Lion of Midnight

1110 Rus’

Well, this was no way to end one’s life. Bleeding and alone on the cold, snowy ground. Dark blond lashes blinked away the freshly falling snowflakes. “Not good,” he muttered in disgust.

Nikolas Andreyevich had used his ability with a sword to build a name and reputation for himself. He wasn’t a member of nobility. While he had a half-brother who was a baron—an English baron—Nikolas hadn’t been born into wealth. But, what he lacked in lineage, he made up for physically. He was extremely talented with his sword. He’d had a hard life, having scraped and fought for everything he’d accomplished. A powerful warrior requested by many looking to use his prowess for their use. He had no loyalty except to himself.

After all of his adventures and battles, he’d expected to die like a warrior. Instead, a bunch of scrawny marauders had overtaken him. It was downright unthinkable. What good was a warrior if he didn’t die on the field of battle?

This was the ultimate degradation, not being allowed to die with his own sword in his hand. His sword was gone; that seemed to be a final humiliation the marauding men had wanted to deliver to him. A sword given to him by a prince he’d saved. A handcrafted work of art. It had even been incrusted with jewels.

No, instead, he sat slumped against a tree, with a slender blade shoved into his abdomen. The weapons the men used told him they were from the southern areas, for sabers were rare in his area.

His blood soaked his tunic, continuing on to stain the pristine snow. He wished to die with honor; of course, he preferred not to die, at all, yet. He longed to find what his half-brother had found. What would I give to be able to find a love like that? Everything.

A partial smile crossed his bleeding face as he conjured up the image of Kit. Never before had a woman affected him in the ways she had. The dark hue of her skin, the short fluffiness of her hair, not to mention her amazing attitude when she stood up to Marcus. Then, there was the fullness of her lips and the gentleness in her eyes. If she had ever looked at Nikolas with half the passion in her eyes as she had when she gazed at Marcus, he would have carried her off over his shoulder, to hell with the ramifications. There was no way in hell that would happen; Kit loved his half-brother so much.

Still, if it were his time to die, Nikolas would gladly do so with the vision of her in his mind. It had been a few years since he’d seen Katrina or Marcus, and since then, he’d had many experiences. This time, he closed his eyes and ignored the sting of the snowflakes that bit into his skin. The look on Kit’s face warmed him some, even if the kindness wasn’t for him.

“Open your eyes, Nikolas Andreyevich.” A husky voice interrupted his musings.

He was on his way to die. Damn it, there weren’t supposed to be interruptions. Slowly, he lifted the lids, exposing his brown eyes to the figure before him. His gaze widened as he took in the tall, voluptuous, and imposing woman before him.

“Who are you?”

The dark-haired woman seemed to float over the ground as she halted beside him and knelt on the cold ground. The moment her body was near him, Nikolas experienced warmth all over his chilled body.

She waved off his question as if it were insignificant. “I want to ask you something.” Her voice was low and soothing, making all the pain slip away. He stared into her pale yet intense arctic blue eyes. The effect they had, combined with her light coloring, was breathtaking.

Nikolas believed he shrugged. He wasn’t sure. “Go ahead. I am dying. I cannot go anywhere.”

She smiled. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

He pursed his lips and tried to recall what she talked about.

The stunning apparition explained, “About giving anything to finding a love like Marcus and Katrina share?”

Until he’d met his half-brother and Kit and seen what they shared, it never crossed his mind. If he wanted a woman, he found one, took her, and moved on. “Yes,” he admitted.

She nodded.

“How do you know about them?” He smiled, again. “Of course, you’re in my mind.”

“I will give you the chance to prove yourself. You, Nikolas Andreyevich, will live through time, remaining as you are, untouched by age, until you find your true love.” Her long, pale fingers wrapped around the saber and pulled it free from his belly.

“I understand. I’m already dead. That’s why there’s no pain. Are you here to take me away?”

She chuckled. “You will be full of the knowledge of the time and culture you are in, blending in with ease no matter where your travels take you. However, you must find your other half. The woman won’t be easy to find, nor will she be easily overcome by your charms. So, even when you find her, you will have to get her to admit being yours. She is a delicate snowflake; take care you don’t forget that.”

The woman was gone in a blinding flash of light, leaving Nikolas alone.

Glancing down at his body, he saw his wound had healed, his clothing fully repaired. With the ease of one who had spent years wielding weapons and scratching out a living, he got up from the ground. Looking around for a moment, Nikolas finally headed home, not sure what else to do. He needed to find his sword…and his woman. Life had just taken an interesting turn. For that, he needed the sword which had started it all. Not the one the marauders had stolen from him, but the one he’d carved out his name with.

After he reached his small dwelling, he went into his bedroom and moved his pallet to the side. Once it was clear, he removed the covering of the hole in the floor. Crouching down, Nikolas reached in and pulled out a long item wrapped in tan leather and tied with rope.

Readjusting so he was positioned on his knees, Nikolas set the object on the floor before him. With his dagger, he cut through the old and frayed rope. Almost reverently, he unfolded the stiff and cracked leather. It didn’t take long for him to reveal a long sword. He licked his lips before reaching for it. The entire thing was in great condition; given how long it’d been hidden away, he found it remarkable.

This was the weapon he’d become the legend he was with. Longer than a normal sword, it was also heavier than most. When he’d first started, he’d needed two hands to wield it. With his newer blade, he’d been able to get to where he could use only one hand, but it made him tire faster. The blade had large, uneven teeth on the first part, made to inflict more damage on a person. Down the middle was etched, Lion of Midnight’s Blood Drinker. It had been a while since he’d used this sword, though, given he’d been using the one that had just been stolen.

After he’d acquired more wealth, he’d had a new hilt made, completely out of silver, to replace the steel one. Six richly deep blue stones surrounded a shiny black one with three red stripes in it sat in the circular pommel. The rest of the hilt had unfamiliar marks on it that Nikolas couldn’t identify, but the elderly man who’d fashioned it for him had said it would become clear some day.

Regardless, he’d not sit by and let one of his prized possessions be taken away by a group of rough-looking thieves. Rising to his full height, Nikolas hefted his sword in his right hand and smiled as the familiar heavy weight flowed through him. Those fools were about to find out what happened when they believed they’d left the Lion of Midnight for dead.

It didn’t take him long to pack and secure what he owned on the back of his horse, Tyr, a large black stallion, so dark he had a blue hue. Without a look back, Nikolas sent up a short prayer to Svetoid, the god of warfare, and rode off in the direction he’d come from, determined to find those men and his sword. Then, he’d turn his attention to finding his woman.