by Sandra Hill
The beat of the music was in his bones now. He opened his eyes and did the forefinger pointing move with four rhythmic steps to the right, then four rhythmic steps to the left. Then he repeated the pattern, grinning at Nicole the whole time. You couldn’t help but grin when you did the Michael dance.
He heard Cage yell out, “Hey, guys, come here. You’ve gotta see this. Trond has turned into John frickin’ Travolta.” Cage was considered a really good dancer. If he was impressed, then Trond must be doing something right. Or wrong.
A gleeful F.U. yelled, “Shake yer booty, Easy.”
He was going to shake something on F.U. sometime soon, and it wasn’t going to be his ass.
“Show us your moves, stud!” Nicole’s housemate Marie urged.
He had moves, but they weren’t ones to be displayed in public.
People were starting to clap and the crowd began to sing along whenever the band got to the “Chains, chains, chains” refrain. Now that he was in the groove, he glanced around. Son of a troll! He was the only one dancing.
He continued to dance, sometimes bending his knees and thrusting his hips, other times using his fists in a punching motion as he danced forward. The whole time he kept beckoning Nicole with the fingertips of both hands to come closer. She kept shaking her head no, and laughing, even though some women, and a few men, began to join him in a line dance.
She wasn’t the only one laughing. So were Cage, Sly, JAM, Geek, and F.U., who stood behind her. As well as Donita, Marie, and Kendra.
Just great! That’s me. A Viking court jester! Lord of the Fjord Dance! “C’mon, Nicole. Be a sport,” he urged. Said the dancing spider to the fly.
“No way!”
Trond put his hands over both eyes as if wounded by her rejection, but her refusal was a challenge he couldn’t ignore, and he danced over to cull her out from the herd, so to speak. Hey, he could be a cow person, too. Now that he was behind her, he put one arm around her waist and tugged her close to his body. Real close! When his hips swayed, hers did, too. Against her ear, he whispered, “Gotcha!”
“That better be your belt buckle pressing against my rear.”
He just laughed, and polished his “buckle” against her curves. Oh, he wasn’t quite doing that dirty dance move called daggering, but it was close.
Dozens of couples began to crowd the dance floor and play “follow the leader” with all his moves. They bumped. They ground. They spun on their boot heels. They did the Michael line dance moves. In the end, when the band finally ended its extended version of the song, he twirled Nicole three times under his arm, then into a close embrace where he kissed her quickly before she had a chance to smack him silly. Or worse, kiss him silly. Just that brief touch of lip on lip was enough to show Trond that there was an important zing going on here. And it had nothing to do with her constant snarking at him. He had no time for zing in his life. He was not allowed to have zing in his life. But, oh, the zing felt so good.
When the song ended, everyone clapped as he looped an arm over her shoulder and started walking back to the table. That’s when he sensed a sinister presence in the tavern. It was over by the door. He stiffened, and told Nicole in an undertone, “Go back to the table. Quickly.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Of course, the stubborn woman would argue with him now.
He gave her a soft shove and turned away, scanning the room. Over there. The man in the baseball cap stared at him, then turned and sauntered toward the exit. Faster than any human could travel, Trond was on his heels.
They were just outside the door in the parking lot when the Lucipire turned. Despite the extended brim of the Blue Devils baseball cap that hid his upper face and despite the long, exposed fangs, Trond recognized a familiar foe. It was Zebulan.
Zebulan recognized him, as well. Not a good thing! “Well, well, well! Aren’t you a welcome surprise? A VIK in Navy SEAL land. Be still my heart. Oops, I forgot. My heart no longer beats. I thought you were back in ancient Rome gladiating.”
The two of them were circling each other, moving away from the lighted entrance and across the lot toward a wooded area. Trond’s fangs were out now, too, and he suspected the wispy blue wings were emerging, as well, as they did when he was about to do battle. He didn’t want to be caught in that condition by humans in the area.
“Gladiating? Zeb, Zeb, Zeb, you have a warped sense of humor.”
“In our line of work, a sense of humor is a survival skill betimes, don’t you think?”
Trond shrugged. The two of them had come into contact many times in the past, sometimes violently. “What are you doing here, Zeb?” Suddenly, Trond knew. Two Navy SEALs sin-tainted. A high-ranking Lucipire in the area. The connection was obvious. And he would bet his real wings, if he ever got them, not these ethereal foggy images at his back, that more sin taints on the elite special forces were planned. What a coup that would be for Jasper and all the Lucipires! “Wouldn’t it be more efficient for you Lucies to work in the general population?”
Now it was Zeb’s turn to shrug. “A challenge is welcome in our ofttimes mundane lives. Yours and mine both.”
Trond didn’t like being likened to demons in any way. “First gladiating, now mundane? Holy horseradish! You been reading the dictionary for kicks?”
“We get our kicks any way we can, as you well know. I saw you dancing with the slut. Is she someone special to you? Are you vangels allowed to fuck now? Wanna share?”
Trond knew that Zeb was just yanking his chain. If he protested the derogatory term for Nicole or the sexual implications, the Lucipire would know to make her a target to trap him.
There was a reason that the Navy discouraged marriage or committed relationships (lot of good that did them!). The enemy could get to the soldier by way of his loved ones.
It took all Trond’s willpower to restrain himself from reacting.
“That was unkind of me,” Zeb said, surprising the hell . . . or something . . . out of Trond.
Trond shook his head to clear it. “Are you going to report my presence here to Jasper?” Silly question! Of course he would.
“Probably.”
Probably. Why not absolutely? Something is strange here. Trond leaned down and pulled a blade from his boot—a special blade quenched in the symbolic blood of Christ. If he killed Zeb with this blade, Zeb would not just dissolve into a pool of sulfurous slime, but would be gone forevermore, never to materialize again as a demon vampire. Just a permanent resident of the deepest bowels of Hell, where he would pay horrendously for having failed. But then, Zeb took a metal object from his pocket, like the hilt of a weapon, which soon proved true. When he pressed a button, the object turned into a retractable short sword. A switchblade sword? Cool! I’ll have to order one or five when I next talk to Mordr. Trond was not fooled by the size and flexibility of that blade, though; it was no doubt tainted and could not just kill Trond, but render him into a stasis where he could be taken back into the demon vampire’s lair, possibly turned to the Dark Side forevermore if he was unable to withstand the torture.
“I might let you go . . . for now . . . if you give me the two SEALs that we’ve already tainted,” Zeb offered, crouching into an attack position. “I’ll wait and finish them off on a mission away from here, and no one will know what happened when their bodies disappear. Blame it on Al-Qaeda.”
Trond was in an attack position now, too. “You know I can’t do that.” An idea occurred to him then. “I like you, Zeb. Despite your evil ways, there is something about you that speaks to me.” He put a hand over his heart for emphasis. “You would make a good vangel.”
Zeb stepped backward and gasped as if he’d stabbed him through the heart, good and true. “That is impossible. The things I have done . . .”
“The things we all have done!” And wasn’t that the truth? Sinners one and all.
“It is cruel of you to offer such a suggestion to me, Trond. Oh, I know I have no right to expect consideration. Still . . .”
“Is there even a speck of goodness left in you, Zeb? Have you never wished to escape your fate?”
“Only every minute of every day for the last two thousand and some years. But this is a futile conversation. It has never been done before.”
And probably never will be. “I am not the person to be discussing this with you. But I can put you in touch with someone who can.”
Zeb arched his brows.
“Michael.”
Zeb made a snorting sound of disbelief that St. Michael the Archangel would ever speak with him. Then he lunged with his sword.
Trond just barely managed to swerve at the last second, and the sword tore off a portion of the sleeve on Trond’s T-shirt, rather JAM’s T-shirt. That was close, too close for comfort. They went at each other in earnest then. Thrusting and parrying, slicing and stabbing.
“Trond? What’s going on?” a female voice asked.
Oh crap! It was Nicole.
“What are you doing out here?” The voice was getting closer.
Zeb smiled.
“Don’t you dare,” Trond warned.
Zeb licked his lips.
“Don’t you dare,” Trond repeated.
“She’s safe . . . you are, too . . . for now. But I’ll be back.” Zeb was backing up into the woods. “And when I return, I’ll be taking you with me.”
“Threats now? You could try.”
Just before Zeb disappeared into a poof of nothing, he said, “Not threats. Promises. And I will succeed in the end. Evil always wins.”
“Who are you talking to?” he heard a female voice ask.
Nicole! Who else would it be but the persistent barnacle on my butt. “Go away,” he ordered, quickly willing his fangs and wings to disappear.
Of course she stomped over the loose gravel of the lot to stand beside him, peering into the woods where he was still staring. He surreptitiously hid the knife in his boot once more. “Who was that?”
“No one. I just came out here to piss.” Is that the best I can do? Jeesh!
“And the other guy just had to pee at the same time, so you decided to have a pissing contest?” she jeered. “By the way, what was that blue smoky stuff at your back? Were you smoking weed?”
Go away! “No, I was not smoking anything, but, yeah, sure, on the pissing contest. Why not?” Now, go away. He was still scanning the area, making sure there were no other Lucies about.
“Why not use the men’s room inside?”
He crossed his eyes with frustration. “Maybe I have a phobia about public rest rooms.” Which is ludicrous, considering some of the primitive privies and garderobes I’ve had the misfortune to visit over the years. For example . . . well, never mind.
“Are you playing me?”
I’d like to play with you. Dirty play. No, no, no. I don’t mean that. Go away! “Would I do that?” he asked with a sigh of resignation as he drew her away from the woods and back toward the building, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed. For some reason, he trusted Zeb’s word that he wouldn’t attack this time. Still . . . what was that old proverb? Trust in God, but sharpen your sword.
She shrugged his hand off her arm. “I was right about you. Oh, you are good at deflecting attention away from your secret activities, but I know you’re up to something.”
This was bad. She was going to cause trouble for him with the commander. He just knew she was. He tried to think of some secret a man might have that he would want to hide, other than the fact that he was a Viking vampire angel and a thousand or so years old.
Oh no! Not that.
But it was the only thing he could think of on such short notice.
“Wait!” he yelled to her retreating back. “I’ll tell you what my secret is.”
She stopped and turned to look at him, skeptical.
He took a deep breath and said, “I’m gay.”
Six
Honey, I’m home . . .
Trond got back to the BQ shortly after midnight. Alone. The other guys had made connections with women. Love connections, that’s what they called them in this time. More like lust connections.
That was one big difference between Viking men and modern men. Vikings told it like it was. “Do you want to swive?” “Can I tup you?” “Let’s shake the bed furs.” None of that flowery “make love” business. No sugarcoating.
Speaking of sugar, he reached into his back pocket.
Karl, propped against several pillows on his cot, looked up from the book he was reading, one of his favorite science fiction thrillers, something about overendowed dragons and dominatrix mermaids. Karl just barely caught the several shrink-wrapped packages Trond tossed his way. Raising rimless glasses that had been perched midway down his nose, he read aloud, “Penile Glove? What the fuck?”
“Honey up, soldier,” Trond told him with a grin at his own jest. “They’re a gift from Geek. Read the directions and make sure you don’t get it too hot or you’ll melt your . . .” He waved a hand downward.
Karl winced but then he actually read the instructions with interest, after which he remarked, “Cool!”
Cool? What alternate universe have I landed in?
“I take it by that scowl that you didn’t get lucky tonight.”
“Pfff!” was Trond’s only response as he sat on the opposite bunk and began to unlace his shoes. “I’m gay.”
“What?” Karl sat up straighter. “Are you sure? I had a sneaky suspicion that you were hiding something in your closet.”
Trond threw one of his shoes at the teasing idiot.
Karl caught it with a laugh and tossed it back at him.
As Trond continued undressing, he threw his garments on the floor. His beer-sodden shirt, his briefs and denims, and the T-shirt JAM had lent him. Then, with a sigh of disgust, he rose and picked up each of the items, folding them carefully and putting them in his foot locker, except for the shirt, which he put in the laundry bag. A guy wasn’t allowed even a little sloth in the Navy.
“So, what’s the deal, gay dude?”
Trond explained what had happened. By the time he got to Nicole dousing him in beer, Karl was laughing. By the time he got to him doing the Michael dance, Karl was both laughing and wide-eyed with incredulity. By the time he got to the parking lot scene with his hasty confession to being gay, Karl was bent over holding his sides. “This is the most fun I’ve had since I ate roaches in ’Nam,” Karl choked out.
How pathetic was that? And sad? Both the roaches and the lack of fun. “You won’t think that’s so funny when people suspect you’re my girlfriend.”
That stopped Karl mid-chuckle. “How come I’m the girl? I’m more macho than you.”
“Dream on, buddy.”
“Suddenly this mission is sounding a bit more interesting. Don’t look so gloomy. Being gay is just a speed bump in your looong life.”
“I am not gay. Don’t even use those words. And, frankly, my looong life has been nothing but speed bumps.”
Karl just grinned. “I can’t wait to see what you pull next.”
Me too. “I have to admit, this whole situation would be funny if it weren’t happening to me.” A thought came to him of a sudden. “Don’t you dare tell my brothers.”
Karl just continued to grin.
Trond went on then to explain what he’d discovered so far about both JAM and Sly being sin-tainted. They made plans to get closer to both men, which might be a bit difficult if word got around that they were gay. In addition, he told Karl about rumors of an impending mission of huge importance. They’d have to keep their ears to the ground and make sure they were included. Somehow.
Going over to his desk, Trond logged onto his laptop and in a specially encrypted e-mail account, notified all six of his brothers that Zebulan, one of Jasper’s commanders, was in the area. While they’d been aware that at least one of the SEALs had been targeted, that could have resulted from a fanging by any Lucie, even a lower-level mung, but Zeb’s presence here in
Coronado could only mean that Jasper had bigger plans.
Vikar was the only one online at the moment, and he responded immediately to his IM message.
Should we come?
Not yet.
Any news on the mission?
Just rumors.
I have a bad feeling.
Me too.
Don’t hesitate to ask for help. No sense being a hero.
Me? LOL!
This could be the biggest mission for us since that harebrained Sin Cruise.
Roger that.
Roger? You really are taking this military career seriously.
Hard not to. I haven’t worked so hard since . . . forever.
Maybe I should come after all. I’d enjoy the spectacle of you working hard.
Very funny.
BTW, how are things going with that woman who was so suspicious of you?
Don’t ask.
Uh-oh!
She’s the biggest pain-in-the-ass woman I’ve ever met.
Could it be—?
No!
he said, anticipating what Vikar was about to say.
Hey, it happened for me.
That’s different. Mike made an exception for you because you were becoming almost . . . well, angelic.
I was not!
Trond could almost hear the indignation in Vikar’s voice. One thing Vikings did not aspire to be was angelic. Leastways, they never had in the past.
He thought about telling his brother that Nicole thought he was gay, but decided not to. What he did not need was being made a laughingstock, thanks to the vangel gossip network, especially when he’d already made a laughingstock of himself with the Michael dance. Really, Vikings were worse than women when it came to passing on juicy tidbits. And Trond being a gay Viking would definitely be deemed juicy. He could just hear it now.
Trond the Gay Viking?
He always liked longboats better than swimming in tight channels.
Cruise any fjords lately, bro?
I always knew his arse was pretty, but . . .
After Trond promised to keep the VIK updated often, and Vikar told him he would make tentative plans for a fleet of vangels to deploy to Coronado on a moment’s notice, they logged off. While the VIK and its cadre of vangels had lost a few special abilities when they stopped bouncing around in time, they still maintained many that would be helpful in situations like this, such as the ability to teletransport across wide areas. No delays for airplane travel or even cars. They didn’t have wings yet of the type that could actually fly, except for Vikar, but they could move from one state to another in an instant. Even one country to another. And of course, they were vampires, with all the mystical powers that implied.