Bite My Fire: A Biting Love story.

by Mary Hughes

  “My grandfather told me, I think. It’s an urban legend. Sort of a Meiers Corners Hook Hand.”

  “I see.” My cop sense started tingling. Trying not to be obvious about it, I scanned the area. We were on Fourth and Adams. Buildings pressed tightly together here, mostly dry-as-dust offices. A bank, accountant’s office and lawyer’s office were cut by narrow, unlit walkways.

  The buildings were as dry as their occupants. Brittle brick, darkened by age, slightly uneven, with shadowy gaps. Like hillbilly teeth. It was spooky.

  So when a dark figure rose from the gloom behind us, I stiffened. It passed under one of the dim yellow lights and glowed all white, like a ghost. My hackles rose.

  The ghost waved. “Hey, Elena.”

  I relaxed. “Dorie, hi. How’s business?” Dorie Baecker was head baker at the Pie Delight. She looked the part, a sort of Pillsbury Doughboy with bangs.

  “Great. Gotta rise and shine,” she quipped, just before she was yanked out of sight.

  “What the…?” For a split second, I didn’t get it. She’d disappeared soundlessly between two buildings about twenty feet away. Like a mugging, but Meiers Corners didn’t have muggings.

  Next to me, Bo kicked into a run. He was at the walkway before I could blink. Automatically, I pursued.

  A skeletal man leaped from the gap, tackling Bo. Bo rocked but didn’t go down. He punched the man in the face, snapping his skull back.

  “Police,” I yelled. “Stop!”

  A scream cut me off. A second gaunt man had Dorie by the neck. His head bent toward her throat.

  “You,” I said. “Let her go, now.”

  The man ignored me, his mouth opening like he was going to take a big bite.

  Bo had his hands full with the first guy. This one had ignored my warnings. Unless I acted, fast, Dorie was going to get an impromptu tracheotomy. But I couldn’t shoot because she was in the way. So I put my head down and charged.

  I barreled into them, popping Dorie loose. She fell back against the brick of the law office, gasping. I cut her a quick glance to make sure she was okay.

  In that split second, horny yellow fingernails dug into my shoulder and dragged me into the gap. Unnaturally strong hands threw me to the pavement. Wiry weight fell on top of me. Even with my trained reflexes, I couldn’t stop him. He had my wrists manacled above my head before I registered I was down.

  Dorie squeaked and ran away. Her footsteps rang, retreating rapidly.

  I had more immediate concerns. Unholy stench filled my nostrils. Stringy hair fell into my face, blinding me. Red eyes glowed from the depths.

  I fought using all the tricks in the book. Wrist-twist, hip pop. My attacker avoided or countered my maneuvers with absurd ease. A mouth opened above me. Saliva splashed onto my face.

  Long fangs reached for my throat.

  Doubling my struggles did nothing. The fangs descended and I was utterly helpless to stop them.

  And still I fought, uselessly.

  A roar exploded in the mouth of the gap. Closing in fast. Shockwaves of sound caromed off brick. I couldn’t tell if it was friend or foe—or even man or beast.

  But whatever it was, it was very big, very loud and very angry. I redoubled my struggles.

  I heard a tearing sound. Hot, viscous fluid deluged me, drenched my shirt. My nostrils filled with a sharp, coppery odor. I flinched as the stuff soaked through to my skin.

  Long fingers fastened around my attacker’s neck. Bo’s, dark and strong. He lifted and flung the guy like a sack of potatoes. The sight of Bo—broad shoulders twisted as he threw, muscles pumped to mountains—burned into my brain.

  I rolled to one shaky elbow. The slashed remains of the second attacker lay at the entrance. The body was headless. Guts streamed from its open belly and the cave of its chest was empty. The heart had been dug out. My eyes raised to Bo.

  He stood with his impossibly broad back to me, head bowed. I opened my mouth. “What…” It came out a croak. I tried again. “What happened?”

  Bo took a deep, shuddering breath. Blew it out and straightened. Inhaled deeply and deliberately. Exhaled, and finally turned. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his eyes were unnaturally bright.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed my arm, jerked me to my feet and dragged me away.

  “The fuck!” I dug in my heels. Bo simply picked me up and carted me rapidly down the street. I struggled, uselessly. “That’s a crime scene! I need to report it, get it cordoned off, start the paperwork—”

  He plopped me on my feet in front of a big blue mailbox. Looked deep, and I mean deep, into my eyes. “You didn’t see anything. There was no attack. No crime.”

  Whoa. He was into serious denial. I didn’t know what had just happened either, but I knew it happened. I plucked blood-soaked cloth from my ribs and held it out. My white tee was now dark red. Damn, first coffee and now this. No more white. “No attack? What’s this shit all over my shirt? Heinz Fifty-Seven?”

  Bo’s eyes blanked. Then he breathed in a bushel of air, released it on a hard puff. “You’re the most stubborn, strong-minded female I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

  Of all of that, I only heard “misfortune”. “Me? Don’t make it like I forced myself on you! You’re the one who keeps dropping in on me.”

  Bo released my shoulders to plant fists on hips. “Oh? Like when you called me to rescue a stuffed bear from your sister’s toilet? Or when you stomped into my home, demanding to see me?”

  My gut imploded like I’d been punched. “The first was your job. And the second was mine.”

  “And at the fudge store? Was that your job too? Shuddering and moaning and rubbing your wet little crotch against me?”

  “Shut up!” I screamed.

  And kissed him.

  Well, it worked for the heroes, why not us girls too?

  My hands dug deep into his hair, yanked his head down. I mashed my lips into his. He spluttered in protest. I speared my tongue between his lips. With a groan, he opened. His mouth tasted strangely metallic, like he’d been chewing on a gum wrapper. I didn’t care, thrusting into his heat, touching everything I could reach, lips, teeth, tongue, even a swipe to the roof of the mouth. Like I could devour him.

  I was vaguely aware of the slowly waking row houses around us, of papers hitting stoops in the distance. But I didn’t care. Maybe there was something to that violence-and-sex thing. Because though I’d started it to shut him up, though we were outdoors with only the waning night for privacy, five years, three months and five days was suddenly not going to be one more second.

  I launched myself up, wrapping my arms around his neck, twining my legs around his hips. He caught me under the butt to settle me against his rapidly lengthening erection. He ground it against me, fingers biting into my glutes in his urgency. That hot shaft felt so wonderful even through four layers of clothing. It would feel amazing skin to skin.

  Apparently Bo was just as eager. Four layers thinned to two when he parked my butt on top of the mailbox, and a zip was followed by a scalding nudge.

  I hadn’t passed third base for…well, yeah. Long enough to make me a little crazy. I fused my body to Bo’s. Bit his lip. His erection jumped. I bit and licked his chiseled jaw, on my way to his ear. Tongued the lobe, then sucked it. It was so tasty in its soft nest of hair. I wondered what else would be tasty in a soft nest.

  Bo groaned, rubbed himself against me. My bones clanked metal as his cock stuttered over the thick seam of my jeans. Oh, for a short, short skirt. And nothing else.

  I teased his ear with my tongue. “Why do you make me so hot? You’re like guns and chocolate and beer all rolled into one.”

  He laughed between groans. “Yeah? Well I feel like a perpetual redwood around you.” He shoved a hand down my jeans, encountered my wet slit. “Aw, damn, Elena.”

  I shifted my hips so he could slide deeper. A single hot finger invaded me. I stifled a scream. My legs automatically scissored, squeezing him, pr
actically cutting him in two. He gasped. Didn’t stop the finger. It slid deeper, withdrew to kiss the edges of my inner lips. When I was about to scream anyway, it slid forward, touching heaven.

  Bo wiggled that clever finger until I jangled like a bell. I practically chewed off his earlobe. I clung to him so hard I’m surprised I didn’t pull his head off.

  The slap of rolled-up newspapers grew nearer. I clung and chewed and rocked frantically against Bo’s strong body. Through it all he kept vibrating. I was teetering on the edge of climax, my whole body abuzz. Especially my breasts. My whole chest purred in pleasure, so loudly I could almost hear it—

  Wait.

  I could hear it, actually. Or I heard something rumbling between us. A deep rhythmic rrrr, like a lion’s purr.

  Uh-oh. A squirrel-sized cat had scratched me once, and I still had the scars. The beast matching this lion-sized purr would have claws like switchblades. I launched out of Bo’s arms, steadying myself against the mailbox. “What the hell?” I cast around me. Where was it?

  My roving eyes lit on Bo. The sight of him distracted me really fast from monster cats. He stood statue-still, blond head back, eyes squeezed shut, pants pushed down just under his—omigod.

  It was as big as my forearm. A table leg. Made my Big Mama vibrator look like Pokey Jr.

  And I wasn’t talking about his belt buckle.

  Bo’s eyes slit open. They glittered in the streetlight, blue darkened almost to purple. “You have incredibly bad timing.” His voice was rough.

  “I have bad timing?” I nearly shrieked it in my frustration. He wasn’t the one who was about to see light at the end of a five-year tunnel—only to be luminis interruptus by a freaking cat. Speaking of which… I checked my front. Blood, but drying, not mine. No claw marks. Must have only sounded like a crazed animal was right on top of me. “I heard a cat.” Now that I wasn’t in imminent danger of being scratched to death, I felt a little sheepish.

  “A cat.” Bo’s face went perfectly blank.

  “Uh, yeah. Growling. Or maybe, uh, purring.”

  “A purring cat.” Bo’s eyes quieted. So, unfortunately, did Mr. Forearm. “Are you allergic to cats? Or perhaps purrs?”

  “No, no. I like cats. Dogs too.” My face was very warm. “My place is too small for a pet, though.”

  “I see.” He put away his toys and zipped up. The overcast sky was lightening behind him.

  Damn. I had blown it. My shot at heaven—or at least a chance of some serious fun. Now the countdown would continue. I had to fight not to grind my teeth into dental powder.

  And double damn. Considering Bo’s frustrated face, I might not get another chance. But I bet Mr. Viking Battleship could. He could get plenty of other chances. Hell, with an erector set like that, he could probably stage his very own lottery.

  Jail me and throw away the key. I knew I should have followed “Ten Pointers to Ful-fill-ment”. Oh please, St. Dirkson, could it get any worse?

  At that moment the paperboy came around the corner. The first rays of gray-tinged sun filtered over the rooftops, hitting his cheeky grin.

  Bo winced. “Elena, I’ve got to go.”

  Toss the key and say hi to Bend-over Bubba. I prayed to St. Dirkson and got St. Murphy instead. “But—”

  Before the word was out of my mouth, he’d poofed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dark clouds gathered as I trudged back to the scene of the attack. I remembered it being around Fourth and Adams but somehow Bo and I had gotten all the way to Eisenhower. Near my apartment, I thought with uncharacteristic bitterness. He could have taken me home to bed, if he’d wanted to. Obviously he hadn’t. I stuck my hands deep in my pocket and pushed the thought away. I had work to do.

  By the time I got to ground zero, the sun barely showed through small breaks in the heavy clouds. It was already uncomfortably hot, the humid air sluggish. I turned into the walkway.

  Nothing was there.

  I frowned, looked again. Had the bodies been dragged away? I knelt, studied the pavement. Two black scorches marred the concrete.

  I blinked. But the scene didn’t change. No bodies, no blood. Just black marks, streaked with dust and ash.

  Well. I’d heard of spontaneous human combustion, but this was ridiculous. I snapped on gloves, poked my finger into the charred mass. Something crumbled. I leaned closer, saw little blackened shards, like bits of bone.

  Char marks. Red-eyed attackers. And Bo had bitten me. Connections were snapping on in my brain, scary connections. Like maybe Bo knew what had happened in this walkway after all. Like maybe he was responsible for that empty chest cavity.

  Fuck. As my friend Nixie would say, this was baka. It was insane to think these streaks were the remains of vampi…no. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation. A not-nuts explanation. A cop explanation.

  I pulled out a baggy and pinched up a sample of the charred stuff. Charles Samuel Ignatek was going to earn his money analyzing this.

  –—

  At home, I tried to sleep. My old room air conditioner couldn’t have cooled a hamster cage. Pitting it against the August heat made it sputter, cough and finally die.

  Hot, damp, I dreamed of Bo licking me like an ice-cream cone and woke up with the sheet wadded between my legs. After straightening the bedclothes I lay back down but tossed and turned in the oppressive heat and humidity. Slept not at all.

  The heavy rain clouds finally broke around two, and with them, the heat spell—but the cool weather didn’t help my personal heat spell. Counting sheep backfired because I ended up counting fantasy licks. Finally I fell into a light doze.

  At six p.m. I woke. Too early, but I got up anyway. Over two days had passed since the murder. I had to solve this case, and soon.

  Grabbing pencil, notebook and a big cup of joe, I plopped down in my living room. I’d push some order into my life by organizing the case.

  I slashed a grid onto the page, listed my suspects in the first column. Headed the other three means, motive and opportunity.

  Josephine Schrimpf. She had motive. No opportunity, supposedly being out of town at the time. I made a note to check her alibi. And search her house for means. She might refuse my request to look, but that would tell me something too. I phoned her, made an appointment to meet at ten p.m.

  With strong motive, Josephine Schrimpf was my top suspect. But not the only one…my eyelids drooped.

  I blinked. Poured another cup of coffee. Got up with it and took a turn around the couch.

  Drusilla. She was the last person to see Schrimpf alive. She had the best opportunity. And she had been acting decidedly strange.

  But why kill a paying customer? I sank back onto my sofa. No motive. I didn’t know if she had the means. I would need to find her, quiz her again.

  Who else? Though less likely, one of the bar patrons might be involved. I would need to interview Donner and Blitz again, find out who was at Nieman’s that night.

  My head jerked up. I shook it. Huh, nearly fell asleep. I drank more joe and considered whether the killer might be someone connected with the gym. But Nixie was pretty savvy. If there were rumblings, she would have heard them. I put that on the bottom of the list.

  Of course, it was always possible Schrimpf was a random killing. In the wrong place at the wrong time. But with no sign of a struggle, and Schrimpf wounded in a rather…personal place, I thought it more likely the killer was someone Schrimpf knew.

  There was another possibility. I couldn’t quite remember who, but I knew there was someone else…my head jerked up again. Damn. I’d been pushing pretty hard but I was stronger than this. I had to be. Not only was the badge riding on it, but my pride.

  The widow, Drusilla, somebody at the bar, an employee or vendor. I had my suspects, my MMOs. Now I just needed to find evidence to prove which was right.

  I nearly jumped out of my chair when my phone started beeping. I flipped it out, saw the reminder for my ten o’clock with Josephine Schrimpf. Damn, it
was already nine thirty. I bolted for the shower. I’d have to go straight to the widow’s.

  The hot water cleared the cobwebs from my head. I washed quickly, but something made me grab my scented shower gel. Not thoughts of Bo. I dressed in thong and low-slung jeans with an S for sexy stamped on the butt (also not for Bo). Then I hunted through my nearly empty drawers until I found a scoop-neck navy lace knit top that barely covered my breasts (not for Bo—for Dirk and his coffee attacks).

  My cell rang while I was going through my final checks. I recognized the caller ID. “Hey, Alice.” XD loaded, thumb safety on. Check. Clutch piece, check. Pockets loaded with everything from gloves to pencil. Check. Good to go.

  “Hey, Elena. Want to go bowling? Alba Gruen called in sick.”

  “I’d love to, but I’m working.” Suiting words to action, I hit the street, barely noticing the wash of bright stars.

  “Play hooky. C’mon, you only live once.”

  The cooler weather let me head for the Schrimpf home with a fast, determined stride. The clear air hit my nose in a sweet rush. I finally felt fully awake. “Alice, I have a case to solve. A permanent badge to earn. Justice to serve. Remember, if I don’t solve the case, a murderer walks free.”

  She tsked. “You sound so much like your father. Such a burning need for justice. You’re a lot like him, you know. A fighter for justice.”

  “Fighter for justice? That sounds like some sort of crusader. I’m just a detective, doing my job. Careful, plodding, by-the-book.”

  Alice laughed. “Proves my point. That is so Patrick. By-the-Book O’Rourke, we used to call him. Such a wonderful public defender. Well-respected.”

  I waited for traffic on Seventh before crossing. “Well-respected, but not very well paid.”

  “None of us are, kiddo. You were always trying to be like him. I remember that little briefcase Brita got you. You put on one of his ties and carried that case around like it was grafted on.”