humor,” she remarked after wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.
“Me? You think I am funny?” That was not the way he wanted to appear, especially to a beautiful woman.
“Not funny. Appreciative of the humor in life. Being able to laugh at yourself.”
Well, that wasn’t so bad, he supposed, and whacked himself mentally for caring. Foolish pride, again!
The waitress, a young girl who wore a low-cut blouse that exposed her neck and painted-on fang marks dripping blood, brought their order. Juicy bacon cheeseburgers, French fries, and iced tea for her and a bottle of beer for him.
At first they just ate in silence, enjoying the meal. He especially enjoyed watching her enjoy eating French fries. First she dipped the long fried potato sticks in catsup, then sucked the red matter off the end before taking precisely three sharp bites out of each and every one. But then Alex pulled out a little black box and set it on the table between them. A mini tape recorder.
Uh-oh!
“Do you mind?” she asked. “It helps for accuracy when I get down to writing my article.”
He hesitated, then shrugged. There was going to be no article, but she did not need to know that yet.
“I noticed that your fangs were not out at all today? So, they’re fake, right?”
He finished swallowing from his long-necked bottle. “For a certainty, my fangs are real, but I can control them. Most times. That comes with age.”
“How old are you?”
“I was born in 817 and died when I was thirty and three.”
She choked on her hamburger and had to take a long drink of iced tea before scoffing, “More than a thousand years old?”
“Yes. As for the fangs. Mostly I can keep them recessed, but when I am angry, about to engage in a fight to the death with a Lucie, or excited . . . in other ways . . . I cannot control them.”
“What in blazes is a Lucie?”
“Lucies are a short name for Lucipires. I told you about them before.”
She still looked skeptical.
Oh, now you have done it, wench! You will regret your hasty disbelief when I show you . “For example, if I picture you lying on my bed, naked, with black satin sheets framing your white skin, your red hair spread out like flames, your nether hair a nest of red dandelion fluff, and your freckles standing out like gold dust—”
“That is enough!” she squeaked out. “And I do not have red hair. And it doesn’t look like dandelion fluff down there.”
He shrugged and licked his bottom lip, then showed her his extended fangs. “You excite me,” he explained, pointing to his teeth.
“It must be a trick. Some kind of marvel you’ve perfected.”
It was a good thing a table separated them and hid him from waist down or he would show her other marvels. “Accept it, m’lady. For my sins, I am a Viking vampire angel. If you believe naught else, believe that.”
“Okay, let’s assume that I do believe, tell me how it happened. When did it start?”
“Is this going to be Interview with the Vampire ?” he teased, avoiding the inevitable, knowing how revolted she would be by him afterward.
“I’m no Anne Rice, Vikar.”
“And I’m no vampire Louis.”
She gave him a sharp touché! look of approval at his quick retort. “I’m just a reporter. A good one. Be honest with me, and I’ll do an honest story. Now, start at the beginning.”
He took a deep breath, then started, “God was angry with the Vikings for our arrogance and bloodthirstiness and mostly because we worshipped other gods. Odin, Thor, and the like. He decided to destroy our entire race.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You don’t pull any punches.”
“If you want the truth, you are going to have to let me tell the story, my way. And if you think about it, you will realize there is no Viking society today. Why is that, do you suppose? How could such a powerful class of people just disappear and meld into other cultures?”
She shook her head slowly, having no answer for him. You didn’t have to be a
“Me? You think I am funny?” That was not the way he wanted to appear, especially to a beautiful woman.
“Not funny. Appreciative of the humor in life. Being able to laugh at yourself.”
Well, that wasn’t so bad, he supposed, and whacked himself mentally for caring. Foolish pride, again!
The waitress, a young girl who wore a low-cut blouse that exposed her neck and painted-on fang marks dripping blood, brought their order. Juicy bacon cheeseburgers, French fries, and iced tea for her and a bottle of beer for him.
At first they just ate in silence, enjoying the meal. He especially enjoyed watching her enjoy eating French fries. First she dipped the long fried potato sticks in catsup, then sucked the red matter off the end before taking precisely three sharp bites out of each and every one. But then Alex pulled out a little black box and set it on the table between them. A mini tape recorder.
Uh-oh!
“Do you mind?” she asked. “It helps for accuracy when I get down to writing my article.”
He hesitated, then shrugged. There was going to be no article, but she did not need to know that yet.
“I noticed that your fangs were not out at all today? So, they’re fake, right?”
He finished swallowing from his long-necked bottle. “For a certainty, my fangs are real, but I can control them. Most times. That comes with age.”
“How old are you?”
“I was born in 817 and died when I was thirty and three.”
She choked on her hamburger and had to take a long drink of iced tea before scoffing, “More than a thousand years old?”
“Yes. As for the fangs. Mostly I can keep them recessed, but when I am angry, about to engage in a fight to the death with a Lucie, or excited . . . in other ways . . . I cannot control them.”
“What in blazes is a Lucie?”
“Lucies are a short name for Lucipires. I told you about them before.”
She still looked skeptical.
Oh, now you have done it, wench! You will regret your hasty disbelief when I show you . “For example, if I picture you lying on my bed, naked, with black satin sheets framing your white skin, your red hair spread out like flames, your nether hair a nest of red dandelion fluff, and your freckles standing out like gold dust—”
“That is enough!” she squeaked out. “And I do not have red hair. And it doesn’t look like dandelion fluff down there.”
He shrugged and licked his bottom lip, then showed her his extended fangs. “You excite me,” he explained, pointing to his teeth.
“It must be a trick. Some kind of marvel you’ve perfected.”
It was a good thing a table separated them and hid him from waist down or he would show her other marvels. “Accept it, m’lady. For my sins, I am a Viking vampire angel. If you believe naught else, believe that.”
“Okay, let’s assume that I do believe, tell me how it happened. When did it start?”
“Is this going to be Interview with the Vampire ?” he teased, avoiding the inevitable, knowing how revolted she would be by him afterward.
“I’m no Anne Rice, Vikar.”
“And I’m no vampire Louis.”
She gave him a sharp touché! look of approval at his quick retort. “I’m just a reporter. A good one. Be honest with me, and I’ll do an honest story. Now, start at the beginning.”
He took a deep breath, then started, “God was angry with the Vikings for our arrogance and bloodthirstiness and mostly because we worshipped other gods. Odin, Thor, and the like. He decided to destroy our entire race.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You don’t pull any punches.”
“If you want the truth, you are going to have to let me tell the story, my way. And if you think about it, you will realize there is no Viking society today. Why is that, do you suppose? How could such a powerful class of people just disappear and meld into other cultures?”
She shook her head slowly, having no answer for him. You didn’t have to be a
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