip.

If Rune wasn't in the bathroom, then where the hell was he?

I raced over to the coat check, digging around in my bra for my ticket. I handed it to the girl with shaky hands and waited anxiously while she went into the cloakroom to grab my purse.

She handed it to me with a smile but I simply snatched it from her hands and began to rifle through it. Then I dumped it on the counter, much to her dismay, and spread out its contents.

My museum keycard was gone.

## Chapter Seven

"Something's missing from my purse!" I exclaimed, shooting her an accusatory glance. "Did someone come and take my bag out, even just for a second? Maybe a tall guy with dark hair?"

The girl, who couldn't have been more than eighteen, widened her eyes in shock.

"I-I I don't know," she stammered. "I don't think so. If they didn't have a ticket, then I wouldn't have given them the bag."

I didn't have time for this. I shoved everything back in my purse and asked her politely to watch it for me. Then I sprinted for door to the back hallways. Well, my outfit didn't really permit sprinting so much. The result was more of a concerned gallop, but I put my heart into it.

On my way there a million thoughts flashed through my mind. Should I call the police? Should I get Don's attention? Should I be doing anything other than going by myself? I probably should have at least grabbed a few of the event's security, but I had this silly thought in my head that if Rune was trying to steal something, I would be able to stop him by myself. My logical thought process had been replaced by that of a love-struck teenager who didn't want to rain down the authorities on the object of her affection without trying to sway his hand first through the power of emotion.

In other words, I was being dumb.

I made it to the door in record time. Thankfully Harry was on duty, and not one of the security guards that had been hired for the event. I skidded to a halt in front of him.

"Hey Harry," I greeted. "I forgot my key card in my office, can you let me through?"

Harry was one of those guards who took his duties very seriously, which I had always been grateful for before. He was standing straight-backed in front of the sign that read, "NO UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS", and he didn't so much as smile in greeting.

"That's strange for you, Helen," he observed. "You've never forgotten anything before."

Internally I cursed my reliability. I hadn't realized it might one day be a crux.

"I was so stressed with everything for the gala," I explained. "Do you think it looks nice? I think it turned out pretty well."

I had hoped to distract him and simultaneously get his guard down, but he wasn't having any of it.

"Why do you need to get back there? And why are you running?"

My heart was racing a million miles a minute, and I panicked trying to think of a believable excuse.

"I'm having...lady problems," I said quietly. I leaned in and whispered the next part so nobody else could hear. "Let me put it this way—I don't even have time to run to the pharmacy across the street."

Harry turned pale. Ha! Even ex-military Harry was no match for unspecified lady problems.

"Be quick," he warned, pulling out his key card to swipe beside the door.

I thanked him and pulled at the handle, running down the hall without even glancing back. I stopped once I reached the place where the corridor shot off in three different directions.

The back hallways of the museum, due to various additions over the years, were a veritable maze. It would be difficult for anyone to ascertain right off the bat whether they were going toward the collections storage or the offices—unless they'd already had a good look around.

Looking behind me to make sure that Harry wasn't watching, I turned left toward storage, as opposed to right toward the offices. It was almost unbearably quiet back there, and the only sounds were the clacking of my heels against the linoleum and the low humming of the fluorescent lights.

I stopped and slipped off my shoes beside a supply closet, cracking open the door just enough to shove them into the darkness, then closing it. If Rune was back here, I didn't want him to hear me coming. I didn't want him to have time to hide whatever it was he was doing.

I padded silently along the hallway, peering into various rooms as I passed. As I got closer to the basement door and still heard nothing, I began to wonder if I had been wrong.

Maybe my key card had just gotten sandwiched in between some other cards in my clutch. Maybe Rune had been going to the bathroom, but had stopped on the way back to grab something, or had been pulled into a conversation. Seeing how untouched and quiet everything was, I began to wonder if maybe there was nobody back here.

Or maybe there was.

I had the basement door in my view, and was just deciding what action I would take next, when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It felt like someone was watching me.

I spun, heart racing. I hadn't heard anyone walk up, but somehow I was no longer alone. Doctor Bernshaw stood about ten feet away from me with a menacing scowl on his face. He wasn't wearing his glasses, which was odd because I had been under the impression that he couldn't see without them. He also stood taller somehow, appearing to take up more space than I knew he did. This was not a man that I would have felt compelled to offer my assistance to.

"Ms. Jurist, I'm going to give you five seconds to tell me everything you know before I rip your throat out."

His threat glided through the air between us and landed on me like frost. I might have asked him if he was joking, if his tone hadn't made it so clear that he wasn't.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I sputtered.

Of all the people at the gala that I might have expected to pose a threat to me, Doctor Bernshaw hadn't even made the honourable mentions list. He was rocketing through the ranks now.

Apparently my five seconds was up. One moment I was standing in the hallway trying to wrap my head around how little old Doctor Bernshaw had managed to choke me with fear, and the next moment I was being slammed against the wall, his hand around my throat, actually being choked.

How had he moved so fast? I writhed violently in his grasp, tearing out at him with every available limb, but my efforts were to no avail. My feet kicked uselessly below me, and my blows to his face seemed to have no effect. I tried to scream, but the sound came out too strangled for anyone to hear it.

"One last chance, Ms. Jurist," he barked. "What has that unwholesome mutt told you?"

"I-I don't kn-know what you're t-talking about," I wheezed.

Spots were appearing at the corners of my vision, and I had the horrifying realization that I was going to die there.

Something slammed into Bernshaw from the side and wrenched him away from me. I fell to floor and heaved. I scrunched my eyes closed as I focused on breathing, palms splayed against the cold floor. I heard a commotion down the hallway but ignored it while I gathered my breath.

Part of my reason for taking a minute to myself was because the blurry shape that had knocked into Bernshaw hadn't looked human.

When I did look up, I saw Bernshaw engaged in a struggle with a dark brown wolf. I blinked to make sure that my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Could a lack of oxygen in the brain cause hallucinations? After several blinks, though, it was still there.

I had seen wolves at the zoo once or twice, but this one was at least twice the size. It was pure rippling muscle and teeth—a snarling machine of death.

Bernshaw seemed to be holding his own quite well, laying powerful hits against the side of the wolf's jaw and neck. He was baring his teeth to the beast, and from my vantage point, I could have sworn they looked more like fangs.

Bernshaw tried keep his face away from the wolf's gnashing teeth, but I think it was plain to everyone who would win. Bernshaw was fast—too fast for my eyes—but the wolf was stronger and considerably more ferocious in its assault.

I staggered back on my feet just in time to see the wolf snap its jaws down on Bernshaw's head, jam its front paws against his chest, and rip his head clean off.

I had a moment of panic when I realized that maybe I would be next. Maybe the wolf wasn't saving me at all. Maybe it was just saving me for dessert. I began to slowly back away, trying not to draw attention to myself. The wolf was panting and staring at Bernshaw's mangled corpse, and I thought that maybe it had forgotten me.

The strangest thing happened then—Bernshaw's body seemed to sink in on itself, deflating like an old balloon. Then it seemed to just, fall apart. Not into gross bits of flesh and blood, though. No. One moment Bernshaw seemed to be disappearing into quicksand, and the next, he was big pile of black dust wearing a waistcoat and slacks. I looked up from my examination to see that the wolf was facing me now, staring at me.

I guess it hadn't forgotten about me.

I was about to turn and run—futile, I know—when the wolf began to change in front of me too. Its transformation was different than the late doctor's. Its limbs contorted, joints popping as it moved. Its fur and claws seemed to recede back into its skin, revealing a tanned, muscled body. Its snout flattened into a human nose and mouth, and my jaw dropped.

"Rune?"

Through his heavy breathing he managed to grin at me. I noticed there was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and—most importantly—he was naked. It was a Herculean effort on my part to keep my eyes on his face.

At that moment, the sound of footsteps running down the hall caused me to turn my attention away from Rune and the basement door. At first I thought it would be Harry, coming to check on me, but when I looked behind me I saw two unfamiliar men jogging toward us. They were tall and tanned like Rune, though both of them had blonde hair. They were wearing black t-shirts and matching black jeans, and they threw a bundle of clothing at Rune when they got close.

"You've wasted too much time," the older looking on said. "I doubt that was the only vamp around."

I looked back and forth between Rune and the newcomers as he put on the clothes they had thrown him. There was a resemblance among the three of them. Could they have been his brothers? Wait, _vamp_?

Rune breezed past me toward them, wearing his tuxedo again, though without the bowtie or the shoes.

The other two men, apparently oblivious to my existence, turned and began running back in the direction they came from. I thought Rune was about to follow them without sparing me so much as a farewell wave, but he stopped and turned after a few yards.

His eyes pierced through me as he approached, and I felt rooted to the spot. He closed the distance and crushed his lips against mine, catching me completely off guard. I felt his arms circle me, pulling me tightly against his chest. His lips spoke of passion and longing, lighting a fire within me that seared my skin from the inside. I reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair, tasting the salt on his skin and the lust on his lips.

He pulled away and I swayed on the spot, drunk from his kiss, though not wholly sure I should have allowed it in the first place. He leaned forward and placed his mouth at the shell of my ear.

"Thanks for the dance, gorgeous."

Then Rune turned and ran down the hallway after his companions. I was left alone, shoeless, with a pile of dust that used to be a world-renowned archaeologist.

## Chapter Eight

The first thing I did when I got back in the main ballroom was call the police. After that I asked Don to tactfully clear the museum, and I went and sat down in the cloakroom. I doubted Don's ability to get rid of everyone without causing a scene, but I was too tired to care. I told the girl attending the coat check that I wouldn't tell anyone she had messed up if she let me sit in the darkness, beneath the coats for awhile. She was too busy with the rush of people leaving to question me.

By the time my coat cave had been cleared out, Don came to find me. He was with Officers Colt and Murray, who looked just about as happy to see me as I was to see them.

"Now just what in the hell is going on here?" Don asked furiously. "You tell me that the police are on their way, and I have to get everyone out, and then you disappear?"

I tilted my chin up to look at him, noting how from such an angle he looked like an angry, well-dressed Humpty Dumpty. That might have been enough to make me smile before. Not now.

"What happened to your throat, Ms. Jurist?" Colt asked.

I put a hand to my neck, having somehow forgotten my run-in with Bernshaw. The skin ached under my touch. I never thought I'd be the kind of person to lie to the police, but there was only one way to present the events that both made sense and didn't incriminate myself.

"I was attacked," I said, "by Rune Helsen."

***

The police closed off all the exits of the museum and brought in a canine unit to find anybody still hiding in the building. While they looked, I accompanied a detective down to the basement, where I confirmed for him that a piece of the Cutler Hoard was missing. Unsurprisingly, it was the bracelet that Rune had shown the most interest in when he came to the museum the first time.

At first, they were going to look at the security footage and take my statement, but it turned out that all the tapes for the past week had been cleared out. The guard manning the security office was found tied to his chair, fast asleep. He had been drugged. So it became my duty to piece together the evening's events.

When asked about the pile of black dust in the corridor, I said it had been there when I arrived. I told them that I had tried to apprehend Rune on his way out and that was when he attacked me. They asked if he had been alone, and I did my best to describe the men who had been with him.

I didn't know what had happened with Doctor Bernshaw, but I knew for certain that Rune had been the one who stole that bracelet. I shuddered when I realized that Bernshaw had probably been trying to stop them, and I had been rooting for the wrong team. Sure, he had been trying to kill me, but if he thought I was in league with Rune, I would've looked as much like an enemy as Rune himself.

Colt and Murray, as well as the detectives called to the scene, questioned me for over an hour.

"How would they have gotten into the basement?"

"Rune stole my keycard."

"How did you know to go looking for him?"

"I didn't. I went back to grab something from my office and heard a commotion."

"Why didn't you go get security instead of running in by yourself?"

"I wasn't thinking."

"Why did he only take the bracelet?"

"I don't know."

The truth was, he could have taken more than the bracelet and we would have been none the wiser. The detectives had Bernshaw's notes, but they were an unorganized mess. I doubted that anyone but the Doctor himself could have unscrambled them. They couldn't find him to get him to do so, though, and I tried not to grimace when they asked me when I had seen him last.

When all the statements had been taken, the detectives told me that I was free to go, but not to go too far. Whatever suspicion they held, however, grew lighter as the bruise on my neck grew darker. Just as I was about to leave, the canine unit came down to report on their search in the attic. I overheard that they had found a body wrapped in layers of plastic tarps in the museum's unused crawlspace.

That's when I finally knew what had happened to Al.

## Chapter Nine

It was late by the time Murray's squad car dropped me off in front of my house. I had accepted a ride home from her gratefully since my own ride for the evening had taken off. I trudged up the stone pathway in bare feet, heels held awkwardly in my left hand.

Even when Colt had brought me the shoes I had abandoned in the back hallway's supply closet I hadn't bothered to put them back on. I wasn't feeling very sparkly anymore.

I gave a wave to Murray after I successfully unlocked my door then stepped inside and closed it behind me, leaning against the wood with my eyes closed. I heard Murray drive away, and it wasn't until she was gone that I moved.

I wasn't sure what to do next. I was tired, but there was no way I would be able to sleep. I was a mess of emotions, but most of all I felt betrayed.

I had originally accepted Rune's invitation to dinner as a way to pacify my boss and hopefully earn the museum some more money. Unknown to me, I hadn't been the only one with a hidden agenda that evening. The problem was that I had dropped mine somewhere along the way but he hadn't.

We had been playing a game of chicken, and I had lost.

I tossed my clutch and shoes onto the floor beside me, then began to unzip my dress as I walked towards the stairs. If sleep would not be forthcoming, then perhaps a bath would be better.

I walked into my room and was just about to drop the front of my dress when a hand shot out from the side and covered my mouth. I was pulled back against a hard body, and I struggled fiercely.

"If I let go of you, do you promise not to scream?"

I stopped dead. It was Rune. My heart raced in my chest, spiked with adrenaline. I managed a nod, and he released me.

I didn't move away. I was too tired to run, too tired to fight, and I had weighed the facts. I had witnessed at least one crime, plus one that I wasn't sure counted as a crime (hard to prove _corpus delicti_ when the corpus in question was a pile of dust), and I now knew a secret about Rune that he had likely worked very hard to keep.

In other words, I was a loose end. And, based on what I'd seen him do, if Rune had come to trim me off there wasn't much I could do about it.

"Have you come to kill me?" I asked, staring at our shadows from the hallway light as they stretched across the opposite wall.

"I would _never_ hurt you," he replied, his breath tickling the back of my neck.

He moved in front of me, into the light, and I saw the concern written on his features. He was wearing jeans and a fitted black sweater. I supposed it might have attracted attention if he had continued walking around in a disheveled tuxedo and no shoes.

"Do you not remember the part where I saved you?" he asked.

I snorted. "Yeah, saved me so I couldn't tell Bernshaw about your plan. Then you killed him—just like you killed Al."

As I spoke the last few words my voice broke. The memory of the police finding Al, whom everyone else at the museum had seemed determined to forget, tugged at my heart.

But I had to stay strong. I would not crumble before Rune.

The concern on Rune's face melted into disbelief.

"Is that really what you think?" I tilted my chin up at him.

"Logically, it makes sense."

He let out a long sigh and walked past me again. I turned around to see him leaning against my doorframe, arms crossed.

"How about this, Helen," he said. "You tell me what you think happened, and I'll tell you where you're wrong."

I crossed my arms too, feeling the anger that I had suppressed all night beginning to boil in my chest. It also stopped my dress from falling down.

"You stole that bracelet."

He scowled. "Okay, not a good place to start."

"And you killed Doctor Bernshaw!"

Internally I wore a victorious smirk from seeing him so frustrated. It wasn't easy getting a one-up on Rune Helsen. Externally, though, I was confused and angry. And, being honest, I was more than a little hurt.

"As I said, to save you," he intoned. "Besides, technically that isn't true. The real Doctor Bernshaw, I suspect, has been dead for weeks."

That was a possibility I hadn't expected. "What?"

"Whomever that—thing was, he wasn't there to study any Viking artifacts," he said. "He was trying to steal them."

Ah, stealing. That reminded me of another point of anger.

"You stole my keycard!" I said, now pointing a shaking finger at him.

The rest of my complaints would have to take a back-burner for the moment. Now it was personal.

"You cased the museum, then invited me out to dinner to seduce me into inviting you to the gala!" I stormed. "Then you ditched me, stole my key card, took the bracelet, then knocked out the guard and stole the tapes to destroy the evidence!"

He chuckled. "And I would have gotten away with it to, if it weren't for you meddling archivists."

"Don't mock me!" I yelled, furious. "I've had a very hard day! You ruined my gala!"

He put out his hands in a placating gesture.

"Okay, okay," he said smoothly. "But you do know how ridiculous a plot like that would be? Christ, the variables alone give it a potential success rate that even a rookie gambler wouldn't take."

I frowned. "Prove it."

"With pleasure, darling," he said, pushing himself away from the door frame and walking to the stairs. His words drifted back to me from the landing. "But first I think we both need a drink."

After taking a moment to readjust and re-zip my dress, I followed him down the stairs grumpily. Part of me was screaming to break away as soon as I reached the bottom step, to run and grab my phone, and call the police. The rest of me wanted to hear what he had to say. I realized that I wanted to believe that he hadn't tricked me. I was hurt. I had tried to suppress my feelings for him, but now more than ever it was evident just how poor of a job I had done.

He entered my kitchen and opened up my liquor cabinet. At first I was confused as to how he knew exactly where it was, until I saw the empty tumbler on the counter. I wondered how long he had been in my house waiting for me.

He poured us each a fifth of the very expensive scotch my dad had gotten me as a graduation gift. I would have protested him using it, except I couldn't think of a single situation that would be a better use of a fine, aged alcohol.

He extended a glass to me and I snatched it from his hand, eyes blazing. I was being compliant, but I wouldn't for a second let him think that was because I was complacent. I turned and walked back to the living room, where I curled up in the armchair to the side of my brown, suede couch. He lowered himself down onto the couch with fluid grace, and I took a sip of my scotch as I waited for him to speak.

Once settled, he turned to me and took a deep inhale.

"Where to begin?" he pondered. His eyes looked weary in the dim light.

"Did you kill Al?" He had denied it earlier, but not explicitly. As far as I was concerned, if he had killed Al then my mind was made up about him. There could be no retribution for such meaningless violence.

"No," he said, eyes directly on mine. "His disappearance was the first indication I had that someone else was after the bracelet. I had known others would come for it, but hadn't realized anyone else would get so close. I take it that they've found a body?"

I nodded. "But how do I know it wasn't you? You were the only one with any reason to destroy those tapes."

"It wasn't about destroying them, Helen," he said. "There's much you don't know about the Cutler Hoard. Bernshaw's imposter killed Al. He didn't have to kill Al to do so, but I suspected he wanted to review the footage to see what I had been looking at that day."

"Why would he want to do that? What's so special about the Cutler Hoard?"

He took a sip of his scotch, then looked down at his glass.

"You saw me tonight," he said. He looked up at me. "You saw me in my wolf form."

Of course I had. I wasn't sure why he was rehashing that when there were more important things on the table.

"Yes."

I think Rune expected me to change the topic from the bracelet, but I didn't.

He let out a bark of laughter.

"Oh, Helen." He grinned. "You saw me transform from a wolf into a man tonight, and you're fixated on how and why I stole a trinket from your museum?"

It was warm, not mocking. His amusement and cheerful expression caused my face to tingle. I hadn't realized I would be so happy to hear that laugh again.

"You're trying to throw me off," I replied. "You told me you'd give me answers."

"Of course. My apologies," he said, still grinning. "Though may I take a brief interlude just to tell you that you are one of a kind, Ms. Jurist." When I gave him a blank look, he continued hastily. "The bracelet that I took was something that my people—wolf shifters—created a long time ago. Current events have made the bracelet a coveted possession by the vampires—Bernshaw's imposter's people."

Vampires. As much as my scientific mind wanted not to believe it, in the same way that I hadn't wanted to believe that Rune was a werewolf, my logical mind knew what I had seen in that hallway. The man pretending to be Bernshaw had flashed fangs at Rune before he had been killed, and he had lifted me off the ground as if I weighed no more than a stuffed bear. It somehow made sense.

"When the Cutler Hoard was discovered, there was a buzz in our community. According to a shifter legend, the bracelet had been hidden in a far away land by the pack who had created it. You can probably guess where and when they came from. Are you following?"

"Viking werewolves," I replied. "Got it. Continue."

He took another sip of his drink and I followed suit. The drink, after all, had turned out to be a great idea. I turned in the chair and placed my feet on the ground. It felt like this was a "feet on the ground" conversation.

"Anyway," he continued. "As you can imagine, the discovery of the hoard was big news. If it were up to us, the bracelet would stay hidden. Since the vampires wanted it so badly, I was sent to steal it."

"What I don't get," I said, "is why Bernshaw, I mean his imposter, sorry, wouldn't have just taken it from the beginning. Why not just grab it and go? Why even take on another man's identity in the first place?"

"Good question," Rune replied. "The problem for the vampires is that they had no knowledge or record of what they were looking for. They didn't even know it was a bracelet. Why steal a whole hoard and raise suspicion when you can quietly infiltrate the archaeological process, study each of the objects, and slip one out under the radar by falsifying the paperwork?"

"But how would he have even figured it out?" I asked.

"I don't know exactly what his plan was, but vampires often fall into the trap of hubris," he said. "I imagine he thought it would be obvious once he saw it. Failing that, I'm sure he meant to take the whole collection." He smiled dazzlingly. "But I got to it first."

This was a lot to take in. I hadn't felt this overwhelmed with information since making the transition from high school to university. I took another sip of my scotch, allowing it to burn deliciously down my throat.

"So the wolf—shifters—have records?" It was a weird thing to say out loud.

"Not exactly," he said. He set his mouth in a hard line. "This will be hard to explain."

"Rune," I drawled. "I think we passed 'hard to explain' about two mythical creatures ago."

He chuckled again. "You're right." He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "The bracelet was created using a magic that my people no longer possess. We can sense it though, which is how I knew right away that the bracelet was what I was looking for."

"But you didn't know right away," I protested. "There were several things that you looked at."

He smirked. "In case a vamp was to look at the security footage, I didn't want them to know what I had chosen," he explained. "I made sure to position my body in front of the camera so that it would be almost impossible to tell."

It dawned on me. "So B.I. was trying to figure out what you had seen. Did he know you were a wolf shifter?" The words felt less foreign on my tongue now.

"B.I.?"

"Bernshaw's Imposter."

"Ah." He relaxed against the back of the couch again. "At first, likely not—but he must have smelled me when he came back into the room."

I wrinkled my nose. "He could do that?"

Rune nodded. "And I would have been able to smell him too, if he hadn't been masking his smell somehow, and if the room hadn't been filled with so many chemicals and old and decaying things. It was a bit overwhelming."

I had never considered what a museum might have smelled like to someone with superhuman senses. I supposed that's probably why B.I. had taken his time cleaning the artifacts.

With that issue solved, it was on to the next.

"You still used me."

His grin dropped. "I never used you, Helen," he said. "I had no need to. Don had already invited me to the gala."

I should have figured that he would have. Still.

"You stole my key card."

Rune shook his head. "You telling me it was stolen earlier was the first I'd heard of it. It wasn't me."

If he hadn't stolen my key card, then who had?

"But how did you get back there?"

Rune grinned again. "There are few doors that money can't open, gorgeous," he said proudly. "First I used it to ply your boss so that I could get in to make sure that what I needed was really in there, then I used it to take what I needed out."

"The security guard you drugged?"

"Drugged himself. And you won't find his wife and kids complaining about it."

I couldn't believe him. He had actually managed to steal from my museum using his arrogant cockiness. Despite myself, I kind of respected him for it.

I now wondered whether I had simply misplaced my key card. But no, it had definitely been missing. I furrowed my brow.

"Who stole my key card, then?" I asked. "B.I. had one already, so he wouldn't have needed it."

Rune shrugged. "I don't know." Then he frowned. "Best guess? Your new best friend Benjamin."

I took delight in the trace of jealousy in his tone, but his words gave me worry.

"Benji? Is he a part of all this too?" I remembered what Rune had said about them running in similar circles. "He's a wolf shifter, isn't he?"

"Absolutely not," Rune said, laughing.

A puzzled expression crossed my face. "Then he's a vampire?" I asked.

"If only," he said. "Then at least I'd know how to kill him."

That sounded troubling. "What is he then?"

Rune shrugged again. "I don't know," he replied. "Something old."

What kind of world was I living in? I clearly knew nothing about it. Worse, there were things in the world that even the things I hadn't known about didn't know about. With that thought, my head was officially in a spin. It must have shown on my face, because Rune stood and walked over to my chair, kneeling in front of me.

He reached a hand over and rested it on my knee. "Helen," he said quietly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes?"

"Because you look like you're going to be sick."

"Maybe?"

He smiled softly, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He was close enough for me to inhale his scent, and it surrounded me like a comforting blanket. I began to feel more relaxed, like he was inspiring me with a sense of calm just with his touch.

"Rune?" I said quietly. "Why did you come here? It was a risky move just to win an argument with me."

When he chuckled I could feel the vibration rolling from his chest.

"You know why, Helen," he murmured. "The same reason I asked you to dinner. I didn't kiss you because it was a part of my dastardly plan."

And what a kiss it had been.

His words ignited a spark in me, and I knew that tasting those lips again would turn that spark into a blaze. I felt so many things at once—relief, joy, residual confusion. My head was a mess of thoughts and questions, and I knew only a raging inferno could burn them away and give me some peace.

His eyes glowed with the same unspoken question, and as I licked my lips they tracked my every movement. His fingers gripped into my knee, no longer gentle and comforting. There was only one thing passing between us now, and it was lust.

But was it a good idea? Could I really allow my judgement to lapse so far that I was making my decisions based on instinct, without really thinking them through? That kind of judgement could backfire tremendously.

Then I decided that I didn't give a shit.

## Chapter Ten

Leaning down, I pressed my lips into his; they moulded together like they had been waiting for the reunion. His arms immediately wound around me, pulling me closer. It was an awkward angle, which is probably why he pulled me straight off the chair and onto the carpet, rolling over to trap me underneath him.

He hiked up the long skirt of dress to my hip, pulling my leg around him while his fingers roamed my thigh. Our kiss was frenzied and hungry, as all of the frustration that had pent up under all of our pretense exploded like fireworks. I bit his lower lip and he growled, sending a shiver straight down to my core.

I was no stranger to men. I'd had good kisses, bad ones, and even ones that had made my toes curl in delight. Whatever Rune was doing with his mouth, though, was causing sensations in me that I hadn't thought possible. It was like I felt his kiss everywhere.

Every inch of our bodies pressed against each other, and I could feel Rune's hardness against my thigh already. I rocked my hips to grind against it, eliciting another growl of pleasure from him. I reached down but he stopped me, sliding my arms above my head and holding them there in the grip of one of his large hands.

"I've been waiting a long time for this," he murmured, his lips fluttering against mine. "I'm going to take my time."

His words sent an electric shock down my spine, and my eyelids flitted as he began to slide his mouth across my jaw. I moaned as he trailed kisses down my throat, stopping to nibble and suck the sensitive skin below my ear. My neck was tender from B.I.'s attack, but he was mindful and gentle around my bruises. I arched up against him until there was no room between us. My body tingled in anticipation of what was to come.

His lips moved to my collarbone and I quivered, heat sliding down to pool between my legs. All I could do was press my thighs together and hope that he would soon relieve me from his sweet torture.

As if sensing my thoughts, he released my hands, but before I had time to do anything, he was standing and pulling me to my feet. My questioning gaze was ignored, and I was abruptly hoisted up into his arms.

I shrieked in delight.

"What are you doing?" I asked, giggling.

"I'm not going to fuck you on the floor," he purred.

In the short amount of time it took to get to my bedroom, I let my hands wander across his broad chest and solid biceps, making up for what I had missed out on while restrained. He was a fine specimen, that was for sure.

I was interrupted mid-grope by him placing me on my feet at the foot of my bed. His mouth descended onto mine again, and I reached up to tangle my fingers in his hair and pull him closer. My other hand inched down his chest, undoing each of the buttons to his shirt. For some buttons it took me a couple tries, but eventually it fell open, and I pulled it away from his shoulders and off.

If I had thought he felt good in a shirt, it didn't even compare to how he felt under it. He had a dark sprinkling of chest hair that I raked my nails through in appreciation. He pulled back, and at first I thought I had done something wrong, until I saw the look in his eyes. Whatever restraint he'd been using before melted before me, and with a determined expression he reached forward and yanked the zip on the back of my dress down, letting it fall to the floor.

His lustful eyes drank in my body, tracing over every curve in a way that no man's had before. Shy under his gaze, I went to pull him down to kiss me again, but he held back.

"God, you're beautiful," he said, his voice husky and rich.

Something about the way I could hear the desire, velvety and thick, in his voice had me undone. I'm sure I had words before that moment, and I was sure I would have them again, but it was all I could do to stare into his eyes and breathe.

When the words did come, they weren't what I was expecting.

"I trust you," I blurted. "I didn't before. I didn't trust you at all."

"I know."

"But I trust you now."

His lips curved. He cupped my face with one hand and pulled me close with the other.

"I trust you too."

I hadn't realized, until then, that he wasn't the only one who was dangerous in this arrangement. Rune had deceived me to get close to me—not so he could use me, but because he wanted to and there wasn't another way. Still, trusting him now was a big step. An even bigger step, though, was him revealing himself to me—his secret, his actions, his whole damn world—all with the conviction that I wouldn't make him regret it.

He kissed me again and it was gentle, sweet. It was like he was applying balm to the wound we shared, and I revelled in it. His hand slipped between my legs, under the hem of my panties, and slid along my wet seam. My knees trembled, and he smiled and pressed in with one finger, gently massaging my clit.

It was not something I could take standing up. Literally.

I fell back onto the bed and dragged him with me, amping up the intensity of our kiss to pre-confessions-of-trust levels. He responded in kind, his tongue delving into my mouth and exploring me, tasting me. He slid a deft finger inside of me and stroked my inner walls, causing me to buck up against him.

I reached my hands to the button of his jeans, desperate to feel his weight in my hands. My shaking hands fumbled with the button, then the zipper, but eventually I was able to pull the material down from his hips. Effortlessly, he shimmied the pants to his ankles and kicked them off, never breaking the kiss.

Rune was a lot more smooth than I was.

I cupped him through the fabric, applying a gentle pressure that caused him to moan into the kiss. Now only thin, unsubstantial layers of clothing separated us. Rune must have followed my thought process, as he quickly relieved me of my bra and panties, then released himself from his boxers. I felt the tip of his cock nudge at my folds, but I pulled away.

"What happened to taking your time?" I whispered cheekily.

He nipped at my neck, reaching a hand up to knead my breast. I shivered as his thumb grazed my nipple.

"Seeing you naked has severely eroded my self control."

Then he plunged in.

I was in ecstasy. Not only had Rune tested and lost his restraint in my presence—from what I'd seen, not something that happened often—but his cock filled me in a way that I hadn't thought possible. He had relieved an aching need, and the pleasure that replaced it caused me to cry out his name in rapture.

I bit into the skin of his neck as he began to thrust, tasting the salt on his skin. His musky scent filled my nostrils, and it felt like I was completely surrounded by him, overtaken by him. His hot breath blasted against my neck as he strained.

"God, Helen," he growled. "You feel so good."

Those words again—they ran over my skin like feathers. I felt a coiling tension build in my belly, getting tighter and tighter each time he sunk into me. I writhed wildly underneath him, wrapping my legs around his hips in pursuit of my release.

As I began to crest my hill, Rune ran his tongue down my neck and flicked it against my pulse. He continued down to my shoulder, pressing his lips against it. His teeth followed, latching onto the top of my shoulder as he pounded furiously into me. Those sensations didn't just push me over the edge, they flung me over the edge and into an abyss I hadn't known existed.

I was blind to everything but the intense pleasure radiating from my core. It buffeted me like stormy ocean waves against a cliff, hitting me again and again. My pussy pulsing around his cock must have driven Rune wild, or maybe it was my guttural scream, but he rammed into me two more times before he anchored himself inside. A groan escaped his lips. It vibrated against my neck, causing my hair to stand on end as one last, delicious shiver shot beneath my skin.

We stayed like that for some time, panting, sweating, getting our bearings. I had a moment of panic when I realized that there was a question hanging between us that one of us would have to ask soon: What now?

I didn't want him to leave, but he couldn't stay; and he definitely couldn't stay with me. Sleeping with the guy you claimed attacked you, and who definitely stole an artifact from your museum, was one thing. Getting caught doing so was another completely. And with the way he could make me scream, we would definitely get caught.

When Rune finally raised his head to look at me, a huge grin was plastered from ear to ear.

"How much do I owe Don for that?"

I cursed and shoved him off of me, but he simply rolled over and pulled me on top of him. I descended into a fit of giggles, wriggling in his arms.

"You are such an asshole!" I cried in mock rage.

He chuckled and held me until I stilled, then laid a sweet kiss on my nose.

"You had better pack a bag, gorgeous."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Isn't it obvious, Helen?" he said, eyes full of mischief. "I'm stealing you."

I reeled back in surprise—a difficult feat when you're being cradled in a very strong pair of arms.

"What?"

"I want you to come with me."

"But—but..."

But what? But my crappy job? But my decrepit social life? How do you even go back to normality when you've discovered that the world outside your door is a whole lot different, and more dangerous, than you'd originally thought.

"You don't have to," he said, mistaking my train of thought for hesitance. In truth I couldn't have been more relieved to hear that he wanted me around. It was a much better end to the evening then a pat on the back from Don for a gala-well-done would have ever been.

The only issue left was figuring out if it was something I had the gall to do. I didn't even know what taking off with him would entail. I didn't even know where he was going.

A tiny part of me—the rebellious part of me—that I had spent my whole life squashing down, whispered, _Does it matter_?

Since spending time with Rune I'd been listening to that voice a lot more often and, truthfully, it had felt good.

He rolled over until we were both on our sides facing each other. He reached out and brushed a piece of hair from my face. "I'm going back to Seattle," he explained. "I need to bring the bracelet back to my pack so we can figure out what to do with it."

A question that had gone unasked earlier sprung into my mind, temporarily taking precedence.

"Why does everyone want the bracelet so bad?"

"It was never meant to be worn as a decoration," he said. "It's a key to something. Let's call it a prison cell."

I shuddered. That sounded ominous.

"What's inside the cell?"

"A vampire," he said. "A bad one." He sighed. "I won't pretend that coming with me will be your safest option," he admitted. "The vampires and the shifters are gearing up for war. The vampire my people locked away a millennium ago would have been an advantage we can't afford to let them have."

I took a moment to process. What would a war between vampires and shifters even look like. Could it be avoided?

"Can I help?" I asked.

A look of relief passed over his face. He really did want me to come. "You're under no obligation to do anything," he replied, "but we could use a skill set like yours. My family has been collecting objects like the bracelet for years. We've had many of them for so long that their origins are no longer known to us."

My interest was piqued.

"Research and organization?" I asked brightly.

He nodded.

"And more sex like that?"

He chuckled, pecking me on the lips. "That and more."

My stomach did a flip and I couldn't control the smile that dominated my face.

"I've only got one more question for you, Rune." Well, I had plenty, but only one that mattered.

"Yes, Helen?"

"When do we leave?"

###

## About the Author

With Danielle Hardgrave's passion for storytelling and tendency to daydream, it's a surprise that it wasn't until 2015 that she became a freelance ghostwriter. Since then, she has garnered great success and a dedicated client base—but is now ready to see her name in ink. She was born and raised in Victoria, BC. When not writing, Danielle's usually annoying her roommate or trying to figure out how to play tennis/box/longboard/whatever else she's picked up that week.

Caldwell Publishing is the combined result of two sets of talent and one dream. Their brand incorporates the business model of an online publishing company, but offers the personality and passion of real authors. Caldwell Publishing also celebrates self-published authors, and strives to connect them with resources to aid in their own success.

