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Vigga stuck her face between theirs. “It’d be easier on everyone if you two just fucked.” “Ugh,” said Balthazar, curling a disgusted lip. “Or one o’ you murdered the other.” “Hmm,” said Baptiste, raising a thoughtful brow. Vigga barged between them. “Then I can have the tomb!”
Vigga looked crestfallen. “You’ve a point.” Then immediately brightened. “What if I convert? I mean, what’s Odin done for me lately?”
Jakob was a hell of a forbearer. All he did was forbear.
But I can promise you, right now, that I…” And Arcadius perched on the far side of the bed and looked earnestly at her. “Will never try to kill you.” “Sort of a minimum standard in a husband, really, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve heard it said the secret of a good marriage is a broad mattress.”
Vigga, looking exactly like a Viking werewolf would,
Ah, the joy of the freshly deceased!
They fought to the death and, in many cases, beyond.
Vigga turned enemies into corpses, and Balthazar turned corpses into friends.
Their duel had become less elegant chess match than lethal slapstick.
He supposed once you have usurped an Empire, fused humans with animals, and capped it off by stealing the body of your lady-in-waiting in a heretical crime against God, a little light incest does seem rather a paltry misdemeanour.
“Deliver me from evil!” he snarled, narrowing his eyes, gripping Saint Beatrix’s vial so tightly it dug into his palm. “Now or fucking never!”
she weighed about as much as a mid-sized cat
“What is it … with paintings of demons … and the anus?”
I grew up in the Holy City, after all. None of the locals go to church. Unless it’s to filch from the collection plate.” “What could be nobler than to cut out the middleman, and convey the funds directly to the needy?”
