Kiss of Surrender

  While Zebulan nursed a cup of mead, Jasper sipped on a straw stuck in the neck of the shackled and gagged, kneeling Russian Spetsnaz that Zebulan had brought in this morning, along with a British SAS, both of whom had been already rotten to the core and very easy to turn. The Brit was in a killing jar in one of the anterooms, not yet accepting his fate.

  All around them, down below, dead people who had been fanged by Lucipires were in various stages of torture, the ultimate goal being consent to join the ranks of the demon vampires. If they were smart, and they rarely were, they would agree from the start. But then the mungs, and hordlings, and imps would be deprived of their pleasures.

  It’s amazing how a demon like myself can become inured to the screams of tortured humans after all these years. At one time, I would have been cringing at the sounds of hundreds of cries for help, despite my black soul. And sympathy . . . hah! I lost the sympathy gene centuries ago.

  He and Jasper were both in demon personas today. Red scaly skin, elongated fangs, burning eyes, and tails. Luckily, the chairs in Jasper’s lounge were specially designed to accommodate their large tails. Once, these bodily changes would have been repugnant to Zebulan. He no longer cared.

  But Jasper’s demand finally registered with him. “What? What girl?” he asked, shaking his head to clear it.

  “The one you said Trond was dancing with at that tavern.”

  “She’s a woman. Not a girl. A female SEAL.”

  “Girl. Woman. Bitch. Harlot. Same difference.”

  “Why her? She isn’t a candidate for Lucipire, not being evil or close to it. You can’t turn her.”

  “Bait. If we have her, the VIK will follow. Plus I’ve kept a close eye on her. She has anger issues from her past. We might even be able to turn her.”

  “You’re assuming that the VIK has affections for the woman.”

  “Doesn’t he? I assumed . . .” Jasper waved a clawed hand dismissively. “The idiot is in one of those SEAL training programs, isn’t he. Fidelity, loyalty, and all that crap. He’ll want to protect the softer sex. But wait. This is even better. You said she was a female SEAL. Praise be to Satan! What a coup that will be for us! We can prolong her torture for years. It will drive Michael insane to know that we hold her.”

  Zebulan shrugged. Taking the woman wouldn’t require that much more effort since he hoped to “capture” Trond and the two SEALS, as well.

  “What is happening with the two SEALs anyhow? I expected more of you, Zebulan. I thought we would have them here by now.”

  “I brought you two special forces soldiers,” he said in his defense.

  “You did, and I appreciate them,” Jasper said, patting the Russian on the head. The eyes of the man darted right and left, frantic, but he was unable to move. “Would you care for a taste?”

  Zebulan shook his head. “I got enough from both of them when I drank them dry.”

  “My reputation is on the line here, as well as yours, Zebulan. There are some who did not want you to head the project,” Jasper pointed out. He was referring to Heinrich, of course. The Nazi hated Jews, and it could be said that Zebulan was of that persuasion, having been a Hebrew or Israelite.

  Zebulan’s face couldn’t get any redder with frustration. How he’d like to tell Jasper what he thought of him and his reputation! “I fanged both SEALs twice now, but the second time was in a public parking lot, and I couldn’t complete the sin taint. They are getting closer to their tipping point by now, I am sure, but the SEAL command has locked them onto the base.”

  Jasper nodded in understanding. There was some kind of barrier that prevented demons from entering the military base, probably something they’d inadvertently done with their security system. Jasper and his minions would figure it out, eventually. “I suspect the extra barriers are in place in preparation for the mission to Afghanistan,” Jasper remarked.

  “That would be my guess,” Zebulan said. One of the sin-tainted SEALs, the black man, had revealed to him information about an upcoming mission to Afghanistan. Zebulan figured it had something to do with their new “friend” Najid. “It’s almost impossible for us Lucipires to get into the restricted area without being detected now.”

  “Then you will take all four of them once they leave the country?”

  “I will.”

  “Keep in mind that in this interim, while the two sin-tainted humans might be committing mortal sins that would merit Hell, the vangels also have an opportunity to save them.”

  “It’s a gamble.”

  “I do not like gambles,” Jasper hissed at him, the Russian’s blood dripping down his chin. “The Sin Cruise was a gamble for which I paid dearly. Never again.”

  Zebulan hoped his “master” didn’t blame him for that fiasco. He’d been in Somalia at the time, creating evil of another type. But he wasn’t about to remind Jasper of that fact while Jasper was in his present foul mood.

  “You will have two SEALs, the VIK, and the girl, that I promise,” Zebulan said. Or I will die trying, he joked with himself. If only I could die! he quickly added, and this time he was not joking.

  Instead of going back to the United States immediately, as he’d planned, Zebulan found himself teletransporting, almost against his will, to a country and place he avoided at all costs. Something strange had been happening to him of late, something that had never happened before, something that felt almost like regret. Deep, mind-rending, heart-aching regret.

  At first, Zebulan kept his eyes pressed closed tightly. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew where he was. Masada, the ancient rock plateau at the eastern edge of the Judean Desert, overlooking the Dead Sea. It was a tourist attraction today, but in his mind’s eye he saw it as the fortress it had been roughly two thousand years ago.

  Where he’d lost his beloved wife, Sarah, and his eight-year-old twins, Mikah and Rachel.

  It began as a whimper as Zebulan bent over at the waist, then fell to his knees. With his head thrown back, he howled like the beast of the night he had become.

  When he was finally back under control and about to leave Israel, never to return again, he hoped, he sensed someone watching him. Could it be Jasper? If so, he would use his breakdown here today against him, to some Lucipire advantage. But no . . . Zebulan sniffed the air . . . not a whiff of Lucipire scent in the air.

  Zebulan glanced downward then and saw the strangest thing . . . a luminous white feather. And not a bird to be seen for miles around.

  Fifteen

  Something was fishy in Denmark . . . uh, Coronado . . .

  Eat the fear, Tasso,” Trond advised Nicole in the chow hall as they waited for the afternoon’s evolution in Torture 101. He could see that she was only stirring the salad around on her plate as she practically shook with trepidation over what was coming up. “You eat the fear, sweetling, or the fear eats you.”

  “Bite me!” she snapped, not seeing the wisdom of his well-meant advice.

  “I thought you’d appreciate a good motivational saying. Now you know how I feel when you are launching those word bombs at me all the time. Besides, I said, ‘Eat the fear,’ not ‘Bite the fear.’ ”

  “Could we just not talk? My stomach feels like a roller coaster.”

  “Drink this,” he said, handing her a glass of iced water. When she balked, he said, “It will help. Take little sips.”

  This was the closest he’d been to her since she’d witnessed him in an embrace with his presumed lover two days ago. Now that he was out of danger from her suspicions, he should be relieved and keep his distance. Instead, he found himself watching her all the time, or seeking her out, as he had over this lunch break.

  “Does everyone know I’m being such a scaredy cat?”

  “Nicole! Why are you so hard on yourself?” Oh, he knew why after her revelations several days ago about her past. She was still trying to prove she was strong. If she stopped trying, her old weakness would rise to the surface. Which was ridiculous, of course, but she didn’t know that. “Eve
ryone is afraid of something. That’s the purpose of torture, to put a person’s fear at work against them.”

  Trond meant that literally. Today was torture day when the team members were being taught not how to torture, but how to withstand torture. And that didn’t just mean pain and fear of death; it could be degradation, rape, or any other means of gaining classified information. Torture was a real possibility every military person faced when on a live op in enemy territory where they might be captured and subjected to interrogation techniques that defied international standards.

  “You didn’t seem to have much problem with the pain evolution,” she remarked. “How could you stand to have it ratcheted up so far?”

  He shrugged.

  “What’s your fear?”

  Before he had a chance to curb his tongue, he said, “That I will always be like this. Forever and ever.”

  “Oh,” she said with sympathy. “You mean, being gay.”

  “No! I do not mean being gay.” Was that all she saw when she looked at him? Gay person? Probably. “I meant my life in general.”

  “Change your life then.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “I could help you,” she said, reaching over and squeezing his hand.

  He laughed at the hopelessness of this conversation and decided a change of subject was called for. “I wasn’t too fond of the snake experience today. Is Donita all right?”

  “She will be.”

  Everyone had a fear threshold. Donita’s was reptiles, no matter the size, or whether they were poisonous or not.

  “It didn’t help when Sly put one of the buggers in her backpack after the exercise was over. What the hell is wrong with him anyway?”

  If you only knew! Trond shook his head in dismay. Everyone had been appalled at the meanness of Sly’s action when Donita’s terror had been apparent to one and all. Only he and Karl—perhaps JAM now, too—knew the real cause for the sadistic turn in his personality. “It appears as if he’s having a breakdown of some kind.”

  “Tell me about it. When he started spouting that stuff about you and Karl being demons and drinking blood down in the basement of the BQ, I thought the commander would go ballistic.” She smiled shyly at him then. “At least I only accused you of being gay. I never said you were a vampire, although you do have those slightly longer incisors.”

  “You mentioned my teeth before.” He smiled back at her, then ran his tongue over his upper teeth. “I’m thinking about having them filed down a bit.”

  “Don’t do that. Everyone can have perfect teeth today, thanks to aesthetic dentistry, but little imperfections like yours are cute.”

  “I am a Viking. If there is one thing Vikings do not aspire to being, it is imperfect. Or cute.” He blinked at her with exaggerated hurt.

  “Anyhow, Sly’s accusation made him sound delusional, especially when JAM didn’t back up his statements. My first inclination is to ask: What is Sly thinking? But honestly, I don’t think he is thinking.” She shook her head sadly.

  “Well, at least he’s someplace where he can conceivably get some help,” he said. When Sly had gone nigh crazy, first with the snake episode, then the vampire charges, the commander had tried to talk some sense into him. When that failed, backup came in the form of security guards who escorted a cursing, flailing, threatening Sly to the psychiatric unit at the base hospital. He would be restrained and kept under twenty-four-hour watch for the next few days. At the very least, he would not be going on this mission. At the worst, he was jeopardizing his membership in the teams.

  Trond’s hope was that Sly would use that time to think about all he’d told him and ask for help when he and Karl returned from Afghanistan. There was little chance the Lucies would gain access to him in the secure hospital environment, and there was little chance of Sly having an opportunity to commit some grave sin there. When he was released, however, that would be a different story.

  “Listen, Nicole,” he said, turning on the bench to face her directly. Most of the other team members had already gone back to the grinder where the bus would transport them to the kill house, now transformed into torture house. Karl was off having a cigarette, and some of the others were taking bathroom breaks. He didn’t have much time for what he had to say. “What is it about the next evolution that has you so terrified?”

  “Waterboarding reminds me of a time when I was a kid and I almost drowned in the lake at summer camp. When you get right down to it, that’s just what waterboarding simulates . . . the act of drowning. Over and over.”

  “But you know they’ll pull you out in time.”

  “I know, but when I’m under the water, all logic disappears.”

  “You need to focus outside your body.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “Yes. Find some picture to put in your mind. A place. An event. Anything you can concentrate on, other than the waterboarding.”

  “For example?”

  He thought for a moment and took both her hands in his. “Close your eyes. Picture yourself on some Caribbean island. The water is a clear blue. You can see all the way to the bottom where there are pretty shells and colorful fish. The waves are soft, lapping the shore.”

  “No sharks,” she said with a smile, though her eyes were still closed.

  He squeezed her hands. “No sharks. Picture the way you felt when we were in the closet, how you felt when I kissed you. Now you’re floating on the water, and you’re wearing . . . no, you’re not wearing anything. This is a private island. No one can see you.”

  “You are so full of it. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do. Take my mind off the upcoming evolution.”

  “Is it working?”

  She hesitated. “Yes. Go on.”

  “The sun is so hot. It’s beating down on your body, turning it a honey gold from your forehead to your toes, which are painted pink, by the way.”

  He saw a smile twitch at her lips. Who knew he could be such a storyteller? Maybe he should become a skald some day.

  Or maybe not.

  “So the sun is hot and my toenails are pink . . .” she prodded.

  “Yes, but the water is cool under you to balance out the sun’s rays. It’s so peaceful. Nothing can intrude in your thoughts to mar this wonderful serenity. But wait, there is a large fish approaching under you. Not a shark. Don’t be alarmed. It’s—”

  “Let me guess. A man?”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk! You’ve heard this story before,” he accused her. “This man-fish is very large and very—”

  “Naked?”

  “Stop interrupting me.”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “At first the man-fish just floats on his back, underneath you, enjoying the view. Is there anything prettier than the small of a woman’s back, the sensitive spots behind her knees, and of course her buttocks.”

  “Of course.” Her voice was sarcastic but in a pleasant, companionable way. “Why is it that men always home in on a woman’s butt?”

  “Because it is a blatant sexual feature of the female anatomy. All those curves and indentations. Soft.”

  “If you say I have a squishy butt, I might just have to flip over and drown you, assuming you’re the man-fish.”

  He laughed. “Nay, don’t turn over. I . . . he has plans that involve you floating face upward.”

  “What are you . . . what is the fish doing now?”

  “Just admiring the view. And blowing bubbles.”

  “Bubbles! I love bubbles. When I was a child—”

  “No, these aren’t children’s bubbles. These are adult bubbles.”

  “Oh boy! That tickles. Are they supposed to be tickling me like this?”

  “Definitely. Spread your legs a little bit, dearling. Feel the bubbles now?”

  “Uh” was all she said. It was enough.

  “The man-fish is standing now, looking down at your golden body.”

  “Standing?” Her voice was indignant. “I thought I
was in deep water.”

  “No, it’s only a few feet here. Waist-high on the man-fish,” he said. “Keep on floating.”

  “What happens if I sink?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Did I not mention, you are a woman-fish?”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because I am the one creating this fantasy. Besides, if you’re a woman-fish, you will not panic when the water covers you, or even enters your mouth or nose. You will breathe evenly. Let it happen.”

  “Oh,” she said, finally understanding what he was trying to show her about withstanding the waterboarding. “And if it becomes too much anyway?”

  “Imagine the man-fish has decided to nibble and suck on your sweet fruit. Your lips. Your nipples. And lower.”

  “Does he have fish lips?”

  He laughed, pleased with how easily she entered the game. “No, they are manly lips, rather like mine.”

  “Good.”

  Good? What did she mean by that? Well, probably just that she didn’t like fleshy fish lips on men. Hey, he wouldn’t be too happy, either, if he was kissing a woman with fish lips.

  “Aaaahhh!” She sighed. “I like that.”

  So do I. “In the end, if you feel as if you are drowning, pretend that the man-fins are wrapped around you, protecting you as you succumb to the pretend-drowning.”

  “What the fuck are you two birdbrains doing with your eyes closed?” a loud voice boomed behind them, jarring them both so they almost fell backward off their bench.

  He and Nicole jumped to their feet, at attention, to see Commander MacLean glowering down at them. He wore his BDUs and must have just returned from D.C., where he’d been meeting with the Joint Chiefs. Was he planning to go to the kill house and witness their torture?

  “We were practicing for my waterboarding test,” Nicole said.

  The commander’s eyes went wide. “Call me crazy, but I don’t know many soldiers who get turned on by waterboarding.” He gave both of them meaningful full-body scans then, to prove his point. And, yes, they looked as if they’d been caught in the act. Sex-flushed faces and necks, hazy eyes, parted lips.