The Bastard (19 page)

A hard thumb jammed in Vike’s eye, trying to force the ball from the socket. He wedged his arm under Myth’s elbow and flung it wide then used his forehead as a club, nailing Myth square in the face. Blood spewed from his busted nose.

“You motherfucker.” Myth shoved him then launched like an arrow. Pain exploded as his teeth sank into the meat of Vike’s cheek and a hot trickle of blood joined his gushing lip. Ignoring the sting, he drew back and throat punched the fucking pansy-assed biter. Myth stumbled back.

“That was a pussy move,” yelled Vike. “Women bite, men fight.”

“Men win, losers whine.” Using his faster speed to Vike’s bulk, Myth vaulted the rowing machine, wrapped his arm around Vike’s neck and jammed one knee into his spine. Air pinched from his lungs and black swirled along the edges of his reddened vision. He planted his feet wide, grabbed the strangling arm and yanked the taller man over his shoulder. Myth hit the floor with a crunch of bone.

He groaned. “Damn, that hurts. Are you done yet?”

Chest heaving, Vike wiped his bloody lip. The red haze was gone, his body humming with satisfaction. “Yeah, think so.”

He offered his hand then pulled Myth to his feet. Grinning through bloody teeth, Myth snagged a fresh towel from the shelf. “Glad I could help.”

“I needed that. Thanks…asshole.” Vike snorted.

Using water from the drinking fountain, they cleaned away dripping blood. Myth held the wet towel to his nose. “Mad and Dray checked in. You’re pouting because Nomad sent you home to Lacy.”

“She’s Scion. I’m playing the hero to keep her clueless, that’s all.” Vike used his wrist to wipe the blood from his lip, avoiding eye contact.

“Then you’re stupid. We were all married at one time, but since we died, women have been for a handful of nights or a quick screw when the juice builds up. It’s cheap no matter how much you pay, as cold and impersonal as taking a piss. But Lacy’s upstairs waiting on you. She wants to take care of you, not because you’re fucking her, but because she’s a sweetheart. You matter to her.”

“I’m not pussy whipped.”

Myth tossed the bloody hand towel at him. “I would be, gladly. We gained a lot when Sela Awoke us, but we lost some precious things, too. I can get laid any night of the year, but I miss being loved and loving a woman.”

Vike took the time to wipe the moisture from his forehead, shielding his face. “I just met her. I don’t love her. Sure, I like the sex, but I’m protecting her, that’s all.”

Myth tongued his swelling lip in controlled silence. Self-recrimination tightened Vike’s fists. He’d only known Lacy a few weeks. How in the hell had she wormed so deep in his blood that imagining life without her seemed a yawning span of nothingness? This was something he’d never felt. He’d loved Hildy and pined for her during the long months at sea, but after a while on land, he’d start yearning for the open waves and the quiet rush of air against the sails.

Thinking of his life after Lacy chilled him like a north November wind. “She’s going to grow old and die, live out her natural life the normal way, and I’ll still be swinging an axe and chopping down Leeches.”

“But while you have it, cherish it. I’m older than dirt, man. It’s not gold I miss. It’s not power or slaves or anything like that. It’s looking into someone’s eyes and knowing they love me.”

Vike hung his head, the damp terrycloth bunching in his fist. “You loved your wife?”

“Loved two of them, liked two well enough, hated the one bitch my father forced on me. I exiled her ass as soon as she gave me a son.”

“Polygamy’s a bitch.”

“Nah, has its bennies. Never got tired of fucking the same woman.” Myth grinned, his blood-pinkened teeth shining against his dark skin. “Did you love your wife?”

“Too much,” Vike murmured. “She got me killed.”

The smile slid from Myth’s face. “Watch your back this time around.”

Vike dressed and tucked his Beretta into his sock, pulling his pant leg down to cover the weapon. Hildy stoked his killing rages, but he had to hide them from Lacy. Irony tasted like the copper filling his mouth from his busted lip.

Myth finished rinsing his mouth at the fountain, spit, then looked up. “Behind every man is someone who loves him. That person makes him either a better man or a worse one, depending on their expectations. Lacy calls you a hero. You’ve changed for her. But only you can decide if that change is real or temporary.”

A huge black hand clapped him on the back then vanished as Myth Leaped out. Vike didn’t Leap. He took his time, climbing the stairs to the upper floor, his mind whirling with questions. He stopped with one foot inside the hallway.

Shit, Annie. Lacy was probably frantic and he had no answers to give her. He ducked into Gen’s apartment. The scent smacked him in the face. Incense, slightly stale air and a mustiness that came from being closed up. He threw open the terrace door, letting cold wind whip into the room. They should pack this stuff up. A storage room on the lower level housed possessions from several sleeping Forsaken. Vike’s eyes drifted to the couch, popcorn scattered on the cushion.

Was it only a month ago he and Gen sat cheering a ball game? His stomach throbbed from Myth’s pummeling. Gen was the one he normally sparred with when the juice built up and his Berserker blood raged. Never again.

Tamping down the loss, he pulled his phone free and dialed.

“What?” Rex sounded out of breath.

“What happened at Annie’s?”

There was the creak of a mattress, a slid of cotton and a murmur in the background. “Nothing. Had to be a local thing. They just kicked in the door, but she hasn’t got anything to steal. I wedged the door shut until she can replace the lock and told her to ask the cops to do a couple drive-bys. I doubt it’ll happen. That whole section of town is a cesspool.”

“So it wasn’t the Third?”

“Doubtful. Some Leech is still watching, but didn’t make himself known.”

“All right. I owe you one.”

“Yes, you do, Viking.”

The call clipped off. Gen’s apartment was cold now, and dark, no lights burning. Vike closed the glass door and looked around one last time. Then he headed for his own apartment and Lacy.

Bumps and noises echoed from the bathroom, so he slipped the Beretta into the nightstand drawer. Small touches scattered around the room– her brush on the dresser, a ponytail holder wrapped around the bedpost — should have stirred unease in him. He hadn’t shared his bedroom with a woman in over a thousand years. Instead, those feminine markers comforted him.

Lacy exited the bathroom. She looked at him and her jaw dropped. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“Nothing.” He tongued his split lip. “Probably looks worse than it is.”

“It looks like you were hit by a truck.”

Not a truck, a king… that was rumored to be two-thirds a god and punched like one.

“Honestly, it was just a little fight.”

Concern streamed from her eyes but she gave him a brave smile. “Did you win?”

“Uh, not really. But I didn’t exactly lose either.” He had to change the subject. “Annie’s fine, by the way. This had nothing to do with her.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. This was…just stupid shit. Rex was closer so he stopped by Annie’s place. He said it was some locals. That area is really shitty. He fixed her door for the night and the cops are supposed to step up patrols on her street.”
And I’m going to sprout fairy wings
.

Lacy nibbled her lip, worry plain on her face. She exhaled and sent him a weak smile. “Other than the fight you didn’t win or lose, how was your day?”

Sucked like a high-classed whore.
Vike dropped a kiss on her lips. “Okay.”

“Good.” Her nose wrinkled. “Phew! You’re ripe…and bloody.”

“Yeah, I need a shower.”

“Want a beer first?”

“Sure, I’ll stay downwind.” She swatted his arm and pushed him toward the bathroom. That playful punch eased him. Hildy would have insisted he strip and bathe before he touched her. Lacy was different. He could be different with her.

She insisted on wiping his face with a washcloth, dabbing at his face like she was applying makeup or something. When she’d fussed over him enough to soothe herself, she led him into the living room. He took the bottle she handed him and settled into a chair.

She’d removed the cap. The small gesture stopped him and he stared at the rim. Her hands sliding along his back jerked him to attention.

“You’re stiff. Here, let me work some of those knots out.”

Oh Eiríkr, you’re as tight as a skaut. Drink. Relax, maðr. Let me ease you
.

He heard Hildy’s voice as clear as if she were standing behind him. For a split second, the beer in his hand was an earthenware mug of spiced mead. His heart raced, new sweat popping along his brow. Nothing, it meant nothing. It was a polite gesture, nothing more. He downed half the bottle, washing bitterness down.

“Any progress on finding who’s after me?”

You don’t catch the Third. You dust them and box them.
“Some. We’re cutting into their territory and weakening them.”

“Is that how you got banged up?”

“Lace, this is nothing. By morning, you’ll never know I took a punch, I promise.” Because he’d sleep for a bit and heal while she dreamed beside him. Pressure joined with gentle massages along his trapezius muscles. He dropped his head forward, letting her work the tension away.

“Erik.” Something timid in her tone funneled all the stress back into his muscles. “There’s a knife under the mattress. And a gun in the bathroom. And three knives in the couch.”

And a gun in the closet, one taped under the kitchen sink and a dagger behind the television
.

“That thing on your coffee table, it’s a bomb, isn’t it?”

One thing he’d learned as a child was never be without a weapon. That hadn’t changed since his death. “It’s just a timer.”

“Who are you?” Her voice dropped to a pleading whisper. “Please tell me you’re one of the good guys.”

Oh, babe, I can’t do that.

Chapter Ten

Lying suddenly seemed too heavy a weight. He pressed the icy bottle to his forehead. “What do you want me to say, Lace? That I’ve never killed? That I’ve never broken a law? I can’t say those things. We fight dirty, but we fight to win. Maybe we don’t wear white hats but we’re not the real villains.”

The rhythm of her hands never slowed. He wished he could see her face, read what was in her eyes, but he kept his gaze trained on the Grøn Tuborg bottle in his hand. It was closer to the beer of his own time than most American or German brands, but it still lacked the taste of home. He’d learned centuries ago to cope.

It was a Viking trait. As invaders, they conquered in bloodshed and violence, claiming the lands, the people, the riches. But they assimilated and blended into the society, sharing their own and adopting the existing until the two were so intertwined they couldn’t be separated. Maybe that’s why he had never suffered the culture shock other Forsaken had. He adapted and accepted. Could she?

His eyes closed. Gen had been the same way. During his first life, Genghis Khan had claimed huge amounts of territory, including a substantial portion of Central Asia and China. The Mongols had been a different type of invader. They hadn’t forced those conquered to change religions or beliefs. They just absorbed them into the Mongolian fold and reaped the monetary and military benefits. It was one reason he and Gen had gotten along. Off the battlefield, they were easy-going. On the field, they were deadly.

The Forsaken had lost others, men he’d fought beside for hundreds of years but losing them hadn’t hit as hard as losing Gen.

Lacy pulled him from his thoughts with a gentle kiss pressed to his sweaty hair. “So the security firm is what, a fake?”

“In a way, but not really. What we do is important and for the right reasons. We guard things, people, that need our protection.” His jaw shifted as the lie melted away. “We just break whatever laws we have to do ensure those people survive.”

“I guess sometimes you have to use bad stuff to fight the bad stuff, huh?”

His eyes slammed shut. “Yes.”

“None of that timer stuff is going to explode if I move it to dust, is it?”

He snorted. “No. The exploding stuff is down on the work floor. I’ll dump it all in a box for you tonight so you can dust your heart out.”

“Do you do a lot of that? Explosives?”

“Not a lot but some. It’s kind of my field of expertise right now.”

Draining the last of the beer, he put the bottle on the floor. Lacy shook her finger at him, picked it up and walked it into the kitchenette. She tossed it into a can under the sink. When she straightened, a contemplative look pinched her forehead. “Rex is a lawyer. And Myth works with computer stuff. Do you each have a specialty?”

“Sorta. We all do whatever we have to, but —” He ticked each man off on his fingers. “I coordinate transportation and handle explosives. Rex does the legal stuff and is our tactician. Myth deals with tech and information gathering. Dray is our weapons expert and takes care of all communal weaponry. Zale’s our pilot and leader. Nomad’s second in command and does the medical crap. Gen oversees logistics and strategy.”

A fresh wave of loss hit and he looked away.

“I mean, he used to. I guess Zale or Myth will handle that now.”

“Erik.” A soft hand stroked his bruised cheek, turning his face toward her. Climbing onto his lap, she cuddled close, burrowing into his chest despite his sweat-damp shirt. “Tell me about Gen. What was he like?”

A bittersweet scoff ripped from him. “He was an asshole. He busted my chops every chance he got. Like, he was better in martial arts than I am. He said he was working on this fight move called
No Seba Ng
and I should try it since it worked better for bigger guys like me. So I’m in the padded tumble room with my ass in the air, my hands on the mats and am trying to swing up and out. He comes flying in and kicks me square in the pants. I hit the floor and busted my nose all to hell and back. He grinned and said ‘No Seba Ng, Nose bang, got you, Viking.’”