by Sandra Hill
While they waited for Vikar to call and tell them where to go next, they were watching CNN, along with a dozen vangels, including Inga and Dagmar, who kept giggling every time Zeb looked their way. Smitten, they were, Dagmar confided to Regina. An old-fashioned word, to be sure.
Regina understood. She was a little smitten herself. Ha, ha, ha! Who was she kidding? She was neck-deep in lust overload.
But she digressed.
The news on the TV was dire for the entire world. Religious leaders were claiming the End of Times was coming, and she could see why they might think that. While half the world was rushing to churches and synagogues and mosques, the other half was reveling in the depravity. Evil and pandemonium reigned. And government leaders and police officials were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. “The sky is falling, the sky is falling,” was practically their refrain. And yet no one had any answers, except for piecemeal putting out of fires, figuratively speaking. In other words, defensive actions.
What they saw on the TV screen was horrifying. Bombings. Sanctioned rape by terrorist groups, including all the nuns in a French convent, even the elderly ones. Multiple fires in the vicinity of the Twin Towers. Beheadings in the Middle East with production line precision. Cannibalism forced on political prisoners. Acid thrown on innocent people in a mall. Crucifixions. Tongues sliced in half, eyeballs plucked out. The atrocities went on and on.
And then there was Satan worship on a grand scale. What had probably started out as a lark for young people had turned into the real thing, all of it multiplied a thousandfold by Internet social media, which called it a religion no different than Christianity.
“What do those idiot followers think is being sacrificed on those satanic altars?”
“Doll babies?” she guessed.
The anchors, clearly agitated, interviewed every official and so-called expert they could get in front of a microphone, but even the specialists had no clear answer to what was happening, except to blame it on “terrorists.” The Republicans blamed the Democrats, and the Democrats blamed the Republicans. The blacks blamed the whites, the whites blamed the blacks. The Muslims blamed the Christians, and vice versa. Politicians said it was all the fault of immigrants, or oil prices dropping, or the economy, or lagging defense spending, or climate warming. Whatever. In other words, no one knew.
There were also strange cases of puddles of slime showing up in the areas of these criminal activities. The FDA and CDC were investigating.
“Good luck with that!” Zeb laughed. It wasn’t the first time that the public had discovered a pile of Lucie slime and took it to authorities for analysis. Nothing showed up.
“And I know from experience how hard it is to shovel that crap up,” Regina added.
Zeb shook his head in disgust and got up to check his cell phone again. It sat on the kitchen counter, ominously silent. Her phone hadn’t rung yet, either, although she and Zeb had given Jogeir, and in turn Vikar, a report two hours ago on the outcome here at the volcano. Jogeir had told them to sit tight until they got new orders.
Regina was tired of sitting tight. Fighting must be in her blood . . . pun intended . . . because, despite the rigors of their earlier “battle,” she was anxious to get into the fray again. At least that was the explanation she’d come up with for the antsy feeling that was making her squirm in her seat.
Zeb went into the pantry off the kitchen, probably to check once again that no perishable foods would be left behind. He called out to her then, “Regina, could you come here a minute?”
She put her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans and went over to the pantry. Zeb was standing before a mountain of paper towels. He glanced her way and said, “Shut the door.”
Huh? He must have gotten some message and didn’t want the others to overhear. She closed the door, which caused the interior light to go out.
But Zeb reached up and pulled a cord to turn the light on manually. He walked over to her then, and reached around to lock the door.
Definitely something secret and confidential. “What have you heard?” she asked anxiously.
“Not a thing.”
Huh?
He was standing close to her, really close.
She could probably count the number of incredibly long lashes on his lids which were at half mast, as if, as if . . . “Son of a cloud, Zeb, do you have to crowd me like this? Your fresh rain scent is like an aphrodisiac to me,” she blurted out.
What was wrong with her, that she could divulge something like that? The same something that had caused her to practically assault the man last night. That made her lick her suddenly dry lips now, then inhale deeply.
He smiled.
“Forget I said that,” she hastened to add.
“Not a chance!” He chucked her under the chin. “I’ve been on a cinnamon high nonstop all day. What do you suppose I should do about it?” He trailed a fingertip along her jawline, from her ear to the center of her chin. Then, he inserted the same fingertip into her mouth, took it out, and tasted it himself.
Holy frickin’ hormones! “Uh, I thought you were having regrets.”
While she’d been distracted by words and his wicked fingertip, he’d been more into action. Other action. She was backed up against the door, and her jeans were unzipped before he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his hips.
He pressed himself against her core. “Does that feel like regret?”
For a guy who’d recently suffered major damage to his package, he sure was coming back with a vengeance.
A wash of hot lust swept over her, and she put her arms around his shoulders. Still, she had to ask, “Do you really think this is a good idea?”
“No.” He was licking her neck.
“Then why?” She arched her neck to give him easier access.
“Regina, Regina! Has no one ever told you that if you feed the tiger, it will come back for second helpings? And third? And fourth?”
She was no longer listening to him as she felt him shove her panties to the side, undo the buttons on his own jeans and shrug them down just enough so that he could enter her. She made a keening sound of pure pleasure, especially when he pressed a thumb down to the place where they were joined, causing a hair-trigger orgasm to explode from that special spot, shooting out like sparks to her whole body. At the same time, her inner muscles clutched Zeb’s already thrusting erection.
“So good, so good, so good . . .” he kept moaning against her ear.
Good didn’t begin to describe the sensations that were flowing over her body in waves. If he hadn’t been holding her up with his hands under her butt and if her shoulders weren’t pressed against the door, her knees would have surely given way.
When he had himself embedded inside her to the hilt, and came to completion, ejaculating into her body, he rubbed his pubic bone against hers, and she climaxed again, even more explosively.
Did I mention he is a talented fellow?
“Was that as good for you as it was for me?” Zeb teased.
“Do you have to ask?’
“Back to being snarky, are you?” He nipped at her neck, and she felt a thrill . . . even after all the thrills she’d already experienced . . . as his fangs pressed but didn’t quite pierce her skin.
He lowered her to the floor then, and her knees did, in fact, buckle. He caught her just in time.
They were both adjusting their clothing when they heard a buzzing noise. Looking around, they were unable to locate the source of the noise until Regina felt a vibration against her butt.
She glanced up at Zeb with dismay as she pulled the cell phone out, and realized that the device was on. Putting it on speaker phone, she heard laughter.
She must have butt dialed someone while being thrust against the door.
Then Jogeir said, “A rain aphrodisiac, Regina? Ha, ha, ha.”
And Vikar joined in with, “Eye of the tiger, Zeb? Or was that cock of the tiger? Ha, ha, ha.”
The
y would be the laughingstock of all the vangels.
They worked well together, and did other things well, too . . .
Zeb felt as if he was twiddling his thumbs in Nigeria while he would rather be going after the big guns in Lucipiredom . . . those remaining anyhow. Yes, he had been instrumental in killing Yakov in Greece, and apparently Mordr and Svein had taken care of Red Tess in the United States. Two down! There were still Ganbold in the Middle East, Harek in Siberia, Hector in Rome, and of course, Jasper, back at Horror.
It’s not that he didn’t understand the importance of the Nigerian mission for the SEALs. But, having been forced to participate in unimaginable evils over the centuries, he had a personal dog in the fight to bring the leaders down. And that dog was in the far north, about thirty-five hundred miles from here, as the bird (or the angel) flies.
Ah, well, the sooner they completed the job here, the sooner they could move on. After settling things in Greece, Zeb and Regina, with their remaining vangels, had teletransported to the Sambosa Forest in Nigeria. They’d joined up with Trond, Nicole, and Camille, who were with the Navy SEALs fighting Boko Haram, who had once again kidnapped a contingent of young girls. Unlike the past where the terrorists kept or sold the girls as sex slaves, this time they were executing them one by one for no reason other than to set an example. In other words, depravity.
It wasn’t the first time Trond and the SEALs had come to this region to target these particular terrorists, but this execution crap was a new twist on wickedness, and the Lucipires clearly had a hand in manipulating the bad guys into being even badder. The SEALs were determined to wipe them out this time, which was probably an unreachable goal, at least in the short term.
While the SEALs dealt with the terrorists, or tangos as the special forces referred to bad guys, Zeb and Regina had led their troop of forty or so vangels to join with Trond’s vangels, to clean out the Lucipires. Simple as that, especially since there was no major haakai leader in command here at the moment. Unlike other missions, the vangels were not to try saving those sinners who might have a last ditch wish to repent.
Twenty more Lucipires were now residing in Hell, in addition to the sixty already decimated by Trond. Small numbers when compared to the frightening four thousand demons Michael had mentioned to them.
Sometime during this particular mission, Zeb had come to a realization, which was both alarming and gratifying at the same time. He and Regina made good fighting partners. He, who had always worked best alone, watched her back, and, amazingly, she watched his back, as well, and did a damned good job of it.
Once, he’d been engaged with a huge mung Lucipire, sword to sword, when he slipped in some slime, and ended up in a bear hug . . . rather demon hug. Ugh! Regina had aimed one of her longer knives at the beast’s back, and the blade went straight through to its heart. Zeb had landed on top of the creature as it already began to dissolve. Laughing, he’d saluted Regina, and the witch had saluted him back.
Another time, Regina had been backed up against a tree, the semiautomatic revolver at her feet, the clip apparently depleted of bullets. She’d had only one knife in her hand. The question had been, which of the three Lucipires in humanoid form surrounding her, would she target.
One of them, he’d recognized. Claude Bouclet, a French nobleman who had been a pal of the Marquis de Sade. He’d been taunting her with what he would do to her back at Horror, while his buddies enjoyed the show.
And Regina, bless her witchy soul, had been trying to ignore his taunts by waggling the fingers of her free hand at them all and tossing out curses at their manparts.
“I will keep you chained in my dungeon for years. Naked, of course,” Claude had said. “You will serve me and any man or beast I bring to you.”
“Abracadabra, mud of a bog. Screw you, demon, turn into a frog.”
The three Lucipires had laughed. It had been a rather pitiful curse.
“Every opening in your body will be filled by my cock and the assortment of dildos I keep for that very purpose,” Claude had continued. “I especially like the expanding ones.”
“Effa, sola, inda, sarce! Demon dick like a dart!”
Claude had glanced downward.
At that brief lack of focus, Zeb, who’d been behind the Lucipires, had swung his broadsword in a wide arc, decapitating Claude. At the same time, Regina had thrown her knife at one of the other Lucipires. And Zeb had taken the third one down. He and Regina had both ensured that the blades had gone through the demon hearts so they couldn’t return as Lucipires.
Afterward, as they’d cleaned their blades on a patch of moss, Zeb had looked at her and smiled. “Dick like a dart?”
She’d shrugged and smiled back at him. “I’m a bit rusty on curses. Haven’t had occasion to use them lately.”
Without thinking, he’d hugged her to his side and they’d walked off to find Trond and the two family WEALs. They met up with Trond, Nicole, and Camille, who were taking a brief rest in a forest clearing. All their vangels were there as well, but hidden in the thick foliage or up in trees.
They updated each other on the campaigns to date.
“Good work in Greece,” Trond said to both Zeb and Regina. “I understand you cleaned that site totally, and most important, sent Yakov to Hell.”
“It wasn’t just us. Jogeir led that mission,” Zeb was quick to correct.
“But Zeb took care of a huge number of Lucies on his own,” Regina added.
Zeb glanced at her, with surprise. It was not like the snarky Regina to compliment a man, at her own expense.
“I’m just saying,” Regina added, blushing.
That was also surprising. Regina, blushing?
“I just got news from Vikar,” Trond went on. “Mordr and Svein and their crew arrived in Afghanistan last night, after having wiped out Red Tess in the United States, as you already know. Ganbold the Mongol is a formidable opponent, and thus far Vikar hasn’t been able to pin him down. Ganbold has even been seen in Syria, where Ivak is in charge. So they have roughly three hundred vangels there. They need more. Turns out Harek took care of Heinrich in Siberia and will be bringing his vangel troops there, as well.”
“Damn! I wanted to be the one to confront Heinrich,” Zeb said. “I’d been hoping to be sent there next.”
He could see that was a surprise to Regina.
“I’m a Jew, he is . . . was . . . a Nazi. The Holocaust.” Zeb shrugged. Enough said!
“Nicole and I will be going back to the SEALs and WEALs to complete our assignments here,” Camille informed them. “We’ll need to make an excuse for Trond not returning with us. He’ll of course be going to Afghanistan. Maybe we’ll say that Trond captured a small contingent of terrorists he wants to bring in.”
“Or we could say he was injured and is off being treated by medics. In the confusion, no one will notice right away.” Nicole added, “It worked once before.” She looked at her husband. “Remember, babe?”
“You got it, babe.” Trond leaned over and kissed his wife.
Zeb kind of envied the easy affection this married couple showed each other, even in public. Not that he was envying marriage. It was just nice that some married men and women acted that way. In fact, he had a sudden memory of his mother and father standing out in the vineyard. He was only about five years old at the time. But he clearly recalled his father kissing his mother on the forehead and placing a hand on her behind.
He also remembered holding Sarah’s hand as they walked to synagogue on Shabbat. Just holding hands, but so intimate.
Odd the thoughts that came to a man at the most inopportune times. And talking about . . . thinking about . . . inappropriate. He had a sudden inclination to kiss Regina’s red braid and palm her ample bum.
“Where will we be going now?” Regina wanted to know, calling him back to the matter at hand. “Afghanistan?” she asked hopefully.
Trond shook his head. “Cnut is having trouble cornering Hector in Rome. Part of the problem is those
never-ending catacombs under the Vatican, but also the large numbers of humans congregating there. He doesn’t want to call attention to the Lucies or the vangels, and he doesn’t want innocent people to be caught in the fray.”
“So you want us to go to Rome?” Zeb asked. “Both of us?”
Trond tilted his head to the side. “Yes. Unless you have a problem working together.”
“No,” Regina said hesitantly. Zeb knew that it wasn’t himself she was hesitant about, but a yearning to be part of the bigger action.
“No,” Zeb said, not so hesitantly. He wouldn’t mind being part of the action to destroy Hector . . . a former Roman Centurion who fed Jews, Christians, and anyone they didn’t like to the lions.
Besides, for his sins, Zeb was wondering when the next opportunity would pop up where he could engage in sex again. With Regina. He had lots of ideas and centuries to make up for.
Chapter 17
The dead visiting the dead? . . .
And so, Regina found herself in Rome. Under Rome, actually. Okay, under Rome’s outskirts.
Here she was, plodding along the hundreds of miles of catacombs, which were underground burial crypts. In this case, for an unbelievable six-plus-million dead people, including a few martyrs.
Regina shivered and moved up closer to Zeb, who was leading the way through the narrow, underground tunnels, followed by their vangels, who were muttering about the disturbing atmosphere of their surroundings. They all carried flashlights or wore headlamps.
“Is it strange for a vangel to be creeped out by dead people?” she asked Zeb.
“Yep, especially since vangels are also dead people.”
“But we’re different kinds of dead people, right?”
“I don’t know. I would think that, from the perspective of those Up Above, we’re all the same.”
“Eew!” someone said behind her.
