Page 117 of Kiss of Wrath

“This is something different. Will you ride the motorcycle with me around our property when everyone is gone?”

That sounded too tame for Mordr. She figured there had to be a catch.

There was.

“Naked.”

“No way!” she said, ducking out from under his arms and returning to their guests.

“Have you never heard, wife, that it is unwise to challenge a Viking,” he called after her.

In the end, a whole lot of shaking did go on, but it might have just been dancing. Or not.

When they were almost asleep in each other’s arms way later that night, Mordr said. “I will love you forever, heartling.”

The trouble was, he meant that literally.

Matchmakers . . . and angels . . . come in all sizes . . .

Somewhere, high in the skies, Michael was sitting on a cloud with two small children. A black-haired boy of five, and a golden-haired girl of six.

“Is Father happy now?” the girl asked.

The archangel nodded.

“Good,” the girl and boy said at the same time.

Michael, who was ofttimes referred to as the Warrior Angel, stood, “Come, Jomar, we will practice on your swing some more.” He handed the boy his small wooden sword.

Kata preferred to stay behind and sort through the skeins of colored ribands a kind father had bought for her many, many years ago.