Page 100 of Kiss of Wrath

“Jasper,” Mordr called out, a sword in one hand and a rifle in the other.

Suddenly alert, Jasper’s eyes, quickly morphing into a bright red, latched on to Mordr with evil malice. “A Sigurdsson!” He licked his bloodred lips. “Just what I wanted for dessert.” He motioned for Beltane to take the girl aside, and Jasper’s troop, such as it was, lined up against Mordr’s vangels. It was Jasper against Mordr, though.

The woman let out a scream when she saw what beasts the Lucies were turning into. Not the high-class boss man and mob, as she’d assumed. Beltane merely slapped her aside the head with one of his big paws and she slunk down to the floor.

Mordr and Jasper faced off against each other. The king of the Lucipires wielded a heavy broadsword against Mordr’s thinner-bladed dueling sword. While not so heavy, Mordr’s weapon was equally lethal in its own way. Through his side vision, he saw one of his vangels approach the woman, offering her a chance to repent. She spat her refusal at him. The vangel shrugged and turned away, thus leaving her to a bunch of hordlings who gnawed on her flesh, quickly reducing her to a pile of empty clothing on the floor. Win some, lose some, Mordr thought.

Mordr delivered a number of wounds to Jasper that would be fatal to a human, but not to a demon vampire. The master Lucie was merely weakened, but still in fighting form. The only way to really get rid of Jasper would be a specially treated blade or bullet to the heart, neither of which Mordr had managed thus far.

And then Jasper struck hard on a backward swing, catching Mordr off guard. Mordr fell backward, tripping over an imp who was rolling about the floor licking up blood. That’s when Jasper delivered what could be a final blow to Mordr, the broadsword almost severing his arm at the shoulder. Jasper knelt, about to fang the blood from Mordr, which would bring him to a numb-like stasis, a fate worse than death because it would mean Jasper could take him to Horror and conceivably turn him into a Lucipire after days or months of torture.

Mordr began to fall into unconsciousness, which he knew, even with his dazed senses, would give Jasper the opportunity to feed on him, sealing his fate in the worst possible way. With one last agonized cry, as Jasper’s fangs lowered toward his neck, Mordr pleaded in a loud cry to the heavens, “Help me!” Whether he was praying to God or Michael was unclear. All he knew was he’d rather be dead than a demon.

So grievous were his injuries he was unaware that his brother Vikar heard his plea and came to his rescue. Swords flying right and left, Vikar and his troop slew one Lucie after another until they reached Mordr, who was already near “death.”

A limping Jasper and the severely wounded Beltane escaped as Vikar lifted Mordr and immediately teletransported him back to Transylvania with an urgent call to Sigurd, their physician brother, to come help save Mordr.

Mordr’s last thought, in his dream-like—rather nightmare-like state—was I never got to tell Miranda that I love her.

The half-severed arm would heal, but there were other worries. Although Jasper hadn’t yet fed on Mordr, his sharp fangs had scraped the skin, oozing poison into his flesh. Without expert vangel help, Mordr would perish. Even the saliva of a demon vampire was deadly potent.

It was one day later before Mordr discovered that Miranda and Linda had been taken by Roger. His brothers, anticipating his reaction, had tied him to the bed in order for him to recover.

It was two days before Mordr broke his bonds and teletransported back to Las Vegas, where he discovered an empty house. Not only were Miranda and Linda nowhere to be found, as he’d been informed by his brothers back in Transylvania, but the rest of the children were gone, as well. Even the dog was absent.

“I could have told you, if you had asked, that the children are with Ivak in Louisiana. And the woman, Darla, is in the hospital recovering from a head wound,” Vikar grumbled, having followed after Mordr. “Your friend Jack is caring for the dog. Apparently, he has become quite the Olympic swimmer, spending half the day in the pool.”

“What? Jack is an Olympic swimmer? What has that do with Miranda and Linda?”

“No, lackwit! Ruff has become an avid swimmer. And it has naught to do with Miranda or Linda. I was just trying to lighten your mood.”

Mordr told Vikar what he could lighten. Then he choked out, “What of Miranda and Linda? Has there been no ransom demand?”

Vikar shook his head, sadly.

Once again, Mordr felt like such a failure. Once again, he’d failed to protect those under his shield. Especially Linda, who was so much like his own Kata. How would he ever bear the guilt if he lost these two? Clearing his throat, Mordr asked, “Do we know for certain that it is Roger who has them? Or, please God, do not let them be with Jasper.”

“We’re fairly certain there is no tie to the Lucies.”

Fairly certain? Oh, that is reassuring! “Just Roger, who wants Miranda dead.”

Vikar acknowledged with a nod that this was true.

“But why would he take Linda, and not the other children?”

Vikar hesitated to tell him.

Mordr made a growling noise indicating he was in no mood for soft soaping.

“We do not think Roger wanted the child. We think his friend, a fellow inmate from prison, wanted the little girl.”

“Why?” Mordr tilted his head in question. “Why would an ex-convict want a five-year-old child?” When understanding seeped in, Mordr let out a roar of outrage, the blood drained from his brain, and he felt himself begin to faint. Me—one of the fiercest Vikings in all the Norselands—fainting like a milksop youthling on first sight of his own sword dew? What is happening to me?

He was just barely caught by his brother before he fell to the floor and sustained even more bodily damage, especially to his left arm, which was still in a sling. “Holy clouds, Mordr! You weigh as much as a warhorse. I think I sprained my back, and I was planning some energetic bedplay with Alex tonight,” Vikar complained.

Apparently Mordr wasn’t as healed as he’d thought he was. He really did faint then.

Even unconscious, his mind kept crying out, Miranda! Linda! Hold on. I am coming for you.