Love At First Bite Part 14

"Get in the car."

The officer who was still with him had opened the door, taken the safety off his revolver, and begun to shove him into the vehicle when they all saw it. The building came alive, blackness pouring over the edges of the windows, sliding out from under the bolted doors. The two officers backed up, and the three men stood paralyzed for a second by terror.

It seemed like the ooze had created a yawning blackness that was darker than the night, and then within the fragile seconds it took for natural human reaction, the surreal darkness separated, took flight, and hundreds of bats fanned out in the air.

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" the burly officer yelled as tiny beasts swarmed him in a billowing funnel cloud.

Gunfire ripped from his revolver as his bellows turned to screams. Fearing what he was seeing more than a shot in the back, Jose made a break for his motorcycle. He immediately smashed on his helmet to keep the vicious flying creatures from attacking his head.

Jose turned to glance over his shoulder only once to see a swarm gather around the other cop and then become a large singular ent.i.ty masquerading as a bald, jaundiced-hued, black-suited man with hooked claws, red gleaming eyes, and fangs. He was out.

Stomping down on the motor, he careened away from the highway underpa.s.s near the scaffold-clad building, heading for open,

wide streets that were populated by something that made sense-people. In a blur, a wisp of red fabric stabbed into his vision from the sidewalk. The high-pitched scream of a woman became a Doppler effect in his mind, welding it to the piercing decibel of screeches from the things that flew.

Billowing sulfur-tainted smoke obscured all but the woman's terror-stricken brown eyes as he drove, turning to look over his shoulder, hunkered down to keep control of the bike. The sound of guttural moans, then the stench of blood made him hock and spit in the wind as his bike raced down the center of the lonely street. He wasn't stopping for s.h.i.t!

"Oh, my G.o.d! Help me!"

The female voice rang in his ears behind him. The familiar scent dragged his bike to a pivoting spin. Two beasts had her cornered against a vacant building in a huddled ma.s.s. He reached, one-handed, into his saddlebags and found paint. His bike became a weapon, hitting the curb and barreling down the sidewalk playing chicken with the unknown. Something landed on his seat behind him with a heavy thud, but his Harley was a part of his body, and Jose instantly whirled around to blacken gleaming eyes with paint, sending the invader shrieking to the ground clutching its hideous face.

Kicking and screaming, the woman covered her head as a predator bent. But the thing looked up too late to avoid Harley wheels burning at 80 miles an hour. Jose braced for the tumble, expecting the collision to throw him from the bike. Instead the ent.i.ty parted in a foul splatter of sulfuric green gook that wet his helmet, chest, and the sidewalk.

"Jump on!" Jose yelled. "Up now, or I'm leaving you!"

The woman scrambled to her feet and immediately mounted his bike. Gone in seconds, he zigzagged them into traffic, popping a wheelie as they entered a busy intersection to make cars stop and give way.

His heart thudded, sweat blinding him along with demon gook on his helmet shield, forcing him to s.n.a.t.c.h it off and let it bounce away in the street. Frightened hands clung to his chest, and a feminine face pressed to his shoulder blades. He rode like the night wind itself, still smelling approaching sulfur.

Lead the ma.s.s of shrieking demons to his mother's home?

Impossible. Stop riding? Not likely. Talk to this chick on the back of his bike and figure out how to ditch the unexpected pa.s.senger along the way? Not. Oh yeah, hang around and try to explain that he hadn't butchered two cops? Suicide. Stop? Oh, h.e.l.l no. Not until he ran out of gas. Not until he was somewhere safe. Not until his heart stopped slamming into his chest. Not until he reached the only place in the world where he knew people who believed in such things and had something to deal with it-Grandpop's.

They came to a stop on an old dusty road on reservation lands. An old man sat on the porch chewing the stem of a worn corncob pipe with a smile.

Jose's grandfather stood with effort, his tattered red and gray plaid shirt loosely blowing in the just-before-dawn breeze. He came to the edge of the porch rail and waited and shoved his hands in his brown corduroy pants. The old man simply nodded as the coyotes howled. Waning moonlight washed across his silver hair which hung in two long braids over his chest.

"The Thunderbirds sent you," Jose's grandfather murmured, and then looked up at the moon. "You smelled them?"

Jose leaned his head against the bike handlebar, too spent to immediately respond. "I'm freaked out, Pops. No riddles right now."

"I was on the bus," the girl clinging to him sobbed. "I was; I was... Then the bus stopped at the end of the line. I got off!" she said, her voice rising in hysteria. "It was deserted and I was afraid, so I headed toward police lights in the distance, and then... and then... oh, dear Mother of G.o.d..." She pressed her face to Jose's back and wept.

"We know," the old man said calmly. "The council of elders had a vision. It is the season for these things."

Jose felt the woman behind him cringe but lift her head. He looked at his grandfather with a harsh glare. "This wasn't gypsy moths, Pops! The season? The freakin' season! Do you know what they did to two cops? Have you any idea what-"

"Yes," his grandfather said in a calm tone. "Your training to guard the innocent begins with a harsh lesson, because you bear the totem of the Thunderbird. You are a sensor. Your gift is like that of the wolf, a tracker, but you fly like the night wind, and portend the rains of change." He signed a calm, satisfied sigh. "Come into the house, wash, and eat. The women have clothes for her. I have clothes for you. We've been waiting for you both for a very long time."

Jose watched his grandfather go into the house with quiet dignity. His serene acceptance of their story was both comforting and unnerving. Trying to piece together the fragments of reality that still existed within his mind, Jose finally turned to the woman on the back of his bike.

"Listen, sis... this ain't no place to be. I'm sorry I didn't drop you off in LA, but s.h.i.t..."

He rubbed his hands down his face and kicked the bike stand down so he could dismount. She still had her palms covering her face, breathing into them slowly as though holding back a scream. He knew exactly where she was at-freaked out.

Rather than dismount, he turned to her and touched her tousled hair. "What's your name?"

She didn't answer, just dragged her breaths in and out of her lungs as though about to have an asthma attack. "I saw it all in my dream," she whispered. "The same one I have almost every night. I never saw his face... the man on the bike. But the demons, the street... the dead cops-I saw it all!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Jose grabbed her by both arms. "Come again? Tell me the dream!" he nearly shouted.

As she lifted her head slowly from her hands, the same eyes he'd seen night after haunting night stared back at him until her gorgeous heart-shaped face was revealed. Tears and terror had made circles under her eyes from bled mascara. But it was her. He let his gaze trail down her torso. Oh yeah... it was her. Violet-laden perfume, Dove soap, and adrenaline-spiked pheromone got separated out from her skin in layers to attack his senses with dream-memory. The scent bottomed out in his stomach and made it clench.

"I never saw his face," she murmured, "because he wore a black helmet." She allowed her gaze to slide down Jose's torso. "But he was wet with sweat. And I know the bike..." Her words trailed off as she glanced at his hands. "I know those hands," she added quietly. "Same grip."

Jose let his hands slowly loosen and then fall away from her arms. "Your people... you need to call home, and let them know you're all right."

"Okay... but my mother doesn't care. She said I was dead to her."

He watched new tears rise in her eyes, and something he couldn't understand drew his fingertips to wipe them away from her pretty, flushed cheeks as they fell. "Call her anyway," he said in a gentle voice. "I have to call my mom, too."

She nodded, adjusting the strap on her halter top, suddenly feeling exposed. It had to be the insane terror that had released b.u.t.terflies in her stomach. She lifted her chin; no matter what her mother had said, she was no tramp. But those intense gentle, quiet brown eyes and strong grip made it hard to breathe. She studied the line of his solid jaw and then let her gaze travel over broad shoulders, and lean, sinewy arms that had held the bike steady to save her.

"You came back for me. Bless you with all the gifts of heaven."

"I couldn't leave you out there like that without trying... not after I saw what they could do."

She stared up at him and swallowed hard. "You could have been killed."

He gave her a half smile. "But I wasn't and neither were you."

She touched a finger to his lips. "Thank you. Say no more. Let me just work this out in my head for a minute."

He didn't move or blink while he watched her process it all. She was a still life, something his hands ached to immortalize in wet paint, charcoal, pencil, any medium that would hold her. There was a level of serene acceptance beneath her stricken state. In the moonlight, even with smeared makeup and wild hair, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever been this close to. It was reflex that sent his hand to stroke her hair and pull her into a hug. Why he was feeling like this at a time like this was way past crazy.

But the sensation of her silky hair under his palm and the way her breaths entered and exited her mouth to pour warm heat over his chest was beyond comprehension. The urge to take her mouth defied all logic, just as what they'd experienced was surreal. Rather than make her more nervous than she already had to be, he simply hugged her and nuzzled the crown of her hair.

"You'll be safe here tonight. You can call home, get a shower and some hot tea, something to help you chill out... and some rest. My grandfather has some strange ways, but he's a decent old man. Real cool like that."

She nodded and pulled away from the embrace to stare up at him. "You'll stay in the house with me, though... I mean... you won't be too far away?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. She wanted him near? Thought of him like he was some kinda protection or something-a hero? Whoa.

Needing to move or else kiss her, he got off the bike and helped her down. For some reason, she snuggled in close to him, and for some reason, his arm threaded around her waist. They entered the house practically in tandem. His grandfather's Navajo wife looked up, smiled, and brought a pile of towels and clothing forward. She petted the young woman's face and turned to Jose for an introduction. It was only then that he realized he didn't even know her name.

"Uh, we just met, and-"

"I'm Juanita," the young woman beside him said shyly.

"Oh yeah, I'm Jose," he said to the woman he'd saved, and then offered his grandfather's wife an apology with his eyes.

The older woman said nothing, just simply handed off the pile of towels and clothing to Juanita, then kissed them both, held their faces for a moment, and left the house to go wait on the porch.

Jose's grandfather nodded toward him. "My wife will gather with the women to make strong medicine to give to you both, but especially her, the one with the eyes of the night."

Jose stood very, very still. He knew a little something, as memory served him, about old shaman ways-none of which made him feel comfortable in the least. If an all-female tribal night conclave was being convened to make serious medicine before dawn, then the men would be in a heavy spiritual ritual within a sweat lodge. He and his grandfather shared a knowing glance.

"Do not worry," his grandfather said, setting his jaw hard as he fetched his gray felt hat with the eagle feather down from the wall. "You pa.s.sed the first test-she is not dead; you also live unmarked by the beasts. This house cannot be entered by the shadows. Strong medicine keeps the path clear and this home untouched." He strode toward the door, unfazed. "Besides, the man with a good heart who played the guitar taught you how to shoot a rifle. He is a good teacher. There is a rifle with special sh.e.l.ls on the mantel."

Jose nodded. Jack Rider had definitely taught him how to shoot, how to ride, and how to play a little guitar. The reference to his old mentor's presence at the house brought back good memories. But, still, Jose wished his grandfather had decided to stick close to home. He wasn't no punk, but d.a.m.n. They were gonna leave him and Juanita there all by themselves? What if something else wack jumped off? Learning how to shoot a rifle years ago, with a wild-man guitar player while drinking Jack Daniel's and hanging out on bikes, was not exactly commando training!

Jose glimpsed the mantel, and then Juanita. She stood stock-still, like a paralyzed deer caught in the gun-barrel sight of a hunter. Her knuckles were losing color as she clutched the pile of fabrics to her chest. Girlfriend looked like she was about to pa.s.s out, and he couldn't blame her.

"Uh, listen... why don't you call your mom, tell her you're okay? I'll call mine. Then you can get a shower and I'll root around in the fridge to see what's to eat."

"You know how to shoot that gun?" Her gaze ricocheted from him to the mantel and back.

"Yeah, I'm okay at it."

She shook her head in a slow, frightened daze. "I can't go into the bathroom alone... it has a window, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Uh-uh! No," she whispered, panic strangling her voice. "Please don't leave me alone in any room at any time."

"But what if you have to pee?" he said, trying not to smile.

"So!" She began walking in a tight circle. "You can bring the gun in there, stand by the window, keep your back to me, and then when I tell you I'm decent, you can turn around."

"The bathroom ain't but so big, 'Nita." He chuckled and raked his fingers through his hair.

She looked up at him, a plea in her eyes. "What did you call me?"

"'Nita. Why?"

She glanced away, her face flushed. "That's an old nickname. Only people who know me real well ever call me that."

He shrugged, new tension threading through him as he stared at her beautiful, stricken face. "Well, sorta makes sense that we get

real cool real fast, if we're gonna listen to each other pee, don't you think?"

She just stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing. The sound of her voice ran through him and tightened the tense muscles in his spine.

"Good to see you finally relaxing." He looked down at his grimy, gook-splattered clothes. "I'll ransack the fridge after I wash up,

on second thought."

"You're still gonna go in the bathroom with me, with the gun, right?" Her eyes searched his face for a commitment.

"Yeah. No problem," he said, feeling an odd mixture of nervousness and excitement. This woman didn't know him from Adam,

yet trusted him not to be some weirdo. She was gonna allow him to guard her, naked in a shower, and not try to violate her. Deep. Jose went to the mantel and turned to face her. He watched her shoulders drop an inch in visible relief.

Chapter Three.

The responsibility weighed on him heavily in several ways as he ushered Juanita to the bathroom. Part of him stood taller, felt a sense of quiet, resounding pride that a woman as beautiful as her actually thought of him as some sort of neighborhood knight. Him? A kid from the barrios without any real money beyond chump change to his name? But every glance she offered was filled with awe and respect like he'd never been given by any female eyes. Yet another part of him was extremely worried. What if his grandfather had been wrong and those things that attacked them came back... what if he wasn't able to fend them off this time? What if they hurt her in some way? That outcome was totally unacceptable now, especially when she'd scooted into the bathroom behind him and shut the door, seeking a lock.

"My grandparents don't believe in locks in the house," Jose said, turning his back to Juanita.

Her eyes darted between him, the window, the door, and the shower. The man hadn't lied; the bathroom was so small that both of them could barely turn around within it, but every horror movie she'd ever seen converged in her rapid pulse.

"Check the shower," she said, whispering. "Please."

Jose flung the curtain back with bravado, brandishing the weapon, using the rifle barrel to hold back the white plastic. "It's cool."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Good."

Perhaps it was the expression of relief on her face or the way the statement had come out on a breathy rush, but it made him need to turn around to pull himself together.

"I'll, uh, just stay like this till you tell me it's cool. Okay?"