by Sandra Hill
He unbuttoned her blouse and undid the front closure on her black silk bra, staring down at her. Rubbing his palms in a circular fashion over her bare breasts, he said, “Mine.”
She cupped the bulge in his shorts. “Does that mean this is mine, as well?”
“Always.”
That sounded promising. Maybe she was misreading his rush to fill every moment.
Unzipping but not removing his shorts, he released himself. No underwear, but then why would there be with all the sex they’d been having? More convenient.
He did help her shimmy out of her shorts, though, leaving just the opened bra and matching black silk bikini panties. Wasting no time, he moved the crotch of her panties aside, took his erection in hand, and slid right in.
Whoa! Miranda hadn’t realized she was so ready. She hadn’t realized she wanted this as much as he did.
He rocked her then. Back and forth. Back and forth. With deliberate, torturous slowness.
She wanted to caress his body, to lean up for a kiss, but he would not allow that. In fact, he laced her fingers with his and extended them above her head. The whole time he held her gaze. “Your eyes tell all your secrets. Do not hide from me.”
She writhed and tried to get him to move faster, to touch her in those special places, but he remained firm. Just slow rocking, back and forth.
But then she realized that the rocking was going a little bit more forward and touching her most sensitive place. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped at the pleasure that was so much more intense because it came and went. Touch, release. Touch, release.
She moaned.
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”
She did, but he was not satisfied with a mere “harder” or “faster.” He forced her to tell him in graphic detail what she wanted him to do and how it felt when he did. She used words she’d never said aloud before.
Still, he rocked them slowly, and she felt the mounting tension in her become a delicious agony. She arched her back so that her nipples could abrade the blond fur of his chest. So aroused was she in the end that she became disoriented.
“Please, please, please,” she begged.
When he paused in rocking, she could swear he grew even larger inside her. Then, leaning down, he took one nipple in his mouth and drew on her, hard. At the same time he withdrew his penis, then slammed into her.
Her orgasm was immediate and shattering, ripping across her entire body. She would have screamed, except he put a gentle hand over her mouth, “Shh, shh, that is the way. Relax. Do not try to control the peaking. Surrender. Sur-ren-der!”
He stopped speaking abruptly because his own climax was approaching. She would have liked to turn the tables on him, to tell him to relax, to surrender to the orgasm, but she was speechless as the folds of her vagina continued to clutch and unclutch him until he roared out his own release.
It took several moments for their heavy breathing to slow. Easing out of her, he rolled over. With his arm around her shoulders, he tucked her into his side.
She laid her face against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. A comfort of sorts. He was alive, no matter what he said, no matter what he was.
He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Miranda.”
“For what? Sex?”
He pinched her bottom. “That, too. But, no, I thank you for bringing me out of the dark. I will be forever grateful for that.”
“That sounds an awful lot like good-bye.”
“I must go soon,” he said, deliberately misinterpreting what she meant and rising from the bed.
“You will come back, won’t you?”
“Of course. My main mission here is incomplete. Roger is out there, a threat.”
Pride kept her from asking if that was the only reason. Pride kept her from telling him that she was falling in love with him, fearing it was one-sided. Pride had her reclipping her bra, adjusting her panties, and watching as he dressed quickly and efficiently. He unlocked a long, flat chest he’d fitted in the back of her closet and took out various weapons, which he placed in strategic pockets of his pants. A knife went into his boot. A gun in a shoulder holster. And that was just the arsenal on his person. When he put on his long cloak with the silver angel-wing epaulets, she couldn’t help but notice the firearms. A folding sword, throwing stars, a wicked-looking stick covered with sharp points. His fangs kept trying to emerge and she could see the constant effort he made to retract them until he was away from here.
If she hadn’t realized it before, she did now. He was facing danger tonight. Mortal danger. “Mordr, could you die while fighting the demon vampires?”
“Death holds no fear for me. If I ‘die,’ I will either recover or go to that holding place in the heavens for vangels, Tranquility, until the final reckoning. No, the biggest fear for a vangel is that we be taken by Jasper and that he attempt to torture us into turning to his side.” He shivered as he imagined some horror Miranda couldn’t possibly comprehend, but it must be bad.
“You look very pale, Mordr. And I notice you swaying on your feet occasionally. What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “I need to feed, by saving some sinner or killing some Lucies. Never fear, I will have my strength back shortly.”
“But you shouldn’t be going into battle, or whatever this will be tonight, in a weakened state. It would make you vulnerable,” she guessed. Something occurred to her then. “Would it help if you took some of my blood?”
Mordr had been bent over, tying some kind of cross-gartered scabbard onto one thigh. His head shot up and he looked at her, his blue eyes more silvery gray than normal. She had noticed that they changed when he was aroused, but this was even more extreme. Must be some kind of bloodlust thing. “It would help, but I would not ask that of you.”
“I am offering,” she said with more outward bravery than she actually felt inside. Let’s face it. She had no idea what exactly she was offering.
He was about to refuse, she could tell, but she got up off the bed and walked over to him resolutely. Taking his face in her hands, she said, “Do what you need to do.”
He hesitated but then lifted her in his arms and carried her across the room. Sitting down in a chair with her on his lap, his cloak puddled out and around them onto the floor. “I will only take a little,” he said huskily.
“Will it hurt?”
A smile tried to emerge on his lips. His fangs were fully extended. “Just a pinch. Usually, when there is a blood giving between a man and a woman, it is done during the sex act.”
“What? No way are we having sex again! I couldn’t possibly . . .”
He did smile then, and that wonderful aura of scented fog surrounded them, sandalwood and limes. He sniffed the air, noticing the same thing, except what he would be smelling was lilies and cloves. The perfumes that life mates supposedly put forth, like pheromones. Good heavens! When did I become a believer?
He turned her head so that it was arched to one side, exposing the long sweep of neck from ear to shoulder. He licked her then, and it felt like warm oil heating the skin, tingling. When he put his mouth to her and bit into the skin, there was a pinch. But then, as he sucked softly, she felt a hot, gushing sensation through her veins, from that spot to all her extremities, lodging especially in her lips, and breasts, and hands and toes, and inside her most intimate place. The sensations were so intense she lost consciousness, but only for the few moments that Mordr sucked on her.
As he laid her back on the bed, she could see that Mordr’s skin tone had already changed to a healthy tan. His fangs had retracted and there was no blood that she could see in his mouth.
“I must go,” he said. Then he did the oddest, most touching thing. He placed a palm over his heart, then opened the hand, extending it toward her in an ancient gesture.
She must have fallen asleep then, for when she opened her eyes again, he was gone. She dressed in biking shorts and a long T-shirt, tying her hair back into a ponytail. T
he house was quiet when she went downstairs. In the kitchen, she was making herself a cup of herb tea when Darla came up from the basement. “Those kids are ruthless,” she said. “I lost five dollars to Sam over a stupid Ping-Pong game. I know, I know, I shouldn’t be encouraging his betting.”
Darla, bless her heart, was making an effort to divert her attention from Mordr’s departure and what it might mean, although Darla didn’t have a clue as to the extent of the danger he faced.
“What do you say that we have quick spaghetti for dinner?” Miranda asked. “There’s garlic toast in the freezer.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll make the salad.”
Just then there was a buzzing noise, indicating the motion detector had gone off outside, followed by the ringing of the doorbell. She and Darla exchanged worried glances. They both approached the front door with caution, Darla having grabbed her pistol from a purse above the fridge.
Looking through the peephole, Darla said with surprise, “It’s a policeman. Were you expecting one?”
Miranda shook her head. “But Mordr said not to open the door to anyone.”
More ringing of the doorbell, followed by knocking, and a male voice saying, “Las Vegas Police Department. Open up, please.”
Darla opened the door slightly, leaving the chain in place. “Pass me your credentials.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The big black man in uniform handed through a leather folding case holding a LVPD badge on one side and a card identifying him as Sergeant Amos Doram on the other side. Through the partially open door she could see a police car parked at the curb with another cop inside.
Darla handed the credentials back and asked, “What’s the problem, Officer?”
“We had a report of a suspicious character lurking about this address. We have him down at the station right now for carrying a weapon without a license. He claims to know a Ms. Miranda Hart. Are you Ms. Hart? You need to come down to the station and see if you recognize him. I have a photograph here.”
Miranda and Darla exchanged glances and both said, “Roger” at the same time. Sure enough, the wallet-size picture the cop handed through was Roger in all his slimy glory, smiling at the camera in a police mug shot. The date stamp said it had been taken today.
Darla undid the chain and opened the door for the cop to come in.
Officer Doram smiled then. Their first clue that they might have made a mistake came when they noticed that he sported a gold-filled front tooth and diamond ear studs the size of peas. What kind of cop had gold teeth and earrings?
The second clue was when they saw that his smile wasn’t directed at them, but at Linda, who had come up from the basement and was watching them from the kitchen. “Come here, baby girl,” the pseudo cop crooned. The expression on his face was pure evil.
Darla began to raise her pistol, but Doram was quicker. He raised his own weapon and whacked Darla over the head, causing her to crumple to the floor.
“Aunt Mir!” Linda screamed, running into Miranda’s arms and hiding her face in her neck.
Doram grabbed Miranda by the upper arm and dragged her out of the house toward the waiting car, where the other “officer” was holding the door open.
“Daad-dy!” Linda shouted joyfully on seeing that the guy in police uniform was Roger.
Just then a bunch of things happened at once. Miranda and Linda were shoved into the backseat, where the doors automatically locked.
Another police cruiser pulled up behind them, and two other officers, a man and a woman, stepped out.
“George, Ginette, what the hell are you doin’ here? Are you followin’ me?” Doram bellowed.
“Your time is up, Clarence,” the woman said.
Clarence? Who’s Clarence? Miranda wondered. Oh. The cop’s real name must be Clarence.
“It’s come-to-Jesus time, Clarence. Or rather, come-to-Satan time. Ha, ha, ha!” the man said.
With those words, the most amazing, frightening thing happened. Before their very eyes, the couple transformed into these huge fanged beasts, with oozing scales, red eyes, and tails. Clarence shot several rounds at them, to no avail. The bullets just bounced off their leathery hides. The beasts . . . demon vampires like the ones Miranda had seen in the city with Mordr . . . immediately began to fang and gnaw at Clarence.
“Holy crap! Holy crap!” Roger exclaimed, as shaken as Miranda at what they were witnessing. He ran around to the driver’s side, putting the car in gear and zooming off. But he had to turn around at the cul-de-sac.
Miranda tucked a crying Linda into her chest, hiding her face, but Miranda glanced over on the return past her house to see the big black man being devoured and slowly dissolving. That was the only way she could describe it. When the beasts were done, they transformed back into their human forms, got back in the police car, and drove away, leaving behind Doram’s . . . or Clarence’s . . . cop clothes, a gun, and a pile of slime.
What would her neighbors think? Had any of them even seen what was happening?
Turning back to the wire screen between the backseat and the front seat, she asked, “What in God’s name have you gotten yourself involved in, Roger?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Roger seemed stunned. Well, who wouldn’t be, seeing two beasts devouring a man, even a bad man? Roger was driving erratically. If he wasn’t careful, they were going to be stopped by—oh, this was too bizarre—the cops.
“Where are we going, Roger?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you just take us back and we’ll forget this ever happened?”
“Can’t do that.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“The plan was . . . is . . . to kill you and get back all the things I’m entitled to. Money, house, car . . . a Lexus, ferchrissake.”
“The Lexus doesn’t belong to me.”
“Huh?”
“It belongs to my . . . um, friend, Mordr.”
“Whatever! The house does. You stole my house and bought this house so, technically, it belongs to me.”
How could you reason with such illogic?
“So, after you get rid of me, what about Linda?”
Linda turned in her arms and smiled. “Hi, Daddy.”
Roger groaned. “The kid was never supposed to be involved. Clarence was going to gain me entry to your house. I was gonna kill you and Clarence, then go into hiding for a couple weeks, then come claim my ‘inheritance.’ But I never counted on those . . . those . . . things arriving. I knew there was something strange about George and Ginette, but . . .” He shivered with revulsion.
“You can’t kill me now,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because Linda recognizes you—” She cut herself off when she realized that she was pointing out to this madman that if he offed her, he would have to do the same to his own daughter. And he was just deranged enough to do it.
Soon Roger pulled onto a side street in Vegas in front of Luigi’s Pizza Parlor, then he went around to an alley behind the shop.
“We’re stopping for pizza?” she asked incredulously. “I’ll have sausage and mushroom.” Her attempt at humor fell flat.
“No food, bitch. We’re going to the apartment upstairs. And here’s the deal. You come voluntarily and quietly or I take Linda, and you don’t want to know what I will do with her, daughter or not.”
Holding Linda’s hand, Miranda followed Roger up the back stairs to the apartment above the shop, which was permeated with the scent of tomato sauce and cheese and baked crusts. To her surprise, there was another coconspirator in this crime spree.
A bleached blond woman wearing a short skirt, and no underwear, had her feet propped on the coffee table, knees widespread, and was painting her toenails a flaming red.
“We have company, Carlotta,” Roger said. “Where are those velvet handcuffs I bought you yesterday?”
Carlotta summed the situation up perfectly. “Oh shit!”
Seventeen<
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Even the mighty do fall . . .
By ten p.m. nets of vangels were covering the cities of Las Vegas, Reno, Monaco, and Macau, trying to catch any Lucipires attempting to escape. And at the same time, walking the streets and strolling the casinos, looking for sinners about to be taken who might be up for redemption. All of this needed to be done with as much secrecy as possible.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, and many of the Lucipires would escape to wreak more havoc in other places, or even back to casino cities in the future. But still, Mordr estimated that many hundreds of them would meet their doom.
He and Vikar were heading the Las Vegas operation with two hundred vangel soldiers. Ivak and Harek were in Reno, Sigurd and Cnut in Macau, and Trond in Monaco, with similar contingents of vangels working under them.
With the special secure cell phone to his ear, the one only vangels could transmit on, Mordr waited for Vikar’s signal to begin. With a slash of his arm downward, Vikar teletransported to the far side of the city, while Mordr relayed directions to his brothers and then began his own battles. Bloody pandemonium ensued, or you could say slimy pandemonium.
Even after all these years, it was intimidating sometimes for Mordr when he first came upon a Lucie in full demonoid form. Often heads taller than his six foot four, strong as drukkinn dragons, stinking like rotten eggs, whipping their massive tails, and waving their claw-like fists.
Vikings were not happy at all with their fangs, but imagine how horrible it would have been if Michael had given them these other beastly attributes as well. And Michael could have done it, too, not having a particular liking for Vikings as a whole.
Mordr, along with six of his best fighters, swooped down to the Strip and the hotel where Jasper and his mung assistant Beltane were supposed to be staying. He caught them leaving the penthouse suite with an entourage of twenty or so hordlings and imps who kept bumping into one another, creating chaos. Jasper must be overconfident to have no powerful haakai with him or more mungs.
