The Immortal

By E. G. Creel

Emma just turned 40 and has finally begun living her best life. She books a vacation to a resort only to find herself on the dinner menu of an immortal Viking. With only her wit and a little luck, maybe Emma will make it off the island alive.

Spoiler alert: Don't fall in love or the ending will rip your heart out. The Immortal

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eva Creel
• Release date: Oct 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798985040814

E. G. Creel

E. G. Creel is currently blooming with her family near Augusta, Georgia. The Immortal is her debut book. Other works include Lily, Gena, Mulch For Sale, Backyard Treasure Hunt, Goodnight Stargazer, and My Brother Meow.

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THE immortal

E. G. Creel

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Eva Creel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in book review.

First hardback edition December 1, 2021

Hardback cover design by LA Morris

Paperback cover design OliviaProDesign

Interior book design by Kelly Carter

ISBN 979-8-9850408-0-7 (hardback)

ISBN 979-8-9850408-2-1 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-9850408-1-4 (ebook)

For my hubby.

Thank you for always asking if I had any dreams.

Contents

Kullingrinn (The Culling) 1

nykur (Water Horse) 22

Sigurðr ormr í auga (Sigurd Snake in the Eye) 27

BjỌrn Járnsíða (Bjorn Ironside) 35

Ívan hinn Hræðilegi (Ivan the Terrible) 42

Ragnarr Loðbrók (Ragnar Lodbrok) 54

Þing (Thing) 71

The Decision 85

Ásatrúarfélagið (High Priest) 92

Home Is Where the Heart Is 100

Heraðvatn (Harray Loch) 109

Thorn of Betrayal 116

A New Island 123

Death in the Family 130

Kullingrinn

¤ The Culling ¤

Was that blood on the door, or was it just my imagination? I didn’t get a good look as I rushed down the hallway.

It was probably just ketchup or something from the kitchen. That made more sense. This was a luxury resort on an island paradise, so of course, it wasn’t blood. Here I was, spoiling my last perfect day of vacation, thinking morbid thoughts, instead of enjoying a glass of champagne and fireworks at the farewell ceremony in the courtyard.

But what if it was blood? Someone could be hurt. I stopped at the end of the resort’s hallway. One more step, and I’d be outside in the courtyard with all the other guests. I was late, and the final champagne toast had already begun. The guests were facing the courtyard stage, cheering and laughing at some joke I’d missed. One more step through the opened glass doors, and I’d be able to listen to the next punchline. Maybe I could even budge my way upfront to get a better view of the fireworks show when it started.

I was celebrating one of the, no, the best week of my life. All I had to do was take one more step, but as I stood looking out at the guests in the courtyard, I knew I had to go back to see if it really was blood or not.

All right, feet, let’s make this fast, I said, frustrated at myself for not being able to let it go. I turned my back to the festivities and speed-walked down the hallway. My sandals made sharp snap noises on the hardwood floor as I swung my arms and half-ran, half-walked back to the door.

I reminded myself, If you think you should do something, you’d better do it. Even if it seems silly, or you’ll be kicking yourself later for not trusting your intuition. Remember the time you got a horrible sunburn when falling asleep in the park. You thought you should set your phone alarm just in case you fell asleep. But did you? When you woke up, the damage was already done, and you had raccoon eyes from your sunglasses for weeks. Or the time your GPS told you to take the highway because it was a few minutes faster. You had wanted to take a different route, but you followed the GPS anyway and ended up in a four-hour traffic jam.

I could see the door up ahead and it didn’t look like there was blood on it after all. I walked up to it for a closer look, just to make sure but there was nothing, not even a smudge on the door or the frame or the staff only sign. I reached out and touched the spot where I thought I’d seen something, it felt damp.

Can I help you? whispered a dark voice directly behind my ear.

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Cautiously, I turned my head to see who it was. A white-haired man, with a dimple in his strong chin, appeared out of nowhere. He was so close to me that I could feel the heat coming from his body and smell the beer and tobacco scent that permeated from him. The man reached over my shoulder and touched the damp door.

Did I miss a spot?

Like a deer in a headlight, I felt my eyes go wide as my body froze. He had me cornered, and he was smiling as if he was enjoying this moment.

Punch him in the throat, was my instant knee-jerk thought. Instead, I took a breath and smiled sweetly as I reached under his muscular arm and tickled his armpit. The look of surprise on his face made me feel braver. I used that quick moment when he involuntarily flinched his arm back to sidestep out of his reach.

"Did you know that kilikili means armpit in Tagalog?" I told him with a nervous giggle as I continued to step back from him.

There was a loud boom signaling that the fireworks had started. It echoed through the empty hallway like an explosion on a distant battlefield.

Are you Filipino? he asked, as he leaned against the door and crossed his arms.

Half, I told him. I was feeling braver now that I didn’t feel cornered. What was on the door? Why had I asked him that? I should have been walking away toward the crowd for safety. My inner voice told me I shouldn’t be anywhere near this man, especially alone.

Blood, is all he said.

He never offered an explanation, and I was done asking dumb questions. My throat had gone dry, making it hard to speak. Finally, in a small voice, I said the first thing that came into my mind, You probably should’ve used bleach.

While fighting with all my instincts, I turned my back to him and walked away. I knew he was staring at me, I could feel it, and then I heard him laugh. It was so unnerving that I couldn’t help but walk faster up the hallway toward the noise of safety. The urge to turn around was getting harder to resist. I had to know if he was behind me, so I peeked over my shoulder. The hallway was completely empty again. What an asshole, I thought when I felt sure I was safe. A very scary asshole.

I made it out to the courtyard just in time to watch the firework show’s grand finale. The sky lit up in a brilliant display of rapid flashes, colors, and sparkles. Booms and bursts came together and were indistinguishable from one another. The guests’ backs were silhouetted, and their happy faces illuminated by the multicolored explosions.

I saw my friend Rachel and smiled. She looked like she had a little too much champagne. Rachel stood with wonderous big bright eyes and a slightly slack jaw, barely holding on to her empty champagne flute; good thing it was made from plastic. She swayed ever so gently, like she was in a dream, a beautiful dream she didn’t want to end. My smile grew as I watched her for a few more moments. I felt grateful I had made a friend I could share this moment with. I looked back as the last burst of fireworks illuminated the sky. Their golden glimmers sizzled and popped, reflecting over the ocean before fading out into the night. The show had ended. I took a deep breath through my nose, smelling the gunpowder, and sighed. What a beautiful ending.

The courtyard remained strangely quiet. I expected a round of applause from the guests, but they all just stood, still like statues and staring up at the sky in silence as if they didn’t realize the show was over. Confused, I looked back at Rachel, but she was lying on the ground. Oh no, Rachel. I bent down beside her and put her head in my lap. Rachel’s mouth was foaming ever so slightly, and the light was so low, I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like her lips had turned blue. She wasn’t breathing. I looked up to shout for help, but all around me, guests were silently collapsing. Their empty plastic champagne flutes made soft pings as they bounced and rolled away from the heaps of flesh and clothes that now filled the otherwise silent courtyard.

The only sounds now were from my panicked breathing and a single pair of footsteps casually echoing in the night. A dark figure had approached the stage. My heart was pounding, and I was starting to hyperventilate. I knew who it would be. It was the same asshole who had, just minutes ago, confronted me in the hallway. What if he could hear me breathing? Putting my hand over my mouth, I forced myself to hold my breath. Did he kill everyone? Oh God, Rachel was only nineteen! I felt hot tears filling my eyes as I watched him walk onto the stage. He was carrying a long white horn over his shoulder, and it almost glowed in the dark. The horn was white as bone, just like his hair.

As he took center stage, he stretched out his arms, and looking upward, he spoke in a deep, throaty voice, "Kullingrinn!" Then, he raised the horn to his mouth, inhaled a long breath, and blew.

The slow sound of the horn vibrated through me. A low, constant sound was now filling the air, mixing with my grief, absorbing into every stone in the courtyard. Anyone who would come here would feel it forever, he had marked this place with tragedy. When he finished, he lowered his horn and looked straight at me. I stood up, and I ran.

Almost immediately, I tripped over a body; I got up and tripped again. Fuck! Without thinking, I looked behind me. The stage was empty, and I couldn’t see him. Everything began to feel like it was moving in slow motion. It felt like it took ages for my legs to remember how to stand up again. Finally, I managed to get up, and I ran as fast as I could. I made it inside through the open glass doors and began running down the hallway. My footsteps were so loud as my sandals slapped against the floor. But so far, there was only the sound of my footsteps which meant he hadn’t made it to the hallway yet.

The hallway made me feel so exposed, I wanted to hide. My legs began to feel weak as I desperately reached for the door with the staff only sign and tried to open it, but it was locked. I looked up to see if he was in the hallway yet, but he wasn’t. Then, I looked behind me afraid that he’d materialize out of nowhere like he had done earlier. How had he just appeared out of nowhere?

What if there’s a hidden door, I blurted out loud, as I turned and frantically pushed on the wall paneling across the hall, but nothing happened.

Then, a memory of me slamming into a fast-food restaurant door came flashing into my mind. It’s pull, not push.

I began to pull on the wall paneling, I almost couldn’t believe it as the door swung open. I stepped inside and swiftly closed it behind me. Should I wait for him to pass and then double back? But what if he saw the last second of the door closing behind me? I didn’t want to run by the dead guests, but maybe he wouldn’t expect I would. Then, where would I go? There was a village just outside of the resort, I could find help there.

Lightly pressing my ear to the door, I listened, but I couldn’t hear anything. Looking behind me, I saw a spiraling metal staircase. Maybe there was another way out, or somewhere better to hide. I put my ear back to the door. But this time I couldn’t shake the feeling he was on the other side of the door, patiently waiting like a cat for his mouse to come out of her hiding place.

He knew about this door. What if it was a dead-end? I had already given away any advantage of a lead, and I was too afraid to go back out of the way I had come in. I backed up slowly and tiptoed up the staircase, watching over my shoulder until the door was no longer in view and hoping that there was another way out.

At the top of the stairs, I found myself in a cozy little room filled with bookshelves. Along the back wall was an antique desk, and on the desk sat a laptop! I hurried to the computer and opened the lid. Maybe the internet was fixed, it had been down all day, but if I could get it to work, I could call for help.

Damn, it was password protected. Maybe it’s something easy, I thought, like ‘password.’ No luck, but it was worth a shot. I started to look around the desk, as it might be written down. Moving around some unopened envelopes, I found a letter opener but no password. The letter opener was like a thin dagger with a sharp double-bladed edge. Its brass handle was a double-tailed mermaid, her tails twisting around each other and onto the blade itself.

That’s when I heard someone clear their throat. Instinctively, I grabbed the letter opener and looked up, fiercely pointing in the direction of—

Mr. Lodbrok? In my rush for the laptop, I hadn’t noticed