Slumbering Ember

By Meraki P. Lyhne

The belief in the old Norse gods may have been suppressed by Christianity, but that doesn’t mean the races of old didn’t survive. Like the Vargr wolves.

All Matt knows of his dad is that he was Danish and that he’d died in a motorcycle accident ten years earlier. When Matt’s sixteen and a half, his mother declares it important that he at least knows the other half of his heritage, so she sends him from the States to Denmark as an exchange student for a year.

Matt’s not overly excited. Matt’s a loner who doesn’t connect with people. Going to a foreign country was never a part of his plans, but he’d do it for her. He’d go to where she’d loved the only man in her life. The love that gave her Matt.

Everything he’s heard from his mom and read about Denmark and the area he’s going to live in did not prepare him for what he finds, though—a heritage that has an old Norse god on the family tree.

Note, this is a second edition with a heavily revised chapter. Almost the whole chapter 3 of the first book has been removed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meraki P. Lyhne
• Release date: Feb 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9788793966246

Meraki P. Lyhne

Meraki P. Lyhne, real name Martin, is a Danish author spanning multiple genres and pseudonyms. Meraki P. Lyhne mainly writes contemporary paranormal LGBT fiction with various degrees of romantic heat, some with a HEA, some with a HFN, and some with white-knuckling cliffhangers. Mostly, he writes long series with focus on worldbuilding, action, and something epic.To make sure no one is ever confused about what kind of book they're about to pick up, the surname will guide you.Lyhne writes gay fiction (with various degrees of heat).If the surname is mirrored on the cover, it is het-fiction (with various degrees of heat).If both are on the cover (like the logo), it is bi-fiction (with various degrees of heat).Information is best found on his website.Other than that, he’s a single dad to a teenage boy, the happy companion to a Rottweiler, and he lives in a very small village next to nowhere.

Book preview

Slumbering Ember

The Vargr #1

Meraki P. Lyhne

Slumbering Ember

2. edition

Copyright © 2022 MarLau Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

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ISBN 13: 978-87-939664-1-3

Cover design by Mibl Art

www.miblart.com

Edited by Laura McNellis

www.alternativedits.com

Find more about the author

www.merakiplyhne.com

MarLau Publishing

Denmark

This book is a work of fiction.

That means I made shit up. All of it.

This series is set in the same universe as the Cubi, but it’s low-throttle in hotness in comparison.

It is not necessary to have read the Cubi before reading this series.

But it certainly helps.

Both series must be read in order.

NOTE from the author

This is a second edition as a chapter has been heavily revised due to reader feedback. The political questions Matt dealt with upon his arrival in Denmark were important for me as an author to know while building the character, but it has now been removed from the ebook, as it was heavily misunderstood as my own opinions. Far from it! It was meant solely to look at Matt’s abilities (or lack thereof) to see nuances of the new world he was about to be plunged into.

If you want to read the original chapter, I’ll gladly send you a link. Just contact me on either Social Media or [e-mail]

ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.

WARNING:

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. If you find a Meraki P. Lyhne e-book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at: [e-mail].

The belief in the old Norse gods may have been suppressed by Christianity, but that doesn’t mean the races of old didn’t survive. Like the Vargr wolves.

All Matt knows of his dad is that he was Danish and that he’d died in a motorcycle accident ten years earlier.

When Matt’s sixteen and a half, his mother declares it important that he at least knows the other half of his heritage, so she sends him from the States to Denmark as an exchange student for a year.

Matt’s not overly excited. Matt’s a loner who doesn’t connect with people. Going to a foreign country was never a part of his plans, but he’d do it for her. He’d go to where she’d loved the only man in her life. The love that gave her Matt.

Everything he’s heard from his mom and read about Denmark and the area he’s going to live in did not prepare him for what he finds, though—a heritage that has an old Norse god on the family tree.

Chapter One

SETTLING INTO THE SEAT on the airplane didn’t calm Matt’s nerves. Neither did the thick book about Danish heroes in legends that he hoped would help divert his attention from the fear of crashing.

He’d been born and raised on the outskirts of New York City, close to his grandparents, lived with his mom, only gone to one school, talked superficially to the same five people since kindergarten, and now he was on his way abroad to live with perfect strangers for a year and go to a school where he knew absolutely no one.

Matt was not a happy camper.

But the tears of joy and hope in his mother’s eyes as he’d hugged her at the airport filled him with the determination to at least make the best of it.

Excuse me, may I? That’s my seat.

Matt looked up, finding a regular Joe in nice but casual clothes, pointing to the window seat. Yeah, sorry.

The guy chuckled as Matt struggled to open the seatbelt again. You look like a first-time flyer, he said, putting a bag into the overhead bin.

I am, yeah.

You want the window seat? I’ve seen that view a million times.

Yeah? Uhm... Matt looked at the small window. Thanks. He climbed in.

The guy plopped down with a satisfied grunt. It’s a long stretch. What’s your final destination?

Denmark. Exchange student.

Oh, wow, then it’s a new adventure. A big one. The guy looked excited on Matt’s behalf.

Matt nodded, offering up a smile. That was what he was afraid of. He wasn’t the adventurous type. Not like that, anyway. He was more of a camping and reading kind of guy, which was why he didn’t have any friends. At least his mom hadn’t sent him to Copenhagen. Then again, Aarhus was the second largest city, so there were a lot of people there, too. He knew more about it than he did Copenhagen since it was the city his mom had been an exchange student in.

Copenhagen was the capital and had the statue of the Little Mermaid. Oh, and he knew that H.C. Anderson—who’d written the story that inspired the statue and later would be retold in a Disney blockbuster—was born in Odense and that the exciting news there was that no one really remembered if it was that house or the neighboring house.

Riveting historical stuff. To Matt at least.

I’ve been a few times. The man leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, Watch out for the bicycles.

Matt snorted. That fact had been in one of the books, too. I heard the language is difficult to learn. He already knew his fair share because his mom had taught him, but he was way better at understanding it than speaking it. Also, it counted as polite conversation, which he wasn’t really a master of.

I can order two beers and ask for the bathroom.

Matt chuckled. He kinda liked the guy. Maybe the flight wouldn’t be as long and dreadful as he’d feared. That and dirty words. Those are the usuals, right?

Yup, but you look too young for me to want to mention those.

Yeah. At sixteen and a half, he understood why.

He wondered how life would have turned out if his dad hadn’t died in that crash. He still remembered coming into the kitchen not long after his sixth birthday, finding his mom collapsed on the kitchen floor with the phone unhooked and lying next to her, while she bawled.

It had broken his heart, and he’d curled up next to her, not understanding what was wrong.

She’d waited for him. For dad. For Laurits.

Rebecca and Laurits. It even sounded good. Like a promised couple.

When she was twenty-three, that call and the news that Matt’s dad had died had broken her, and she’d never looked at another man again. Instead, she’d dedicated herself fully to being the best mother in the world to Matt, who’d never even seen the man other than a candid of when they’d met. Well, his dad had sent photos, but none held him and his personality like the candid his mom treasured. Like he, too, was worn down by not being with them.

That was why Matt felt so adamant about at least trying to have a good year in Denmark. For her. He also kinda hoped to feel a connection to the man he’d never known, yet when he thought about his dad, all he felt was an empty void inside of him. Where there should have been feelings. Of love. Devotion, maybe? He felt poor for not having an idea. Broken, even. He hoped to find something to fill that empty space.

His mom’s best friend from her exchange student year still lived in the area where she’d come to know Laurits. Lillian, the friend, had gone to school with Rebecca in a suburb of Aarhus—a place called Højbjerg. It meant high mountain. Yeah, right, Denmark’s highest point, the Sky Mountain, was a speedbump compared to the lowest planes of San Francisco. Still, Matt kinda looked forward to seeing it as it wasn’t a long drive from Aarhus, and the nature around there was said to be absolutely gorgeous with lots of possibilities for primitive camping.

But Matt’s parents’ romance had been cut short by two months because that was when she could no longer hide that she’d broken one of the rules that would get an exchange student sent home.

And Matt was the proof.

The statute of limitation for underaged sex had then been fifteen if both were under eighteen or if the parents consented along with the youngest party. But not for exchange students. It seemed so strange to Matt. Then again, when in Rome, as his mom always said, and her eyes would light up with fond memories. And they’d been the same age.

Laurits had written letters and saved up to come and live with them, and Rebecca had waited. Upon his death, three and a half thousand dollars had been wired to them. It was all Laurits had in his bank account. And a note. If you get this note and money, then know I kept trying to be with both of you until the end. I’ll love you always. Lau.

The money had been put into Matt’s college fund a week later.

The plane set into motion, stirring Matt from his thoughts, and he looked out, seeing the gangway being rolled away as the plane began its circling of the runway for takeoff. He’d seen enough movies to know what that meant.

Soon, they’d leave US soil.

Chapter Two

AS AWKWARD AS EVER when meeting new people, Matt pulled his luggage through to find the ones he’d never seen, but he knew the logo of the exchange student program he was to meet with. He hoped someone was holding it up high.

The plane ride had been long. The interesting guy beside him—explaining why one way took longer than the other because you either flew with the earth’s rotation or against it—seemed to love flying. Matt had decided he hated it.

The guy had flown enough miles to be able to sleep, yet whenever Matt’s brain wasn’t occupied, he kept thinking about crashing. As hoped, the book had been interesting enough to stave off most of those thoughts. When they finally landed, he decided that a landing was nothing more than a controlled crash. Maybe that was why it was customary to clap upon landing?

That was what it had felt like, anyway.

The program for the weekend was pretty simple, and Matt held it in his hand as he pulled his luggage through the crowd. Meet up at the designated spot, marked by an X on the terminal map, and they’d all be shoved into a bus and taken to a school. Welcome to Denmark, food, go to sleep. Next day, group work and hellos and stuff. Sunday, he’d be picked up in the afternoon by his host family, and Monday, he’d start ninth grade—eleventh in the States—which was apparently the last year of public school, unless one chose upper secondary school. He was a bit older than the others, but it was to fit him into a regular school year. That was apparently the norm for exchange students his age.

He noticed some other young people looking as lost as he felt. "Hey, are you with AFS?"

Yes, yes, you can come with us, a tiny Asian girl said.

Thanks. Matt caught up, glancing at the petite girl, who hauled along two big suitcases and a bag on top of it. You need a hand.

No, thank you, I can manage. And then she dropped a bag.

Matt picked it up and put it on her stroller.

You from America? Or Canada?

The States, yeah. You?

Hong Kong. She flashed a smile. It is very nice to meet you.

Likewise. He glanced around at the others.

The tiny girl could walk fast, though, so there wasn’t a lot of time for that. Also, she seemed to know exactly where she was headed, so Matt paid attention and followed along.

They met up with a big bald dude in the lobby, and he ran through a rollcall and what was about to happen like they’d just stepped off the plane to join an ROTC program. Awesome.

His accent sounded Australian, making Matt wonder if he was, or whether he’d been an exchange student there.

The guys behind Matt sounded South American. Or Spanish? He wasn’t sure, but that was the accent he recognized.

The Australian fellow and his blonde companion ushered them all through the airport and to a bus where the bald guy pointed them out and paid the fare, speaking in Danish to the bus driver.

The bus looked weird. Everything looked weird and unfamiliar. Especially once they left the airport. Old and new buildings sat almost side by side in a mesh of history and progress. Knowing the history of the country meant that some new buildings were older than the Constitution of the United States, and it kinda hammered home the cultural differences he was about to meet.

Matt!

Matt snapped to attention, finding the bald guy’s bright blue eyes directed at him.

I know a lot of you are tired, mate, but I need you to pay attention for a little while longer, alright. Shifting jetlag is hard, but we’ll have you ready by Monday, alright?

Yes, Sir. Mate. No need to ask where that guy had been an exchange student.

The guy hollered some more, then got them all off the bus, counting, and looking around before leaving at last. He showed them to the school, and Matt picked up the Hong Kong girl’s bag twice before just carrying it the rest of the way, too tired to take in any more weird street signs or old buildings.

Alright, listen up! This is the girls sleeping quarters. Boys, follow me.

The South American boys snickered together in Spanish, while Matt placed the girl’s bag on her luggage again.

And you’ll be in here. The Australian guy showed them into another gym that had been converted into a dormitory with air mattresses. I’ll be back in fifteen. The bald guy left.

A guy in a military uniform, carrying a baton of a MagLite, stepped into the hallway leading between the girl and boy dormitories. He managed a friendly smile, nodded a greeting, tested a few windows, then left again.

Shit. Military lookout?

Matt shook his head and found an air mattress. Military lookout or not, he’d been told to keep valuables in his money belt at all times, so he made sure he had wallet, phone, cash, and passport in there before he went back outside.

Looking at that mattress meant he wanted to sleep, so he figured fresh air would be his friend.

Rough flight? the military guy asked.

Yes, Sir.

I hate flying,

Matt grinned at the thought of only having met one who did so far. Does anyone like it?

The military guy snorted. The big bald dude does. Yeah, okay, maybe it was a question of getting used to it. Did you see the door they went through? the guy asked, pointing across the schoolyard.

Yeah?

Go on. I’ll show the rest in.

Thank you. Sir.

The guy grinned.

Matt found the door and went into a school kitchen with a long table set up with mismatching plates and everything.

Damn, you look knackered, someone said. Matt smiled at the brunette young woman. Sharp eyes on that one. Coffee? She held up a thermos.

Yes, please.

She poured him a cup, while four others busied themselves around the kitchen. It looked like organized chaos. Either that or Matt’s brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

You always have military guards?

She laughed. No, no, he’s a boyfriend to one of the camp leaders. He volunteered for nightguard duty.

Matt nodded. Cool.

The others arrived, and the volunteer military nightguard collected a thermos of coffee.

Yeah, good plan, buddy.

Alright, everybody! The bald Australian guy stepped up to the end of the line of tables. Welcome to Denmark. We haven’t done a big intro so far because we know you’re either tired or hungry or both, but...here’s a crash course by trial and error in Danish lunch cuisine.

Lunch? Matt looked around for a clock. Fucking hell. His plane had left at seven in the evening in New York, and the ride had been nine hours or something. He’d known, but that didn’t mean his brain agreed. Or his body. Internal clock and all that.

This was what the guy on the plane had talked about. Going home should be easier.

This day was going to be hell. He’d thought it was merely all the impressions that made him feel like a zombie, not the massive time shift.

Matt needed to get his act together. And drink his coffee. He did, while people found a seat and the camp leaders put trays on the table. There was stuff there he’d never seen. He did notice their grinning faces, so there was apparently fun to be had at their expenses during trial and error at Danish cuisine.

Matt brought his cup to a corner with not too many people. He then realized his mistake, since he’d have to talk to people and ask them to hand him stuff. Some of it looked good. Some of it looked horrible. Especially a big fire hydrant red salami. And the bread? It looked like black pudding.

Good thing he wasn’t hungry.

LUNCH HAD TURNED OUT to be the expected disaster that was fun for the leaders and...definitely trial and error. Some of those things just didn’t go together. But their version of relish was pretty good. Remlade? No, that wasn’t it. But it was a good condiment.

Next up was class. It felt like class. With racist remarks.

The only thing Matt took away from it was that the big bald dude stated that the camp leaders made culturally and racially inappropriate comments because they had cultural insights. And if anyone had a problem with that, they should leave that problem at the school because it would inhibit them from learning about a new culture, openly. It was why they made politically inappropriate remarks like generalizations. It was to initiate debate and to prepare them for having an open mind when meeting a culture that could seem offensive simply for being different.

It was like a bucket of cold water, considering a land of Karens was one of the jokes, generalizing a country.

Another gold nugget was to leave expectations at the welcome camp school, too, or the students would get disappointed no matter what.

Then a fun bingo game with proper Danish humor responses to stuff obviously found on memes and shock value statistics. Matt learned it would be a bad idea to try to drink a Danish teenager under the table in beer. Not that the exchange students were allowed to drink while there, but apparently neither were Danish youth. A light beer in Denmark was the equivalent to regular strength beer in America, and Danish youth statistically drank a lot. Also, beer was a national cornerstone regarding courtesy, camaraderie, and friendliness. And hospitality.

Matt never drank. He was always at home with his mom. They played games, read, and watched TV, and sometimes she painted. Matt enjoyed walking into the woods and wishing himself to merge with it. At least until he missed his mom.

He missed her terribly already, yet the no cell phones out rule meant he hadn’t checked if she’d answered his I got here safely text—until after what felt like classes.

The welcome camp was okay, and some of the exchange students were friendly enough, but Matt stayed away, texting with his mom when possible. She seemed excited, so he tried to add some excitement even though he just wanted to sleep.

After the scheduled classes, he sat in the schoolyard by a table, enjoying the sun, when the Hong Kong girl came over.

Hi. What was your name?

Matt. Yours?

Chunhua.

Chun hu ha.

She snickered and took a seat. She still seemed to have way too much energy. One of the other girls told me that you picked up my bag that I dropped many times and carried it here and put it down only when we come to the sleeping halls.

Less work, I guess.

"Xiéxié. Thank you."

No problem.

She smiled, stood, and walked off.

She and everybody else seemed so open and peoply. Then again, he was probably the only one there who hadn’t come up with becoming an exchange student himself.

Getting a piece of the little Chinese fortune cookie?

Matt turned his head to find the two who sounded South American. Basic English was a requirement for traveling with AFS, but they had a heavy accent. He wondered where they were from, yet he didn’t care enough to ask—especially after a comment like that. He certainly wasn’t going to dignify that with a response, so he ignored them, stood, and walked away.

Come on, just having fun. She likes you.

Matt didn’t care. Wrong gender. But he wasn’t going to tell them that. He knew enough culture to know that would be a bad idea.

Hey! One grabbed his sleeve. It’s rude to walk away.

Matt turned to face them. It’s rude to talk to people who clearly aren’t interested in the neanderthal shit you have to share.

The guy stepped up, yet Matt stood his ground, adrenaline shooting through him. What the hell was he going to do with these guys? He wasn’t a fighter, and one of them looked like he was. But he’d be damned if he showed fear.

Matt, would you come help me?

Matt turned his head, finding the blonde girl who’d been with the bald guy all day. Yeah.

The guys said something in Spanish, and Matt knew enough dirty words to understand a few colorful ones directed at him.

The blonde opened her mouth, and Spanish came out. Loudly and fluently.

Then the bald guy came out of a door and waved the boys with him. We eavesdrop, and you two won’t have time or energy for any of your ideas. Come with me.

Matt felt like he just missed something important.

Fighting here is a bad idea, the blonde said, once the two boys had walked to the bald man, their shoulders slumping.

I don’t fight. I never have.

Really? Maybe there’s some Viking in you then. Most people step back when it’s two against one.

Matt grinned, thinking about his dad’s Danish genes, but he didn’t mention it. Laurits had certainly never run from a fight, according to his mom. More like the opposite.

Matt followed her into the kitchen and peeled about twenty pounds of potatoes.

The run-in with the two guys made him worry about bedtime that evening, though. Sleeping made people an easy target for revenge, and he didn’t feel safe. Especially when noticing that the two hombres had shifted closer to Matt’s mattress. He’d looked forward to sleeping all day, and now that seemed like a bad idea with the stink-eye he’d gotten from them the rest of the day.

It made him feel lonely and exposed, and he missed home even more. He felt wrong for even having left, but it meant so much to his mom, and he didn’t want to let her down.

Come bedtime, everybody brushed their teeth, most chatting and making friends.

The military guy stood in the doorway, looking vigilant yet relaxed. I know, he mouthed to Matt as he passed to enter the gym slash dormitory.

It helped, but Matt still woke up at every small sound. Five of those times was the military guy stepping lightly into the room to listen in.

THE NEXT DAY CONTINUED