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.

Ulrik picked them up and handed me the black one before slipping the silver one around his thick wrist. A little confused by what had just happened, I stared at my bracelet. It was sober, just a metallic band with an opening to slip it around the wrist.

I still hadn't put it on when Ulrik spurred me on, pressing a soft hand on my back. He led me to an elevator, which had a bouncer before it. The broad man gazed down at our bracelets, which prompted me to put mine on.

"What are those for?" I asked once we were on our way up, alone.

"Access. The upper part of the club is extremely exclusive, and bracelets are color coded."

"What does black mean?"

"That you're a special guest."

I wondered what he meant by "special," but whatever strict policies this place had, I trusted him to know better. "And silver?"

"Gold, silver, and bronze are members. Black and white are guests."

The cast system wasn't hard to understand, and it baffled me that there might be some gold members above Ulrik. We'd literally arrived in James Bond's car, and he wasn't even at the top of this club's hierarchy.

When the doors parted with an elegant ding, I couldn't help but marvel at the opulent surroundings. The luxurious decoration was a striking blend of modern and old, with sleek designer furniture tastefully juxtaposed alongside ancient artifacts. The fusion of contemporary elegance and historical treasures created an enchanting space that was both captivating and evocative.

A bar stood against one wall, a masterpiece of craftsmanship and design. Bartenders skillfully prepared extravagant cocktails, mixing premium spirits with a touch of artistry. The array of shimmering bottles behind the bar, just under the luminous Bifröst sign, showcased an impressive selection, promising an exquisite taste experience. The waiting staff moved gracefully among the members and guests, carrying trays adorned with beautifully crafted cocktails, each a work of art in itself.

There was an opening that led to what must have been a backroom with more private spaces and another security guard standing before it. On the opposite side, on our right, a glass wall revealed a breathtaking view of the pit below, where the energetic dance floor and dazzling lights seemed to come alive like a kaleidoscope of colors. The music's thumping beat echoed faintly through the glass, adding a touch of excitement to the exclusive ambiance. From there, I could see the stage where a woman expertly maneuvered the plates before her, deftly controlling the music that had everyone jumping and dancing.

Ulrik guided me toward a stewardess, her black uniform crisp and fitted to perfection. "Welcome, honorable guests," she saluted us with reverence. Someone came to take our coats, and then the woman invited us to follow with a gesture of her hand. This place's standards were through the roof, really.

We walked side by side as she guided us toward a private corner by the glass wall, where she settled two drink menus. We sank into the comfortable leather sofa once she was gone. The smooth texture beneath my fingertips mirrored the sophistication of the night, and the soft lighting cast a warm glow, cocooning us in an aura of intimacy. As I looked around in awe, I couldn't help but notice the other guests in the VIP section. They exuded an air of elegance and charm, dressed impeccably in fine attire that complemented the luxurious setting. Soft laughter and engaging conversations filled the air, creating a harmonious symphony that blended with the music below.

"This place is amazing," I noted, frankly impressed. "Do you come often?"

"Every time I'm in Oslo."

"So, a few times per month. How does one become a member?"

An enigmatic grin stretched his lips. "The selection process is extensive, and the requirements are extremely restrictive."

"Privileged, much?" I humorously asked.

"I'm aware, yes. But I try to let the less privileged among us enjoy the benefits of it."

I grinned broadly, feeling indeed lucky to be here with him.

In need of a drink, I picked up the menu and scanned through it. There were so many options with names I'd never seen before that I quickly gave up and turned to Ulrik, who wasn't even looking through the options, apparently already knowing them.

"Any recommendations?"

"Hmm... You should try the espresso negroni. You like bitterness, so it should be perfect for you."

"That sounds really good, actually," I agreed. "What are you getting?"

"A Penicillin."

"What is that?" I wondered, having never heard of it.

"Scotch, honey-ginger syrup, lemon juice, and a touch of smoky Islay Scotch."

"That also sounds good. You'll let me have a taste?"

He offered me a crooked smile, resting a warm hand over my thigh. "Of course, elskling."

With an elegant wave of his hand, he conjured the waitress back to our side. He placed our orders, and she faded into the background again.

My eyes drifted to the pit below, where people were still dancing and having the time of their lives. The music was so distinctive, and the traditional beats which were native to this land added something primal to it, matching the electronic sounds to perfection. I could help my body from reacting to it, and the leg that was crossed on top of the other bounced in rhythm, the tip of my high heel moving up and down.

Up here, people didn't dance much. It was more of a lounge, a parlor-like space meant for mingling and conversations. The bracelets probably served the purpose of going in and out of the VIP section in case the members and guests wished to join the pit for some heated and sweaty moments among the crowd.

I was about to tell Ulrik we needed to head downstairs soon when someone's hand appeared between us to firmly grip Ulrik's shoulder. The first thing I noticed was the bracelet, a striking band of gold.

"Hi there, old friend," the stranger said in Norwegian, his regional accent hard to pinpoint exactly.

Ulrik looked up, and upon recognizing the newcomer, he smiled. "Tyr, it has been a while."

"It has."

The man's interest switched to me, then to Ulrik's hand, which lay on my thigh, and my hand over it. "Who might this lovely creature be?"

"Mila darling, this is Tyr, an old... friend. Tyr, this is the lovely Mila Connelly."

"Delighted to meet you, Miss Connelly."

"Likewise," I tentatively said.

Tyr hesitated for a slight moment and then squeezed Ulrik's shoulder in an inviting way. "May I have a talk with you, friend?"

Ulrik looked at me, pondering. Clearly, he didn't feel comfortable leaving me alone, but he also came here because there were people he wanted to meet. I gave him a nod, encouraging him to go. After another few seconds of hesitancy, he returned to his friend. "Yes, of course." He gave my hand a longing kiss and said, "I'll be right back, love."

I leaned onto the comfortable sofa as he rose and then watched him walk away with Tyr. When the man laid an arm around Ulrik's massive shoulders, I noticed the stiffness of his hand. It was a prosthetic, the rigid cast of a hand frozen in a somewhat natural pose. They both went to the door that led to the backroom, and the security guard allowed them in with a nod.

The spectacle of the club below quickly distracted me from his departure, and I observed the lively bunch vibing with the tunes. A couple of minutes after Ulrik had left, the waitress came back with our cocktails. I had in mind to wait for his return, but curiosity got the best of me, and I took a long sip of mine. God, it was delicious. Ulrik had hit the nail right on the head, and it was perfectly to my liking. I tried his drink since he was okay with it, and while it was a great beverage, too, it wasn't as catered to my tastes.

Halfway into my glass, Ulrik hadn't returned yet, and droplets of condensations were glistening on his. Maybe I should bring it to him, so he could enjoy it before it was too tepid. I took another long sip into mine and rose from the couch to head to the back room with his glass in hand.

As I reached it, though, the bouncer stepped in front of me and shook his head.

"I'm just bringing a glass to someone inside," I explained in Norwegian, showing him the drink.

He shook his head again. "No black bracelet past this point."

Confused, I looked down at the band on my wrist. "Just the black ones?"

The man nodded, intransigeant. As if sent to prove it, someone with a white bracelet arrived, and the bouncer allowed them in. With Ulrik's glass still in my hand, I returned to the sofa, trying to gather my conflicted thoughts. Downstairs at the high desk, the old man had initially given me a silver bracelet, and Ulrik had been the one to have it changed. What if his explanation of the workings of this place were lies? What if he'd wanted to make sure I'd be stuck here while he could do whatever he needed back there?

Puzzled, I downed the glass I was holding, barely realizing it. Then, what was left of my drink followed the same treatment, and I was out of things to occupy myself with. Maybe I should head downstairs and dance. It would clear my mind and make me feel better.

Just as I was about to do that, someone sat by my side. Taken aback, I slipped further away from the stranger, frowning as I examined his features. He had chestnut hair, slightly too long and disheveled, and eyes so dark I couldn't differentiate the iris from the pupil. Those shark-like eyes seemed to hold a gloomy intensity. His physical appearance wasn't conventionally attractive, but there was an undeniable charisma that emanated from him.

His smile was enigmatic, bordering on unsettling, and it sent a cold shiver down my spine. There was something about him that made me feel uneasy as if he could see right through me with those penetrating eyes. He leaned in closer, invading my personal space ever so slightly, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I could feel the weight of his gaze, almost as if he were trying to read my thoughts. His presence was captivating, yet there was an underlying sense of discomfort that I couldn't shake.

Who was this, and why was he looking at me like he knew me?

When he spoke, his words were laced with a touch of arrogance, giving him an air of assurance that bordered on overconfidence.

"So, whose pet are you, little one?"