The Wild Heir

  I shake my head. They can’t all be going, can they?

  “So special you have to launch yourself off of it,” the King says dryly.

  “You are correct, Father.” Magnus nods. “Originally I thought that it would be fun to renew our vows and then jump off together.” He glances at me and my unimpressed expression. “But, of course, Ella here quickly shot down that idea.”

  “I have my reasons,” I tell him.

  I’ve told quite a few people here of my reasons too.

  He’ll find out pretty soon.

  “Anyway,” Magnus goes on, “I did convince Ottar and Viktor to do it with me. The rest of you are still welcome, I have some extra suits.”

  “You know the cliff didn’t get any shorter,” Mari points out. “It’s still the most dangerous sport in the world.”

  “Not any more dangerous than marriage,” Magnus says to me with a wink.

  I have to laugh, even though I’m a bit nervous.

  It’s not about him jumping. No, I trust that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

  It’s about everything else.

  Nervous in the best way.

  While Magnus makes his way to the edge, Viktor positions himself beside him.

  The truth is, Viktor isn’t jumping. He’s suited up for it and everything, but Maggie made him promise he wouldn’t, and I don’t blame her. Not everyone is cut out for this.

  But he does have his purpose to be standing there beside Magnus, with Ottar on the other side of Magnus.

  “You’re jumping first,” I tell Magnus.

  “Damn right,” he says, slapping his goggles over his eyes. “The first one off gets the best wind.”

  I don’t even know if that’s true. It doesn’t matter.

  He stands at the edge of the cliff, toes hanging off, staring down into the wind and the drop, the fjord snaking three thousand feet below him.

  He’s taking in a deep breath. Everyone else has their phones out, ready to take pictures. The Queen has her eyes pinched shut.

  He’s about to go.

  I speak up.

  “Hey Magnus,” I call after him.

  He turns his head to look at me, maybe annoyed I got him right before he got in the zone. “What?”

  “On the way down, try and think of baby names.”

  He frowns. “Wh-what?”

  I give him a big smile, the kind of smile that shows him exactly what I’m talking about, all the joy I’m feeling.

  “I’m pregnant,” I tell him.

  I’ve been holding onto that one for a long time.

  People around me gasp happily.

  Someone claps.

  And I’m watching his expression change from one of confusion to one of absolute elation. His mouth drops open into a huge grin.

  “You’re what!?” he exclaims happily. “For real?”

  I nod. “Let me know what you come up with.”

  “Huh?”

  Just then both Viktor and Ottar put their hands on to his shoulders and shove him off the cliff so he goes flying backward and we hear this long “Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!!” as he freefalls to the fjord below.

  Of course, then we all run to the edge, or at least as close as we can go without getting vertigo and see the bright yellow chute of Magnus’s open and he starts floating down to safety. Instead of screaming now, he’s hooting and hollering for joy that echoes off the mountains.

  He’s happy.

  So bloody happy.

  We’re having a baby.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much hope before.

  “Your turn,” Viktor says to Ottar.

  “Are you kidding me?” he says. “I’ll walk down thank you. Let’s go see how his Royal Highness is dealing with the news.”

  But as we walk down the mountain and continue to hear Magnus’s cries of joy bouncing off the cliffs, I know he feels the same way that I do.

  He’s dealing with the best news he’s ever gotten.

  I have that dream again.

  I’m on the desolate, cold beach, pebbles strewn at my feet while the giant, black bodies of pilot whales are washed up on the shore.

  As usual, the wind bites into me and the whales are crying for help, crying for me to do something, anything.

  I know the oil is going to start rising fast soon and as soon as the thought hits me, the black liquid starts to bubble out of their blowholes, staining the sea.

  Then the man appears.

  Walking right into the water.

  At that moment I feel like I have a choice. I can try to save the whales. I can save him. Or I can save myself.

  But as he disappears into the oily waves, I realize he’s trying to move the whales back out to sea.

  He does need help, but not in the way I thought he did.

  The oil rises quickly, as usual, to my knees, but instead of letting it swallow me, I start walking out there. I join the man and put my hands on one side of the whale, trying to push it.

  With the rising oil, the whale is able to float.

  But so are we.

  And we keep working, helping each other keep our heads above water, helping each other push the whales out.

  Until one by one, they’re free to swim away.

  Leaving the man together with me in the water.

  Now I look at the man and his face is no longer blank.

  It’s Magnus.

  I think I always knew it was him.

  And he’s here beside me, through thick and thin.

  Keeping each other afloat.

  THE END

  Thank you so much for reading The Wild Heir.

  Reviews are much appreciated! They really help the book world go round and help author’s out in so many ways. If you leave a review of THE WILD HEIR, you’d make my day
  If you’re wanting to check out any of my other romances, I have TOO MANY to list, but here are some of my favourites (and all are available on Kindle Unlimited):

  - THE SWEDISH PRINCE (Prince Viktor’s story)

  - BAD AT LOVE (a quirky friends-to-lovers romance)

  - BEFORE I EVER MET YOU ( young single mom falls for her father’s best friend)

  - LOVE IN ENGLISH (the ultimate forbidden romance with the sexiest Spanish soccer star ever)

  - THE PACT (two best friends agree to marry each other by the time they’re thirty)

  - THE NORTH RIDGE SERIES (A trilogy about three rugged mountain men from Canada with very dangerous and thrilling jobs and the women who love them)

  -> If you want to connect with me, you can always find me on Instagram (where I’m posting photos from my recent research trip to Sweden!)

  -> or in my Facebook Group (we’re a fun bunch and would love to have you join)

  -> Otherwise, feel free to signup for my mailing list (it comes once a month) and Bookbub alerts!

  Afterword

  Every book is a completely new experience.

  With the character of Magnus, I had an idea of where I wanted him and the book to go.

  I had no idea where he would take ME.

  You see, after his appearance as the fun-loving, cocky thrill-seeker in The Swedish Prince, I knew he was a man who was both a playboy and an “adrenaline junkie.”

  When I started to write The Wild Heir and uncover his character (I don’t build their character, rather I always see my characters as already existing and slowly revealing themselves to me - I liken myself to a palaeontologist, digging up the bones of the story, but I digress), I had to figure out WHY Magnus was attracted to things like BASE jumping (because seriously…Google that stuff at Kjerag, it’s insane).

  After exploring different personalities and the roots and causes of those, I found out that people with ADHD were more likely to seek out adrenaline-based situations.

  So I said to myself, great. He’ll have ADHD and probably not even know it. As someone who comes from a family of mental disorders, and having anxiety myself, I knew that a hero with this quality should be celebrated mor
e.

  LITTLE DID I KNOW that while researching the hell out of ADHD, I discovered that I actually have it. After scoring nearly 100% on test after test, I decided I had to look into it and I was eventually diagnosed with it.

  Like Magnus, I had no idea I had it but once I learned that I have this “disorder” everything made perfect sense.

  It was eye-opening.

  It was a relief to be able to finally put a name to why I am the way I am, why I act and think the way I do.

  The condition is not at all what I thought it was, which is why it never occurred to me that I might have it (for example, I am not hyperactive in the least…but I am hypersensitive and I have an overactive brain), but now that I know…honestly, I have never been happier.

  Yes there are many different routes for treatment but as it is for me right now, I don’t necessarily *need* to change. I just need to learn how to handle myself and certain situations (and, like Magnus, cut myself some slack).

  I thought twice about admitting this publicly and in this book but I wanted readers to know that I’m not some author making shit up on the fly, I’m not someone using this for gains - Magnus’s experiences are MY experiences, his brain is my brain (and while you’ll never catch me skydiving, I DO write everything under deadline panic and listening to heart-thumping Hans Zimmer soundtracks because the adrenaline helps me focus).

  Mainly I’m admitting this because this book releases in May and May is Mental Health Month and I just want to point out that ADHD or anxiety or depression or any mental issues are NOTHING to be ashamed of and you can live a healthy and productive life with it.

  I mean, who knew that someone who can’t even remember to pay taxes or mail books, or failed math class repeatedly, could also write over 45 books in seven years and hold down a somewhat successful career as an author?

  My point is, don’t let the stigma of mental illness scare you from being open about it because the more we have dialogue, the less alone we feel.

  AND don’t let the preconceived notions about mental illness cause you to make snap judgements about people who are affected by it. Be open-minded and compassionate when it comes to this…when it comes to everything, really.

  Be bold, be fierce. Love with a Viking heart!

  Acknowledgments

  I’ll keep this short because lord knows I’ve babbled on enough at this point.

  Thank to my beta readers, Sarah Sentz, Sarah Symonds, Nina Decker, Pavlina Michou, Heather Pollock, Renery Gatpayat. You guys rock!!!

  Elsi Gabrielsen for being my Norwegian eyes…let it go and tusen takk!

  Always love to Sandra Cortez, Ali Hymer, Tarryn Fisher.

  Hang Le, you’re the (does that make sense?) Without you my books are only half as good - thank you for your tireless work (with me) and on the covers!

  Nina Grinstead and Chanpreet Singh, you make my world go round.

  Kara Malinczak for your enthusiasm and support.

  Roxane Leblanc for going above and beyond.

  Of course, I have to thank all my family in Norway because without you I wouldn’t have my own Viking heart. To my father Sven Halle, this is especially for you!

  Last but never last (or least) in reality, my husband Scott for putting up with me all these years. And our dog, Bruce too, but he’s the same brand of crazy as I am.

  And if I’m missing anyone else, I’ll just blame my ADD :D

  TUSEN TAKK!!!!!!

  A SNEAK PEAK OF “SHOW ME THE WAY” by AL JACKSON

  Rex

  My eyes went round, and I came to an abrupt stop in her doorway.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want to wear?” Sweeping a hand through the long pieces of my damp hair, I gave it my all to keep the panic out of my voice.

  Honestly wasn’t sure if I wanted to bust out laughing or drop to my knees and cry.

  Such was my life.

  We were already ten minutes late, and there she was on her bedroom floor, wearing a hot pink tutu over a bathing suit.

  “Uh-huh. We gots to look so pretty for dance. Annie said all the best dancers wear leg warmies, and her mama bought her all the pretty colors. Like a rainbow,” she rambled as she tugged on the black high-top Converse she’d talked me into at the mall last weekend.

  Right over a pair of old tube socks she must have found in one of my drawers.

  The hideous kind with the two blue stripes at the top that should have been burned years ago.

  “So I gots these.” She rocked her heels on the ground as she sat back and admired her handiwork.

  She suddenly looked over at me with that smile that melted a crater right through the stone that was my heart. Her single tooth missing on the bottom row and her attempt at a bun that looked like she’d just walked out of a windstorm were about the damned cutest things I’d ever seen.

  “I’m the best dancer, right, Daddy?”

  “You’re the best, prettiest dancer in the whole world, Frankie Leigh.”

  I just was betting that uptight bitch, Ms. Jezlyn, wouldn’t agree. I’d already gotten one bullshit letter about “appropriate ballet attire,” which was strictly a black leotard with salmon tights (what the fuck?) without any runs in them. Apparently, Frankie wasn’t living up to those standards.

  That was what I got for picking Frankie up late from Mom’s and then coming home and telling her to get ready while I grabbed a quick shower. I’d been at the work site the entire day, had been drenched in sweat and grease and grime, and was trying to put my best foot forward.

  Problem was, I was having a hard time figuring out how my best could ever be enough.

  I pressed my palms together in some kind of twisted prayer. Then I dropped them and blew out a resigned breath. “All right, then. We need to get out of here before I get you in any more trouble.”

  Frankie hopped onto her feet and threw her hands in the air. “Ready!”

  I chuckled beneath my breath, grabbed her dance bag from the pink bench right inside her room, slung it over my shoulder, and extended my hand. “Let’s go, Tiny Dancer.”

  Giggling, she pranced over to me and let me take her miniature hand, so small and vulnerable in the massiveness of mine.

  Following me out the door and down the hall, she skipped along at my side.

  Innocently.

  Joy lit up my insides. I swore all her sweetness held the power to blow back the thousand pounds of blackened bitterness built up around my heart. Like when this kid was around, it weighed nothing at all.

  The day she was born, I’d sworn an oath to myself. I’d never allow her to be torn up by this vicious, cruel world. Refused to let it tarnish her the way it had me.

  My entire life was protecting her from it.

  I snagged my keys from the entryway table when I heard the sound of a door slamming somewhere outside. Frowning, I leaned back so I could get a glimpse out the window and across the street.

  An older white Jeep Grand Cherokee was parked in the driveway of Mrs. Dayne’s old house.

  Guessed they had to finally be putting the place up for sale. Mrs. Dayne had lived there forever, long before we’d moved in across the street from her five years ago, but the place had been sitting empty for the last two months.

  A fist tightened in my gut, grief I really shouldn’t be allowing myself to feel. She’d just been so good to Frankie that it’d been impossible to keep her shut out. Hell, she’d barged right into our lives like she was supposed to be there, constantly bringing over dinner and those delicious pies from the diner-style restaurant she’d owned downtown.

  Frankie rushed out the front door and onto the deck at the side of our house.

  It was the way all the homes were situated in our neighborhood. The houses were elevated from the ground with the main doors located on the side rather than out front. Each had an open deck that extended out from the side of the house, giving a view of the street and neighbors’ houses. The porch steps angled that direction and led down to the driveways that came up to the f
ar side of the houses.

  It probably would have looked strange if not for the big, leafy trees that outlined each of the lots.

  They made everything feel cozy and secluded.

  Just the way I liked it.

  It was one of the main reasons I’d insisted on this place when I’d been looking for a fixer-upper to renovate.

  Frankie released my hand and pointed across the street. “Hey, Daddy, look it. Someone’s at Mrs. Dayne’s house!”

  Stepping out behind her, I closed the door before I attempted to tame a few pieces of hair that’d fallen from her bun and were now flying around her face in the hot breeze. I dropped a kiss to her forehead. “It’s probably a realtor putting it up for sale, Frankie Leigh. Remember how we talked about that?”

  With her head tipped back, she peered at me with confused but hopeful brown eyes. “She wents to heaven?”

  “Yeah,” I murmured softly.

  The screen door at the side of Mrs. Dayne’s house slammed, and I jerked my head up to find a woman crossing the small deck and jogging down the steps back toward the SUV.

  Goddamn.

  Maybe I was just caught off guard.

  But just looking at her knocked the air from my lungs.

  Let’s just say I was unprepared for a woman that looked like that. Guess I’d been expecting someone dressed up. Older. And there was this girl, disheveled in a sexy, careless way. A massive mound of hair that was wilder than Frankie’s was piled haphazardly on her head, wavy pieces falling out all around her. She wore a super tight white tank that disappeared beneath high-waisted jeans.

  Those jeans should have made her look frumpy and unkempt, but instead, the whole package sent a skitter of lust racing through my veins and prodding at my dick.

  She was the kind of woman who could make a grown man stumble on his feet.

  Stunning.

  Gorgeous.

  Too sexy for her own damned good.

  Or maybe mine.

  I could call it a complication of abstaining for too long, but I was sure no woman had ever incited a reaction like this in me with just a glance.