Kiss of Surrender Read Online Free PDF Page B

functioning air conditioner and the ninety-degree heat outside. This being Friday night, he wouldn’t mind sleeping until Monday. But he couldn’t do that. There was a half day of PT for trainees in the morning.
    After a shower, a six-pack of reconstituted Fake-O blood that he and Karl had shared surreptitiously, on top of ten hours of SEALs training, not to mention Gig Squad, he was flat-out beat, mentally and physically. Besides that, a quick check of e-mail had shown messages from each of his brothers and one alarming IM from Mike:
    Why have you not yet saved the sinners, Viking?
    Well, gee, Mike, it would help if I knew who those sinners are.
    Why are the Lucipire terrorists still thriving, Viking?
    Earth to Archangel: You expect me to save the entire world all by myself?
    IMO, if you have time to jest, I have not given you enough work to do, Viking. LOL.
    Trond was going to LOL someone, probably his brother Harek, who’d taught Mike how to use a computer.
    So, did Mike mean sinners, as in plural, or was that a keyboard error? Talk about pressure! Ever since Mike had discovered the Internet, the archangel sent him messages via the computer, rather than in his head. Way too many of them! Never cheery ones, either, like “Good job, Trond! How are you? Anything I can do for you?”
    Karl came in, making enough noise to wake a hibernating grizzly with his new pair of rubber-soled shoes that squeaked with every step he took. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Each squeak was like scraping fingernails on a weary concrete brain.
    Trond cracked open one eye and saw his partner was fully dressed in T-shirt, open button-down shirt with silver angel epaulettes on the shoulders, jeans, and the irksome athletic shoes with the tortuous squeak. As Karl sat down on the opposite bunk to tie said athletic shoes, Trond asked, “Where you going?”
    “Down to the exchange to buy a few things.”
    “Condoms?” Trond inquired teasingly, knowing full well that Karl wouldn’t be having sex with any woman, and not just because he was a vangel. Karl had been twenty-two when he died in 1972 during the Vietnam War. He was still a perpetual twenty-two since he’d joined the vampire angel network. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Karl’s wife was still alive. Despite her being sixty-three years old now, and despite Karl not being permitted to show himself to her, he still remained faithful to his marriage vows.
    “Hah!” Karl snorted. “More like deodorant and cigarettes.”
    Karl smoked every chance he got, which wasn’t often here on base where “No Smoking” signs were posted everywhere. He couldn’t blame the man, though. There weren’t many sins a vangel was permitted. And while smoking might be a stinking habit, chances of the vangel smoker dying of cancer were nil since he was already—ha, ha, ha—dead. Besides, Karl claimed the “coffin nails” relaxed him and helped him play his role, blending in with humans.
    “Of course, I could buy some condoms for you,” Karl said. “Maybe you’ll get lucky sometime soon.”
    “Yeah, right. The only kind of sex I have doesn’t require protection.” And he hadn’t even had that kind—his famous “near-sex”—in ages. Literally.
    “Listen, buddy,” Karl began, “the Fake-O just isn’t doing it for me anymore. Being out in the sun so much is a killer. I can feel my skin color fading, despite the SPF 1000, and my energy level is zapped with the least exercise. I’m finding it harder and harder to keep my fangs retracted. You’ve had centuries more experience with it than I have. We need to feed from a saved sinner sometime soon, or kill a few Lucipires.”
    Blood, pure blood, taken through the fangs was essential to the Viking vampire angels. Contrary to popular opinion, vampires . . . or vampire angels, leastways . . . could go out in sunlight, providing they’d blood-fed properly to avoid their skin getting whiter and whiter, eventually translucent.
    In an emergency, they