Kiss of Wrath

by Sandra Hill

  She had not, thank the saints! She was off on her own line of thinking.

  “Mordr,” she said with excessive sympathy. “In my profession, I deal with delusions all the time. One of my patients is convinced he’s an alien sent to this planet to impregnate as many human women as possible to create mutant ETs. Another client believes carbonated soft drinks are beverages the government invented to subdue all people into a stupor of compliance. Actually, the delusion of some fictional threat, like demons, is very common and can be cured, or controlled, with medication.”

  At first, he just gaped at her. Then he made a tsking sound. “This is no delusion. Believe you me, I could not make up the specter of evil that Lucipires represent. Medication will not change anything.”

  She went on, as if he hadn’t even spoken. “In fact, and I know your brothers said I shouldn’t mention this to you, but . . .” She paused.

  He stiffened, bracing himself for whatever his brothers had warned her about.

  “. . . grief can play games with a person’s mind.” She reached over and took one of his hands in both of hers. A gesture of sympathy!

  He gazed at her hands on his for a long moment, savoring the sweet emotion that flooded him at the mere touch of her skin on his, postponing the knowledge of the subject she dared to broach with him. Finally, he yanked his hand away and stood. “I do not discuss my . . . grief. Not with anyone. And it has naught to do with the danger that looms around this city at the moment. You and your children need to be far away from here. Until the evil presences is gone.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why should my family leave and not all the other people who live and work here? Is there something about us that calls to these . . . creatures?”

  “No. Under normal circumstances, innocents have no appeal for Lucipires. They seek out those who are already evil, having committed grave sins, turning them before their normal time, giving them no chance for repentance before death. But if anyone gets in their way, whether it be you or your children, they would mow you down and take you to a world far worse than the Hell painted in Christian lore.”

  “There you have it then. We stay out of their way.”

  “That is precisely what I have been suggesting. Get out of their way. Far out of their way. Like to our castle in Transylvania or mayhap my brother Ivak’s plantation in Louisiana, though neither would be ideal because young vangels cannot control their fangs and we cannot risk your children being exposed to such beings and not speaking of it when they return to their everyday lives.”

  “Now you are the one who is—what did you call it?—missaying me. I never suggested that we leave Nevada. I was merely thinking that the children could be confined to the house, once school is out soon for the summer, under your very fine protection.”

  He was the one rolling his eyes now. “Do not think to divert me with false words of praise.”

  She shook her head. “Not false. I do believe that you would protect the children with your own life.”

  “I have no life, Miranda,” he said, “but of course I would protect them, and I could protect them here in a confined space. That is not the issue. What about you?”

  “Me?” She tilted her head in question.

  “Do you intend to stay here in this confined space until the end of the threat?”

  “Of course not. I have to go to work.”

  He tossed his hands up in the air. “See. That is exactly my point.”

  “You lost me somewhere.”

  “You work in the city, right in the midst of the demon vampire activity. Some of your clients are probably Lucie targets. Do you work with any people who have done bad, almost irredeemable things?”

  Her flushed face gave him her answer.

  “Right in the middle of the fray, you would be. I cannot allow that to happen.”

  “Let’s get one thing clear, Mordr. You have no right to allow or disallow me to do anything. I hired you. I can fire you.”

  He shook his head at her denseness. “You did not hire me, and you cannot fire me. Only a higher power can do that, and he is mysteriously absent these days.”

  “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but he who? God?”

  “No. Mike.”

  “Michael the Archangel? You’re being absolutely ridiculous.” She stood. “Well, thanks for explaining all this to me, Mordr, but we’re going to have to agree to disagree.”

  “Agree to disagree? More female illogic! Go, put on clothing appropriate for the casino scene. I will take you out for the evening whilst my brothers watch over the children. I will prove to you how ridiculous I am not being.”

  She paused, before nodding her agreement. Then she surveyed his body covered only with a shirt and shorts. “Is that what you consider evening attire?”

  “No,” he said. “I will be wearing my cloak.”

  Eleven

  Viva Las Vegas, demon vampire style . . .

  Jasper love, love, loved Las Vegas.

  There was just so much sin here. Like a chocoholic swimming in a pool of melted Hershey’s Kisses, the king of all demon vampires felt himself getting not a sugar high, but a sin high.

  “Kudos to the person who invented the catchphrase, ‘Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ If there is anything that encourages a man, or woman, to err off the straight and narrow, it is that,” Jasper mused aloud as he strolled through one of the glitzy casinos on the Strip, ever alert to evil scents that pervaded the atmosphere. Potential victims, soon-to-be-Lucipires-in-training. It was like the proverbial shooting fish in a barrel.

  Beltane, who walked beside him, gawking here and there at all the sights—gorgeous women in scanty attire, high-stakes gamblers, slot machines ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-chinging, shouts of elation over big wins at the craps table, and groans of dismay by losers, blinking neon lights everywhere, and pounding music through the sound system—nodded his agreement. “A permission slip to sin, that slogan is.”

  “Well said!” he told his young hordling assistant, who had been taken from New Orleans in the 1700s. “By the by, you are looking very handsome today.”

  He and Beltane, as well as all the other Lucipires whom Jasper could see acting in various capacities as they infiltrated the casino—waiters and waitresses, dealers, players, valets, maintenance workers, showgirls, high-class prostitutes, both male and female, etc.—were in humanoid form, of course, when out in public. Beltane was wearing a gray Hugo Boss tailored suit with a crisp white shirt and red tie. A five-carat diamond acted as a tie tack. Beltane’s black hair was short and styled, thanks to about a gallon of goop—half of which was splattered about the marble sink of the luxurious penthouse suite they shared—into the latest style of deliberate disarray.

  “Not nearly as good as you, master,” Beltane said with genuine adoration. You had to love a demon who showed such affection.

  Jasper smiled and patted the boy, who was much like a son to him, on the shoulder, being careful not to touch the goop. In fact, Jasper was dressed in similar fashion to Beltane, also in Hugo Boss, but his suit was black with a black silk shirt and black tie, and a rare Asian pearl tie tack. All that blackness—hell and damnation, but he did favor the color black—provided a sharp contrast to his long, platinum-blond hair, which was pulled back off his face and tied into a queue on his neck with a diamond-studded black ribbon.

  The good thing about being a Lucipire—well, one of the good things—was that when they took humanoid form, they could look like their old selves, or better, or even completely different. Jasper had once turned humanoid in the outward appearance of George Clooney. Whoo-boy, did he attract women that night! And added at least five new baby Lucipires to his killing jars, where he cured his victims until they reached stasis and agreed to become one of his legions.

  They turned into the entrance of a sushi restaurant where Zeb was waiting for them at a discreet rear table. He was eating raw fish of some sort. Eeew! Jasper loved caviar, but sushi held no appeal. Beltane, who orde
red some kind of eel or octopus concoction, was not so discriminating, or maybe he was discriminating and Jasper was the one out of sync, he conceded magnanimously, in his own not-so-humble opinion. Still, he was planning to have a nice, very rare, juicy steak later this evening, perhaps shared with that new Lucipire haakai, Delilah. No, not the biblical Delilah, but equally tantalizing with puffy red lips that could . . . well, suffice it to say, she liked to eat, too.

  He noticed then how understated Zeb was in a plain black T-shirt tucked into slim denim jeans and scruffy boots, and wondered if he might be overdressed. But then he shrugged. Anything goes in Las Vegas, he quipped to himself.

  “What’s the latest report?” he asked Zeb right off once the waiter left them.

  Zeb, who was heading the entire casino operation, wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and set it aside. Despite his slightly hooked nose, Zeb was a handsome man.

  “Spectacular,” Zeb replied. “And this after only two days in operation. Roughly three hundred kills total between Vegas, Reno, Macau, and Monaco. Hector, Haroun, and Yakov are as pleased with the results as I am. I know, that number could be a lot higher, but we are proceeding with caution this time. Kill slowly and not all in one place. No need to alert human authorities of so many missing persons on any one day, or to alert the vangels of our presence in the gambling centers.”

  Jasper nodded his approval. Haste had been their downfall in the past.

  “Another thing. Let us set a time limit on this venture. Perhaps two weeks. Leave on a high note. Then we can return to this venue—casinos—sometime in the future.”

  “Excellent idea!” Jasper was becoming increasingly pleased with his choice of Zeb in this leadership role.

  After Zeb left to check on his minions in Reno, a casino city less than five hundred miles northwest of Las Vegas, Jasper looked at Beltane and said, “I’m in the mood for a little blood. How about you? Or are you too full from all that raw crap?”

  “I am never too full for more blood.” Beltane’s fangs were already starting to emerge. With a giggle, he put a hand over his mouth to hide his arousal.

  “I know just the drug dealer and brothel madam who will suit our purposes.”

  They both transported out of the casino, leaving the slight scent of sulfur behind them.

  Date with a vampire . . . uh, angel . . . uh, Viking . . . whatever, he was hot! . . .

  Miranda couldn’t stop looking at Mordr. She was in the passenger seat of the Lexus SUV he was driving as they approached the city. With her directions, he followed the route she took every day to work, presumably to show her the strange creatures—demon vampires, for heaven’s sake—that were infiltrating the city, so that she would take his advice and stay away from town for the time being.

  She had news for him. Las Vegas attracted strange people like locusts. You were just as likely to run into “Jesus” on a street pulpit as mermaids swimming beneath the waves of an indoor ocean. Here was a further news flash: Mordr was rather strange himself.

  In only a half hour, the amount of time he’d allotted for them to get ready, he’d managed to shower and shave, don a designer white T-shirt tucked into belted, navy-blue pleated slacks, and slip bare feet into loafers. He’d combed his hair back into a ponytail low on his neck, and, yes, he wore a long, black cloak similar to the ones his brothers wore. She now knew the voluminous garment hid an arsenal of scary weapons. Frightening to contemplate, but reassuring in her dire situation.

  Stealing a quick, slanted glance his way, just short of an ogle, Miranda noted that Mordr looked like a Viking, of course, with his height and chiseled Nordic features, but he also looked a bit dangerous in a vampire kind of way with that cloak and his brooding demeanor. Who was she kidding? Scary or not, the man was gorgeous.

  Miranda had showered, too, and quickly shimmied into a short-sleeved, scoop-necked dress of teal-blue silk that ended just above her knees. Its black belt matched her black high-heeled sandals. To save time in blow drying she’d skinned her wet hair back off her face into a figure eight chignon. From her ears dangled long aquamarine chandelier earrings that caught the light. She’d even applied makeup. Foundation, mascara, rose-colored lipstick, and just a hint of smoky eye shadow.

  Coming downstairs, she’d found Mordr standing by the door, waiting impatiently for her. All he’d said was, “You did not wear the bow dress.”

  “Hah! That dress is retired for the duration.”

  “The duration of what?”

  “The duration of your stay.”

  “Probably for the best.”

  For some contrary reason, she wished she’d chosen to wear the darn wraparound dress, which would forever evoke erotic memories for her.

  The children had gawked at her with wide eyes. You’d think she never dressed up for an activity that didn’t include them.

  “Wow!” Maggie had said.

  “I will second that,” Harek had said.

  “And I third it,” Cnut had said.

  Mordr had said nothing. The jerk!

  “You know, sometimes you take the Brother Grim persona a little too far,” she’d remarked.

  “Needs must,” he’d replied enigmatically.

  Now it was only eight-thirty, dusk outside, but she was cocooned with him in the dim interior of his SUV, thanks to the tinted windows. Into the silence, she remarked, “A Lexus SUV, huh? Your line of work must pay well.”

  They could have taken her car, but Mordr had taken one look at it and said, “No, thank you.” She didn’t blame him. She drove a dinged-up Excursion van, a big monster of a car, necessary for carting about five little unruly passengers, two of whom had still been in booster seats when she’d first adopted them. Those booster seats were now replaced with sports equipment and other paraphernalia that children had to cart around.

  “This vehicle belongs to my brother Trond. I did not want to drive my own vehicle cross-country.”

  “And your vehicle would be?”

  “A Hummer.”

  She laughed. “That figures.”

  He arched a brow at her but reverted back to his usual infuriating silence. Even on a date of sorts, he didn’t exert himself to talk unless absolutely necessary. Had he never heard of polite conversation? Okay, it wasn’t a date, but still . . .

  Finally, she asked, “Do you really think you can convince me that there are demon creatures skulking about town?”

  “I know I can.”

  “Tell me again how this all came about,” she said.

  He darted a quick look her way as if to see if she really wanted to know or was only making conversation. It was a mixture of both.

  “Many centuries ago, Lucifer created demon vampires called Lucipires under the direction of his comrade Jasper. Not being satisfied with bad folks going to Hell the usual way, after human death, he decided to speed up the process. Why not grab sinful humans, those really, really bad ones, early on, before they have a chance to repent?”

  She sighed with the impossibility of accepting such a claim. Still she asked, “How do they do that?”

  “The Lucies fang sinners, putting them into a condition of stasis. Then the demon vampires suck the blood out of their bodies. Once depleted, the bodies disappear. Many of the missing people reported throughout the world are actually victims now living in Horror, or one of the other Lucie haunts.”

  “Horror, like the horror of spending eternity in the fires of Hell?”

  He shook his head. “No. Horror is the name of the main Lucie headquarters, currently located somewhere in the far North near the Arctic regions, which is definitely not hot. There are other Lucie command centers around the world with such names as Anguish, Terror, Torment, and Desolation.”

  “Creative names, anyway,” she joked.

  He didn’t smile. Surprise, surprise.

  “Sometimes, the Lucipires fang an evil human being but are unable to complete the process, whether through the humans fighting them off, interruption, or some unexpected happ
ening. Then, the fanged human carries a lemony scent, which is a tempting lure to any Lucie within a mile. That human can still be redeemed, and it is the job of vangels to reach them first and try to reverse the process. Usually, it is too late, but not always.”

  “You said the victims disappear after this fanging and draining business. Where do they go then?”

  “Usually to one of the Lucipire haunts, like I said, where they are turned into demon vampires after an intense, excruciating torture training.”

  Good Lord! The man does tell a good story. Maybe he’s a writer of fantasy novels. Stephen King in a cloak. “So, there is an afterlife?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not just Heaven and Hell?”

  “Correct.”

  Definitely fantasy material. “You realize this is an impossible story to believe.”

  He shrugged.

  “You do realize that you sound like a whack job. Instead of making me understand, you’re just scaring the daylights out of me.”

  “You should be scared,” he said, not for the first time.

  “Of you?”

  “Me, and all others I’ve described for you.”

  She thought about his words for a moment. If everything Mordr said was true, she was afraid. But not of him. For some odd reason, she felt safe with him. “I’m not afraid of you,” she told him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Do I turn here?”

  “Yes. See the ‘Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas’ sign right ahead. It marks the southern tip of the Strip, which runs for more than four miles. My office is one block off Las Vegas Boulevard, at the other end.”