Viktor: Heart of Her King by Julia Mills Page B

atrocities against humanity. There is no defense you can mount that will result in anything but your complete and utter death.
    “I, Viktoras Katsaros, Unum of the Kings of the Blood, exercise the authority given me by the God of Sky and Thunder and Father of the Gods, Zeus, to pronounce you guilty of all charges. Execution will be swift. Do you witness and confirm this ruling, Bain Kostas and Tommas Papadopoulos, also Kings of the Blood and loyal to Zeus?”
    “We do,” the men answered in unison.
    Bjorn was wailing. He had given up on begging Viktor and was slithering across the blood soaked earth pleading for leniency from Bain and Tommas. Kneeling, Bain grabbed Bjorn by the hair and jerked his head up until the bastard was looking into the King’s eyes.
    With venom only one who’d suffered at the bastard’s hands could have, Bain growled, “There is no leniency here. There is only death.”
    Standing while maintaining his grip on Bjorn’s hair, Bain lifted the bastard to his knees just as Viktor swung the god-sword. His aim was true. Bjorn’s head was separated from his neck.
    For several long seconds, the Kings stood perfectly still, covered in the blood of their enemy. It was a fitting end to the Bastard of Achaea. Each King prayed for their own immortal soul and that of those they held dear.
    Viktor was the first to speak, “Bain, take the head to the sea. Burn it and throw the ashes into the surf. Tommas, take the body to the mountain top, burn it and bury the ashes in the caves under the boulders of the dead.”
    To the dead eyes of his fallen foe still hanging from Bain’s grip, Viktor said, “May you remain trapped between the two worlds forever, never knowing rest, never knowing peace, always wanting but never nourished. This is the penance you must pay for daring to touch my custos animae .”
    Without another word, Viktor turned and left the forest in search of Katarina. He could smell the death pyres the other Kings were using to dispose of Bjorn’s followers. The acrid aroma burnt his nostrils but it was a welcome scent. The bastard was dead. That debt was paid. The others would be dealt with another time. Viktor could mate the keeper of his heart in the way of his people without threat and with a clear heart.
    Clearing the tree line, Viktor looked to what was left of the manor. It would be destroyed as soon as...
    All thought stopped when Roman walked out into the daylight holding an unconscious Katarina in his arms. Sprinting to them, Viktor stripped the blood-soaked shirt from his body, and using a towel thrown at him from Salvatore, wiped away any excess that remained. With the utmost care he took his mate from his second, holding her to his chest and praying to all the gods of the Pantheon for her survival.
    Walking to the gardens nearly two hundred yards away, he revealed the depth of his feelings for her in hushed, reverent tones. With a devotion that can only come from a pure heart filled with true love, Viktor lowered Katarina onto the stone bench beside a trellis overflowing with magenta bougainvillea. He cursed at the bruises circling her neck and the broken skin of her wrists. In that moment, he wished for Bjorn to be resurrected so that he might slay him again.
    Viktor knew she lived, could feel her life force, saw proof in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, but had no idea why she would not wake. Kneeling beside her, he prayed for guidance, hoping with all that he was she would arise the vibrant woman who held is heart. She was the one, the only one he could ever love and he didn’t need Destiny, Zeus, or any other deity to tell him so.
    Hours later, still bowed in prayer, Viktor’s devotions were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Jumping to his feet, livid someone would dare to interrupt, the ancient warrior spun on his heels to confront the intruder...but the words froze in his lungs.
    Standing before him was a well-dressed gentleman whose aura shone with the light of the