Prologue

Freyda was dining on a petite, blonde, female donor who could be no more than 22, when the man entered her throne room. Freyda barely looked up from the donor's throat to acknowledge his entrance into the room. If it was one thing the Queen of Oklahoma hated, it was having her dinner interrupted. The man, in his late-thirties, was of medium build, with sandy brown hair, and was handsome in a rugged yet polished sort of way. You could take one look at him and tell he was the kind of guy who made an effort to look like he had not made an effort with his appearance. He was calm on the surface, but his dark eyes shone with a simmering anger and something else. The air around him seemed electrified.

Freyda released her bite on the donor and dismissed her offhandedly. The donor, who was clearly enjoying servicing the queen, was miffed at the interruption, but seemed to know better than to let it show, and she scuttled out of the room without much fuss or noise. Freyda then turned to the man and, using her fingers to wipe away the blood that had collected in the corners of her mouth, she sucked her fingers clean.

"Your Highness, it has been one year. It is time for retribution," the man said, barely containing his emotion, which was a mix of rage and eagerness.

"Don't you think I know how long it has been," Freyda replied in an annoyed tone. "Tomorrow night, when her guard is gone, we will eliminate her, and any who stand in our way, and I will take the boy. Finally, our plan will come to fruition. You shall have your sweet vengeance, I will eliminate my competition for good and forever, and I will have my own personal telepath, one that I can train to do my bidding." The man was practically wringing his hands in delight at the plan. If it is possible to be giddy with the thought of murder and kidnapping, then that is what he was.

Suddenly, the doors to the throne room were thrown open and in he walked, with a determined step, long stride, and looking every bit the Viking that he had been in life. He wore a fitted dark olive suit, but without a tie. The top two buttons were undone, and just a hint of faint blonde chest hair peeked out from the top of the shirt. No man could wear a suit like he could. It was practically obscene. He approached Freyda and made deep bow, "Your Highness."

"Eric, you know you can call me Freyda, especially when we are alone," and with that, she gave a pointed look at the other man, who bowed deeply and took his leave.

As soon as the man was out of the room, Eric spoke, "Happy Anniversary, my Queen. To mark the occasion, may I present you with this gift." At that, Eric pulled a black velvet box from his jacket pocket and held it out as far as his arm would stretch. It was as if he purposefully maintained his distance, not wanting to get any closer to the queen than necessary. He held the box out in front of him like one would hold out a dirty diaper. His tone and manner were polite, if formal, but with an undertone of distaste. Freyda took the box in her hand, allowing her fingers to gently stroke his own. It was everything Eric could do to not recoil from her touch.

It wasn't that Freyda wasn't beautiful, because she was. Very. And she was rich, powerful and she had wanted Eric with such one-pointed determination that any other man, or vampire, would have been flattered. She needed Eric. She needed the ancient vampire to help secure her young reign. But more than that, she wanted him. She wanted him in a way that a woman wants a man – whether the man and woman are dead or alive. They both hailed of Viking heritage and she felt that they were truly meant to be together. In time, she felt Eric would come to feel the same way. A lot could happen in 200 years after all.

Freyda wanted Eric so badly in fact, that she was willing to pay, and pay dearly she did. Even though her agreement with Eric's maker, Appius, gave Freyda the undisputed right to possess Eric, she went a step further and paid a handsome sum to Felipe deCastro, the King of Louisiana, Nevada and Arkansas to make sure he would not challenge her claim. Felipe was sorry to lose a vampire such as Eric. After all, he was a powerful vampire and had been a profitable Sheriff, but Freyda certainly made it worth his while.

However, the sum Freyda paid to Felipe for Eric paled in comparison to the sum she paid to Felipe for him to release his claim to the telepath. It wasn't that Freyda wanted the telepath for herself, because she didn't. Nor did she necessarily want to prevent Felipe from having use of the telepath's services either, but she knew that Eric would be unbearable to live with otherwise. By forcing Eric to vampire divorce the telepath, sever all communication with her (and his children), as well as move from Louisiana, he would be leaving the telepath unprotected. If Eric was anything, he was loyal and protective of those in his retinue. Freyda was no fool. She knew Eric would want to do what he could to protect the telepath from becoming a pawn in vampire politics, and, if possible, to protect her from his kind, at least to the extent he could. So when he made his demands - that no vampire was to use or lay claim to the telepath - Freyda had expected them and was happy to agree to his terms. After all, she didn't want to run into the telepath in the course of her dealings with Felipe. She wanted Eric to feel as if he had some control, even if it was contrived. But more than that, she wanted to show Eric that she could be reasonable, which she hoped would, in turn, cause him to respect her, and possibly even grow to love her.

Unfortunately, the last year had not gone as Freyda would have hoped. Sure, Eric was outwardly the model consort. He attended all vampire political and social functions dutifully by her side. He offered her his counsel and, when necessary, his strength. And he shared her bed on a regular basis. The sex was great, well better than great, but it, and all of their interactions, lacked something … passion, intimacy, tenderness. He never touched her unless he was fulfilling his duties. He certainly never touched her like he had touched the telepath, with reverence and love. She knew that, in part, Eric regarded their arrangement as a sort of involuntary servitude, and she had hoped in time he would come to see it otherwise. But deep down she knew that as long as the telepath lived, Eric would never have room in his dead, unbeating heart for her, and that she could not abide.

Freyda held the black velvet box in her hands and slowly opened it. It was stunning. A lovely large diamond pendent necklace hung on a white gold chain. The diamond was the size of a large walnut. "Eric, it's beautiful." If Freyda could have blushed, she would have. Just maybe Eric was softening his heart to her, she thought.

"I had my day man pick it out. I hope it is to your liking," Eric replied. Freyda's face remained fixed, but inwardly she was, not heartbroken necessarily, but definitely disappointed. It was this sort of impersonal interaction with Eric that she could not see herself living through for another year, let alone another 199. This just served to reinforce her decision that she must go through with her plans.

"It is. Thank you. Unfortunately, my gift to you will not arrive until tomorrow. I hope you are not disappointed by the delay," Freyda replied curtly.

"Certainly not your majesty. I am your servant, and your will is mine," Eric replied. Indeed, it will be, she thought.