I laughed and rolled us again, leaving me on top, my wild green eyes inches from his wild yellow ones. Still he tried to lunge, so I tightened my legs then trapped his slender muzzle in my hand and twisted it up and to the side. His fur bristled and saliva whipped from his mouth, splattering the air. I gripped harder, sealing his mouth and he shook his head, trying to jerk free from me, trying to bring his teeth to bear. But it was not his teeth and not his fangs that were exposed and ready.
I bent his head further, pushing his ears to the rocky soil. His nose was held high and free and he squirmed and whined, but he was trapped. My legs squeezed him to stillness and I rubbed my cheek against the sensitive whiskers that protruded from his muzzle. For an instant our gazes connected, I breathed in his breath, returned his snarls, quivered along with his quivers. Then my eyes dropped. His throat stretched beneath me, fur covered, but fully exposed.
Coyote fur is coarse and, in winter, dense with undercoat. I lowered my head and rubbed against the coarseness, taking in the feral smell of fear and rage. His heart raced under my arm and his coyote eye fixed on me and I took a deep breath and buried my face in the ruff that encircled his head and covered his neck. He jerked and scrabbled, but I pushed my way through, seeking the protected flesh underneath. The pungent scent washed over me and his rough fur mashed harshly along my chest and belly as he thrashed desperately against me. I braced in the dirt, rolling him once more. I enveloped myself around him, caressing his bony spine and heaving sides with my own hot skin.
I had forced him to stillness, but it wasn't surrender. He did not give up. Enraged, he growled and moaned through his clamped teeth. But I had found the heat of his body and my fangs nicked, then plunged deep, sliding past the powerful muscles and slipping sweetly into the red. Securing the bite, I loosened my legs, just a little. Just enough. Like the explosion of shaken champagne - so did his body explode with struggle - and the blood exploded from his neck and into my mouth. Hot, tangy, adrenalized blood. Furious and terrified blood. My body throbbed in pleasure at the taste.
I didn’t just drink. I guzzled. Deep, satisfying spurts and swallows. It poured through me and my body wanted more. I pulled my head back, twisted with him onto our sides, and buried my face again, stabbing clean, new punctures alongside the first. His body shook and bucked. My body shook as I rode him and took more, my legs squeezing and releasing, my head on a drugged high from the explosive spurts. Twigs and gravel dug into bare flesh and the heat of his blood tore through me, already absorbing into the lining of my mouth, my throat, my own gut.
We became as one, he and I, connected by the blood that now serviced us both. I lay wrapped tightly around him as his heart pounded and his muscles strained in futile effort to break my hold. Five gulps I took. Six. And another, swallowing convulsively as his thrashing body pumped the vital warmth along my fangs, past my lips and into me. His body offered and I took. Connected by the urge of life itself, elemental, hunger the driving force between us, I drank and drank, then stopped.
I released the animal’s legs and let him flip us, let him shake and lunge, one arm still wrapped around his chest, the other arched under his neck, holding his muzzle closed. He dragged me across the ground, pulled me through the shrubs. My fangs were still buried in his steaming flesh, no longer drinking, but not ready to let him go. Again I pulled him in, the taut, slender legs, the lean, muscled body and the sharp, bloodied coyote teeth - the peak of wild health and strength. I thoroughly imprisoned him once more, mastered him, and identified with him.
All too quickly the wailing howls were near. Feet scrabbled on the slope just below. My coyote’s family had arrived and I felt distinctly proud of their unusual loyalty. I eased my fangs from his neck and, gathering clean saliva, I spat profusely, deep beneath the matted fur and onto the ragged holes in his flesh. They would close quickly, and the slavering, young animal would live. I picked him from the ground and thrust him away, then turned to the menacing pack.
Coyotes are canines. They understand alpha so there was only one I had to dominate and she stood before me, the slit of her yellow eyes hard on me, her teeth exposed in a threat far more fierce than my own glistening fangs and human teeth could ever be. But I know snarls and I know threats. I braced and answered her threat, my stance a clear signal that I would never back down. And she understood. Canines always understand.
The alpha leader lifted her proud head and scooted her eyes to the side, not in total surrender, but more than enough. I saw my wild comrade slip up to join the side of his pack, already recovered sufficiently to fight or to run. Blood was splattered on his back, his shoulder and muzzle. Some of it was mine. If I’d tasted him, he’d also tasted me, so I called it even, ripped control from my gloating vamp and walked away.
I keep a towel and a gallon of water in the car for times like this. The jeans were crusted with bloodied dirt and debris, my bare feet filthy and I was covered with smears and the musty smell of wildness. But the wounds were gone, the scratches healed, my skin smooth and unblemished. I splashed myself, washing quickly, then upended the rest of the water over my head and back. I lay on the hood of my car and sank into dreamy aftermath while my skin and hair dried.
Forty minutes later I left, deeply satisfied yet craving something. A rowdy struggle with an able opponent was always exhilarating, even when the outcome was beyond question. Tonight’s short bout and win had been perfect, but as I came out of the hills, the air thickened. I wanted no more of that tension. So it was my cabin in the mountains. Now.
Chapter 6
The Big Bear area sprawls under tall pines. Some of the homes are situated close to each other but once outside of town it’s more sparsely built up. Many are cabins tucked deep off the road, barely accessible when snow is fresh. My place is tucked deeper than deep.
There are two rooms in the cabin, plus a kitchen wall and a small bathroom. Well used fireplace. I added a bed, couch, table, books and a crisp deck of playing cards. A few clothes, snow boots, etc. Nothing more than a shack, really, but clean and sealed against the mountain weather. No close neighbors except those that pad through the trees on four feet. Though they didn't welcome me, I always looked forward to them.
I wrote all night and most of the next day then released my vampire self to prowl and howl. It felt cold and pure in the woods and I soaked it up, sniffed the pines, scampered through ice crusted snow, hunted and drank. Almost, I quit fretting about the strangeness that had jolted my peace and cut me off from normalcy.
Saturday afternoon I returned to Claremont, so stuffed that not even the renewed sensation of twisting energy could make me testy. Louie and I lease a nice sized guest cottage that sits behind a two story Victorian home at the edge of the Village. Our landlady, Amie Nixon, is a self sufficient older lady who minds her own business, although we help with this and that whenever she asks.
Unlike my cabin, the cottage came furnished with lots of extras - dishes, towels, empty hangers in the closets and an efficient vacuum stored in the laundry room along with washer and drier. Utilities were on and the television worked. Moving in was easy and quickly accomplished. Books, clothing and toothbrushes.
Moving out would be easy too, as Louie proved a few months back. Ahh, Louie. Right now he's staying in Canyon Lake, but we keep close touch. Phones work perfectly. Much easier than it used to be.
This isn't the first time he's gone off and he’ll be back when he gets back. Louie is family, fanged and smart, but alike as we are, in some crucial ways we differ. Louie thinks of it as me turning to bland, himself going for natural spice. I dine in the cold and leave, Louie dines and lingers, huddled and warm. I hunt for the blood of animals. Louie sticks to people. Mm. Better get off that thought.
The odd energy in town was zapping me hard, so I slouched in a chair pondering and testing the air. My mountain ease dissipated. I tried to read, couldn't concentrate. Finally made myself work more on the novel. The afternoon scrunched along and you’d think something would happen.
Nothing happened. The heaviness increased until the air almost crackled.
Then Mark stepped up to the plate. “Are you home? Let’s do something tonight.”
“Such as?” Antsy as I was, whatever he planned was fine with me.
“Let’s drive to LA and go bar hopping.”
It was not fine with me. “Doing something, yeah,” I said. “Los Angeles? Meh. Not in the mood to spend an hour fighting traffic on a Saturday night.”
“Okay, we’ll hang around here. Find some girls and do a little dancing.” How could he be easy going when I was prepped to pick a fight? “Is it a go, Brecken?”
I steer away from dancing. It always led to what to do - and what I’ve done - with the girl after dancing was through, and nowadays I avoid such complications like the plague. But… ”You’re on,” I said.
“Pick you up in an hour.”
I was beyond keyed up. Me, the control freak, who lived a carefully monitored life. An ironically safe life all things considered. This energy twist was approaching the absurd and I had no idea what to do about it. And my fangs kept slipping out like they held the answer.
There was time to decide what next with my vamp Anke. Outwit the delete key. Uncomfortable and moody, I fretted. talked to my fictional vamp, asked her if she twitched. Typed and gnawed at the pressure that was gnawing at me. Again, delete won the contest.
I usually prefer color, but tonight it was a gray shirt and black denims. Flip flops because I live in Southern California and I can and damn it anyway. Can’t dance in flip flops, but I didn’t plan on dancing. Just a night out to settle the edginess. Be around people. Chat up a few. Make sure to smile. And hide disobedient fangs.
Skin prickling, I stood outside my door and wanted to whack something with a board, or a pick ax. Better than whacking Mark or my landlady, who were pretty undeserving of such treatment. I smacked my hand hard against the sturdy porch railing. Another, a real slam. But whacking relieved nothing and Mark was in my driveway.
“Timely,” I said, falling into the passenger seat. Normal comment, no frustration visible. No snarls and baring of teeth.
He shifted into reverse. “Hey, you know me, raring to go and ready for what comes. If I’m half lucky you’ll need to get yourself home tonight.”
“Maybe you’ll be the one leaving alone,” I sniped.
“Like that would ever happen. You never connect that long. I know, I mean know, you have someone on the side. Probably where you are all those times when you leave town. A secret sweetie waiting wherever your cabin is.”
“Not likely, but if I do have someone, you’ll be the first person I won’t tell.”
Per norm, Mark drove too fast. This time I was in full agreement with the speed. Outrace the stifling air. I wanted to feed. Again. Not good thoughts when I was heading into the night life scene with girls everywhere. Like tempting lamb chops, if I were tempted by dead lamb.
By 9:30 we had walked out of a couple male crowded places in nearby towns. Mark headed back to the Village Tavern, a mile or so from my house. Not much space for dancing but it’s a tried and true place for single females.
I heard the music as we drove up, but more, I felt sharply increased agitation. Suddenly I was anxious to get inside. The place was packed out which was great for Mark, but my focus was on one thing only. Whatever was causing my bone grinding uneasiness emanated from this building. However I know how to hide eagerness. “Seems Jeff has a new act.”
“Besides Kyler? How do you know? Have you been here lately?”
I shook my head. “There’s a female singing.” We walked towards the entrance and I glanced at the poster announcing the new entertainer.
Henna Landau,
Guitarist and singer
Wednesday thru Sunday
8 pm to Midnight
Picture of a reddish haired girl sitting under a tree with a guitar. Wistful look on her face, like her soul was somewhere distant and she longed to find it. My writer's brain made that up of course, but I found her feminine look appealing.
Mark ignored the poster. “Man, all I hear is people and if lots of them are girls, that’s why we're here.” He went inside, me trailing after.
I made it through the door then froze. It was like a powerful magnet pulled and stunned, grabbing my senses, blasting away my very reality. What? I never stagger - and I staggered, my surprise total and complete. The magnet was on the stage and rippling through my flesh.
I struggled for objectivity. You know who you are. Be him. Hard to do. Nearly impossible. Look at her.
Lots of hair, a long, patterned skirt and a black top. Dangling hoop earrings with little stones. Glittery sandals. Stunning. My breath caught. The light fell soft over the platform but I never need light to see. Every detail was visible and I took it all in.
She was perched on a stool, guitar on her lap, her body angled away from the door. Shiny rust colored hair fell across her face and I wanted her to fling it back. Focused, I watched her strum lightly and sing, willing her to look my way. For long moments she didn’t - then she did, swinging her head sharply in my direction, curled locks swishing through the air, her body tensed. A distinct frown pushed between rich hazel eyes and her hard glance slashed through me like a knife.
All things have energy fields. Colors beam and swirl around us, unnoticed, unless you know how to look, how to see. Rays of color radiate from plants, animals, people. Me … her.
My normal energy is red swallowing black. This singer, so tense on the stool, shone blue, but blue streaked with black. Black? My head spun. What was this? Who is she? No one has black like that. Silken blue and velvety black, or maybe I just wished it were so. Maybe it was dead sea blue and widow black. I shook myself, eyes squeezed tight. When I opened them again her gaze was tight on me and it dripped fire.
She looked away, switched to a new song and I spent the next half hour statued at the door, watching her fixedly pretend not to notice me. I tried to listen to the words but the enigma of her and the visible flow streaming from her grabbed at me like claws and prevented me from really hearing. I've never seen her before and now I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Something of her had snagged and was tugging me to her and I wanted to go there. Yet I fought against it. And it hurt.
I made a crappy effort to appear aloof but not a chance in hell. At least I managed not to move closer to the platform - physically, that is. But my energy probed out to stroke when I should have stabbed. Every atom of my body was aflame, both pushing towards her and shrinking from her, unable and unwilling to escape the force of her attraction. Her pull that I suspected she knew nothing about. The girl wasn't trying to draw me to her. In fact, the pull also felt like rejection. I could tell that the audience seemed entranced too, though in a warm, encouraging way. She smiled at them with her eyes, swayed towards them from her stool. Smiles for them, glares for me. She wanted them, sent waves of repulsion at me. And I clearly felt every searing wave.
One song moved into the next and the next. I didn’t move at all and deep anger stirred. Anger at being so casually manipulated by this singer. She frowned my way again, obviously seeing that I was gaping like a fool, swallowing her with my stare. I felt swallowed by her in return.
People went past, in and out the door. If they looked at me I didn’t notice. All I could see was this girl Henna, singing so sweetly, so ... I didn’t have words to describe it. But I was burning and beginning to resent, losing the last remnants of control, my vamp champing to meet the challenge of this human whose energy had clamped onto me, biting into my gut. Making me shiver. I wanted to shiver next to her, make her shiver back. Climb inside her mind and thrust myself into her. Bite. Take.
And I also wanted to run.
Frozen by magnetic attraction, I did nothing.
Abruptly it was over. She dropped the guitar in the case beside her stool and waved at the applause. Jeff turned on taped music and the singer squeezed past the bar and disappeared down the hall towards the lady’s room.
It was my chance. I wasn’t freed, yet I sort of was, so I shook myself to action and looked for Mark. He was leaning on the back of a chair talking to a girl. “Hey. I’m out of here.” I threw the words at him and turned towards the exit.
“No, Brecken, wait. Julie here has a friend you should meet.”
Fake it. “Next time. See you Monday at the track.”
I felt crazed. If I didn’t leave now I'd go yank her out of there. Bad plan but I loved it. Believed it was both my best idea and my worst. I ran for home and my car.
I’m usually circumspect and I had stood there like a fool while her energy and pull rolled me under. My overboard reaction was due to the puzzle of her existence, yes, but also to my helpless reaction. I churned in anger specifically because I was seething, couldn’t stop seething, and had no ready outlet.
No one to fight. No one to overcome.
I crave intensity and intensely understand myself and my world, but I loathe the unknown and this unknown girl was the source of staggering discomfort - and I knew neither why nor how. What I did know was that she had some sort of ability to touch everyone in that room and to horrifically affect me. The ability itself was hidden, something I couldn’t readily see, but its existence was obvious.
Needless to say, I have secrets too, but I know enough to cloak the fact. Either she didn’t care to cloak or didn’t know there was anything to cloak. Ultimately, I could sense the innocence of her. She wasn’t trying to ruin my days and couldn't know she was.
But she was. She has been. Damn it, she is.
I was a mess and that I had to fix. But first I needed to know more. I parked my car on a street near the Tavern and when she left I followed her up into the foothills, along the quiet streets to where she lived.
It was a modest, two story house with a curving drive where she parked her car. The nearest neighbors weren't all that near, houses set back on half acre plots. Another person, someone benign, was asleep inside her house. I slipped around back where a six foot high cement block wall enclosed a tree filled yard. Beyond that wall, rough shrubbery and wild grasses sloped into the wildness of the foothills, half a dozen miles east of where my coyote roamed. An easy neighborhood in which to observe unseen.
Silver Page 5