Kiss of Pride (5 page)

“Correction. That would be hell, no!”

“We don’t mention that place here.”

She gave him a look, the one women have perfected through the ages that essentially said of their menfolk,
Dumb dolt!

He widened his eyes with innocence, pretending not to understand.

“I need a drink. A Dirty Martini would go over great about now. Even a Bloody Mary, minus the blood. I don’t suppose you vampires have any alcohol?”

“M’lady! We are Vikings. We practically invented beer.”

“Angels who drink beer,” she muttered as she followed him out of the office.

“We prefer to think of ourselves as beer-drinking Vikings. We Northmen do love our mead, but a Rolling Rock or Bud will do in a pinch. Of course in our day cold beer was an unknown. Now I cannot imagine drinking warm ale.”

She ignored his attempt at humor. “And vampires, besides. I suppose you only suck on beer-sodden alcoholics.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” he said. “You have much to learn, wench. Much!”

He wondered if her obvious sense of humor would be intact after a day or two in VIK land.

It was a castle, all right, but he was no Prince Charming . . .

Alex didn’t for one minute think she would be prevented from leaving Land of the Lost Idiots, in other words, Hotel Transylvania. It was an empty threat tossed her way by Prince Not-So-Charming, meant to frighten her, she was sure. Well, fairly sure.

In the meantime, she would do what she did best. Snoop around for the story behind the story. Her journalistic instincts were on red alert. Besides, she needed a bit of space to evaluate what had just happened to her when Vikar had put his mouth to her neck . . . and sucked. She hadn’t been turned on like that since . . . well, forever.

“So, are you going to show me around?” she asked.

He rose from behind the desk, eyeing her suspiciously. “You’re not going to fight your stay here with us?”

“Depends on how long of a stay,” she answered truthfully.

Then, to avoid an argument, she said, “Tell me about this place. Oh, not its history. I already know that. How long have you owned it? What did you pay for it? What are your plans? When will the hotel open? What attractions or amenities do you plan? And who are all those weird people out there?”

“C’mon,” he said, opening the door and holding a hand out to her. “I’ll give you the tour. Afterward, we’ll talk.”

Then began the most bizarre trip Alex had ever taken, and she’d been in some bizarre places in her journalistic history, not least of which was interviewing Bin Laden’s daughter in a desert harem while both of them were in full purdah. As they walked back toward the front door, Vikar pointed out the various rooms, telling her what they had been originally—in some cases, there were old sepia photographs taped to the wall—and how they would be used after the renovations. Built on the side of a mountain, some of the rooms had a cave-like appearance.

None of Vikar’s descriptions sounded like a hotel to her.

A game room contained billiards, dartboards, and every kind of video game imaginable. A TV and movie screening room held theater-type seats as well as numerous cushy sofas. A weight room already had StairMasters, stationary bikes, and Nautilus equipment. A tanning salon drew raised eyebrows on her part, but Vikar said he would explain later. A weapon room he allowed her only a brief glimpse into, but she’d seen enough to know they could supply a small army. A chapel was already complete with stained glass windows, a life-size crucifix, and pews with kneelers. And this was only half the rooms on the first floor.

As they entered the kitchen, which was incidentally the size of her whole D.C. apartment, she burst out with laughter. There was indeed a side of beef lying on one of the counters. An alarming prospect occurred to her. Did these pseudo vampires feed on raw meat?

She turned to Vikar. “Isn’t this taking steak tartare to a new level?”

There were several beats of silence in which he just stared at her, but she could see his displeasure in the tic at the side of his mouth. She’d become very cynical and sarcastic lately . . . in the past two years, specifically. Not a very attractive trait, she had to admit. Maybe she’d gone too far this time.

“Yes, a dinner bell rings, and all us vangels come running to feed on the carcass. Saves on dinnerware. And no clean-up.”

Well, he’d matched her sarcasm tit for tat that time. At least she assumed he was being sarcastic. The alternative didn’t bear imagining. And what was that he called himself? A vangel. That was a new one.

“Ulf! Floki!” Vikar yelled suddenly, causing Alex to jump back with surprise. “Get your arses in here and put this carcass in the freezer.”

Immediately two young men rushed in. Twentysomething, wearing jeans and T-shirts and the latest in athletic footwear, they were Nordic in appearance, with differing shades of blond hair and blue eyes. More Vikings?

“Sorry, Lord Vikar,” one said. “We were helping Trond carry mattresses down to the dungeon.”

Alex arched her brows and mouthed,
Dungeon?
at Vikar.

“We are going to use it for dormitories for the time being,” he explained. “A big . . . um, convention is coming up, and not enough rooms to house all the attendees.”

Alex knew from her research that there were twenty-five bedrooms in this mansion. How many attendees were there going to be? And a convention of what? Vampires? Angels? Vikings? Escapees from mental asylums? This story was getting more and more bizarre. And compelling. Alex had learned over the years that the most hyped story idea often petered out in the interview, and a gold mine of an exclusive could emerge in the oddest places.

Just then a heavyset, older woman bustled in from the back door. She wore Victorian upper-class attire, a fringed, black silk shawl over a white, high-necked, lace-trimmed, mutton-sleeved blouse that was tucked into a full-length black skirt.

“Miss Borden, thank God!” Vikar said, going over to give her a hug. “We expected you two days ago.”

“Stuck in Portland. A male prostitute there was a bugger to save.” She grinned at her pun as she handed the shawl to Armod, the Michael Jackson wannabe, who was in the process of unloading groceries. Armod got a strange look on his face at the woman’s words, but then the woman noticed his expression, and said, “Sorry, Armod.” She gave the boy a quick hug, then began to roll up the sleeves of her blouse.

“Miss Borden, you know Armod, obviously, and Ulf, and Floki. This is Alexandra Kelly. She’s a . . . uh, visitor.”

Miss Borden eyed her warily as she hiked an obviously heavy canvas carryall up onto the counter and pulled out a meat cleaver. “Just call me Lizzie.” On those ominous words—
Lizzie Borden
—she began to expertly carve the side of beef into steaks and ribs, calling out orders as she worked. “Floki, get me some freezer paper. Ulf, do we have a roasting pan big enough for a twenty-pound rump? Armod, what in bloody mud are you doing with all those cans?”

Armod’s pale face turned pink. “No one wanted to cook, so we’ve been living out of cans,” he lisped as he pointed to industrial-size cans of stew, SpaghettiOs, SPAM, fruit cocktail, soup, pudding, tuna, and sardines. “Mostly we been having pizza delivered. Domino’s loves us.” He grinned sheepishly, exposing his two fangs.

“Well, put it all away,” the cook said. “Vikar, you could go out and help my assistants bring in bags of potatoes and some sweet corn I bought at a roadside stand.”

Vikar groaned and told Alex in a whispered aside, “You think lisps are bad? You do not want to see vampires eating corn on the cob.”

She laughed, but then had to ask, “Lizzie Borden?
The
Lizzie Borden?”

“One and the same.”

“And she was a vampire?” Alex had noticed that the woman’s upper lip protruded a bit, as if fangs were there, though not extended.

“Not until she died.”

“And she was a Viking?”

“She has a bit of Viking in her family history. Bordenssons from way back.”

He chucked her under her hanging jaw and went out to do the lady’s bidding.

While he was gone, Alex walked around the kitchen, examining things. All the appliances appeared new, including one whole wall of stainless-steel refrigerator and walk-in freezer units. She opened one and saw dozens of different kinds of beer. She laughed and took out a Sierra Nevada, one of her husband Brian’s favorites. Amazingly, that remembrance, and the image of them sitting on the back deck of their Barnegat Bay cottage drinking beer and eating late-night snacks, didn’t squeeze her heart as it might have months ago. Of course, that had been in the early years of their marriage. Before his betrayal.

The next unit held a pigload of pint- and quart-size glass containers, like old-fashioned milk bottles, holding a red beverage. They were marked Fake-O. She didn’t need to ask what they were, and, really, whatever was going on in this wacky castle, they knew how to get the special effects right. Creepy, that’s what it was.

She was opening the next unit where she discovered about fifty different gallon pails of ice cream when Vikar’s brother Trond walked into the kitchen. He picked up an apple from a basket on a side table and began to chomp on it as he approached her. His fangs were recessed, or in his pocket more likely, so he had no trouble eating.

“Vampires with a sweet tooth?” she inquired, pointing with her long neck toward the open freezer.

“More like Vikings with a sweet tooth. Back in our day, sugar was rare,” he replied, tossing his apple core in a high arc that slam-dunked into a waste can on the other side of the room.

When he saw her amusement over his dubious talent, he winked at her. “We have lots of time on our hands to perfect life’s important skills.”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

He glanced down at his gladiator costume. “Just got back from Rome.”

“The Vatican?”

“
No
, the Colosseum.”

She raised a hand to halt what she knew would be a bunch of baloney. “Tell me no more.”

“Are you married?” he asked, glancing at the platinum band on her left hand.

Vikar came up to join them just as Trond had asked his question. “I, too, am interested. For some reason, I assumed you were unwed.”

Probably because of the sizzle they generated, but she wasn’t about to say that aloud. Besides, it was none of their business whether she was married or not, and Alex really didn’t want to discuss her personal life. On the other hand, it was a common question. “I
was
married. My husband died.”

Both men nodded, their faces reflecting sympathy.

“How long ago?” Trond wanted to know.

“Two years.”
And it wasn’t just Brian who died. It was Linda, too. My precious Linda. Oh God!
She gritted her teeth to calm herself.

Vikar’s eyes narrowed oddly with suspicion. “How did he die?”

Okay, this interrogation had gone on long enough. She took a long swallow of her beer, then carefully set the half-empty bottle on the counter. Turning slowly, she addressed Vikar, “Let’s get one thing straight right now. I’m here to interview you. While I’m willing to be polite, I have no intention of discussing my personal life.” She hated the shakiness of her voice that betrayed how emotional she’d become, and she hated that these two men witnessed her veneer cracking.

Trond reached forward and squeezed her arm before walking away, but Vikar remained, staring at her intently, as if trying to fathom some deep mystery. “I might be able to help you,” he said finally.

She put both hands to her head and tugged at her hair. “Have you heard a word I’ve said? My privacy is important to me, and you have to respect—”

“Would you feel better knowing where he is?”

“Who?” She was not a violent person, but she was seriously thinking about clunking Vikar over the head with a heavy object. Good thing Lizzie had a firm grip on her cleaver on the other side of the room.

“Your husband.”

He has a death wish. This idiot has a death wish.
“My husband is dead.”

“So you said.”

Her heart kick-started into warp speed as she began to comprehend what Vikar was implying. “You can bring a dead person back to life?”
I can’t believe I actually asked that.

“
No!
Oh, sorry I am if I led you to believe that. But I might be able to tell you whether he is in a good place. Or not. Would you want to know that about your husband?”

“Not Brian. Someone else. Well, yes, I would want to know that Brian was all right, but, more important, I would want to know about . . .” She gulped. “. . . my daughter. Linda.”

“Ah. You lost your husband
and
a daughter.”

“This is an intrusive, pointless conversation, and, frankly, I’m offended that you would even—”

“My leader . . . the man I work for . . . is the Mike Archer you mentioned as my agent when you arrived. He has influence Up There,” he explained, gazing upward, as if that were any explanation at all. “Up
There
,” he repeated.

The strangest, most outlandish idea occurred to her then. “Are you saying your boss is St. Michael the Archangel?”

“Precisely,” Vikar said.

And Alex, who’d never fainted a day in her life, even at the horrific moment when she’d been notified of the death of the most important person in her life, felt the blood drain from her head, and she was falling, falling, falling.

Eyes closed, she sensed a number of people looking down at her, and she recognized Trond’s voice as he said, “Well done, Vikar! You always did have a knack for having women fall at your feet.”

Four

Even vampire angels benefit from a good Excel chart . . .

V
ikar was sitting at the kitchen table later that evening with Trond, two laptops and a printer in front of them, following a meeting they’d just completed with some of their jarls and karls. As a result, he now had a very detailed plan complete with computer printouts of how to transform the castle into a VIK fortress and comfy home headquarters. Not that Michael would care about the latter; he would probably prefer that they sleep on concrete slabs and twiddle their thumbs between assignments. Or pray. Constantly.

Before going abroad, his brother Harek, still in Germany—1943 Germany—had given him a list of every existing vangel member and their specialties so that Vikar could come up with a chart of duties. In order to prepare for Michael’s arrival here next month, they all had to help.

Harek wouldn’t arrive for another few days, and Vikar knew from past experience that it would take a week or more for his brother to overcome the depression that enveloped him after having been in the Holocaust death camps. They’d all been there, done their jobs, and wept afterward. Yes, Vikings did weep when the atrocity was great. Needless to say, Hitler occupied a special suite in Hell.

Vikar took the organization chart of duties and tacked it on the wall for all to see in the morning. There was everything from housekeeping to security. Equipment, furniture, plumbing, food, landscaping, painting, accounting, computers, laundry, linens, clothing.

“I feel much better having all this spelled out,” Vikar told Trond, who’d just opened two bottles of dark ale and handed one to him.

For a long moment, they both just swallowed and enjoyed. That was one good thing modern times had to offer. A wide variety of beers. Vikings had long appreciated a good brew, whether it be honeyed mead or a hearty malt ale, but there had been no choices between light, dark, sweet, bitter, hearty, even where they had been made.

“Wait until Regina finds out that you’ve put her in charge of the household cleaning.” Trond chuckled. “I plan to be in town with Armod buying groceries, or something.”

Regina had been a witch back in the Norselands of the 1200s. A real spell-casting, cauldron-boiling, spooky witch. Spookier than vampires, truth to tell. And she had delusions about her importance in the vangel world. “She’ll have a dozen ceorls working under her. I do not imagine Regina will ever pick up a toilet brush herself, or mop a floor.”

“Unless Michael wishes to humble her,” Trond pointed out.

“True. True.”

“I’ve been thinking . . .” Trond said, pausing until he had his attention, “there are some big jobs here that would be better done by outside people. Like plumbing and electricity. Remember the time I tried to fix that light socket and about electrocuted myself? Wait. Hear me out. How about you send us all out of here for a week? If only you and a handful of others stay behind, you can stay out of view while the workers are here.”

“You’re right that some of these things are beyond our expertise. In fact, we could bring in wall framers, plasterers, floor refinishers, and bathroom tilers at the same time. Give them a deadline of one week or they don’t get paid.”

“You’d have to toss out a lot of cash to get those kinds of results.”

“Money talks in these bad economic times.”

Trond nodded. “I’ll take care of all your people as well as mine.” Trond’s half hird of about twenty vangels had arrived the night before; the others were still out in the field on assignments. Vangels were stepping on vangels at every turn here inside the castle. “Mayhap we could go to that mountain retreat we rented years ago.”

Vikar had to laugh. Retreat was a glorification of what had been ten excruciating days in tents, eating over open fires, in the forests of Upper Mongolia.

“We could leave behind a blood ceorl in case you need her services. And mayhap Armod. He still needs constant watching during this transition period, not to mention speech lessons to get rid of that lisp. Plus you better keep a few warriors here in case more Lucies show up.”

The idea was becoming more and more appealing to Vikar.

“What about your ‘guest’? Have you started the cleansing yet?”

“
No
. I’m going up now.” He’d placed Alex in a tower room where there was a single bed and not much more. Thankfully, he’d had the foresight to put a tranquilizer in the water she’d been offered when she’d first awakened from her faint. As a result, she’d been sleeping these past four hours.

“If we all vacate the premises, you would have time to cleanse her thoroughly,” Trond said with a grin that implied the cleansing might involve something other than the ritual de-demonizing. “Speaking of cleansing, while you have the plumbers here, how about a few Jacuzzi tubs, and I’d personally like one of those rainforest showers that hit you from a dozen different directions.”

“What would Mike say about that?”

“Does he have to know everything?” Trond stood and stretched, prepared to leave the room. “Is the cable hooked up? There’s a Three Stooges marathon on AMC.”

Vikar smiled as he straightened out some of their papers and put the empty beer bottles in the recycling bin. Yes, Vikings who recycled! “Keep the volume down. There are probably ceorls sleeping on the couches.”

After Trond left, a cold six-pack under his arm, Vikar prepared a tray for Alex since she hadn’t been awake for dinner.

Sliced roast beef, whipped potatoes, a thick-sliced tomato, an ear of buttered corn on the cob, and a piece of garlic bread, along with a bottled water and a can of diet soda.

With trepidation, he then climbed the four flights of stairs to the tower room, wondering what reception he would get. He was weary, both physically and mentally. So it was with a sigh of relief that he opened the door that had been locked from the outside and found that Alex was still asleep, lying on her side, facing the wall.

He put the tray on a side table where a fat beeswax candle burned brightly. Armod had gone to the bed-and-breakfast and brought back Alex’s luggage and other belongings, which he’d placed on a window seat, opened but unpacked. A pint of vodka, nestled among her clothing, caught his attention.

He stood at the end of the bed and watched Alex for several long moments. She looked so peaceful. Mayhap she wasn’t really hungry. Mayhap he could put off the cleansing until morning to avoid her inevitable distress. Mayhap she wouldn’t mind if he lay down with her, just to rest, just to soak in some of her peace. Mayhap he was an idiot.

So, with a cluelessness ingrained in men through the ages, he kicked off his flip-flops and arranged himself carefully against her back, spoon-style.

There was still that crackle in the air, as earlier today when he’d fanged her, and his cock appreciated being nestled against the crease of her backside, but it was more than that. In truth, he felt as if a warm cocoon was enveloping them, like the wings of a giant bird.
Please, God, let it be a bird, and not an angel.

This was almost better than sex. Almost.

Just before he closed his eyes for a short rest, his nose tickled and he barely suppressed a sneeze. Putting a hand to his face, he found—
surprise, surprise
—a white feather.

Blood of my blood . . .

Alex awakened groggily in the middle of the night.

For a long time, since Brian and Linda’s deaths to be precise, she’d had trouble sleeping. Vodka had become her nighttime friend. She wondered idly how much she’d drunk to reach this state of baby-like slumber.

She wriggled her butt and burrowed deeper into the soft mattress. Against her back she felt something hard. The wall? But over her was the softest, cuddliest blanket she could ever imagine. Like a cloud, it was, especially when it kind of fluttered over her. Forget Amish quilts. She wanted one of these blankets. She would have to ask Vikar in the morning where she could buy one.

But then, her nose twitched. Was it a feather from the pillow that tickled her? Or the scent? The scent of a man.

She rolled over suddenly, causing a large object to jerk backward and fall off the single bed.

It was Vikar.

“What the hell are you doing in my bed?” she demanded, sitting up. At the same time, she glanced downward to see a common fleece blanket about her waist, nothing like what she’d been imagining.

He stood in one fluid motion, rubbing his behind as if he’d been hurt when he landed on the stone floor. He probably had with that tight butt sans fat padding. Well, it served him right.

“I brought a tray of food up for you”—he glanced at a wristwatch and seemed surprised—“five hours ago. You were sleeping so soundly I thought I would lie down for a moment to rest, and . . .” He shrugged. “What can I say? You are snuggly.”

“Snuggly? A Viking who snuggles?”

He shrugged again. “Must be the angel in me.”

“Or the vampire?” she scoffed.

“Vampires do not snuggle.” She noticed something odd then. Vikar was wrapping a rubber tube around his arm, just above the elbow, the kind labs used as a tourniquet before taking blood samples. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure that the blood down to my wrist remains pure.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” she asked, suspecting that she was somehow not going to like his answer.

She didn’t.

“Because I must suck some of the demon-tainted blood out of you, and then replace it with some of my pure blood.”

“Oh no! No, no, no!” She had no idea how he intended to complete such a process, and she didn’t want to know.

“It’s essential for the cleansing ritual.”

“Sorry. I decline. I’ll keep my blood just the way it is, thank you very much.”

“Not an option.” He was also setting a glass on the table next to the bed, into which he poured two inches or so of vodka. Her vodka, by the way. When had her luggage been brought here? He had a helluva nerve going through her things. “Drink this,” he said. “It will relax you.”

“No!” She squirmed away until her back was against the wall.

Undaunted, he leaned over, pinched her nose with two fingers of one hand, and forced her to drink the vodka with the other, even as she sputtered and flailed.

Most of the booze went down, and she felt an immediate buzz.

“You are in so much trouble. The magazine has a boatload of lawyers on retainer. We are going to sue your ass off.”

Ignoring her threats, Vikar tugged on her legs, forcing her to lie on her back. Putting a hand under her back, he arched her up, exposing her neck. Before she could kick out at him or scratch his eyes out, he laid himself gently over her and bit into her neck.

The shock of his action immobilized her. That and the sweet, sweet euphoria that overcame her. His big hands held her face gently to the side, and he made a humming sound of satisfaction as he drank from her. She could tell that he was aroused by the hard ridge pressing into her thigh, but she didn’t feel threatened. Truthfully, she was also aroused. But unlike earlier when his touch and fanging had brought her almost to climax, this was a slow titillation of her senses. More sensual than overtly sexual.

It seemed like forever that he drank from her, and it must have been a lot because she started to feel light-headed. With a growl of frustration, he pulled out, then licked her neck over and over, as if unwilling to pull away totally yet.

“Are we done?” she asked groggily, no longer angry. More confused than anything else.

“No. This part will be hardest for you. The first time, anyway.” Without warning, he rose and sat on the side of the bed, pulling her up and onto his lap. She almost fainted at the fuzziness of her senses, due to the blood loss, no doubt.

While she watched, he used a penknife to slash his wrist, first one way, then another in an X, or was it a cross? Then he put his wrist to her mouth and forced her to swallow. At first, she gagged at the unpleasant taste, but he would not relent. He held her tightly in his embrace and kept making soothing sounds, “Shh. Don’t struggle. It will be over soon. Relax, sweetling. Relax. That’s the way. Suck. More. Good girl. Good girl.”

When he finally took his wrist away, she tried to pull it back, which confused her further. Her mind said this was repulsive, but her body said,
Give me more
.

“That’s it for now,” he said, laying her down on the bed again. “Sleep for a while longer.”

He pulled the fleece over her and kissed her forehead. Meanwhile
his
forehead was furrowed with what appeared to be confusion. Was he as affected by this strange ritual as she was?

“I don’t understand,” she murmured as her body succumbed to an unnatural lethargy.

“I will explain all in the morning,” he said as he approached the door. At the last minute, he turned and told her, “You are not to worry. Everything will be back to normal soon.”

But Alex knew—she just knew—nothing would ever be normal for her again. Especially when she awakened after dawn and heard the most incredible music. Truly, it was like angels singing.

Had she died and gone to Heaven?

Day One in La-La Land . . .

Vikar was in the chapel with Trond, on his knees, singing the “In Paradisum” hymn, their way of marking the end of morning services. It was the way the vangels started every new day.

They and all the other karls, ceorls, and thralls had already been given the bread and wine of Communion by the elderly priest, Father Peter, as in Peter Jorgensson, a seventeenth-century cardinal from Denmark who’d failed to take his celibacy vows seriously enough. He had sired fifteen children. Enough said! You could say he’d earned his fangs the enjoyable way, and his name as well. Drinking the symbolic blood of Christ was an important daily activity for the VIK and their underlings, with many parallels to their vampire blood activity.

Vikar and Trond, and his other five brothers when they were together, sang out the Latin “In Paradisum” chant, “
In paradisum deductant te Angeli
,” translated, “May Angels lead you into paradise.”

The rest of the vangels answered with their own chant, “
Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat et cum Lazaro quondam pamere aeternam habeas requiem
,” or “May a choir of Angels receive you and may we have eternal rest.”