The Collector's Curse

【14】Black & Gold

Clearly, Ulrik was doing everything in his power to woo me, and while his technique didn't really work on me, the fact that he was trying so hard did. Still, I was a little impressed by his incredible vintage Aston Martin™, which was a beautiful blue and green iridescent color. It fended through the streets of Oslo with formidable ease, especially given Ulrik's expert driving. The low vibrations of its engine were strangely alluring, and its roars whenever Ulrik picked up the pace were definitely sexy.

It was a good thing I'd slipped a condom in my bra before leaving. I might ask him to take a detour on our way back, so we could find a dark and quiet alley, isolated enough for us to fuck in his car.

The building we arrived at was older than the surrounding ones, yet it was the only one with a crowd gathered before it. There was a line of party-goers that went around the block, and I worried for an instant that we might not get in. Ulrik drove past them, though, and stopped the car right before the grand entrance. Someone from the club was by my door before I could open it, and Ulrik took his place to help me out, extending a stable hand.

As I rose out of the low car, I couldn't help but be in awe of the sheer luxury surrounding us. The club's exterior exuded sophistication, and the anticipation of what lay inside made my heart race with excitement. Its name, Bifröst, was written in white glowing cursive letters.

Ulrik looked dashing in his black dress shirt and pants, exuding an air of elegance and refinement. As for me, the tight-fitting black dress matched the ambiance of the upscale venue. Despite his insistence, and even though it suited the dress to perfection, I'd refused to wear the necklace, worried it might get snatched throughout our evening of clubbing. Wearing such a priceless treasure in a room packed with intoxicated people would have been stupid. I was wearing the Jörmungandr bracelet, though, since the fit was perfect, so one couldn't take it off without me noticing it.

A valet entered Ulrik's car to drive it away, and the latter led me hand in hand to the club's entrance. I could already hear the pulsating beats of music and guess at the flashing lights within. The tall and broad man guarding the entrance nodded at Ulrik and allowed us in without a word. Feeling both like a fraud and a queen, I gazed at the long line of people trying to get in.

I didn't have time to dwell on it, though, as Ulrik pulled me inside, resting a hand on my lower back. Music filled my ears, its bass tunes vibrating in my chest. The energy was infectious as we stood at the edge of the pit, where people danced with abandon to the rhythm of the music. The club was alive with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere of pure indulgence.

I'd never heard music like this, a stunning mix of clubhouse and ancient Viking chants and instruments. But given the club's name, which came from Norse mythology—the bridge between our world and the gods'—I should have expected that this place honored the old ways.

We stood there for a moment, entranced by the sways of the crowd and the dancing lights about them, until Ulrik then led me to a great door ornate with gold and detailed carvings. There, a high desk stood, manned by a well-dressed gentleman of advanced age. Ulrik and the man exchanged a nod of recognition.

"Here with a date tonight, sir?" the man asked.

"Yes, this is Miss Mila Connelly. She will be my guest upstairs for the evening."

"Of course." The old man opened a drawer and pulled out two silver bracelets from it before settling them on the counter—a large one and a smaller one.

Ulrik frowned at them as if taken aback, and he shook his hand. "Black for the lady," he corrected.

It was the old man's turn to be surprised as his eyes traveled between the two of us, then the bracelets, then back to me. "Yes, of course," he eventually said, taking back the small bracelet to exchange it with a black one.