Kiss of Wrath

  “Sam, get the table extension from the hall closet.”

  Sam objected, “It’s too heavy.”

  “Oh really? Mayhap Linda can do it.”

  Insulted, Sam stomped off. “I’ll do it. Dammit!”

  “Swear jar, swear jar,” the other children hooted.

  Muttering under his breath, Sam dug into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a quarter, dropping it with a clink into the five-gallon amber jar sitting on the floor by the fridge. Before he did that, though, Sam shook his wet hands in Ben’s face.

  Ben was about to chase after Sam with a glass of water until he saw Mordr’s scowl. “Toss that water anywhere but the sink and you are going to find yourself doing five laps around the house before dinner.”

  Ben paused, contemplating whether doing laps would be fun or not, but then he emptied the glass into the sink.

  “Now, wipe off this table and the countertops and that puddle on the floor. How could you bratlings splatter water from the sink all the way over there?”

  “Is bratling a bad word?” Linda wanted to know from her position under the table where she was sitting with Ruff. The dog was there, tongue lolling, waiting in his usual spot for dinner and any food that dropped his way. Linda had presumably wanted to escape the water battles.

  Ben protested, “How come I have to do so much, and all Sam—”

  “Now!”

  Sam shot out of the kitchen, and Ben began vigorously wiping the floor. With a dish towel!

  “Larry, set out nine placemats with nine dinner plates. Linda, put cutlery next to each plate. Maggie, will you help me slice the bread and set out the food?” He suddenly noticed that Miranda still stood there, a long-neck bottle in each hand. “Well? What is the problem? Are you waiting for the beer to warm up?”

  “Uh.”

  “Back in my time . . . uh, country, we had naught but warm beer, except in the wintertime, but now . . .” He made a shivering motion. “We find it too flat and unpalatable. I know what you are thinking. Spoiled, we Vikings are becoming.”

  He had no idea what she was thinking. It had nothing to do with beer, but more with how attractive he looked to her. Or that he smelled good, too. That delicious limey sandalwood scent that tempted her to walk over and lean in to lick his neck. And she didn’t even like limes. Or at least she hadn’t in the past.

  He was a tall, gorgeous package to begin with. All muscles and sinews and sharp Nordic features, with beautiful eyes and hair nicer than hers, darn it, but now that she knew a little about his past, that he’d lost two of his children, he was even more attractive to her. And that was dangerous territory for a woman who had way too much responsibility at the moment and no time for an affair.

  Affair? Where did that idea come from? Mordr hadn’t offered her anything like that. Just a kiss.

  Hah! There was no way that was just a kiss. More like a lesson in eroticism.

  If he could affect her so with a kiss, what would happen if—

  “Miranda! Are we playing statues now?” Mordr said in a tone that was as close to teasing as he was capable of. “If so, dinner will be cold afore we are done.”

  She came abruptly out of her carnal reverie and turned on her heels, going outside. Just as she was handing the bottles to Cnut and Harek, the cell phone rang in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the caller ID. “Do you mind if I take this?” she asked the two men.

  They shook their heads and she walked across the backyard toward the fence that divided her property from a neighbor’s.

  “Darla?”

  “Hey, sweetie, how’s it going?”

  “You wouldn’t believe!”

  “Uh-oh! Did Mordr prove to be inept or dangerous or something?”

  “Nope. He’s perfect. The kids actually listen to him and might even learn how to behave.”

  “And the problem is . . . ?”

  “Well, not a problem, really. Darla, I have not one, but three Viking hunks here at the moment. Mordr’s two brothers. Oh my God! You’ve got to come over and see this.”

  “Oh, damn! I’m working. This is my dinner break. Can you maybe hold them hostage or something until I can get there tomorrow?”

  “Sorry. They’re leaving after dinner.”

  “Dinner? What did you pick up?”

  “Nothing. Mordr prepared the whole thing, with a little, or a lot, of help from Mrs. Delgado.”

  “You mean, Mrs. I-Don’t-Do-Nothing-Except-Clean?”

  “The same.”

  “A man who looks like Mordr and cooks, too. You must be in heaven. But tell me about the brothers.”

  Miranda surprised herself by giving a vivid description. She hadn’t realized that she noticed so many details, including the slightly longer vampire-type incisors. “And they all claim to be Vikings. I mean, really, Viking vampires in Vegas.”

  “Oh, oh, oh! I bet I know where they’ve come from. There’s a new revue at the Golden Nugget this month. They’re called the Dracudales. A play on the Chippendales, or that Thunder From Down Under that was so popular. There’s creepy music and coffins and lightning flashing before the vampiredales pop out in cloaks and fangs and then strip-dance down to just about nothing.”

  “Strippers?” Miranda tried to picture Mordr dancing naked. She just couldn’t see it.

  Darla said that she had to get back to work, promising to call the next day. Miranda went back indoors where everywhere was seated at the kitchen table, waiting for her. Mordr sat at one end of the table, and she at the other, the two brothers and five kids on either side.

  To her surprise, the three men bowed their heads before eating, and supposedly said silent prayers. Then, they all dug in, enjoying the fabulous home-cooked meal, the first this house had seen in a long time. Not that Miranda couldn’t cook. She was just too tired after work most days. By the time they got to the dessert, apple pie with ice cream, Mordr was about fed up with his brothers’ teasing about his cooking skills. “It’s just a friggin’ frozen pie.”

  “Swear jar, swear jar,” the children chanted.

  Mordr stopped eating and glanced around with surprise. “Friggin’ is not a swearword.”

  “It isn’t?” Ben and Sam exclaimed as one, then turned to her for an opinion.

  “Friggin’ is definitely a swearword in this house.”

  To her surprise, Mordr got up and went over to drop a quarter in the jar, which was only several feet away from her. He winked at her before returning to the table.

  A wink? From Mordr, who was always so morbidly serious?

  She felt that wink like a caress along every inch of exposed skin on her body, which he seemed to be admiring. That was the only excuse she could come up with—momentary madness—for what she blurted out then.

  “Are you guys strippers?”

  Her question came in an instant of silence in the midst of all the talking and eating so that eight sets of eyes stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, even though Larry and Linda probably didn’t know what a stripper was.

  “I can barely walk with grace, let alone dance,” Cnut gasped out between chuckles.

  “Except for the Michael dance,” Harek added, also chuckling.

  “What’s the Michael dance? Is it like Gangnam?” Sam wanted to know.

  No one answered, especially not Mordr, who was the only one not amused by her asking if they were strippers. He stood and crooked a finger at her. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

  “About strippers?” she asked as she followed him from the kitchen down the hallway to her office. “It was just a joke, you know. Ha, ha, ha.”

  “We are not strippers,” Mordr said as she followed him down the hallway to her office. “But, for your own safety, I need to tell you who we really are.”

  “Should I be frightened?” Miranda asked once the office door closed behind them.

  “Very frightened,” he replied, and he was serious.

  She should have remembered. The man was always serious.


  But wait a minute. Miranda was starting to get alarmed. Mordr was going to tell her who he really was? Had he been lying to her all along? Oh my God! In her attempt to avoid danger, had she brought even more danger into her home? “What’s going on, Mordr?”

  He pointed to the blinking red light on her answering machine indicating she had one message. Her eyes connected with Mordr’s. “Is it . . . ?”

  He nodded and pressed the button for her.

  At first, all she heard was heavy breathing. But then, a cruelly taunting voice said, “Dad-dy’s coming!” It was Roger.

  What was Roger thinking, putting a voice message on her machine? She could go to the police and he’d be back in prison lickety-split. But then, he hadn’t said anything threatening, even though she knew without a doubt that it was meant to be a threat.

  She’d been expecting this, of course, or something like it. Still, she felt as if she’d been sucker punched. She had trouble breathing.

  “Sit,” Mordr said, and shoved her gently into one of the chairs in front of the desk. He sat down in the other.

  “You’re right. I am frightened,” she said, once she had calmed down. “But what has Roger’s call to do with who you really are? Unless . . . unless, please don’t tell me you have some connection with Roger.”

  He shook his head. “If only it were that simple! There is no easy way to say this, Miranda. But I am a vampire angel sent to protect you.”

  This was the last thing she’d expected to hear from him, and she burst out laughing. “Oh, really? Sent by whom? Don’t tell me. My attorney, Bradley Allison, hired a vampire?”

  “A vampire angel,” he corrected. “To be more precise, a Viking vampire angel. And no, it wasn’t your lawyer who sent me. It was Mike . . . um, Michael the Archangel.”

  She arched her eyebrows at him. “Give me a break.”

  “I wish I could. Personally, I need a break, too,” he said. Then, “You need proof?’

  “Oh yeah!”

  He made a hissing sound and flashed a pair of vampire fangs at her.

  She did the only thing a lady could do in the circumstance. She screamed.

  Angel flying too close to the ground . . .

  Mordr nigh jumped out of his skin at the shrill, loud—very loud—unexpected scream that Miranda let loose on seeing his fangs.

  Almost immediately, he could hear the kids outside the door asking if she was all right.

  Fortunately, Mordr had locked the door after them. “Everything is fine,” he called out. “Go back to the kitchen.”

  Not that the children obeyed him. He could hear heavy breathing and muttered conversation on the other side of the door as they attempted to eavesdrop.

  “Shh! Be quiet, woman! You’ll scare the children. All I did was show you a little teeth.” He retracted the fangs and bared his teeth at her. “See. My teeth are normal now.”

  “Normal? You have fangs. Well, you had fangs, I know you did. And your brothers did earlier today, too. That is not normal!” She backed away when he tried to reach for her. “Who are you people? Are you people?”

  What could he say to that? “Yes and no.”

  “Aaarrgh! Get away from me. Don’t you dare touch me. You . . . you . . . vampire.”

  “Angel.”

  “What?”

  “Vampire angel. I prefer to think of myself as an angel, rather than a vampire.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Are you going to flash a set of wings at me, like you did with the fangs?”

  “I would if I could, but I do not have my wings yet. Truth to tell, I might not ever have them. Vikar is the only one of us brothers who has received his, and even he cannot produce them at will. And a lot of trouble they are, too, according to Vikar. Try lugging about two twenty-five-pound weights on each shoulder and fly at the same time! Almost topped off two trees and a telephone wire the first time he attempted the feat. I could show you my shoulder bumps, though. The place where wings will eventually emerge. I hope.” He paused and saw the look of confusion on her face. “I am blathering. You are turning me into a blathering lackwit.”

  “Me? You dare to blame me?”

  “You asked for proof, and I gave you proof. I hardly think I am to blame for turning you into a chatterling.” At the look of consternation on her face, he went on, “ ’Tis no wonder I am acting the flapping tongue. You torture me by placing me in proximity to children, which I have avoided for ages.”

  “I never asked you to come here.”

  “Someone did!” He favored her with one of his best scowls.

  She just raised her chin haughtily.

  And looked damn attractive when she did. “Furthermore, you torture me with seduction, even though I have been immune to bodily pleasures . . . for ages.”

  “Me? Seduce you? You’re the one who walks around half naked, flaunting your muscles and bare feet and sexy lips . . .” She stopped talking as she realized how much she revealed and pressed her lips together tightly. That gesture, too, was damn attractive.

  She thinks my lips are sexy? And my feet draw her attention? Oh, help. Help, help, help! I am sinking faster than an overladen longship on the high seas. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it of her allure. “And now you torture me with attacks on my normalcy. Dost think I want to have fangs? Dost think it was a choice of mine? I am a Viking. We Norsemen are known for our vanity.”

  “Vanity, thy name is Viking?” she scoffed.

  “Do you dare mock me, wench?”

  “It’s either that, or whack you over the head with my paperweight. And I will if you call me wench again.” She glanced pointedly at the five-sided stone object on the desk with framed pictures of the children on each side. “And I’m a pacifist, for heaven’s sake. I don’t believe in violence.”

  “Hah! That is what women always say afore they reduce a man to a gibbering idiot.”

  “Huh? How did we go from fangs to pacifism?”

  Just then the door flew open—someone must have found a key—and five warriors-in-waiting came to the defense of their lady.

  “Why did you scream, Aunt Mir?” Maggie asked, coming up close to examine Miranda to see if she’d suffered some bodily harm.

  “Did you see a mouse?” Linda wanted to know, bending over to peek under the desk. “We can set a mouse trap again.”

  “What did you do to Aunt Mir?” Ben demanded of Mordr and punched him in the stomach, then began to rub his knuckles with the fingers of his other hand. “Ow, ow, ow!”

  “Are you hurt?” Sam asked his aunt, giving her a head-to-toe survey and finding no apparent bruise marks or open wounds.

  “Betcha he called her a bad name. Girls cry when boys call them bad names.” This wisdom came from Larry, who was adjusting his little cock under his short pants as he talked. Someone needed to buy the boy bigger undergarments.

  “What bad names?” Maggie wanted to know.

  “Prissy pants! Big butt! Owl face!”

  Maggie inhaled sharply with consternation at that last name and smacked Larry on the arm.

  He smacked her back and soon four of the children were rolling on the floor wrestling with each other, except for Linda, who had attached herself to Mordr's thigh once again.

  Mordr looked over to his two brothers for help. They stood leaning against the open door jambs, arms crossed over their chests, grins on their fool faces. At first, they just shook their heads at his apparent clumsiness in explaining the situation to Miranda.

  “Come, children,” Harek said finally. “You can see that your aunt is safe.”

  “Let us go have more ice cream,” Cnut suggested.

  Five heads rose with interest, then turned to their aunt for approval. She nodded, reluctantly. “Go ahead. I’ll be out shortly.”

  No longer frightened, although she had every reason to be, Miranda turned on Mordr once the door was shut. Putting a hand on each hip, she glared up at him. “Who are you?” she asked, not for the first time.

  He sighed. “I
am a vangel, a Viking vampire angel. St. Michael the Archangel, whom we sometimes refer to with irreverence as Mike, sent me here to protect you.”

  “A vampire angel! I didn’t believe it before, and I don’t believe it now. But just for the sake of discussion, why do you feel the need to reveal this big secret now? If I told anyone what you’ve said, they’d be carting you off to the funny farm.”

  He frowned with confusion. “Why would I go to a farm? I am a warrior, not a farmer.”

  “It was just a manner of speech. It means a place they take crazy people. And see what you are doing to me? I’m a psychologist. I should not be using words like funny farm or crazy.”

  “Nor should I call you wench,” he conceded.

  They nodded at each other to acknowledge the compromise.

  “There would be no advantage to your telling anyone about us vangels, Miranda. First of all, no one would believe you. Second, if you shine the light of publicity on us, I would be hampered in my efforts to protect you.”

  “I still don’t understand any of this.”

  “As I said before, I was sent here to protect you and your children. Leastways, I thought that was my mission. But then, Harek and Cnut arrived, telling me of the presence of Lucies in Las Vegas. Top that off with the call from Roger. Too many dangers are converging here at once. Yes, yes, I know. You don’t know what Lucies are. Lucipires are demon vampires. Evil, frightening creatures that roam the earth seeking lost souls or those humans on the verge of some great sin. They were created by Satan long before the beginning of Christianity. We vangels came much later, about eight hundred years after the death of Christ. Our specific purpose is to defeat Lucipires and save those sinners or potential sinners before it is too late.”

  “First, vampire angels. Now, demon vampires. What next? Zombies who fly?”

  “You may jest all you want, but I am telling you the truth.”

  “What? That we have a True Blood society here in Las Vegas, just like in Charlaine Harris’s books about Louisiana? That I’m going to be the next Sookie Stackhouse?”

  “Do you deliberately missay me?” Mordr was familiar with the True Blood series that was shown on cable television. He and his brothers had watched the program with amusement, though it was not the usual fare for vangels, being R-rated and heavy on graphic sex. In his opinion, Miranda was far more attractive than that dimwitted Sookie Stackhouse character. But suddenly one line from the opening music of the show hummed in his brain. A husky, male voice crooning, “I want to do bad things to you.” An instant erection hit Mordr right where he was humming the most, and he glanced over with alarm to see if Miranda noticed.