Kiss of Pride (11 page)

“You’re kidding,” she said, even as she scribbled notes on her pad.

Harek just blushed, but shot daggers of displeasure at Vikar.

“Then there is Cnut. He can tell you about the time he told Napoleon where he could stick his sword.”

Cnut said nothing, but Vikar was going to watch his back for the next hour or so. Cnut did a mean face-in-the-dirt tackle when enraged.

As for Alex reporting all this . . . he had no worry because by the time she left for home, he was fairly certain she would not remember any of what she’d witnessed here. Mike would make certain of that.

But then, she didn’t believe anything he’d just said anyhow, as indicated by her laughter. She thought he was joking.

But then, all humor and teasing ended as Svein ran in and announced breathlessly, “There are Lucies in town. They’re headed this way.”

Then the Lucipire shit hit the fan . . .

Alex had seen many sides of Vikar thus far. Viking in appearance. With fangs as a vampire. Having the aura of angel wings at his back. As a lover. And now as a military commander.

She’d witnessed his fighting skills in the restaurant parking lot with those biker beasts, but his activity now was pure leader, and an experienced one at that.

“Svein, you take the front. Jogeir, position yourself at the back. Armod, take Alex and Dagmar up to the tower and guard their door. I’ll go to the contractor and come up with some excuse that ensures all the workers are assigned jobs inside today.” He turned to Harek and Cnut then. “The three of us will have to come up with a plan to divert the Lucipires away from the castle, and Transylvania itself.”

“You’re right,” Cnut said. “That Lucie that got away from you last week must have recognized you, and Jasper is sending a horde here to investigate. We can’t just erase them, because Jasper will continue to send more if he suspects we’re in hiding here.”

Erase? How does one erase a demon vampire?
Alex wondered.

“I could give them a fly-by scent of me, then head north toward Canada,” Harek offered.

A fly-by. I didn’t know they could fly.

“Right,” Cnut agreed. “I’ll do the same, but I’ll go east toward the Hudson River.”

“And I’ll lead the last of them south to Atlantic City. There are enough sinners there to divert their attention,” Vikar said with dry humor.

I think I’m going to be sick.

“Bottom line, if at all possible, if we’re going to kill them, we should try to do it away from here.”

The three brothers did a three-fisted handshake for agreement.

Alex homed in on one thing in their amazing discussion. “You guys can fly?”

They turned as one to stare at her.

No one answered, but Vikar repeated his directions to Armod, “Take her to the tower room.”

Alex started to protest that she wanted to stay and see what was happening. “I have a pistol. I know how to shoot.” That was a stretch, since she’d had only a few lessons so far. Besides, she’d never shot a person and wasn’t sure she could, even the Mercados, even whatever evil forces were approaching the castle.

Not for the first time, Alex wondered if this was all some elaborate Hollywood stunt meant to promote an upcoming movie.

“Do as you are told, Alex.”

The fixed expression on Vikar’s face barred any further interference from her. Where was the gentle lover? The “angel” with a sense of humor? It was as if Alex was invisible to Vikar now.

Alex continued to observe them over her shoulder, even as Armod led her away, whispering an explanation to her unanswered question. Vangels could not fly, exactly, but they could move unseen by humans through space, leave a scent for the Lucipires to follow. Sort of invisible flying.

As she left the room Alex was both alarmed and fascinated to see all the men arming up with ancient-looking swords and daggers, as well as modern guns. Each pulled on a long cape with identical winged epaulettes on the shoulders, the same as Vikar wore when he went out. The capes covered their jeans, T-shirts, and of course the weapons.

The oddest thing of all occurred then.

An aura of angel wings formed about the men’s backs, even Armod’s. Like blue mists, they were, but definitely resembling angel wings. Last night, she’d thought it was her imagination, seeing an angel wing aura behind Vikar when they were making love, but this was different. And then she knew.

Angel warriors.

Nine

Honey, I’m home . . .

I
t was three days before Vikar returned to the castle, and he feared what he would find.

Oh, he knew from keeping in contact with Svein that Lucipires had sniffed around the perimeter, but were diverted when he and his brothers had drawn them away. Ultimately, to the far reaches of Canada where they’d battled fiercely. The scent of a Seven . . . he or any of his six brothers . . . was ten times stronger than that of all other vangels.

The contractors had continued to work and should be done with their assigned jobs in two more days, but they would not be there today because it was Sunday. Good thing because Armod had forewarned him that Alex was seriously upset. On more than one occasion, she’d attempted to leave the castle and go back to her home in Washington, despite the warning from her employer about her safety.

She was frightened; Vikar understood that. But Vikar could not take the time to reassure her, and he had given Armod orders to hold her there, forcibly, if necessary But he could not think on that at the moment. He had more serious concerns, like his brother Harek, whom he carried in his arms. At a nod to Cnut, who was as worried as he was by Harek’s wounds, the two of them closed their eyes and imagined themselves back at the castle. Within seconds, they dematerialized from where they stood atop the remote Canadian mountain and teletransported, reconstructing themselves in the kitchen. Invisible flying, but of epic speed.

For a moment, he was disoriented by the peaceful scene. Alex stood at the stove stirring something in a pot with a long wooden spoon. The kitchen was clean and shiny. A crystal vase of fresh wildflowers sat on a wide windowsill. A pyramid of oranges, apples, bananas, and grapes filled a woven basket on a sideboard, bringing more delicious normality to the room. Sunshine streamed in through the sparkling windows.

Such a homey picture after the hellish place where they had been! His heart tightened and he could scarce breathe.
Amazing how simple things like peacefulness can ease a man’s soul! No doubt because it is so rare. For us.

He shook his head to bring himself back to reality. This was not Home Sweet Home, and Alex was not the “little woman” waiting for her man. In fact, it was probably eye of newt in her cauldron and various other poisons to knock him flat on his arrogant arse.

Alex noticed their sudden appearance and screamed.

Which caused Armod, Svein, Jogeir, and Dagmar to come running.

But the man in Vikar’s arms and his horrific condition caught Alex’s attention. “Oh my God!” Alex slapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

From forehead to toes, Harek’s skin was bitten and lacerated from the Lucipire fangs and claws, not to mention at least one sword wound.

“What happened? Is he dead?” she choked out.

Well, yes, he is, but that’s beside the point.
“He needs help, that’s all. Dagmar, are you ready?”

The mute vangel nodded and was already rolling up one of the sleeves of her long gown. Vikar laid Harek carefully on the table.

“He’s loaded with Lucipire blood,” he mused aloud.
More Lucipire than vangel at this point, I fear, by the reddish tint to his skin.
“We, each of us, need to feed from him, to drain the taint, before Dagmar can give him her pure blood.”

Vikar went first.
Please, God, I pray, save our brother.
After making the sign of the cross, first on his own body, then on Harek’s chest, Vikar bit deeply into Harek’s neck where he sucked out a half cup of the most putrid fluid. When finished, he staggered to the sink in the small bathroom off the kitchen and threw up the contents of his stomach. Not enough to ease the nausea heaving his stomach, but that was all that would come up. While he was gargling with mouthwash and staring at his ravaged, unshaven face in the mirror above the sink, he realized that he would be unable to give Alex any of his blood for some time, but he would worry about that later.

Coming back into the kitchen, he saw that Cnut and Svein were following his lead in draining Harek. Now it was Dagmar’s turn to replace some of the bad blood with good. She ripped open the skin of her wrist with her own fangs and presented Harek with her open vein. While Harek took sustenance, despite his sleep-like condition, Vikar and the other males joined hands and hummed the lyrics to “Agnus Dei.” Already Harek’s skin color looked better, pale, but less red. Still, he remained unconscious. His wounds would heal of their own accord; it was the Lucipire blood in his system that worried them all. Later, Jogeir and Armod would drink from him, and Dagmar would feed him again, but too much at one time would harm them all.

Someday they would have equipment that would allow them to do medical transfusion procedures in emergency cases, but they were not at that stage yet. And they were unable to go to a hospital because of all the questions that would be raised.

“I made some chocolate chip cookies yesterday,” Alex said. “Blood banks always encourage people to eat sugar after donating blood. Maybe it works in reverse, too.”

They all looked at her, having momentarily forgotten that she watched. The procedure must be not only alarming but distasteful to her, totally different from when just the two of them were involved.

“Thank you. It cannot hurt to try,” he said.

Dagmar picked up two cookies and took them with her to her room where she would rest for a while. Svein, Jogeir, and Armod mentioned going outside to secure the premises; they also took handfuls of cookies, crunching loudly as they walked away.

“I’ll carry Harek up to his bed and watch over him,” Cnut said, lifting up the big man with ease and grabbing a cookie as he passed by. He winked at Alex and said, “Many thanks, m’lady.”

Vikar did not like that wink. Not at all.

Vikar glared at Alex, since Cnut was gone and he couldn’t glare at him.

Alex glared right back. “Oh, sit down and eat a damn cookie. Maybe it will sweeten your disposition.”

He sat down at the counter and took a big bite out of the cookie, finding it surprisingly good. Only after he’d eaten three of the sweet circles did he mutter, “My disposition is just fine.”

She arched her brows. “What happened?”

“A battle with the Lucipires, far from here.”

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.
Are those tears in her eyes? For me?
“Just scratches and bruises.”

“Will Harek survive?”

“God willing, he will.”

“Thank God!” she exclaimed, then grimaced, realizing her words belied her earlier renunciation of a Higher Power. Embarrassed, she turned away from him to stir the cauldron on the stove again.

“You could act more welcoming. In my day, a Viking man’s woman welcomed him home from war in a different way. I remember the time Bad Boris’s wife made love to him afore he had a chance to take his boots off. She said he made her heart go aflutter.” He peered up at her hopefully through half-shuttered lids. “Is your heart fluttering, Alex?”

“You’re an idiot,” she said, her back still to him.

“That is true,” he agreed. “Well?”

She turned. “No, my heart is not fluttering. I’ve been too worried about whether you would come back or whether you were roasting over some Lucipire’s fire. I’ve been spitting mad over your orders that barred me from leaving this bizarre . . . prison. I just watched a group of hunky men hum some holy music and suck blood. And I am for damn sure not ‘your woman.’ ”

Hunky?
He smiled, he could not help himself. “You missed me.”

“Pfff! In your dreams.” She threw the wooden spoon at him.

With a laugh, he watched the spoon spin twice in the air before catching it by the handle. Sniffing its bowl, he asked, “What are you cooking?”

“Chicken noodle soup. My grandmother always said it was the ultimate comfort food.”

He looked at the size of the cauldron. Then he looked at her, tilting his head to the side. His heart began to swell like a balloon, and his lungs burned, making him breathless. “You made me comfort food?”

“I made it for everyone, not just you.” Her face was the prettiest shade of pink against the framework of her reddish-blonde hair. Freckles stood out on her nose, despite the light coating of makeup she applied every day to hide what she considered imperfections.

For the first time in his one thousand, one hundred and ninety-five years, he got a suspicion of what it must feel like to fall in love. It was so intense! Not at all wonderful, truth to tell, though mayhap the wonderfulness would come later.
Michael is going to have a field day with me on Reckoning Day.
Even that prospect couldn’t slow his pounding heart.

“Why are you grinning?”

I probably look like a loopy lackwit.
“Because you missed me.”

“I did not,” she started to say, but he stepped forward, picked her up by the waist, and before she could protest, carried her into the pantry and closed the door behind them. She squirmed out of his hold and backed up against the far wall. Shelves of canned and dry goods surrounded them on ceiling-high shelves. “Why are you doing this, Vikar?”

He closed in on her and put his elbows on either side of her head. “Why am I doing this?”
How can I not do this?
He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, a scent embedded in his brain like one of Harek’s microchips. “Because I missed you, too.”
More than I can explain.

With that, he leaned in and kissed her.

And, God help him, it felt like coming home.

Near-sex was getting nearer and nearer . . .

Alex should have shoved the arrogant lout away.

She should have demanded that he let her go, cartel danger and magazine article be damned.

She should have been repulsed by all the bloodletting and bloodsucking she’d just witnessed in the kitchen.

She should have been frightened to death by Harek’s condition and what it said, without words, about the danger Vikar and his brothers had faced . . . in fact, faced every day.

She should have known the first time she’d seen Vikar that she was in big trouble.

She should have protected her weeping heart from the hurt Vikar would inevitably bring her.

Instead, she not only allowed him to kiss her, but she opened her mouth to him and whispered against his lips, “I did miss you.”

“Of course you did,” the conceited Viking whispered back, smiling.

A smile kiss.

She liked it.

But then he wasn’t smiling anymore.

And she liked that even better.

Vikar took his kissing seriously. It was a full-body experience for him, involving not just his lips and teeth and tongue, but his hands, and hips, even his legs. What a fool she had been the other night insisting on “making out” endlessly like a teenager, as if it would be something new for this ancient warrior. Hah! He’d had a thousand and more years to perfect kissing to an art form.

Thank God for experienced men!

One hand at her nape held her face at just the right angle for his plundering kiss while the other hand reached under her behind and lifted her to tiptoes so that his already raging enthusiasm was pressed at her already raging . . . yes, enthusiasm. A good unisex word for arousal, she decided.

“Dost find humor in my kisses?” he growled against her ear, nipping the lobe.

She hadn’t realized that she was returning his smile kiss. “No. I’m just happy to see you. Can’t you tell?”

“I’m not sure. I better check.” On those ominous words, he kissed her deeply and at the same time stuck both big hands inside the back waistband of her jogging pants and lifted her even higher by cupping her buttocks, his long fingers extending forward between her thighs.

She squealed at the sudden movement of his wicked fingers, but did she shove the lout away? No. She wrapped her legs around his hips and tried to take over control of this love play.
Fat chance!
she soon realized when he chuckled and began a full-fledged attack on all her senses.

He kissed her voraciously, as if he could not get enough of her taste, as if he wanted to eat her up, inhale her, take her into himself. Good thing his fangs were retracted, despite his arousal, or she would be a bloody mess. As it was, she was just a mess. A melting, mewling mess of yearning, surrendering womanhood.

His hands were everywhere, caressing the bare skin of her back under her sweatshirt, rubbing her bottom, sweeping with torturous lightness over the lace of her bra. And her hands were busy, too, exploring his wide shoulders, the ridged scars on his shoulder blades, his muscled upper arms, which were adorned today with silver arm rings etched with wings, his corded neck, his beautiful hair which hung loose, except for the thin war braids on either side of his face.

Once, when she lifted her heavy eyelids, she gasped and told him, “You have angel wings. Well, not really wings. Just a blue aura of wings.”

He did not seem surprised as he licked his lips. Savoring her taste? Now there was a heady thought. “ ’Tis just a mirage,” he murmured with a sex-huskiness that was in itself arousing to Alex. “They occur when I am in high emotion.”

She tilted her head to the side, licking her own lips to savor his taste. Mint, she decided. “And are you in high emotion now?”

“Can you doubt it, sweetling?”

Alex relished his odd endearments . . .
sweetling
,
dearling
, and once in the midst of their near-sex,
heartling
.

There was no time for thought then, as they both were consumed with “high emotion.” If not for their clothing, they would be having sex.

Her heart was pounding hard by then, a perfect complement to Vikar’s pounding heart pressed against her, chest to breast. But then she realized the pounding came in sets of seven.

“Uh-oh!” Vikar muttered, pressing his forehead against hers, attempting to regain his breath.

Another seven pounds, not of their heartbeats, but on the locked door, she slowly realized. With gentle care, Vikar released his hold on her, helping her to stand on her wobbly feet. With a quick kiss to her swollen lips, he stomped over to the door and unlocked it.