A/N: Had myself a merry little Christmas. Hope you guys had great holidays or some time off as well. Now let's get this story finished, shall we?

That was it. Megs and I would never be friends again—clearly.

I woke up disoriented.

Again.

Eric was beside me.

Again.

And I had a splitting headache.

Again!

Only this time, the memories came rushing back faster. And with them, a seething rage. Yet I did... nothing.

I was just so done with it all! The same loop, over and over. Eric would whisk me away from some event, and I'd wake up groggy and aching in some dimly lit room. Damn vampires and their ridiculous aversion to daylight.

Grimacing, I buried my face in the pillow, imagining Eric being catapulted out the front door by one of my recurring electric bursts—right into the sunlight.

Arms crossed tightly over my chest, I kept my eyes stubbornly shut, feigning sleep.

"You do know I can tell you're awake, right?" Eric's voice broke through, amusement lacing his words.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm.

"You do know I don't give a flying fuck, right?" I growled back. So much for staying calm. Great job, Ash.

Eric made a sound—was that a suppressed laugh? I barely lasted another ten seconds before my temper got the better of me. His smug calmness and clear enjoyment of the situation drove me up the wall.

"What the fuck, Eric!" I snapped, sitting up abruptly to glare at him and, if the urge hit, maybe jab him with my elbow. Sure, it'd hurt me more than him, but it'd be worth it. The sudden motion made me dizzy, though, and I had to pause to focus on him again.

To his credit—or perhaps due to sheer indifference—Eric didn't reach out to steady me. Probably for the best, since in my current (and completely justified) mood, I might have tried to bite his arm off. Unlikely to succeed, but oh, so satisfying.

I glanced around, and then it hit me.

"Meegs?"

Blinking hard, I struggled to clear my vision. All those head injuries, fainting episodes, and supernatural enchantments couldn't be good for me—regardless of how much of Eric's blood was pumping through my veins. When the black spots finally faded from my sight, I froze in surprise.

"This is your house!"

That explained the cozy couch. Damn it, where did he always find this kind of furniture? Eric, who was seated in an armchair nearby, not in the bed as I'd assumed at first, lowered his book and raised an eyebrow.

"Your powers of observation remain as sharp as ever," he remarked dryly before turning back to his reading.

Under normal circumstances, I'd have wanted to rip the book out of his hands and hit him with it, but there was something about the way he lounged there, so calm and content, that it made my anger dissipate. Not even a full minute after I'd flown off the handle like a petulant child.

Was this it now?

Was this, who I'd turned into?

It was worse than being an overly emotional teenager all over again.

One minute I felt like crying, the next I was flying off the handles. Not to mention the uncontrollably burst of hormones, making me climb that viking like a fucking stripper-pole!

Apparently, I couldn't even stay mad at him either. Or hate him? Or channel my emotional whirlwind into, at the very least, trying to injure him? Fantastic.

"This is that weird blood-bond thing, isn't it?" I muttered, scowling.

"What is?" he asked, feigning innocence as he glanced up from his book, his expression studiously neutral but with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

His mouth twitched, as if suppressing a grin. He knew. He could tell I wasn't just calming down around him—I was starting to find his behavior... endearing? Irritated by my shifting emotions, I glared at him.

"Hm. Right. Got it." I rubbed my temples, trying to distract myself by looking over the back of the couch toward the kitchen. Come on Ash. You've survived being a teenage girl once, you can do it again! Still, I felt my body heat rising once more, the longer his eyes had that in. "Where are the others?"

"Not here, as far as I can tell."

Yup, he was baiting me.

"Eric..." The throbbing in my head flared up again, and I pressed my fingers to my temples. Without a word, Eric left for the kitchen, returning moments later with an ice pack. I blinked at him, surprised by the thoughtful gesture.

"Thanks?"

He nodded curtly. I placed the ice pack against my temple, wincing at the growing lump I could now feel.

"Wait. No. Screw that!" I hurled the ice pack at him, glaring "You're the reason I need this fucking thing in the first place!"

He sighed and set his book aside at last. "I was hoping you'd just go back to sleep for a bit," he muttered, like a parent annoyed with their child for waking up too early on a Sunday morning.

"Well, tough luck."

"So it seems."

I gave him a moment to explain himself. When he didn't, just watching me with those infuriatingly calm blue eyes, I finally broke the silence.

"So... ow?" I gestured to my head and reluctantly accepted the ice pack again, which Eric silently handed back to me. "Why?"

"Maybe you were talking too much. Ever consider that?"

My eyes narrowed into slits. "You wouldn't dare."

One brow arched. "You do know who I am, right?"

Oh, right. Evil vampire Viking. Big, bad, scary. Sure, Ash, don't forget. Rolling my eyes, I bit back a retort.

"I vaguely remember Megs telling you to knock me out... I think."

That was the tricky part about being unconscious, as I'd learned repeatedly over the past few weeks. Memories had a way of rearranging themselves, refusing to slot back into place. Not to mention, fainting wasn't exactly good for you. Not that it had ever been a problem before I met Eric. Thanks for that, by the way.

"So that's why you haven't tried to attack me yet!" he said, grinning. "Though, let's be honest, you wouldn't stand a chance. Still, it'd be entertaining."

I snorted.

"Yeah, well, I'm staying far away from you for a while, pal."

Far, far away. Preferably with an ocean between us. Whatever had triggered the chaos of the past few days, it terrified me. As much as my instincts screamed for me to get away, to run as far as possible, there was that relentless pull toward him. Still aching. Still yearning for fucks sake!

Though I was seething with anger and every instinct told me to get as far away from here as possible, that magnetic pull to him was still there. It wasn't subtle either. I kept having to mentally scold myself to keep from crossing my legs, letting my knee brush against his, or leaning forward to rest my hand on his forearm—the one he had so casually draped over his knee. I shook my head, desperate to clear the intrusive thoughts.

"Why did Megs want you to knock me out?" I asked, forcing myself to focus.

Eric's gaze locked onto mine, his expression inscrutable. "How much do you really know, Ashley? How much are you keeping from us?"

I frowned, thrown by the question.

"Wait... you don't trust me? Is that what this is about? Was the whole knock-me-out thing just so I wouldn't figure out where you live?" I asked, confusion seeping into my voice. It felt a bit extreme, though with Eric, I'd learned that "extreme" was practically his default setting.

Eric's dry tone cut through my speculation. "Ashley, you've already been to my house."

The look he gave me was pure disdain, the kind of expression that screamed, Are you really this dense?

"Yes, but I don't know how to get here," I countered, already feeling defensive. "The first time we flew, and the second time I was kidnapped."

Something flickered across his face—subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably there. My words had struck a nerve.

"That your sense of direction rivals that of a goldfish is not my concern," he quipped, his tone laced with derision.

"So that's not it," I muttered, brushing off the insult. "Then what?"

Eric made a move to stand, but I grabbed his wrist before he could escape. My grip tightened. "What?" I demanded.

"Ashley," he began, his tone shifting to something more measured, almost conciliatory. "It would be better if we waited for Megs. She can explain—"

"Oh, of course," I interrupted, my frustration boiling over. "Always cryptic, always dodging. God, vampires!" I swore under my breath, my anger bubbling into a wild, desperate thought. In my next life, I'd come back as a squirrel. At least squirrels didn't have to deal with this kind of nonsense.

Eric's eyes bore into mine, and then, to my utter shock, he looked away. Looked away. What?!

"Since when do you call me Ashley?" I whispered, taken aback.

His head tilted slightly. "Isn't that your name?"

"Yes, and I hate it. Ash," I corrected him firmly.

"Then Ash," he replied smoothly.

And just like that, he was doing it again—distracting me, agreeing with me, being polite.

"Dammit, Viking!" I swore, gripping his arm tighter. His skin beneath my fingers warmed and tingled, sending a ripple of awareness through me. I glanced up at him. Eric must have felt it too, but his expression betrayed nothing.

"What the hell is going on?" I demanded.

His gaze sharpened, piercing through me with unnerving precision. It was as though he were reaching inside my mind, searching for something hidden.

"Ashley Johannson," he said at last, his voice carrying a weight that sent shivers down my spine. It wasn't just the sound—it was the way his words seemed to echo inside me, resonating far deeper than they should have. He'd never called me by my full name before, and hearing it now was... intoxicating.

I nodded, swallowing hard.

"Are you listening?" he asked, his voice low but commanding. "No interruptions, no distractions," he added, his eyes narrowing slightly, "and no running."

It didn't sound like a question. It sounded like a trap.

But what was the point in resisting? I was already at his mercy. Even if I could somehow match him physically—if I even knew how to escape his home—where would I go? He'd find me. And worse still, I realized with a jolt, I didn't want to escape. If I left, I wanted him to come after me.

That thought alone made me nod. My curiosity had grown too insistent to ignore. Whatever bizarre horror show I'd stumbled into, it needed an ending. Eric nodded in return, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the fire crackling in the hearth.

"I knew your grandmother," he began.

The words hit me like a slap. I was halfway out of my chair, ready to throttle him. Ready to demand he drop this absurd charade. But the look he gave me—a sharp, deliberate warning—froze the words in my throat. I'd promised to listen, no matter how ridiculous his claims sounded. Even if he wanted to tell me stories about little green men in tracksuits, I'd given him my word. So, reluctantly, I settled back into my chair.

"She was younger than you back then," he continued, a faint smile softening his features. It was a startling shift in his otherwise stoic demeanor. "Younger, but just as stubborn. Just as guarded."

His gaze grew distant, as though he were traveling through time.

"I thought I'd figured her out. Thought I'd uncovered some of her secrets," he said, his voice carrying a note of something I couldn't quite place. "But it turns out, I was the fool."

I braced myself for bitterness, for anger, but there was none. Instead, Eric sounded... impressed. Almost proud.

"Keeping secrets seems to run in your family," he added, his focus shifting back to me.

When his eyes met mine again, they held a strange intensity. He studied me, his gaze sweeping over my face as though searching for something long lost.

"You have the same hair," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "The same luminous, almost radiant blonde."

My throat tightened. The conversation was veering into unfamiliar, unsettlingly intimate territory. I'd never seen Eric like this—so raw, so unguarded. It was overwhelming.

The emotions rolling off him crashed into me, one after the other, like relentless waves. He had no idea I could feel them, that I could see the centuries of life etched into his every movement, his every glance.

But something shifted within me then—a strange, cold recognition.

It wasn't just his emotions. It was the conversation itself. The cadence of his words, the way my responses tumbled from my lips... it was all eerily familiar. The exact same beats, the same patterns. My head spun as pieces of the puzzle clicked together, and a chilling realization dawned: We've had this conversation before.

My breath hitched. "Eric," I whispered, barely able to form the words. "How many times have we done this?"

His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "You're finally catching on," he said softly, the edge in his tone both amused and grim.

A hex. A loop. Something—someone—was keeping me locked in this moment, trapped in a maze where every path circled back on itself.

And Eric? He'd been aware all along.