Wild Boys: Six Shooters and Fangs

by catt dahman

  Wild Boys: Six Shooters and Fangs

  catt dahman

  Copyright.

  catt dahman

  J.EllingtonAshtonPress

  © 2014

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book, including the cover, and photos, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. All rights reserved.

  The characters, places, and events depicted are fictional and are not meant to represent anyone living or dead. This is a work of historical fiction. Liberties have been taken with places such as Tombstone and Jefferson, but the basics are solid facts, based on years of research. When possible, the people described are accurate although I have added events and altered them to fit. My apologies are offered to any historians for my slight changes.

  Thank you to the gentleman actor in the movie Tombstone who reenacted parts of the movie right there on the streets of Tombstone, Arizona to give me a better view of the events when Doc and the Earps roamed the streets of the “town too tough to die”.

  A thank you goes to the people of the town of Tombstone, AZ who welcomed me and answered many questions. Also, I appreciate the residents of Deming and Steins who helped tremendously.

  The Beginning

  One could say it was a hunger of the belly, and that would be accurate, but also it would be like saying that being shot in the head tended to cause a part in the hair. In other words, there was much more to the condition. Nita, with her long raven hair, was ravenous both for carnality and food: blood, warm, and salty from its source.

  She could see her reflection in the mirror and frankly enjoyed the fact she could since her changes were so pleasing to her eyes. Her hair was longer, like her nails, strong, shining, and perfect in every way; her hair had deepened to a bluish black that spoke of the darkest of nights. Her teeth were whiter, stronger, and more beautiful, shaped sensuously, but it would be a while longer before they evolved into razor fangs. Her skin was free of old scars, calluses, and hair, and her limbs glowed with the paleness like the moon. She looked as if she were made of finely sculpted marble.

  She paused to glance at Jane, blonde and ripe in figure, and at Nan, all reds and golds, as if she were made of flames. Jane stretched, “It’s too early.”

  Nita shrugged. Yes, it was, but she didn’t have the patience Jane did, and Nan was far more impatient to have fun, but she had fed well and was still sleepy; the woman celebrated sleep as an event.

  She was a Changeling, like a kitten taught by a great lion, so she had growing to do. The lion had pushed them from the den to explore the world and learn how not only to survive, but also to be masters of the land. They must grow strong with feedings, learn patience and trickery, and test themselves often. It wasn’t easy to hold back when she felt stronger, hungry beyond imagination, and an over whelming desire to mate that defied reason. Second to all that, she, like the others, craved good wine, dancing, and enjoyment.

  But they had to be patient and wait for the sun to lower before going out. The three girls were working their way to Texas to join a clan of ones like them, where maybe they could take over a town and feed, make love, dance, and drink until they were sated, if ever that might be.

  Nan and Jane both slept in the softest of beds, long, milky white limbs entwined as they dreamed. Nita was too hungry to sleep. She crossed the room in a blur of speed to yank open the wardrobe. The cow was gagged, tied, and thrown in an uncomfortable heap in the bottom section. Her eyes tear stained and huge with fear. Nita reached in and drew the cow to her feet, helped her to the middle of the room, and bade her sit. The constant mewling and crying was aggravating to Nita; fear debased people so easily.

  “Am I beautiful?”

  The cow didn’t answer.

  Nita clamped hard fingers on the cow’s chin so that she had to look Nita in the eyes; her other hand wound in the cow’s long dark hair. “I asked you a question. Am I beautiful?”

  The cow nodded, sniffling.

  “In the grand scheme of things, who has more right to exist: you, a lowly whore whom no one will miss or me, a beautiful, new moth newly emerged from my cocoon?”

  The cow only stared, shivering.

  “I can feel that you are afraid, but, also, you desire me. I am very beautiful. I’m very strong. I desire a mate and wine, and neither can be had right now until it is dark, but one craving, I can satiate.”

  The cow had seen them feeding on her friends, those bodies still littering the room they had rented, so she knew the others had died. One of the men was so enraptured in his sex with Jane that he cried out the last time, not only as he finished, but also with the pain of his vein being pierced so she could drink.

  Nan had taken the other man and enjoyed him before drinking his blood, and Nita had been with a thin female who was not a very engaging sexual partner, and thus Nita was left unsatisfied carnally and then nutritionally since the cow had been so thin.

  She knew this cow was too terrified to enjoy love making, so instead, she would be a tidbit to hold Nita over so that she could sleep until it was time to go out hunting.

  Nita struck like a cobra, cutting and slurping so that not a drop of the crimson liquid was lost. She shook and trembled as an oral ecstasy flowed through her mouth, teeth, throat, and stomach in delicious waves of pleasure and satisfaction.

  The body was easily tossed to the corner with the other two husks, empty flesh that they would remove or burn when they left this area so that they wouldn’t draw attention from a Hunter, one who searched out and destroyed their kind. Nita lazily climbed into the bed, pushing and wiggling the other two away from her so she had a space to sleep cozily in. In their sleep, they ran tongues over their lips, dreaming of the debauchery and feeding that was to come.

  Chapter 1

  Four Men on a Dusty Street

  " 'S gonna happen again."

  "Hmmmm?"

  “I said it's gonna happen again," Tell Starr replied as he fumed over the situation and then turned and spat, irritated at having to repeat himself. Repetition took some of the drama away from his cryptic statement. His audience that was who they were to Tell only half-listened to the man who could claim complaining as an ingrained part of his personality.

  “I sure as hell don't need this,” said Tell as he half turned to watch Kit Darling spit out an admirable stream of roachy, brown tobacco juice. With a splattering sound, the vicious mess hit the dusty road and glistened. With one eyebrow arched, Tell looked back pointedly at the slowly advancing carriage, the one he had to squint to see because it wasn’t close enough so that anyone else had noticed it. Tell's sharp eyes had picked it out of the horizon, almost effortlessly, and identified it just as well. His keen vision was what had earned him his reputation as one of the best trackers in seven states.

  The four men who stood together looked formidable; their eyes were somewhat cold, their bodies lean and strong, and their skin bronzed into deep lines. Though they were relaxing outside a hotel, seemingly immersed in conversation, they were alert, their senses never missing a detail. Men who did notice the tension in the air around the four who were greatly feared would surely cross to the other side of the street to walk upon hearing the four men’s names rather than to feel their tempers; their reputations were that well known in the West.

  "Just when we were about to make it a whole day without trouble," Tell fumed a little louder. He tend
ed toward verbose story telling and had an easy-going manner. These traits often made an adversary underestimate Tell, never expecting him to be the quick-thinking, intelligent man that he was. He was a man of his word, doggedly determined once he was onto something, brave and fiercely loyal.

  One of the four men looked up finally, kind of listening, shooting out another stream of tobacco juice. He was Kit Darling, the youngest of the four, who had twinkling eyes full of mischief and a boyishly handsome face that often broke into a grin. He was excellent with a six-shooter, could cheat expertly at a game of cards, and was liable to run on either side of the law, but with a tendency to do the right thing. He would have been far more lawful if there had not been so many interesting opportunities everywhere.

  “Damn.”

  Kit looked at Tell and then looked into the direction where the man stared.

  "Some day this is becoming.” Tell still glared.

  The third man looked up only for a fraction of a second; then, he looked back down to the cigarette that he had begun to meticulously roll, his long slender fingers working methodically with the practiced procedure. Not the tiniest piece of tobacco fell to the ground. In that minute period of time, he had raised his head and had taken in every detail of his surroundings. His name was Paris Fallon, a calm, icy-eyed man who killed mercilessly or when he needed to.

  “Yep," Tell said, "it's sure as hell gonna happen again ‘cause I just can't very well ask her to stay outta town.”

  "Who?" Kit asked finally. He hated when Tell went on like this. Tell was chewing on some ole bone and was prodding someone to try to take it.

  "Her," Tell repeated in his infuriatingly slow-paced voice.

  Kit looked at the advancing carriage, a trim black rig pulled by a big black gelding with four white-stocking feet and a white star blazed across its face. The woman inside looked off in the other direction so that she was in profile when she passed the men. Kit didn't see why Tell was all worked up like he was over just a woman in a carriage. “What's your problem with that lady?"

  Tell grimaced.

  This was unusual for Tell. Normally, nothing ever took this long to get the man to talk. In fact, Tell was likely to talk to a stump if he had a mind to talk. Just as Kit thought, Tell would never explain. Tell said, “I'd like her to go on back to her father’s ranch and leave this town alone."

  “You're the marshal. Ask her to leave" Kit said, somewhat contemptuously.

  The woman tied her horse and walked into a shop without glancing around.

  "What is wrong, Tell?" Kit demanded. “She don't look like a wild whore.”

  “She's a lady,” Tell said, almost to himself, “and I guess that's part of it. You don't talk certain ways to a lady. Hav’ta respect one. Ain't her fault. It ain’t right to be faulting her for bein' a lady, I guess. But that there's the problem.”

  The fourth man narrowed his eyes and drawled sardonically, "A woman being a lady isn't a problem unless a man isn't being a gentleman.”

  "I'd cut mine off first,” Tell declared. "Yes, I'd flat cut off my twig before I'd chase after her and all the trouble she causes. Lordy, but that's true."

  "Is she that ugly?" Kit asked.

  Paris Fallon's laugh was very low and deep. He spoke in his infamously calm voice, “I'll bet she’s very beautiful, and that's the problem.”

  “Yep,” Tell nodded as he agreed.

  Doctor John Henry Holliday's southern drawl was clover-honey smooth as he said, “I cannot believe that she has got you this worked up, Tell Starr. It isn't like you at all.” His nice manners and jovial teasing were charming but apt to be replaced, if he were crossed, by a swearing bad-tempered, violent fit that most often led to a killing. Like Tell, he had a gift for distractions; his voice and seemingly slow manners often unbalanced an enemy.

  “Doc, that ain't it; it's what she has caused that's the problem. I'd soon she didn't come to town; it makes my job harder."

  "Ask her to stay home," Kit grinned. He was curious about all of this now.

  Tell glared at him as if he were stupid. Only Doc was college educated, but that didn't mean Kit wasn't as smart as Tell or Paris. “Spit it out, Tell; it's too damned hot out here for your games and ruminating at the pace of a snail.”

  “I can't ask her to stay out of town. Her father owns one of the biggest damned ranches in Texas."

  “So he's a rancher." Kit wasn't overly impressed.

  “I've been around him some, and he ain't a bad sort. I just don't see gettin' anything stirred up with him.”

  “I don't think I've ever had call to think you a coward,” said Doc as he crooked his head to one side, his eyes twinkling with mischief.“

  “I ain't afraid of Quinn Masterson.”

  Paris was carving on the wooden railing. He paused with his knife resting just under a paper-thin sliver of wood. He looked up and said, "I hope he ain't threatened you." His rich voice had dropped in timbre and was deadly quiet, like a whispering, fast approaching storm. His eyes went pale as he wondered at anyone’s threatening his closest friend. Regardless of the reasoning, no one was allowed that.

  Knowing his friend as he did, Tell didn't have to look at the man to know that Paris Fallon's temper was rising; God knew it didn't take much. Without looking, Tell knew that Fallon's eyes, arctic blue, had begun to glitter dangerously.

  Doc Holliday also sensed the approaching storm of rage. “I sure don't like this, Tell. It doesn't seem natural.”

  Tell knew this was a deep show of loyalty. All four men had deep friendships, christened in blood, and bonds that had been forged long ago.

  He sensed Doc and Fallon were looking for a fight, as they often were, and he wanted to head that off. Doc was as deadly as a cobra, and Paris Fallon was constantly spoiling for bloodshed; the two of them together were absolute, sure death to whomever crossed them.

  “I ain't worked up over just a rancher.” TeIl's temper smoked, and too late, he guiltily realized he had started this. “Just ain't reason to stir things up."

  Doc stared at him. Tell didn't stir up anything, he was too laid back, but Doc and Paris habitually got things going.

  “Hell, I just hate having a hornet's nest prodded in my town.”

  "We've stirred up hornets’ nests before." Kit grinned. He was a very fast draw. Holliday was most likely to draw; Fallon was most likely to kill. As for the fastest, no one knew who that was. Doc killed because he had a bad temper, but Paris just liked to kill; it made him feel powerful. He didn't do it with malice, and he didn't kill the innocent and good so that left a hell of a lot of men to kill.

  Doc urged Tell on, “What is the problem?"

  "Like I said, her father is Quinn Masterson. She's got three brothers older than her, Joshua, Ford, and Patrick. Guess you know who her cousin is.”

  "Bat Masterson," Kit answered. Bat was a well-respected lawman, one of the few that the men truly thought highly of.

  "I've ridden with Bat once,” Fallon said. Danger receded like a red tide, and he was a hair's breadth less likely to kill.

  Among gunslingers, there was a strange code of ethics. You didn't shoot a man in the back, you didn't advocate an ambush, and you never shot an unarmed man. If you rode with a man and there was mutual respect, then you retained your loyalty, even when you quit riding with him. Besides while Paris respected and admired his friends, there were only few others he thought as highly of. Mostly, he didn't think much of anyone, but he did respect Bat Masterson.

  “Masterson boys always ride with those Earps.” Tell knew that while Wyatt Earp was a well-known and generally respected lawman, Paris wasn't exactly crazy about him. “Course the Mastersons also ride with Luke Short and Vermilion McMasters...that bunch.”

  “A McMasters is useful in a fight," Fallon remarked about the expert rifleman, Sherman McMasters.

  “Them Masterson boys is okay. They're kinda like us,” Tell said as he grinned.

  “Then, I'll vouch for them,” Doc declared, clearing his th
roat and denying a cough that had threatened, “but it pains me to respect any man who enjoys my company.” He chuckled.

  "They ain't the problem."

  Kit was becoming impatient. “What is the problem?"

  “Her.”

  "We have been on this road before Tell; are you going to explain or not?" Doc frowned as he asked.

  “I can't believe he hates her," Kit told Doc, "not that he chases skirts. It's just a first for him.”

  “I agree."

  “Well, you wouldn't like her either if you was marshal and she had already gotten five men in your town murdered," Tell blurted out finally.

  Fallon shrugged as was his custom and said, “Depends on if they needed killin' or not?”

  A partially carved bird, the detailing exquisite, emerged in the wood beneath his knife. The blade was so sharp that it sliced through the wood as if it were warm butter.

  “I can't tell you if they deserved it or not. I don't guess they should have died although I ain't saying that they weren't a bunch of lowlife skunks. But I ain't fond of men killin' each other when I'm the marshal."

  Tell had been there scant months before the other three had ridden in that very morning. Mostly they were concerned that Tell was not wearing a badge since he was still settling into the town.

  Kit dug out his tobacco and spat several times. “ I don't guess it's her doing the killin?" That would be something he would kind of appreciate.

  “Naw, she ain't, but it's her causing the men to kill each other,” Tell said. All three of the other men laughed. "It ain't funny if you're the marshal."

  Doc lit a cigar, knowing it was bad for his condition, but savoring it. He questioned, "How does she do such a wondrous thing?

  ”It's ‘cause they all want her attention, vying for it if you know my meaning, but she don't notice them at all.”

  “Demure, chaste,” Doc noted, “a real lady."

  “Doc, it ain't like she's one of your Georgia belles. She's a horse of a different color all together. Them men take her ignoring them as a challenge, but she don't care if they curl up and die; she'd just step over their corpse and go on. Some of them get vulgar about it and hate her 'cause they can't have her, you know.”