The Heat of Iceland

Magnús Ólafsson had hated summer for as long as he could remember, and for Iceland’s oldest vampire, that was a very long time. Every year for the past millennium he had dreaded the summer solstice, where the sun dipped below the horizon well after midnight and reappeared less than a handful of hours later. But it wasn’t the light that he hated, though he certainly hated that. It was the heat that he couldn’t bear. The infernal hotness and stifling heat. Every movement causing salty beads of sweat to accumulate at his hairline and run through his beard or down his back. Magnús never even considered shaving his beard or cutting his long hair. He had grown up in a time before such nonsense and he felt a strange sense of unease whenever he looked at the clean shaven men with their hair cropped short, that strutted around the island. Though if truth be told, he hated the men that pretended to be vikings and grew their hair and beards long, just to bed the wealthy tourists even more. 

Magnús had given up count of the number of times he had moved from the capital to one of the handful of other towns, and back again trying to escape the cursed summer heat. But no matter how far he fled, it always managed to be there waiting for him when he arrived. 

He stood, naked, his back pressed against the wall of the hotel bathroom, watching the shadows cast by the midnight sun inch across the floor. They moved slower than the glaciers that edged their way down the mountains, their movement only evident when he looked back to see where they had started. Magnús clutched his stomach in a futile attempt to stifle the hunger pangs that wracked his body. 

There are so many myths and legends, fact and fiction surrounding vampires and Magnús had heard them all. The majority were of course fabrications dreamed up by the screen writers of Hollywood and tawdry horror novels. He couldn’t turn into a cauldron of bats; silver and garlic had no effect upon him; and a stake through the heart would kill him like it would anyone that was inflicted with such an injury. 

Some things were true; he couldn’t walk in the sun, and he couldn’t cross running water, which made leaving his native homeland impossible. There were a lot of half truths and half lies. Vampires were not immortal but aged only a second each day. He couldn’t create an army of the undead. He had the ability to create one new vampire and one alone. And it would be the last thing

The vampire that had created him had said only a handful of words to him, before he had opened the door and walked into the sun. 

‘Fyrirgefðu, bölvunin er þín núna’ 

The five words had echoed through his mind everyday since. 

Magnús shifted his position, smiling at the delicious coldness of the ceramic tiles against his skin, but the relief of the oppressive summer heat was short lived as his hot skin quickly warmed them. He kicked the door to the bathroom shut and spun the dial in the shower to its coldest setting, waiting for several moments to allow the water to reach the lowest possible temperature. He clenched his teeth in anticipation as he stepped under the spray, but the icy spray sizzled against his skin, evaporating into clouds of thick heavy steam. He stepped from the shower in frustration, not bothering to dry himself. He stepped into the bedroom, dripping water into a puddle at his feet before falling backwards onto the bed. He lay in the damp tangle of the sheets for a few cooling seconds but the coolness quickly burnt away under the heat of his skin. 

Magnús reached out his hand, knocking the items on the nightstand clumsily to her floor as he fumbled for the telephone. He mumbled a few hasty words before letting the receiver tumble from his grasp. He lay panting on the bed unable to move under the oppressive heat that had settled over the room, that seemed like a physical presence that held him pressed against the mattress. Moments later, Magnus struggled to his feet as he heard the soft knocking at his door. He pulled the door wide open, his skin red from the heat rather than embarrassment at his nakedness. A young man stood at the door, behind a trolley with a bottle of champagne nestled into a silver bucket brimming with ice and two crystal glasses. Friðrik looked Magnús up and down, his face an impassive mask. He has seen this scenario dozens of times and knew exactly how the situation would play out. 

‘On the balcony please’ Magnús directed the valet. ‘Leave the door open when you are done. The room’s too hot and the air might cool it a little’ he grumbled.

Friðrik nodded and busied himself with the task as directed, before returning to the room. He stood staring at Magnús for a moment, trying to read the look on the the naked man’s face. Without breaking eye contact, he began to slowly unbutton the front of his shirt. Magnús leant forward and placed his mouth on the other man’s not in an act of passion but to stop the inevitable groans and murmurings of desire. Since the day he had become a vampire, there was very little that Magnús had not experienced a dozen times over, bedding both men and women of every race nationality and description, without any sense of shame or embarrassment. Magnús spun Friðrik around and pulled his clothing off, tossing it to the floor. Friðrik shivered as much in anticipation as from the frigid blasts of air that radiated from the air conditioning machine. 

He pressed his body against Friðrik’s, delighting in the icy feel of the man’s skin, pulling him close, wishing that he could feel a moment of respite from the heat. Magnus shoved himself into his willing companion with no warning or tenderness, rutting into him like an animal, nuzzling into the man’s neck, smothering it with urgent kisses, as he felt the surge of blood roaring through him. As he neared his climax, Magnus bit deep in of his lover’s throat, piercing the pulsing vein with his teeth. Friðrik pulled Magnus closer to him, grinding his hips backwards, mistaking the bite for an act of arousal. Magnus drank deeply; slaking not only his hunger and desire but something else too. 

‘Fyrirgefðu, bölvunin er þín núna’ he whispered into Friðrik’s ear as he drained the last drops from him. 

‘I am sorry, the curse is yours now’

Magnus left the still body of Friðrik in the tangle of sheets on the bed and without hesitating for a second stepped through the open door onto the balcony and into the sunlight for the first time in over a thousand years.