Cnut had to admit that Zeb was a good-looking guy, just as Andrea had said, long eyelashes and all.
“Well, if you give me to Jasper, you’ll never become a vangel.”
“I know. Here’s the deal, buddy. I could give up the idea of being a vangel if I could just stop being a Lucipire. I’d ask you to kill me, in return for saving you, but then I’d just be sent to Hell to be Satan’s minion. I don’t suppose, if I saved you, Michael would come save me. You know, a reward for my good deed? I wouldn’t even care if he made me a vangel as long as I didn’t play on the other team anymore.”
“I don’t know, Zeb. Mike is hard to predict. You saw that in how he hasn’t made you any firm promises for being a double agent. I could try to intercede for you, but, honestly, he’s never shown any particular favor toward me.”
“I hear he’s fond of Ivak’s little one.”
“He dotes on the kid.” Cnut thought a moment. “How about if you come back with me to the castle and ask Vikar for protection?”
“Could he do that without Michael’s permission?”
“Well, no, but—”
Zeb put up both hands. “So we are back to step one. Michael.”
They finished eating and watched the nightly news while they both cleaned up. All the stations were reporting on the latest ISIS atrocities. “Satan and Jasper must be eating this stuff up,” Cnut remarked.
“Yep. Like shooting fish in a barrel, all these homegrown evil terrorists just waiting to be picked off.”
“Fighting them reminds me that modern carnival game. Whack-a-Mole. Ever heard of it? No. It pretty much amounts to trying to hit moles with a hammer as they randomly pop in and out of holes. Almost impossible to win. It also refers to repetitious and futile efforts to combat something.”
“Like terrorists,” Zeb guessed.
Cnut nodded. “And Lucies.”
Zeb bowed, as if he’d given him a compliment.
After watching a couple of shows on TV—the reception was spotty and often went in and out—Zeb said he was going to bed. He had a lot of thinking to do. Before he left, Cnut asked, “Andrea? Are you sure she’s safe?”
“Is she your lifemate?”
Cnut didn’t hesitate. “She is.”
“Then know that she’s safe . . . no matter where you end up.”
“Thank you for that.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
Cnut had a lot to think about, too. He honestly didn’t know what to do about Zeb. He sensed his sincerity, and frankly, he liked the guy, even if he was a demon. But Cnut didn’t feel in a position to help him.
On the other hand, holy shit! Cnut was facing the prospect of unimaginable horror at what Jasper would do in torturing him. Did any man, even a vangel, know for sure that he would withstand that kind of torture? What if Cnut turned?
Cnut got down on his knees then and prayed. “Help me, Lord. Help me to be strong.”
He awakened the next morning in the spare bedroom to the scent of fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen. When he came out of the bathroom after a quick shower, he saw that Zeb was nowhere to be found. But there was a note:
Cnut:
I’ve placed a force field around the island. It will last twenty-four hours, after which you can teletransport out of here. Pray for me, friend. I am so frightened.
Zebulan the Hebrew
Cnut kicked the walls and swore a bloody streak. He should have known what Zeb would do. He should have tried harder to come up with a compromise they could both live with. After that, Cnut wept.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Andrea . . .
Andrea arrived in the town of Transylvania at about five p.m. and got stuck in the downtown traffic for a half hour, which gave her time to look around. And, oh my goodness, what a hokey tourist trap devoted to everything vampire.
She used her GPS to find the turn-off for the castle. Soon, she came to a closed electronic gate. A sign read: “No Trespassing. Private Property!” She was so stressed out and pumped up that she probably would have tried to ram right through the thing, but luckily a man stepped out of a small gatehouse. He appeared to have been reading a book, which he still carried in one hand. A graphic novel of The Walking Dead. In the other hand, he carried a pistol. Although he wore modern attire, jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt, he was Viking to the core, with a tall, lean physique, blond buzz cut, and sharp Nordic features.
“Can’t you read, lady?”
And arrogant, another Viking attitude.
“I can read, Einstein. I’m here to see Cnut Sigurdsson.”
“Is that so? He’s not here.”
Andrea’s shoulders slumped. “Well, then, I need to talk to his brother Vikar.” Or someone.