Viktor: Heart of Her King by Julia Mills Page A

arteries. Viktor wanted the bastard to bleed...slowly and painfully. Death would come to the man responsible for so much pain and destruction but first, the bastard had to suffer.
    Sparks flew as the iron of Bjorn’s double-edged blade clashed with the bronze of Viktor’s god-sword as inside the manor, Bjorn’s men were being systematically exterminated by the other Kings. Viktor drew strength from his comrades’ relentless determination. He knew the bastard was using magic from Eris; the slimy feel of its ill intent tainted the air around them. It was the only thing keeping Bjorn on his feet.
    From the crimson color of his once ecru sweater to the trail of blood he was leaving on the ground, the bastard was dying. Slowly bleeding to death just as he deserved. Dike, the goddess of moral order and fair judgement, may be swift with her justice but Viktor would not pray for her favor. He would exact his revenge for himself. He was the Unum , a King of the Blood, and he demanded payment. He claimed his pound of flesh. He would cut it from Bjorn’s useless hide as the bastard lay dying. Bjorn would pay with his immortal life. 
    Deep circles under the bastard’s eyes and the pallor of his once olive complexion pleased Viktor as little else ever had. Continuing his brutal assault, the King drove Bjorn into the forest, looking for the opportune place to end the wretch’s life. But first, Viktor had to find the source of Eris’ magic, for if he didn’t, Bjorn’s vengeful goddess would simply resurrect the bastard.
    One crushing blow after another of the god-sword and Bjorn was little more than a withering husk of a man only animated by the dirty magic of a forsaken goddess. Lifting his blade over his head, Viktor poured every ounce of disgust and hatred he felt for the bastard into the downward swing of his blade. The weapon blessed by the Father of the Gods sliced through skin and bone as if they were no more than warm butter. Bjorn’s hand still holding his dagger flew through the air, severed from his wrist. The bastard fell to the ground, holding his bloody stump to his chest, crawling backward on his knees, begging for mercy.
    “Mercy? You now think to beg for mercy at the end of my sword?” Viktor scoffed. “You will find no mercy here, bastard .” The King leaned forward and through gritted teeth snarled, “There is only your death and no obolus to pay the ferryman.”
    Bjorn grabbed for Viktor’s leg with his free hand. The King side-stepped to avoid the bastard’s vulgar touch. Bjorn fell forward, only just keeping his face from the forest floor by rolling to the side. A glitter of something shiny against the fallen leaves caught Viktor’s eye. It was the pendant of Eris, a small but deadly replication of the Apple of Discord.
    Advancing on Bjorn, Viktor couldn’t help but smirk when the bastard rolled into a fetal position, cradling what was left of his arm to avoid further assault. Using the tip of his sword, the King cut the leather cord around Bjorn’s neck. Kneeling, Viktor retrieved the charm.
    Holding the apple at arm’s length in the palm of his hand, the King threw the pendant into the air. And just as Bjorn screamed for him to stop, Viktor swung the god-sword, slicing the apple in two. Dark, dank magic poured from the halves of the golden fruit. Unsure where the knowledge had come from but with an unwavering belief in his actions, Viktor pointed his blessed blade at the source of the evil.
    Lightning flew from the tip of the god-sword, eliminating not only the apple, but also the black magic. Bjorn wailed, begging for reprieve, crying to the sky, trying to crawl from the certainty of his fate. Viktor shook his head at the quivering mass before him. Bain and Tommas appeared through the trees as Viktor shoved the toe of his boot under Bjorn’s side, rolling him to his back.
    Nodding to the younger Kings, he looked at the wretch before him. “I find you guilty, Bjorn Markis, of innumerable