Night Time: Two Novels

by H. T. Night

  “You...” gasped Atticai, holding his neck and sitting up. “You were the one in the visions. I didn’t know. How could I have known? You were the Chosen One.” Atticai coughed, and more blood dribbled down his chin. “I was the evil. I was the evil in the dream.”

  Atticai closed his eyes and then just disappeared. In a night, where I had found myself turned into a white eagle, seeing a man disappear in front of me, really freaked me out. But I didn’t have time to worry about it. Next on the list would be to save Yari; that is, if I wasn’t too late.

  I scrambled to my feet, and discovered I was still wearing the same clothes I had been. Okay, now that was a neat trick.

  Focus, Josiah. Find Yari.

  But I didn’t have far to go, or much to worry about. She was standing with Wyatt and Hector, all three of whom were staring at me, open-mouthed. Yari stood still, staring at me as if she had seen a ghost. And that’s saying something about a girl who was already extremely pale faced and was a supernatural being herself.

  “You’re the one, Josiah. You’re the Chosen One. I can’t believe it.”

  “Never mind that, we need to help Lena.” I turned and spotted her lying on the ground. Blood dribbled from her neck, soaking into the dirt around her. I ran to her side and picked her up. She didn’t look as if she was breathing.

  “What do I do?” I yelled. “Someone tell me what to do!”

  “There is only one thing you can do, Josiah,” said Yari.

  “What? Tell me!”

  Amazingly, the others didn’t seem to care what happened to Lena. Why should they? They were used to killing; they were used to death. What was one more dead Tandra to them?

  “Tell me, or I’ll rip all of your fucking hearts out!” I screamed.

  “She is lost,” Yari said. “Unless....”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless you choose to turn her.”

  “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “To save Lena, you will need to turn her into a Mani.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Yari smiled gently at me. “You are one of us, Josiah. You have been bitten three times by a Mani. It takes three bites to turn her.”

  Through my scattered, crazed thoughts, I realized she was right. The first had been when Wyatt bit me. The second had been when Yari sucked the poison out of me. And third had been Hector, up on the cliff. That’s why I was able to transition.

  “You need to help her become a Mani, or she’ll die. She has lost too much blood.”

  “But you just said three bites...”

  “This will be her second bite.” Atticai was obviously the first one. Yari walked over and lifted Lena’s wrist and bit down into it, drawing a small amount of blood. Blood dribbled out, but certainly not as much as I would have thought, until I remembered how much blood Atticai had surely consumed.

  “Now, you Josiah,” said Yari gently. “But you need to get her conscious.”

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps she should have some say in the matter?”

  “Of course.” God, I wasn’t thinking at all. Who could, under these circumstances? But I did as I was told. I patted her face gently. “Lena, wake up.”

  I repeated this a few more times until her eyelids fluttered and finally opened.

  “Josiah?” she whispered.

  I smiled down at her. She was still in my arms. “Yes. Lena, I need to know...do you seriously want to become a Mani?”

  Lena smiled. “Of course, Josiah. That’s all I ever wanted.”

  I looked at Yari. “Now what?”

  “Bite her anywhere. Allow your new teeth to pierce her deep enough so that her blood flows into your mouth. Drink her and swallow. It won’t have to be much. Just enough so that the bond is felt by the Triat.”

  “Okay.”

  I ran my tongue over my “new teeth,” pausing at the canines. My tongue stopped and slid along the full length of them. They were as long as a mountain lion’s incisors. Hell, longer.

  “Hurry, Josiah,” said Lena.

  I nodded, opened my mouth, leaned down, and sank these new teeth deep into her neck, the opposite side where Atticai had feasted. Her blood tasted metallic and warm...and utterly delicious. I stopped, forcing myself to pull back. I released my teeth and looked down at her. And before my very eyes, the two puncture wounds in her neck closed. As did the wounds in both of her wrists. She looked up at me and smiled.

  “You can set me down,” she said.

  I did so, and she stood and rubbed her neck, and I could only stare in stunned silence. It was all so much to take in. I knew that at any moment, I would wake up from some long-ass dream, no doubt fueled by some highly illegal hallucinogenic drug, slipped to me by some nefarious means. But for now, I was awake. Wide awake. And I was a Mani.

  “What happened to Atticai?” asked Lena, looking around. I knew then that she had sincerely loved the tall bastard.

  “Atticai is gone,” Yari said.

  “Is he okay?”

  Yari shook her head, and Lena covered her mouth. Finally, she said, “So the prophecy wasn’t fulfilled?”

  “Oh, it was fulfilled, just not by Atticai.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Lena.

  “Josiah is the Chosen One.”

  She stared at me, and it was then that I also knew that she had strong feelings for me, too. Yari saw the look that passed between us, and didn’t like it, but she didn’t say anything. I turned to Wyatt and Hector. Both were openly staring at me, and both looked nervous as hell.

  “Relax, guys.”

  “We cool?” Wyatt asked. “I mean, no hard feelings about us, um, trying to kill you and all?”

  “Oh, I’ll be kicking your asses later, but for now, we’re cool.”

  They both grinned, and we all stood there in silence. I wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but I knew more would be explained to me, much more. But for now, there was only one thing I wanted to do. Well, two.

  “Let’s get out of here, guys,” I said.

  We all transitioned: Lena and Yari into beautiful red hawks, Hector and Wyatt into black ravens, and myself into the great white eagle.

  We flew, together, over the San Bernardino Mountains. I was now part of the Children of the Night. I was now a Mani. I was now supposed to be their savior. But two beautiful women, C.O.N. business, and even the ass-kickings of my new henchmen would have to wait.

  My first order of business was to find Tommy…

  To be continued in:

  The Werewolf Whisperer

  Look for it H.T. Night’s 8-Book Box Set!

  Return to the Table of Contents

  WEREWOLF LOVE STORY:

  Part One

  (Entwined Series #1)

  Published by H.T. Night at Smashwords.com

  Copyright © 2011 by H.T. Night

  All rights reserved.

  (Author’s note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.)

  Dedication

  I dedicate this novel to my family.

  Acknowledgment

  Special thanks to Eve Paludan J.R. Rain, April M. Reign and Sandy Johnston for all their help.

  Werewolf Love Story:

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Practice was a bitch. Mo, my trainer, kicked my ass. These five-hour practices would have to stop once I was champion. That was a long way off, considering that I only had one professional fight behind me. I knocked out the poor guy in less than a minute; I had a long road ahead of me until I got to the top.

  I’m a mixed martial arts fighter in the state of California. I was a collegiate wrestling champion for Arizona State, and after college, there wasn’t much I could do when my only skill was wrestling other guys on a cold, hard mat. So, I went into mixed martial arts training and got quickly addicted to the sport. So much so that I decided to make it my career.

  Practice was rough tonight because I was still nurs
ing a pretty serious hangover from the New Year’s Eve party, the night before. I hardly ever drink, but there are certain events in the year that qualify as drinking nights, and New Year’s Eve is one of them.

  The year was 2006, and I had just turned 22 years old. College was a breeze for me; I zipped through my four years and got a degree in Theater Arts. Yes, that’s right, I said it; I’m a mixed martial arts fighter who also has a Theater Arts degree. I took every kind of class when I was at Arizona State and I found that my acting classes were the most fun. And, I’m all about fun.

  But tonight wasn’t about mixed martial arts or theater. Tonight was about unwinding at my favorite dive bar. I wasn’t sure if I was going to drink, considering I drank half the tequila in Mexico last night, but I still had some party left in me and I needed to feed the beast.

  My muscles hardly got sore anymore unless I took a pounding in the gym. Tonight, I took such a pounding. I had recently installed a huge Jacuzzi-style bathtub in my apartment. So, I figured I’d check out the ambiance of the bar and maybe have a tiny, little drink. Then I go home and soak my overworked muscles and joints against the bubbling jets of my Jacuzzi.

  I was so hung over and exhausted that I wanted to go to a bar where I knew I would have zero chance of getting into a fight. I have to admit, I love to fight and my specialty is putting douchebags in their place: on the ground, face down. I’m not talking about the clueless guy who is socially inept and tends to stick his foot in his mouth repeatedly at a bar when it comes to talking to women. I’m talking about the meathead, the abrupt bully who is always trying to physically cut you down to build himself up. I didn’t pummel douchebags for talking crap, I pummeled them in physical self-defense. I’m a walking target for douchebags, because I look like a challenge, I’m about six feet, two inches tall, and have a thick physique. I have an exceptionally small waist in comparison to my shoulders, which gives me a nice ‘V shape’ as the ladies often mentioned. My looks have been compared to a younger Hugh Jackman with more of a rugged edge. I have to admit, I love the ladies, and they seem to love themselves some Tommy. Guys, on the other hand, especially guys in packs, seem not to be so Tommy-friendly. I usually kept to myself because frankly, I could fight every night of the week, if necessary. It was as natural to me as breathing.

  So, my dive bar of choice is a place called Shiners, because everyone knows my name and respects my contribution to society. I did see the irony in the name of the dive bar and it was like an “in” joke, every time I walked in past the sign and patted it, for luck. My goal for my contribution to society, in Shiners and elsewhere, was to make sure that all of my women knew that they were delicate, beautiful creatures—I did all I could to make sure each one was satisfied. Line them up! I liked all women, big and small, black or white. They are all God’s creatures and if the night is right, the lucky chosen one would make a run to my hot tub with me, and walk out with her knees quivering and a smile on her face. But don’t misunderstand my intentions, I’m not sexist or a pig. I love and adore women and I’m a gentleman to the utmost degree. But, I am usually on the prowl, and the cuter, my prey, the more I raise my game. My game is simple. I’m the bad boy. Sometimes quiet, sometimes outgoing, but never the braggart. I usually just give tidbits about myself and allow their imaginations to infer the rest. My technique seemed to be working for me. I rarely lacked for female company, but had no steady girlfriend. I had never felt like I needed or wanted one.

  I pulled my black Mustang into the Shiners parking lot. The bar is about two miles from my gym. I worked out in Anaheim Hills at a gym that specializes in mixed martial arts training. The parking lot was unusually empty for a Thursday night, but then again, it was New Year’s Day; most people were already in bed after a long day of watching football and pigging out on Christmas leftovers and beer. I didn’t have the luxury of eating like a pig since I had to keep my weight around 175 pounds. And beer was pretty much forbidden for fighters. It was said that beer put on weight faster than any food.

  I got out of my car and stepped on the crushed gravel parking lot. It was a reasonably cool evening, so I decided to grab my leather jacket from the back seat of my Mustang. It went well with my immaculate white t-shirt and Levis 501 button-front blue jeans that molded to my hips like they were custom made. I had showered and cologned up at the gym and I looked and smelled like a warm, summer day. But, because I had a hangover, I knew my breath was probably yucky. It was Altoid time! I reached in my left pocket and pulled out a container of wintergreen Altoids. I tossed a couple in my mouth. Considering Altoids were the most I had splurged on my diet all day, I thought it would be okay to knock back a couple more.

  I put on my coat, straightened my clothes and then looked at myself in my driver’s-side mirror. My eyes were a tad bloodshot from my workout but I didn’t have any eye drops, so I decided not to worry about it. Besides, it was kind of dark in Shiners. My dark brown hair seemed a tad messed up, but then again, I couldn’t walk into a bar looking too immaculate. I had learned that a slightly scruffy look could be appealing to women.

  I walked across the parking lot and counted a total of five cars. Was there anyone inside? Worst-case scenario, I could chat it up with Megan, the bartender. She was cute and was well-endowed and I could at least get my flirt on. Practice makes perfect.

  I opened the door to the bar. The door had peeled-off paint on the outside, and they covered the inside with big beer advertisements.

  I peeked in and Jonesy, the doorman, was there sitting on a stool looking bored to death. He was a rather large man with a giant head. He looked like he could be an extra in a motorcycle movie.

  “Tommy, what’s up, brother?” He stuck out his fist and bumped it with mine.

  “Not much, Jonesy.” I knew I wouldn’t have to show my ID, and I was actually glad not to. I had been going to the bar since I was eighteen. If they’d ever wanted to see my real I.D., they would know I had pulled the wool over their eyes for four years with a fake one.

  Just like I expected, there was no one in the bar except a couple of the regulars, old guys who would talk your ear off about politics and the state of the American economy, if you let them. Not tonight, I thought. I walked to the bar area and Megan was behind the bar, looking as hot as ever. She was wearing a hot, black skin-tight top with a pair of cut-off jeans shorts. The girl sure knew how to get a tip.

  “Hey, Tommy, have a seat, cutie.” She seemed genuinely glad to see me; she was probably bored to tears listening to the old men talk about elections. I caught some of their conversation in dribs and drabs. It was tedious.

  “Trust me, Megan, there is only one cutie in this bar and it sure as hell isn’t me,” I said, as I planted my butt on the high barstool.

  Megan smiled at me flirtatiously and said, “Jonesy is looking hot tonight.”

  “Yes, he is. No one but Jonesy is quite able to pull off the old-school MacGyver mullet hairdo and mix and match it with a Vincent Price goatee and Elvis sideburns. What’s not to love?”

  She laughed. “That’s for sure. What can I get you, Fighter Boy?”

  I hesitated and then said, “I’ll have a Patron. Make it a double shot. Neat.” Sometimes, I like to order a drink to impress, but it’s hard to impress a bartender with anything but a tip.

  “Sure thing.” Megan grabbed a Patron bottle from the back of the bar. She had to tilt up her body to get the bottle and thank God she did. I caught a glimpse of an ass cheek. Wow, that did the trick! I would put that image in my mental vault and whip out that baby as needed in times of solitude.

  I’m not a pig, so I definitely didn’t let on to Megan that I was pretty turned on by her little reach-up-to-grab-a-bottle performance. A woman like Megan knows she’s hot and works it for all she’s got. I’m sure the ass cheek slid out on purpose from her tiny cutoffs. If I was to comment, it would just put me in a category of every hard-up creep who comes in here looking to hit on a defenseless lady bartender. If Megan didn’t work here and I had m
et her out in the real world, I might have hit on her. But there was no way I would do anything other than harmless flirting. I make it a point not to shit where I eat. Shiners was my home away from home and I took it seriously that I should not get involved with the employees. No matter how cute.

  Megan turned around and poured me a double shot and set it in front of me along with a couple of limes and a salt shaker.

  “You know me so well, Megan.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “I know you do.” I put a little salt on my wrist and cut a lime in half. “Here’s to the new year!” I licked the salt, downed the double shot and sucked the lime. It went down smooth, Patron always does. “Slow night?” I asked.

  Megan smirked at the idiocy of my obvious question. “I expected it,” she said. “I have no idea why the owner even has this place open. He gives us two vacation days, Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

  “Well, I’ll tip you good.”

  “I know you will, you always do,” Megan looked over my shoulder and then paused. “Don’t look now, Tommy, but a ‘Ten’ just walked in and she’s all alone.”

  “Wow, a ‘Ten’ even.” I didn’t look around.

  “She’s hot. I’d do her.” Megan said.

  “She’s either really hot, or really nasty,” I said, under my breath. Hot girls tend to make out with odd-looking chicks at parties. There’s something about a bad, genuine hard-ass chick that turns on straight girls. But that sort of girl does nothing for me.

  “She definitely hot! Turn around, you chicken-shit.”

  “I’m not chicken-shit, I’m savoring the moment. I like to pace myself.”

  “Well, Mr. Pacer, you blew it. She just left.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.” I turned around and saw the door close. I looked at Megan and gave her a look that said ‘this girl better be worth going to the parking lot to check out.’