Page 74 of Kiss of Wrath

The apple was never so sweet. Note to self: Apples are red. Miranda is red-haired. Both are sweet temptation.

A fog swirled around them, carrying the scent of lilies and cloves. Or in her case, he would wager his sword arm that she was smelling sandalwood and lime. His lips did not need to persuade hers to open. She was already parted and welcoming him in. With fingers tunneling through her hair, his mouth came down hard on hers, and the fierce drugging kisses that followed almost caused his knees to buckle.

Never had a kiss been so powerful. As intimate as the sex act itself, but not nearly as satisfying. Like the dancing they had just engaged in, they sought each other’s rhythm, then created a new, blended one of their own.

He tore his mouth from hers, and his head shot up with sudden alertness. He had heard something. Then he caught a faint whiff of something familiar. Sulfur. Lemon.

“Stay here, and do not move,” he ordered. Pulling a compact metal object from an inside pocket of his cloak, he flicked a switch and it snapped into a full-length sword. Like magic it would appear, but actually an engineering marvel created decades ago by an especially talented vangel blacksmith. In the other hand, he already held a throwing star. Both had been specially treated with the symbolic blood of Christ, which would destroy any Lucie when wounded. Only then did Mordr shoot with uncommon speed to the far, dark area of the parking garage where two Lucipires were engaged in fanging and draining a man to not just death, but a fate far worse than the ending of human life. A fast track to Horror.

“Halt!” he shouted, causing both Lucies, a man and a woman, to raise their heads. Blood dripped from their huge fangs. Although he had identified them as male and female, it was sometimes difficult to tell the difference when demon vampires were not in humanoid forms. These were mungs. Huge in size, at least seven feet tall, they were covered with scales that oozed slime. Their eyes were red with bloodlust, and their hands were clawed. And tails. How could he forget the tails? If Mike had thought of it, he probably would have given vangels tails, too. As if fangs were not bad enough!

First things first. He must offer the victim—a terrible sinner, he sensed—a chance to repent.

The female mung lunged through the air toward him, and he finished her off quickly with a throwing star to the heart. “Good-bye, Lucie. Give Satan my regards.” Immediately, she began to dissolve into a pool of sulfur-smelling slime.

The victim, half-drained of blood but not yet in stasis, let loose a terrible scream. “Help me,” he pleaded.

The other mung was still trying to feed on him.

Mordr kicked the Lucie aside, and the beast hit the concrete wall with a loud cracking noise.

Mordr retrieved his throwing star and turned his attentions to the dying man, and there was no question he would be dead shortly. The question was whether he would die after repenting and await God’s judgment on the Final Day. Or go to Horror today and eventually become a Lucie.

Through mind reading, something vangels were able to do when in the midst of saving souls, Mordr knew that this man, Lewis Robideaux, had profited for many years on child pornography. One of the worst kinds of sinners. Still, Mordr had to offer the man a chance to repent before his death. “Do you, Lewis, repent of your sins? Do you revile Satan and take Christ as your Lord and Savior?”

Robideaux’s bleary eyes tried to focus on Mordr, whose fangs were out in preparation for a fanging to save his soul, if possible. Once he was able to bring Mordr into focus, not too happy with another fanged being, Robideaux laughed, blood gurgling from his mouth, and said, “Fuck you!”

“So be it!”

Mordr turned away from the man to find that the other mung had only cracked his head open, not a deadly blow for a powerful Lucie. They just stuffed their brains back in and resumed normal evil activities, like charging at Mordr with a battle-axe raised on high. Swinging the instrument in a wide arc, he almost decapitated Mordr, who jumped back just in time. The force of the heavy weapon pulled the mung with it, not having made purchase with Mordr’s neck—thank you, God—and Mordr was able to thrust his sword into the miscreant’s heart. The Lucie soon joined his partner in slimeville.

Through his side vision, Mordr noticed that yet another Lucie had come on the scene and was draining Robideaux to the point where his body was evaporating into thin air. Another convert for the other side. This Lucie was a haakai, older and stronger than the mungs. Mordr knew him well. Quintus, a former Roman soldier, had delighted in feeding Christians to the lions back in Colosseum days.

“Ah, Mordr, so we meet again,” Quintus drawled, pulling a pattern-welded long sword from its jewel-encrusted scabbard at his side.

Mordr assumed a battle stance, legs spread, knees bent. He wished he had his old broadsword with him, Vengeance, but this thinner, more flexible rapier would do.

They both thrust and parried several times, getting their bearings, testing each other.

But then, Quintus made the mistake of taunting Mordr. “I met a fellow the other day down in Hell, Olaf Hordsson, he who raped your daughter and cleaved your son’s skull through like a melon. Tasty treats, they both were, according to Olaf.”

Mordr could not control the berserk rage that came over him then. With a roar of fury he cleft Quintus from skull to groin, watching with satisfaction as the Lucie’s skin turned bright red and began to dissolve. Even then, Mordr continued to hack away at what was left of the man until there was naught but a puddle of slime. Bending over with palms on his thighs, he scanned the area to see if there were any more Lucies about. There were not. He panted for breath, trying to force his berserkness back inside. Otherwise, the bloodlust would be on him for any killing, not just demon vampires.

Only when his heartbeat slowed down to a hundred beats a minute, give or take, and the roar in his head calmed down to a mere rumble did he replace his soiled weapons to their special pockets inside his cloak. He turned then and began to walk back toward Miranda. And saw her standing not where he had left her in the protective enclosure of the alcove, but a short distance away. Watching him.

How long had she been standing there? What had she seen?

He reached out a hand to comfort her and she flinched, drawing back several steps. “Don’t you dare touch me, you . . . you monster.”

He could not argue with that. He was a monster of sorts. Why else would he have been made a vangel?

But then he saw something else in her eyes and horrified expression. She was afraid of him. Or repulsed. Or both.

She stared fixedly at his bloodied hands and the bits of demon vampire slime on his cloak and his fangs, which were still extended. He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, causing the fangs to retract. With a grunt of disgust, he went over to the SUV, where he popped the tailgate. Taking off his cloak, he placed it carefully in the back. Then he went around to the passenger side and opened the door. He took several holy water wipes from a special box in the glove compartment, using them to wipe his face and hands, then tossed them in a nearby trash bin.

Motioning toward the still-open car door, he said, “Come. I will take you home.”

She shook her head. “Who are you? Are you one of them?” She motioned with her head toward the piles of slime.