Rescue and Ruin

  Vayne stepped off the private plane at Dublin Airport, the chill of Irish air filling her lungs. It had been years—almost a lifetime—since she last walked these streets or seen her old friend Freya. Moving through the bustling terminal, she checked her passport, flipping it open to the photo of a woman who barely resembled her now: long blonde hair, unpierced skin, a youthful glow. Alejandra Vayne Dolgado. Adam had chosen the first name; her mother had insisted on Vayne, a name she’d never heard before but had grown into—an identity, a shield, a legacy.

  Despite arriving by private jet, she still had to present her passport. The authorities always double?took, comparing the picture to the woman she had become. She never bothered updating it. The mystery amused her.

  Outside, a soft drizzle instantly swelled into a torrential downpour—quintessential Dublin. Rain sheeted around her as she sprinted toward the waiting car. The driver, tall and broad?shouldered with a thick Irish accent, ushered her inside and pulled into traffic without delay.

  Vayne watched the city blur past, memories rising with every raindrop tapping the glass. Her last visit had been tense—a diplomatic mission to negotiate peace between the Guardians and Freya’s clan after a fatal misunderstanding. Freya, a second?generation Vampyre with power surpassing Vayne’s but not quite reaching Guardian level, had been unforgettable: strong, confident, fiercely loyal, a thousand?year?old warrior with disarming charm.

  Their negotiations had grown into friendship, then something deeper, something that made Vayne linger longer than intended. But the IRA attacks of the early 1970s forced her to flee, leaving promises unfulfilled.

  The car stopped before a vine?covered pub with a wooden door: Ancients Retreat, Freya’s haven for creatures of the night. Heart quickening, Vayne stepped out into the downpour and dashed for the entrance—drenched, breathless, and determined.

  With a grateful nod, Vayne slipped past the bouncers and into the warm embrace of the pub. Dark wood, soft lighting, and the familiar scent of whiskey and aged timber wrapped around her like a memory. Laughter mingled with the clink of glasses, stirring echoes of nights she and Freya once shared.

  Her pulse quickened as she scanned the room. Freya was somewhere in this lively crowd, and Vayne had no intention of leaving without confronting the bond they’d left unresolved.

  The pub buzzed with energy—karaoke night. Patrons lounged on worn stools, faces glowing under hanging lights. Off?key singing echoed through the space as a brave soul onstage wailed a tune so painfully flat it made Vayne chuckle. Still, the camaraderie was infectious, and the crowd cheered them on.

  She moved toward the bar, taking in familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, all lost in the revelry. The bartender, a stout man with a bushy mustache, approached as she reached the counter.

  “What can I get ya?” he asked, polishing a glass like a scene straight out of a film.

  “A Guinness,” she replied, though her mind was already elsewhere.

  As he poured the drink, the current performer finished, and applause thundered through the room. The host stepped up to the microphone, and the atmosphere shifted.

  “Alright, everyone! Please welcome our next performer—the one and only Freya!”

  The crowd erupted. Vayne’s heart lurched as Freya strode onto the stage. Her red hair, tousled and radiant, framed her face; her fitted blue shirt and black jeans accentuated every curve.

  “Thank you,” Freya said, her voice warm, strong, touched with an Irish lilt. “I’d like to dedicate this song to an old flame of mine.”

  The opening chords of Pinball Wizard rang out. Vayne’s breath caught. Memories surged—1969, their first meeting, Freya’s initial hatred of the song, and the night Vayne’s enthusiasm won her over.

  Vayne sipped her Guinness as Freya’s voice filled the room—rich, powerful, flawless. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

  When the song ended, applause shook the pub. Freya bowed, then scanned the crowd. Her gaze found Vayne instantly. A radiant smile lit her face as she mouthed, That was for you.

  Warmth washed over Vayne, a rush of joy and nostalgia mingling in her chest. Freya descended from the stage with the effortless grace of a dancer, weaving through the crowd until she reached her. They embraced tightly, Freya’s familiar perfume and the warmth of her body igniting emotions Vayne had kept buried for decades.

  “Long time no see, babe. How are you doing?” Freya murmured as they pulled apart.

  “I’m alright. You?”

  “I’m getting by.” Freya’s gaze lingered on her, eyes bright with joy and something deeper. The weight of their reunion settled around them—heavy, comforting, inevitable.

  Freya pressed a gentle kiss to Vayne’s cheek, a gesture both nostalgic and electric. “Now, I hear you’ve got information for me?”

  Vayne inhaled slowly, bracing herself. “We found him.”

  Freya frowned. “Found who—”

  Realization hit. Her eyes widened, shimmering with tears. “What? Where? When?”

  Vayne laughed softly, moved by her reaction. “Easy. I’ll explain—just somewhere quieter?”

  Freya grabbed her hand without hesitation, pulling her through the crowd. Vayne barely managed to snag her pint before being dragged across the bar, her laughter blending with the lively chatter.

  They climbed the stairs to Freya’s private room, leaving the noise behind. The space was cozy, tastefully decorated—a quiet refuge above the chaos. Freya shut the door, the soft click sealing them into a pocket of intimacy.

  Vayne sat on the edge of the neatly made bed. Freya faced her, eyes wet. “I want to be sure I heard you right—”

  “We found him. Arius is alive.”

  Tears spilled down Freya’s cheeks as she collapsed beside Vayne, sobbing with pure relief. “I can’t believe it…”

  Vayne rubbed her back gently. “I know. Let me tell you how.”

  Freya wiped her eyes, nodding.

  “We got a call from Italy two days ago. A fishing boat sent a distress signal—they’d found a body in the ocean, pierced with a sword.”

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  Freya’s breath hitched.

  “Based on what you told us about Arius’s disappearance, we knew it had to be him. My dad sent our Italian team to retrieve the body, and he sent me here to tell you in person.”

  Freya’s disbelief melted into radiant joy. “You’re serious? Arius… he’s really alive.”

  “Dead serious,” Vayne said, a grin stretching across her face. “He’s out there, Freya. And soon he’ll be back where he belongs.”

  Relief washed over Freya so intensely it was almost luminous. “I can’t wait to see him. I never lost hope, but…” Her voice faltered, the weight of centuries settling in her eyes. “This changes everything.”

  “Yeah, it does,” Vayne agreed, feeling the excitement building between them. “You’ll finally get to reunite. Maybe you can put the past behind you and move forward.”

  Freya’s eyes shone with renewed hope. “Thank you, Vayne. You’ve given me something I thought I’d lost forever.”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  “Always,” Freya said, voice steady with conviction.

  Vayne finished her explanation as Freya stood, wiping at her eyes with a tissue. After a deep breath, Freya straightened. “I need to change.”

  “Now?” Vayne raised a brow.

  “I need to look my best when I see him.”

  “You look good now,” Vayne murmured, but Freya was already unbuttoning her shirt and digging through her wardrobe.

  “Close your eyes,” Freya called over her shoulder.

  “Wait—what?”

  “You don’t get to see me change yet. You have to earn that right again.” She winked. Vayne groaned dramatically and covered her eyes.

  “No peeking.”

  “You utter child,” Vayne laughed as Freya continued changing.

  While Freya rummaged, Vayne spoke. “He’s on his way to our facility in England. You can stay here and we’ll fly him over, or you can come with me and see him sooner.”

  Freya tossed her shirt aside and pulled out a white top that somehow outshone the last. “I’ll join you. I want to see him as soon as possible.” She swapped her jeans for sleek black leather trousers.

  “Okay, you can look.”

  Vayne opened her eyes—and froze. Freya radiated confidence and effortless beauty, her new outfit highlighting every line of her figure. She smiled softly, then grabbed a bag and began tossing clothes into it with chaotic efficiency.

  Five minutes later, she slung the bag over her shoulder. “Ready when you are. We can talk more on the way.”

  Vayne rose, and together they descended the stairs, their footsteps echoing in quiet sync. As they passed the bar, Freya called out, “Hey, Fin! You’re in charge for a while. No idea when I’ll be back, so have fun.”

  “Right you are, Frey! I’ll keep this place running smoothly until ya get back,” Fin called, giving her a cheerful salute.

  Freya flashed him a bright smile before stepping out into the rain. It poured relentlessly, but she didn’t seem to notice as she slid into the waiting car beside Vayne. The doors shut, muffling the storm, and the driver pulled away toward the runway.

  Vayne broke the silence, her voice soft beneath the steady drumming of rain. “You nervous?”

  “Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” Freya replied, though disbelief tinged her tone.

  “Well… you haven’t seen him in nearly half a millennium. That’s got to be scary.”

  Freya paused, brow furrowing. “Scared isn’t the word I’d use.”

  “Then what would you call it?”

  Freya considered. “I don’t know. How would you feel if you were seeing Adam for the first time in four centuries?”

  Vayne thought for a moment. “Relief, mostly. Sadness too, that it had been so long. But he’s my dad. Arius isn’t yours.”

  “Isn’t he?” Freya countered, her voice deepening. “A dad is someone who shapes you, who helps you become who you’re meant to be. Arius did that for me. Blood doesn’t make a father, Vayne.”

  Vayne had never considered how Vampyres viewed their sires. “What was it like? Being turned?”

  Freya’s expression darkened. “Honestly? Hell. The circumstances were… brutal.”

  “How come?” Vayne asked gently.

  Freya drew a slow breath. “I lost my family the day I turned. I lived in a small Viking village in Norway. One day, the men left on a raid. While they were gone, we were raided.”

  Her eyes closed, pain flickering across her face. “The Jomsviking. They killed the remaining men, then took what they wanted—food, gold… women.”

  Vayne’s heart clenched, but Freya lifted a hand, insisting she continue.

  “A local lord wanted our land. He paid the Jomsviking to wipe us out.” Fury sparked in her eyes. “The women were passed around, used, discarded. Some died. Some were taken. My mother was one of the ones who didn’t survive.”

  A single tear slid down her cheek.

  “My daughter was taken. She’d just turned eighteen. Innocent.” Freya swallowed hard. “I was left behind—too old to be taken, young enough to survive the beating. They left me to die.”

  Her voice wavered. “Arius found me. He smelled the blood and came to investigate. By then, everyone else was dead. I was the only survivor.”

  Vayne listened in stunned silence.

  “He called me a fighter,” Freya whispered. “And he turned me. I was the first—and only—person he ever turned himself. He gave me another chance. A chance at revenge.”

  Freya took a moment to steady herself, her thoughts spiraling back into the blood?soaked past. “I hunted the band of Vikings down. They’d taken the girls to their homes and locked them in a hut, ready to use whenever they pleased. I was furious. I tore their huts apart one by one and killed them all.”

  Vayne listened, horrified yet unable to look away. “What happened after?”

  Freya’s expression hardened. “I found every last one of them. I was relentless. Their lives became forfeit for what they did to my village—my family. Arius gave me power, and I used it to deliver justice.”

  “Justice?” Vayne echoed. “You called it revenge before.”

  Freya turned to the rain?streaked window, watching the world blur past. “Is there really a difference? Back then, I needed both. I had to reclaim what was taken—not just for me, but for everyone who couldn’t fight anymore.”

  “Is that why you’re so close to him?” Vayne asked gently. “Because he gave you purpose?”

  Freya nodded, a small, bittersweet smile forming. “Yes. He saved me from despair. When everything was gone, he showed me I could be more than a victim. I owe him everything.”

  The car took a sharp turn, pulling Vayne back to the present. “You’re about to see him again, Freya. After all this time. Whatever you’re feeling—it’s valid.”

  “I know,” Freya said, her voice steady. “And I’m ready. I want him to know I lived for him, fought for him, and never forgot him.”

  The rain began to ease as they reached the airstrip. Both women sprinted through the drizzle toward the plane, climbing aboard and tossing their bags onto the seats. Operatives filed in behind them, murmuring quietly.

  “Whatever happens next,” Vayne said, glancing at Freya as the engines roared to life, “you’re not alone. We’re in this together.”

  Freya smiled, hope softening the edges of her grief. “Together.” The bond between them felt stronger than it had in centuries. Vayne opened her mouth, ready to ask the question she’d carried for decades—the one that could change everything.

  Freya saw it forming on her lips and braced herself.

  But the moment shattered.

  Freya shot upright, eyes locked on something outside. Her pupils narrowed; her instincts surged. “What is it?” Vayne asked, confused—they were halfway across the Irish Sea. Nothing should have been out there.

  Freya’s eyes flared crimson. Her skin shifted to an ashen gray. Vayne’s breath caught; no matter how many times she’d seen it, the transformation was always startling.

  “Land the plane. Now.” Freya’s voice was a low, lethal growl.

  “But ma’am, we’re above the sea—” the pilot began.

  A blur of red wings slammed past the window, striking the plane’s wing with violent force.

  The cabin lurched.

  And everything changed.

  The cabin erupted into chaos as alarms shrieked and warning lights strobed violently across the walls. Another flash—this one a vivid sea?green—slammed into the opposite engine. Metal screamed. The plane lurched. And then came the sound that froze Vayne’s blood: laughter. High, wild, echoing from outside the aircraft.

  The descent began immediately—sharp, uncontrolled. The pilot’s frantic calls crackled through the radio, but it was obvious no help was coming.

  Freya scanned the cabin, instincts blazing. “Are there any parachutes on this thing?” she shouted over the alarms.

  Vayne pointed toward a cupboard at the back. Freya sprinted for it—but a streak of red tore through the fuselage, obliterating the cupboard in an explosion of metal and debris. The sudden pressure drop nearly ripped both women from their seats. They clung on, knuckles white.

  The operatives weren’t as lucky. A scream cut through the chaos, then the roar of wind swallowed everything. Freya’s stomach twisted.

  “Could you survive a fall from this height?” she yelled.

  Vayne shook her head, terror stark in her eyes. They were still far too high.

  Freya’s mind raced. “Fuck it! Let go when I say. I’ll catch you.”

  Vayne hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding.

  Freya counted down in her head, timing the angle, the descent, the tilt of the dying aircraft.

  “Now!”

  They released their grips. The wind hit like a battering ram, tearing them from the plane and hurling them into the open sky. The storm roared around them, ripping at their clothes, stealing their breath. For a split second, the plane hung above them—then it pitched violently and spiraled toward the ocean.

  Freya tumbled through the air, fighting to orient herself. Stay calm. Control the fall. She forced her limbs outward, flattening her body. After a disorienting second, her spin slowed.

  Her first thought was Vayne.

  “VAYNE!” she screamed into the wind.

  A dark shape plummeted nearby—Vayne, spinning wildly, limbs flailing. Freya narrowed her eyes, angled her body, and dove. The acceleration punched the air from her lungs, but she reached out, fingertips brushing Vayne’s sleeve.

  Vayne twisted, catching sight of her. Their eyes locked. She mimicked Freya’s posture, spreading her limbs to slow her spin. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked—she steadied.

  Freya lunged again, fingers closing around Vayne’s wrist. She squeezed hard.

  “I’VE GOT YOU!”

  Vayne nodded, eyes wide with terror but conscious—alive. For now, that was enough.

  Freya glanced downward. The ocean was no longer a distant smear of darkness—it was rushing toward them, a vast, merciless expanse of churning black water. They had maybe twenty seconds before impact. Maybe less.

  Her mind snapped into survival mode.

  “GRAB THE SIDES OF YOUR COAT!” she screamed over the wind. She yanked her own jacket open, spreading it wide to create drag. “DO IT NOW!”

  Vayne fumbled for a moment, then pulled her coat outward. The change was immediate—their descent slowed, but only slightly.

  Not enough.

  Freya’s jaw tightened. She could survive the fall. It would hurt, but she’d heal. Vayne, though—Next?Gen or not—wouldn’t. A drop from this height could kill her.

  Think. Think!

  The waves below rolled and collided violently. Too fast. Too hard. Too close.

  A memory flashed—skipping stones across a lake as a child. The angle. The glide. The way a shift in momentum changed everything.

  A long shot. But it was all they had.

  She twisted toward Vayne. “LISTEN TO ME!” she bellowed. “WE’RE GOING TO HIT AT AN ANGLE—LIKE SKIPPING A STONE!”

  Vayne’s eyes went wide. “WHAT!? THAT’S INSANE!”

  Freya barked a humorless laugh. “PROBABLY! BUT IT’S OUR BEST SHOT!”

  Panic flickered across Vayne’s face—then trust settled in its place. “WHAT DO I DO?”

  “I’M ROLLING US SO I HIT FIRST. STAY WITH ME.”

  “NO! YOU’LL TAKE THE FULL FORCE—”

  “THAT’S THE POINT!” Freya snapped. “YOU’LL HAVE THE BEST CHANCE THAT WAY. NO ARGUMENTS!”

  Vayne swallowed hard but nodded.

  The ocean surged closer, a violent, frothing deathbed.

  Freya twisted her body, pulling Vayne tight against her side. She locked an arm around her waist, adjusting their angle, forcing their bodies into a shallow, slanted descent.

  Lightning flashed across the black surface of the sea.

  “NOW!”

  Freya wrenched her body sideways just as they slammed into the water