by Lita Stone
“Sorry I’m late,” Zack said. “Got held up in detention.”
“It’s alright,” Scooter said.
Zack looked Shane over.
Shane looked Zack over.
“Detention, huh?” Shane said. “Get caught praying to Satan?”
“Nah,” Zack said with a wide smile. “Principle Moss doesn’t think stink bombs in the girl’s bathroom are funny.”
Imprinted on Zack’s shirt was a laughing skull with a mohawk and flames surrounding angel wings.
Steering Scooter out the chain link fence, Shane said, “Let’s go.”
Scooter gave Zack a wave and followed Shane across the gravel lot. When they reached the truck, they climbed in and Shane turned up the radio. Glaring out the open window, he watched Zack leaning against the fence, staring up at the sun.
Shane floored the gas and skidded from the school parking lot, an overdriven guitar played from the speakers. “I can’t believe you’re still friends with that freak. No wonder the football team wants to kick your ass. Looks like one of those Cure freaks.”
“Cure?”
“What the hell are you doing hanging around with Zack Grouse?”
Scooter shrugged. “You don’t know him like I do. He happens to be very perspicacious.”
Shane turned down the volume. “Huh?”
“Sensitive and understanding.”
“Right. So, you two picked out china yet?”
“It’s not like that.”
Shane flicked his blinker and turned left onto Highway 1085. “That grandma Regina of his is about as batty as they come.”
Scooter’s backpack slid across the bench seat into Shane. Shane chucked the bag onto the floorboard by Scooter’s feet. “Why can’t you be normal?”
“That worked really well for you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You were wrote up twice in the Army. Almost court martialed once. You did thirty days in county lock-up for breaking a guy’s jaw and all because you didn’t like the way he looked at your girlfriend. And there was that incident on Harper Top road.”
Shane slammed a palm against the steering wheel. “I told you not to bring that up again.”
Scooter flinched and looked out the passenger window.
“But don’t stop now,” Shane said. “You’re on a roll.”
“Fine!” Scooter snapped his gaze at Shane. “For a living, you mine a flammable liquid, a crude substance made of liquid organic compounds that has lain dormant and undisturbed, waiting for somebody like you to unearth it so a far-more-intelligent man wearing a suit, in a Houston or Tulsa high rise can make a few billion, and while he’s at it, contribute to the destruction of our planet. But hey!” Scooter threw up his hands and slapped his thighs. “You were a football star in high school and slept with most of the women in this crappy town so that’s gotta count for something. I sure wish I could be normal, just like you.”
Shane jerked the wheel, pulling the truck to the shoulder. He stepped out and walked to the passenger side, yanked the door open. “Get the fuck out. We’re walking home.”
“It’s like ten miles.”
“Doing our part to save the planet. I did twenty mile hikes in the Army on a diet of eggs and orange juice. Let’s see how far you make it, champ.”
Scooter looked away.
Shane whispered in Scooter’s ear. “Something wrong with getting your hands dirty for a living?”
Scooter shrugged.
Shane slammed the door and got back behind the wheel. Shifting to gear, the Jalopy heaved before continuing down the remote country road.
Silence.
And more silence.
“Shane.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You finally stood up to me and now you’re going to ruin the moment by apologizing?” Shane shimmied the truck into third gear.
“But I didn’t mean what I said.”
Shane snickered. “Yeah, you did. It’s alright. I like my life, especially since I got engaged.”
“To Amy?”
“Yeah, genius. Who else?”
A familiar scent of pinewood and fresh cut hay blew in the open window. No better place to live, Shane thought as he veered into his dirt driveway and shifted to park.
A crazed fiancée who might end up in the asylum before their honeymoon.
A geeky kid brother who he had nothing in common with.
A twelve-year-old motorcycle that was in the shop more hours than it had ran.
And an old trailer set on the edge of a haunted forest.
All part of his American dream.
Scooter said, “I’m in love with your fiancé.”
Shane sighed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “I know.” He squeezed Scooter’s scrawny arm. “Get some boxing gloves on, then meet me in the backyard under that big weeping willow. Gonna teach you how to deliver a good old-fashioned ass-kicking.”
#
Atticus pulled his car in front of the house. No sirens, flashing lights or police vehicles. He had arrived before the crime had been discovered and the authorities alerted.
He crossed the porch and approached the hole where the front door should be. Long claw marks scarred both sides of the door frame. Outside the side of the home, a click resounded followed by a faint hum. Maybe the air conditioner.
Atticus had read about such contraptions in his contemporary studies class. Modern day America was consumed with technology that offered comfort and eased the difficulty of everyday living. Microwaves, automated washing machines for clothing and dishes, and contraptions that cooled and heated homes. He glanced at his energy-efficient, state-of-the-art vehicle with the seat warmer embedded in the bucket seats. Mentally he added automobiles to the list of modern day comforts.
Sword drawn, Atticus stepped through the threshold of the home. Blood-splatter decked the walls and ceiling and more collected on the floor in puddles and smears. Written on one of the yellow pastel walls in dried blood was: DIE BELOVED DIE.
Female body parts were strewn across the living room in a similar fashion as the man’s body from the last crime scene. A ripped torso leaked guts on the blue carpet; a severed leg rotted in the corner and a severed arm rotted in front of the couch—all of it putrid and stinking.
In the kitchen, a woman’s head gawked at him. Long bloodstained brown hair curled around the severed neck, mouth agape.
Atticus’ stomach wrenched. Chunks of bile crept into his throat.
The woman’s head wobbled. Her mouth stretched wide open and a thick transparent strand emerged. A knob on the end pushed and tore its way free of the mouth, splitting the lips.
Atticus lifted his sword, readying himself.
A lucent worm crawled from the woman’s head. The slug squirmed along the wood floor, its body the length of the room, left a trail of gray sludge. Translucent skin revealed puke green muscles and organs. The tail, still inside the skull, surged forward; the tail whipped the decapitated head.
The skull smashed into Atticus’ ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. He doubled over and the serpentine creature rapidly scaled the wall. The tail used the head as a flail, lashing and striking at Atticus.
Crouching, Atticus went prone as the head swung over him, crashing into the wall and leaving a gaping hole. Its movement stopped at eye level with Atticus. Blood dripped from the lolling head on the tip of the tail.
“What fiend of the abyss are you?” Atticus asked, taking a defensive stance with his sword crossed in front of him.
The eyes blinked. Bloody, blue lips parted as it spoke. “Yaugass Paladinassi! Ssingoi-ssee Ska'thassass!”
He swung his sword, slicing the head from crown to chin, splitting it open. A dozen tiny tendrils at the tip of the slug’s tail had been tangled into the host’s brain. Only one half of the split head fell to the floor, the tail kept a tight grasp on the other half, and Atticus could clearly see the remaining brain matter.
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The front of the creature, hovering close to the ceiling, harpooned itself straight into Atticus’ chest.
The serpent’s head burrowed itself below the V of his neck digging through his leather vest and under his padding. Teeth tore at Atticus’ right nipple and chest. He ground out a scream. Forced to drop his sword, Atticus wrapped both hands around the cold, smooth worm. He yanked the serpent from his body, but not without the creature rending flesh.
He flung it to the floor and with his boot stomped on the slug’s knob-like head. Atticus twisted his foot, crushing the skull.
When he lifted his boot the worm’s skin flashed pale blue before it shot from the house.
Atticus checked his wound and saw it was only a superficial injury. He gathered his sword and gave chase.
Outside the night was still. The sting in his calf where the time spider had bit him throbbed. Rubbing his leg, he spotted a faint trail of blood leading down the road.
The trail soon went cold near some woods at the corner of the property.
When Atticus turned around, he spotted a man hiding in the shadows of a narrow alleyway.
“You,” he shouted. “Did you see a snake come this way?”
The man waved Atticus closer.
Sword drawn, Atticus approached the shadowed figure.
The stranger wore black sweat pants and a matching oversized T-shirt. A cap bearing the logo of the Houston Astros was tipped low to cover his eyes. He held a plastic-bottled drink. “Lower your weapon, friend. I mean you no harm.”
Chapter Forty-One
Isaac’s car sped from his mansion, spitting gravel into the wind. He’d returned home to find Lynn gone. Ira said she’d went to see her mother. His mate, the whelp that she was, was unaware her mother was actually a Nacilla worm in a human host. The Nacilla should already have been assigned to a new location—not of this planet—and a new cub to rear.
If the Nacilla still remained, Lynn’s primal territorial instincts could drive her to injure or most likely rip the Nacilla’s mortal shell to shreds. His mate was alone in a world she no longer understood. Enemies she knew nothing of hunted her, and her reckless impulses risked leading them to her. Isaac gripped the steering wheel tighter and leaned on the gas.
As he sped toward Lovecraft Lane, a pungent scent filled the car. Isaac jerked the wheel and brought the car to a stop on the shoulder. He jumped out and sniffed the air.
His nose served as a compass. Shifting into his natural form, his clothes ripping away from his body. His muscles morphed, growing leaner; his teeth sharpened and his skin sprouted thick, black fur. Spreading his wings, he charged into the sparse woods and rushed on all fours through the thicket of trees and shrubs. He burst through the dense greenery, across the highway and took flight.
Ignoring the polluting scent of diesel fuel from an eighteen-wheeler below, he reveled in her essence. His cock throbbed with anticipation. A growl echoed against the night sky.
He soared at tree height and spotted Lynn on a motorcycle speeding along a back road. Her sobs were barely audible over the roaring engine and wind in his ears.
Isaac’s eyes glowed red as he dived and snatched Lynn from the bike. The Harley skidded, an unguided missile, crashing into the edge of the woods and erupting into a chaotic scream of bending steel, bramble and shattering force.
Lynn’s yelp of surprise and protest echoed amongst the cries of a flock of blackbirds. Her feet dangled, swinging wildly.
He swooped, descending into the heart of Sacred Oaks. Before he touched ground, he dropped Lynn onto the field. And when he landed, he shifted to human.
Naked and furious.
He stepped toward her; she stepped backward, her hands raised. Bitterness growled from his throat as his bare feet crunched the dry grass. “You were forbidden to leave the mansion.” He towered over her. Anger boiled deep, body temperature rising. The skin on his forearms and thighs bubbled.
Lynn wiped tears from her cheeks. She shook her head. “I...I just wanted to say goodbye....then she told me to leave and that she never wanted to see me again.”
His mate shuddered and Isaac struggled to control his resolve not to string her from the nearest tree. He reminded himself she was still a whelp, young and naive.
“She was my mother,” Lynn cried. “But she talked to me as if I was a stranger.”
Frothy saliva dripped from his bared canines. He leaned close to her ear. With a snort, he said, “Your caregiver knew she was in danger.” A roar welled from the pit of his being.
His mate stepped back, covering the sides of her face with her hands.
“Ira told you it was forbidden to seek out your mother, yet you did it, and endangered both of us.”
The beast struggled to break through his human form. Claws returned to his fingertips. He gripped her by the neck, lifting her from the ground. Her feet swung while her hands clutched at his forearms.
“You will not disobey me again.”
His mate closed her eyes and managed a slight nod and whimper.
“In time, you will come to know why obeying me is important for our survival. It is the way of the Geminus. I am the master of all creatures large and small, including you.”
With a flick of his wrist, he slung her into a tree. She grunted as her body rolled down the trunk. Lying face first in the grass, he picked her up by her hair and held her at eye level, feet inches off the ground. “You are mine. And you will do as I command.”
Another nod. More tears.
Lowering her to her feet, he palmed the back of her head and forced her to her knees.
She moaned as he thrust her head to the ground, in a low bow. With her face pushed against the top of his bare feet, he said, “You understand me?”
As she planted kisses on top of his feet, her essence rolled off her in waves, a delicious scent that shot straight to his cock.
With another growl, he said, “Time to complete the fusing.” From around his neck, he removed the black Narkush stone Galmoria had given him. The stone glowed, pulsing like an organ. He shoved the jewel into her chest. It burned into her flesh.
Lynn howled.
But it only took seconds before the stone was implanted securely into her skin.
“One final step remains before your Vixenhood is upon you.”
Trumpets should have resounded and festivities should have been planned to celebrate the glorious birth of a Vixen, but fate had other plans—a private ceremony deep within the forest.
His mate looked up, bewilderment clear in her expression. Isaac offered his hand and she quickly accepted. Lifting her to her feet, he eyed her red silk gown. The flimsy material clung to her breasts and hips. A deep rumble vibrated from his core. She responded with her own satisfied purr.
Wings grew from her back and the dress shed from her body. Her nose elongated, a beautiful, magnificent snout. Fur blanketed her body. Complete in her metamorphosis, she stood on four legs, snorted and shook her head.
Isaac morphed into his natural form. With an approving snort, he circled her, lips dripping with saliva, cock dripping with seed.
He sprang, tackling her. They rolled across the earth. With a snapping jaw, Isaac nipped at her neck while his paws parried her retaliating swipes.
From his nostrils, a heated snarl exploded. With one mighty jump he mounted her back and bit into her shoulder, pinning her in place.
And then he thrust, burying himself inside her, taking his Vixen as his mate. A prideful baying came from deep within his abdomen.
A pack of coyotes howled. A flock of crows cawed. Swarms of locust and insects hissed and chattered. The forest shook, a concert of animal and vermin alike.
A warm, humid breeze swirled and a cyclone of wind embraced him and his mate. Elemental air guarded their sacred consummation. Lightning flickered across the now blackened sky. Webs of electricity drew the archaic symbol of the Geminus.
The animals. The vermin. The winds. The lightning. Isaac and his mate had their c
elebration after all.
As his seed streamed inside of her, he licked the fur on the back of her neck. The barbs in his tongue drew a line of blood in her leathery skin.
Both his mate and he, shifted into humanoid form. Isaac kissed her gently and stood. “Come with me, my eternal mistress, we must find The Beloved—and your new vessel.”
#
With the back of his gloved hand, Shane wiped sweat from his forehead. He glanced at the eerie lightening in the darkening sky. “Not this freaky shit again.” His breath controlled and steady, he danced around the canvas bag hung from the weeping willow. “So the next time one of those jack-offs gives you any grief,” Shane said, jabbing the bag with several rapid punches, “you lay their ass out just like I taught you.” He tossed his gloves to the ground and from a low branch plucked his shirt. Rubbing sweat and dirt from his bare chest, he added, “Got it?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Scooter nodded.
The kid hadn’t exerted enough energy to even break a sweat. He couldn’t teach him more lethal moves, like how to strike the nose with a flat-handed jab, or where the vital pressure points were, but the basics would do. For now.
“Why do people have to fight?” Scooter pulled his gloves off. “Why can’t people be smarter than that?”
Shane sighed. “America wouldn’t even exist if no one fought and stood up for their principles.”
“Was it principles Americans were protecting when they stole this land from the Natives?”
“I’m not looking to debate the morality of war. I just don’t want people beating on you for the rest of your life and I want you to want that too.”
“I do want it.”
“Prove it.” With a lift of his chin, Shane gestured to the gloves on the ground. “Put those back on. Let’s go another twenty minutes.”
The sound of a small engine rumbled in the distance. Birch’s motorcycle sped down the driveway. He killed the engine, set the kickstand and dismounted. Lifting his Marvin the Martian helmet off, he asked, “We riding?”
“Just teaching Scooter how to beat some ass. Say, Jamie-boy, you look like a punkass, can Scooter show you what he’s learned?”