Fallon's Revenge

by Mackenzie McKade

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  2932 Ross Clark Circle, #384

  Dothan, AL 36301

  Fallon’s Revenge

  Copyright © 2006 by Mackenzie McKade

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  ISBN: 1-59998-179-3

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2006

  Fallon’s Revenge

  Mackenzie McKade

  Dedication

  To my father who introduced to me the beauty and serenity of the White Mountain Apache Reservation. I love you.

  Author’s Note

  The White Mountain Apache Reservation has been a favorite vacationing spot of mine since I was a child. The beauty of its land and people are truly magnificent. Little was found directly relating to the Apaches living there today. I have used a broad interpretation of Indian ideology. By no means does it accurately reflect the depth of the Apaches’ beliefs and traditions.

  Chapter One

  The sweet, innocent laughter of a child filled Fallon McGregor’s head as she took her first breath. The northern Arizona soil cradled her in its arms, holding her like a baby. Again, soft laughter caressed her ears. The unbridled sound warmed her as no fire could in these mountains. It flowed through her veins like the small stream twisting and turning through the valley below.

  It was music a mother cherished. A song sung between two connected by birth and love.

  She could almost feel Christy’s small arms slip around her. Feel her child’s breath tickling the hairs at her nape. Fallon’s chest rose as she inhaled the powdery scent of baby shampoo her daughter insisted on using even though she had just turned five.

  “Mommy, I love you.” The words rang through Fallon’s head, starting her heart to gently pump one beat, two beats, three…

  And then what always followed when Fallon lingered in that dreamscape state, happened.

  Christy screamed.

  One after another, terrified cries for her mother to save her.

  Fallon’s heart stopped, her lips parting on a strangled gasp. The breath in her throat caught, as if a fifty pound boulder plunged high from above fell on her chest with a resonant thud. Pain radiated to every extremity. She tried to move her arms—her legs, but they were immobilized. Just like before, she couldn’t move—she couldn’t save her child.

  And then silence.

  Always that deathly silence as she came fully awake.

  The flutter of Fallon’s heart began anew as blood rushed through her veins. She heard the rapid swish, sensed the energy rising, strengthening. Then a great wall of emotion swamped her, threatened to take her under—deeper beneath the sorrow that already paralyzed her.

  Tears gathered in her eyes as her naked form burst from the earth, spraying black soil in all directions as she rose into the sky.

  “Dammit. I’m alive.”

  As alive as the undead could be.

  Another night had arrived. The strong scent of pines greeted her. A crescent moon, just a sliver in the heavens, was surrounded by stars so bright the sky looked like a picture out of one of Christy’s books.

  Fallon tried to stop the trembling that shook her. Tried to stop the emotion that rolled down her cheeks, but nothing helped. Nothing would ever stop them, except for the death of her maker—Christy’s murderer.

  Only then would Fallon let the light of day take her away to join her baby.

  “How sick am I when my death is the only thing that can make me happy?” Disheartened, she shook her head.

  Pedro Chavez would die slowly beneath her hands. Then she could finally rest.

  Still hovering mid-air, Fallon drifted to the ground.

  Perhaps her attitude made her reckless and cold. Death she didn’t fear. It was life that scared the shit out of her.

  Funny how much strength lay in revenge. It was like mainlining a stimulant. Just the thought of Chavez, the one who gave her immortality, heightened her bitterness and need for revenge. She could feel the hot rush of hate grow, building and filling her with a power she never imagined.

  Power given to her by her maker—which in turn would lead to Chavez’s downfall.

  Fallon could do things she never thought possible. Her hearing and eyesight were acute. The magic of the world she had only read about in fairytales or nightmares was hers. She held it at the tips of her fingers, within a thought, a word.

  She envisioned a cleansing gust. The wind kicked up, whipping around her body, stroking her nakedness and sending her waist length ebony hair to flutter softly behind her.

  She shivered, trying to ease the guilt, the pain—the loneliness. But it was always the same. There was no joy in life without her daughter. Not even the beauty of the night gave her comfort.

  “Elements of the earth come to me.” Her arms rose as she gazed skyward and waited. Invisible molecules wrapped around her legs, arms, torso and hips. Like always a tickling, almost electric sensation, skittered across her skin as the small particles formed and materialized, outfitting her with clothing of her choice. All she had to do was ask and whatever she wanted, needed, was at her fingertips—except for her baby.

  A rumbling inside Fallon’s belly brought her palms to her abdomen. Hunger gnawed against her backbone. She hadn’t fed in three days. The longest she’d been able to achieve to date. But tonight the effects were wearing on her. She felt lethargic, slow. Even the black leather pants, halter top and boots materializing on her body faded in and out.

  Clothes. “Now you see ‘em—now you don’t.” A chuckle rose inside her and then quickly died. Not a good thing if I am stopping by that little tavern in Pinetop.

  She had arrived in Arizona and went aground not long before the sun began to rise. The small town moved about unaware that a vampire had invaded its territory.

  The hand she drew before her eyes and examined was paler and thinner than the night before. Blue veins running up her arm were prominent, as if her skin were tissue paper thin. She knew her slight five-six frame looked delicate, even fragile. But then again, what better way to catch a man than as a helpless woman?

  She’d just keep it to herself that she was stronger than any human alive. Being immortal did have some perks, including strength, rapid healing, and she’d never grow older than the age she was at her conversion, twenty-five. But only as long as she took care of her needs.

  What she expected to achieve from this self-inflicted torment she wasn’t sure, but it saved her from taking what wasn’t hers.

  Blood.

  Fallen pine needles crunched beneath her boots. If she were to hunt down her nemesis, she needed strength. An owl screeched as it landed on a branch of an old oak tree. The bare limbs made her think of long fingers reaching out to grasp her this cloudy September night. She moved slowly away from her resting spot to the sound of flowing water, its tranquility ignored as her pace quickened.

  Logically, Fallon knew what she must do. For over a year and a half she’d been able to seduce and take the substances she required to live without killing her prey. Yet, feeding felt like stealing. At least with the exchange of se
x she was giving something back in return and it fulfilled a need to feel alive. Or at least to touch someone who was.

  An ironic laugh parted her lips. “Mom and Dad, you’d roll over in your graves to know what your little girl has become—a prostitute vampire.”

  “Well, Fallon McGregor, remember nothing is free,” her father had always said.

  Thinking of a fine mist, her body became that of moisture, tiny drops of dew moving through the trees, fast and silent. It had taken a while to learn this little trick.

  Even longer to escape Chavez.

  She could still hear his voice, a sensual Spanish accent whispering, “Mi belleza.” He called her his beauty.

  “Beauty— Bah! The son of a bitch almost drained me of blood.”

  The night she escaped, Fallon had been so weak Chavez hadn’t chained her to the bed. With pure determination, she crawled from the house and down a path where a young couple found her. They had offered to help. Their blood had given her much needed strength to run.

  “But I won’t run forever, Chavez.” She had been on the lam for the last six months.

  With the thought of the man who had killed her daughter and then taken Fallon as a slave, her blood thickened, unmoving and cold.

  Memories of the year under his rule weighed on her. The beatings, the torture, the touch of his hands upon her body, his lips…

  Where she should have felt light drifting through the night, she felt burdened, risking falling out of the sky at any moment. Distance was the only thing that weakened his power over her, the only thing that would give her time to learn what she needed to kill him.

  She was becoming stronger—smarter.

  An elk raised his head skyward as if he could see or hear her. His legs tensed, a slight quiver rattled through them as he prepared to flee. The wild look in the animal’s eyes screamed survival.

  Fallon knew that feeling.

  She also knew in order to succeed—to kill Chavez—she needed a Master, someone to teach her the secrets of the night. It took too long to learn from trial and error. One wrong step and she might end up under Chavez’s control again.

  She would seek the light of day and perish before that happened.

  A gust of air whipped through her misty form, making the particles scatter and then come back together into a stream of moisture as she cut through the night sky. That cute little dark-haired vamp in Oklahoma City had introduced Fallon to her own Master, Lomar. The man had sent Fallon packing the moment she asked, “What could kill a Master vampire?”

  Only a Master vampire could teach Fallon what she needed to know. Chavez was centuries older, his power too strong.

  “Right now you think you own me—that is if you can catch me. But one day I’ll be successful. Both of us will die.” The thought eased her mind slightly.

  As the tiny drops of dew pulled together, she materialized in the back of a building. The wooden structure looked like it, too, had existed for centuries. The horizontal logs forming the bar looked worn, but glossy as if recently varnished to hide its age. A thread of smoke curled from a stone chimney. She inhaled the pleasing scent of burning pine.

  Her hands slid along the sides of her neck, moving upward to fluff her hair and spread it across her shoulders as it streamed down her back. With a twist of her waist, she put a swing to her hips and stepped upon the sidewalk that wrapped around the building and led to the entrance. The parking lot to the side was completely full, vehicles even lined the street in front of the establishment.

  From outside she could hear the band tuning up. The hollow sounds of drums, the twang of a steel guitar, and the glide of a bow over a fiddle. A lively tune kicked in, the beat controlling her heart, and for a second quieting the hunger and need inside her. There was a roar of laughter just as she pushed open the door and entered. Immediately, the smell of liquor and stale cigarettes touched her nose and she cringed from the foul odor.

  “Damn these heightened senses.” She held her breath, but when she released it and sucked in another, the offensive stench overpowered her all over again.

  The place was packed.

  Cowboys. Men in tight fitting jeans. The posters on the wall announced that a rodeo was in town. Strong, healthy, and virile playmates for tonight’s pickin’s.

  Mmmm… How lucky could she get?

  Her body immediately reacted as the tingling of arousal tightened her nipples. A flutter of heat swirled low in her belly. Her mouth salivated as she gazed around the room.

  Like it was choreographed, everyone in the place turned their heads and stared at her. Fallon’s pulse jumped, sped. When she was alive there was nothing she liked better than a man in a Stetson. And tonight she might even have a couple in her bed—er, their bed. She doubted even one of these studs would like to join her beneath the ground.

  The urge to rub her palms together was overwhelming. She felt like she’d entered a candy store.

  Wolf-calls and whistles gave her confidence. She had been considered pretty, but there was something about being the undead that worked wonders on a woman. Her hair was fuller and softer, a natural spring to it. Her fingernails were strong and long. Hell, even her breasts were bigger. The thirty-six B she previously sported was now a C cup.

  As she sauntered up to the bar the hairs on her neck began to rise as if volts of electricity shimmied across her skin.

  Fallon wasn’t the only vampire in Pinetop tonight.

  For a moment fear raced through her. But the rolling nausea when Chavez was near didn’t overwhelm her. No, this was someone else.

  She felt him before she saw him. Strong. Masculine. Energy poured off him in waves that filled the room with invisible activity. Hot and alive. Touching and caressing.

  He hunted tonight.

  His hunger was tentacles of power creeping and searching for prey as they moved throughout the crowd. The gentle probe, teasing and playful, enticed the women and mesmerized the men, masking something dangerous, even deadly.

  Whether the vampire came to feed or kill only he knew.

  Duh! How could she be so stupid?

  Fallon was in the presence of a Master. Authority and control surrounded her. She barely stopped herself from shaking her head with shame. He didn’t hunt to feed. He hunted her. She was trespassing.

  Primitive and wild, his scent filled Fallon’s nostrils. With the intense sensation, she found herself drawn to his magnetism as her gaze followed the shrill laugher and giggles in the corner. Slowly she pivoted on the toes of her boots.

  Tall, golden and dangerous was surrounded by a group of women, each praying to win his favor. He stood at least a foot taller than most of the gals. Even with his back to Fallon, she could see the strong tendons in his neck, the tips of wheaten curls from beneath his black Stetson.

  “Not now, Lori,” he whispered to the brunette at his side, an air of apology in his tone.

  Fallon felt his deep, sexy voice slip down her back like liquid silk. Immediately, a warm, wet heat released between her thighs. With just a thought he reached out and stroked her mind, sending shivers up her spine.

  Yeah. She might not have recognized who he was immediately, but she knew what he was. They were immortal and could sense when like were around. Not to mention they were open to the telepathic path that all their kindred shared. But she wasn’t interested in dealing with a Master right now. There would be questions asked and all she wanted was to feed, perhaps a warm body to lie against, and then she’d be gone.

  Before he could speak to her, Fallon threw up a mind block. Pure masculine laughter flowed through her head as he shattered her defenses. He was powerful. Strong. And he was teasing her.

  “Great. Just what I needed—a roguish vampire. Dammit. I’m not going to get involved with this guy,” she whispered to herself. Not even if he made her body burn, and she hadn’t even seen his face, only the breadth of those shoulders and that taut, jean-covered ass. The sting in her nipples filtered across her heavy breasts, tightening them to
an unbearable ache.

  “Puleez,” the curvy brunette whined, “dance with me.” Her hand stroked invitingly up and down his arm. A handful of other women chimed in that they were next in line to hold him in their arms.

  The sensual heat he emitted ensured one, maybe two women, a night of heaven or something more. Fallon refused to consider the outcome, thinking of her own ill fate. You couldn’t trust a man with fangs.

  This particular vampire wasn’t her business, and she had no intentions of getting involved. She’d just have a bite or two of her own and be on her way.

  Still, she couldn’t seem to look away as her appreciative gaze stroked his broad shoulders. That was until a brawny cowboy lightly touched her arm.

  With a whiskey-smooth southern drawl, he asked, “Dance with me?”

  A smile slipped across Fallon’s face as she stared into eyes the color of rich milk chocolate. Just what she needed—a diversion.

  “I’m Mason, pretty lady. Would you like to dance?”

  Mason was blond, only a couple inches taller than she. He had the look of an earthy man. One who lived the country life he dressed for in boots, hat, western shirt, and form fitting jeans outlining his—er, goods.

  Through shuttered eyes, her gaze fell to the shiny silver belt buckle to stroke the rather impressive bulge between his thighs, again. A bull rider she quickly concluded, judging by his height and build. A pleasant bed partner she assumed, judging by his demeanor and masculinity.

  Yes. Mason would do nicely for tonight, and if he had a friend all the better.

  Chapter Two

  The band playing, the clinking of glasses, laughter, even the ladies surrounding Adrian Trask, were white noise as he focused on one particular woman. The reason he was in Little Tavern tonight. With the coming rodeo a herd of people had arrived, including one unannounced vampiress standing near the bar behind him.

  Undead visitors could mean trouble. And trouble was not welcomed on the White Mountain Apache Reservation or Adrian’s surrounding towns.