Lust Unleashed (Night Seekers, Book One) (3 page)

The scent of the Chupacabra was still strong in the air but the animal seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Just as it had done after every other kill. But Jonah was determined it wouldn’t happen this time. Tomorrow he’d find out more about the woman and return in human form to scout the area.

As he climbed into his truck again, a sense of evil skittered over his spine. He was out there. The devil. The spawn of evil. And Jonah would find him and capture him. Then destroy him.

* * * * *

Dakota Furcal methodically checked her shotgun again as she waited for the coffee to brew. She was positive she’d heard something outside last night but neither man nor beast had made an appearance. The daughter of a Kickapoo woman and a Mexican tracker, she had learned at an early age how to be extremely aware of her surroundings. Living alone out here in the outer reaches of Maverick County didn’t bother her. She rather liked the solitude and it kept her from the questioning glances of the people in Eagle Pass.

She had already made up her mind that she would live the rest of her life in this same solitude, and was content with it. The men she’d met were only interested in her as a mixed-breed anomaly, curious as to her sexual abilities. Women shied away from her thinking her strange. And she really didn’t belong in either the white or Native American world. People both in town and on the rez had made that perfectly clear to her. The wild animals were more her friends than any human.

She didn’t mind, though. She had her projects that kept her busy. And now, with the purchase of a secondhand guitar, she had her music. It was enough for her.

But the isolation also brought its own dangers. In such a remote location she was prey to every kind of marauder, both human and animal, but she had created her own safety net. Her father had taught her to shoot both a shotgun and handgun, making her practice until she could almost hit a target blindfolded. Dakota kept the loaded shotgun with her at all times and made sure to check the area around her cabin frequently.

She had built a persona for herself that assured her no unwelcome human visitors would come sniffing around. Her Kickapoo mother had taught her how to make potions from the various plants and trees that grew wild around here. And like her mother, she sold them at fairs and market days, carrying on the mantle of “medicine woman”. A strange person. One who could cast spells. Her imagined magic enough to keep people away from her.

In the past few days, however, the fabric of her hard-won serenity had rippled, disturbed by something unseen. Two days ago she’d sensed the presence of evil, a vileness so terrible it had turned her blood to ice water. The sensation had burst upon her when the viciously slaughtered bodies of the two hunters and the deer had been found. In town to do her weekly shopping, she’d heard the talk. Coyotes, everyone said. A hunting party needed to go after them.

Oh, she knew the legends perpetuated about the unseen beast. Dakota firmly believed that’s all they were. Legends. But it didn’t hurt to take a few precautions. She made sure the shotgun was in good working order and that she had enough bullets. Then, mixing a blend of plants her mother had taught her, she’d spread the mixture around the cabin in three rows a foot apart, and chanted the appropriate prayer. Eventually the feeling of evil faded but it didn’t disappear completely.

She would need to be very, very careful.

All day she’d been edgy, wary, constantly checking for approaching animals or people but the desolate landscape remained undisturbed. The occasional javelina made an appearance and a family of foxes scurried through the brush but that was about it. She’d kept the shotgun with her while she’d worked outside with her herbs and vegetables. Now she leaned it against the bed as she pulled off her clothes.

All the tension produced too much nervous energy which in turn jacked up her unsatisfied sexual urges. The bad thing about living like a hermit and disdaining most human contact was it left the satisfaction of her needs up to herself.

When she had stripped down to just a leopard-print thong, Dakota pressed the button on her portable CD player and soft instrumental music filled the room. Just because she was alone didn’t mean she couldn’t have atmosphere. She turned out the overhead light and switched on the bedside lamp to low. Reaching into a cupboard for a goblet she pulled a half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge and half filled it. Finally she carried it over to her bed, pulled back the covers and sat on the edge. As she sipped the wine she let her eyes roam around the one large room.

Her Kickapoo grandfather had kept it as a hunting shack, leaving it to her along with several surrounding acres when he died. Its condition had been so bad at first she’d thought about just having it knocked down. But she really wanted to be able to live out here where she might find some peace and quiet. Her home life left a great deal to be desired and she’d never been able to make friends in the small community of Eagle Pass. Even the people who bought from her at market days and craft fairs spent as little time with her as possible.

But she’d worked hard at restoring it, even got a couple of her cousins from the rez to grudgingly do the heavy lifting. Now it was a place of peace and comfort for her. Or at least it had been until the past couple of days.

When her wine was nearly gone, she reached into the little nightstand beside her bed and pulled out her favorite toys, a silver bullet and a lifelike dildo along with a tube of scented gel. When she’d ordered them she’d chosen the thickest dildo she thought she could take, based on her limited sexual experience. Almost everything she knew came from the erotic romances she downloaded through her satellite connection.

The little bit of wine had given her just enough of a buzz to relax her and heighten her awareness of a routine she followed many nights. Shimmying out of her thong, she lay back on the bed, squeezing a dollop of gel onto a palm and spreading it carefully over the dildo.

Bending her knees and planting her feet on the bed, she let the hand still coated with gel drift over her stomach down to her cunt. Idly she brushed her fingers over her clit, then spread the remaining gel on her inner lips. Not that she needed it. She was already so wet that her flesh was slick and slippery.

She closed her eyes and slowly inserted the dildo, pressing until it was fully seated inside her, the head bumping against her womb. At once tiny nerves woke up and sparked like miniature rockets. God, she loved that thing in her cunt. Too bad she couldn’t have the real thing, but then she’d have to put up with whoever it was attached to. That had proven to be a disaster one time too many.

Now she just enjoyed the feel of it stretching her tissues, letting her body adjust to it. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the button on the silver bullet and rubbed it back and forth over her clit. She gritted her teeth as the familiar sensations washed over her. The pulse inside her cunt set up a steady beat, resonating throughout her body.

With her free hand she cupped one breast and pinched the nipple until fiery streaks shot from the engorged bud straight to her womb. The hot need she’d kept on a leash all week burst into flame inside her. Dakota wanted to make it last, to stretch it out as long as possible but her body was just too ready.

Acknowledging that tonight wouldn’t be slow and easy, she moved her hand from her breast to the base of the dildo and pushed the button to turn it on. Now twin sets of vibrations rocketed through her, the dildo and silver bullet working in tandem. She moved the little bullet back and forth over her clit almost desperately as her climax roared up through her.

As the music swelled so did her body. When it reached the crescendo she exploded, clenching the muscles of her cunt down on the dildo. She squeezed her thighs together and rocked her hips again and again. When the last spasm finally ceased she managed to pull the dildo from her pussy, turn off both it and the bullet and drop them on the bed. She stretched out her legs, her entire body weak, her heart racing.

The music kicked into something slow again. Soothing. She sighed and tried to relax. The tensions of the day had finally abated but somehow she felt more unsatisfied, more sexually frustrated than she had before the orgasm.

And the faint sense of unease still clung to her, like a gray fog hovering in the air.

Getting up to pour herself another glass of wine, she lifted the shotgun from where it was leaning and placed it beside her as she crawled beneath the covers. She was just imagining things. That’s all.

What else could it be?

Chapter Two

Jonah sat in the coffee shop in Eagle Pass sipping the dark brew in his mug and watching the people around him. The little restaurant was crowded with people of all ages and shapes. His first morning in Eagle Pass he discovered it was a place where people gathered to exchange gossip and share news. Now he hung out whenever possible, letting the babble of dialogue wash over him, his enhanced hearing allowing him to eavesdrop. The conversation for the past three days had been focused on the bodies of the hunters and the deer and he listened quietly and carefully. And he’d listened to the old legends being hashed and rehashed, sometimes with fear, sometimes with the bravado of the locals who thought they could bring it down. But no one had a lead to follow. Nothing to hang a hat on.

Every so often he’d single out someone whose words hinted they might be amenable to an interview. His carefully constructed cover allowed him to poke and prod without standing out like a sore thumb. This was a close community and strangers were like onions in a sunflower patch. So he had with him credentials identifying him as a reporter for
National Crime Magazine
, which just happened to be owned by Stafford Enterprises. His story was that he’d been writing stories about the Chupacabra for some time and wanted information about the latest killings.

The past two days he’d been watching to see if the woman from the cabin came in here. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. All he had to do was close his eyes and remember her and his cock hardened and his balls ached.

Great. He was supposed to be hunting a killer, not thinking about sex.

Of course, that was part of the problem with being a shifter. Lust always simmered just below the surface. His human genes helped him to control it so he wasn’t indulging in orgies of mindless fucking, but that woman had roused something in him besides pure lust. Something he didn’t have time for right now.

Trouble was, he knew he’d have to go back there because it was the last place he’d picked up the scent. And at the moment, he had no other leads. He’d tried interviewing the sheriff and the coroner but for the most part had been given the cold shoulder. Somehow he needed to talk to someone who had actually seen the fresh kill and get a look at the crime scene photos.

The big stumbling block was the reluctance of John Denby, the sheriff, to admit this could be the Chupacabra. As if just mentioning the beast would bring it to life right in their midst, but denying it could make it go away. The sheriff was torn between looking for some crazed killer and calling in the local game warden. Jonah was well aware he couldn’t just hang around here indefinitely without drawing unwanted questions. He’d have to go to Plan B, which at the moment he didn’t have.

He had just decided to order some breakfast when he saw Denby walk in with one of his deputies. The day after he’d landed in Eagle Pass, Jonah had introduced himself to the sheriff as a writer following stories about the Chupacabra and asking about the killings. Denby hadn’t been very receptive and had given him only what he’d passed along to the media.

Now the man looked around, waved and smiled at a few people, but when he spotted Jonah he and the other man headed straight for the table.

“Morning, Sheriff.” Jonah nodded at him.

“Morning.” He pointed to the man standing beside him. “Meet Enoch Brazile, one of my deputies. Okay if we join you here?”

“Sure.” He studied Denby. “Something special on your mind?”

The sheriff pulled out a chair and sat opposite Jonah. Enoch Brazile took the chair next to him. No one said anything until the waitress had brought two more coffee mugs and served all around. Denby took his time stirring sweetener into his coffee, seemingly fixated on the contents of the mug. Brazile looked as if he’d like to make himself invisible, quite a trick for a man at least six-five and built like a pickup truck.

Denby took a slow sip of his coffee and set the mug down carefully on the table.

“I’m still not near convinced that the dead hunters and the deer aren’t the work of one of the feral hogs that run loose out there.”

“You know the killer’s not human,” Jonah said, watching the man carefully.

Denby nodded. “A human would have left some kind of tracks. Also, I don’t see how anyone could have gotten into that preserve without the owner knowing about it. He has men who patrol the area constantly while the hunters are out there, making sure everyone’s okay.”

“How long had it been since the last time anyone checked on those hunters?”

Denby made a face. “About three hours. The hunters go out while it’s still dark to set up and the workers give them that much time before they start checking on them. Don’t want to scare off the deer. But it’s still unlikely a human could have scaled that ten-foot, steel fence and gotten out without leaving some kind of track behind.” He took off his hat, rubbed his forehead and put the hat back on. “So. You say you’ve been chasing this thing called the Chupacabra for some time.”

Jonah nodded. Had his cover sprung a hole and leaked? No, not possible. Craig Stafford never made mistakes. He waited to see what was really on the sheriff’s mind.

“You asked if we’d had any other incidents like that around here recently and I told you no,” Denby said.

“Yes, you did.” Jonah kept his face blank.

“Well, Enoch here reminded me that about six months ago two of his neighbor’s dogs were killed the same way.” He shifted his eyes to the deputy, then back to his coffee. “At the time we chalked it up to coyotes. Despite what you might think,” he added defensively, “we do have coyotes around here and they do kill small animals.”

“I don’t disagree with you, Sheriff. But the Chupacabra kills in a specific way. Puncture wounds in the neck, blood drained from the body and often the body ripped open and the entrails lying outside the body cavity.”

He had to school himself to keep his voice uninflected. Every time he revisited this description it called up the image of Jenna lying on her backyard lawn, savagely destroyed. He didn’t think the pain of that would ever go away.

“I hate to admit this to a civilian,” Denby said in a tight voice, “but I’m at a loss here. We’ve checked and rechecked the scene where the hunters were found. Took a zillion photos. It looks like a coyote kill but no paw prints around the bodies.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “No prints at all except the hunters and the deer. And the bodies were destroyed the same way the dogs were. And no prints.”

“We thought with the dogs it was because we hadn’t had rain in a long time,” Enoch broke in, “and the ground was too hard for impressions. But like the sheriff said, it was the same with the latest kills.”

Both men looked as if they’d swallowed vinegar. As a former lawman himself, Jonah knew how difficult it was to admit to a civilian you could been mistaken and that person might have something to contribute.

“That’s been pretty much the situation with all the cases I’ve researched,” Jonah told him in an even voice. Excitement bubbled up deep inside him and he clamped a lid on it. They’d been right. This was definitely a kill by the devil beast. All the signs pointed to it.

“Well,” Denby went on, “Enoch was talking to his neighbor last night and now we’re wondering if it might not have been that damn Chupacabra after all.” He shifted in his seat. “Anyway, we were wondering—Enoch and me, that is—if you might like to talk to his neighbor. If you’ve been writing articles about it you might be able to give us some more insight.”

“Yeah.” Enoch finally entered the conversation, his tone slightly defensive. “Sorry we gave you such a hard time the other day.”

Jonah just tipped his head politely. He’d been too many years in the FBI not to know how lawmen felt about nosy civilians, and he had no intention of telling these people about his background. That would completely defeat his purpose. When billionaire Craig Stafford formed Night Seekers, pulling people from every aspect of law enforcement—public, private, state, federal—one of the caveats for each of them was to bury their past. The eight men and women, who each brought different skills to the team, moved forward as private citizens, hunting for the kill. The eradication of the devil beast.

As a shifter, like several of the other Night Seekers, he was able to hunt at night as the wolf. But so far that had proved fruitless. He’d lost the scent and hadn’t been able to pick it up again.

He shook himself mentally and dragged his mind back to the conversation. John Denby was looking at him as if he expected an answer to something.

“Yes. I’d like to talk to the man. If you can arrange it, that would be great.”

Denby took another swallow of his coffee. “I…um…wouldn’t mind showing you the photos of the bodies. If you’re still interested.”

Yes! At last!

“Thanks, Sheriff. That would be a big help.”

“And if you have any information you’d like to share, we’d appreciate it.” Denby shifted uncomfortably. “You know, from some of your research. I know you writers do a lot of digging around.”

Aha! So that was it. They had no answers and were hoping he could give them some. Denby looked as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant. He hadn’t impressed Jonah as the type to ask anyone for anything. This was his territory and he was going to run things whatever way made him comfortable. Obviously giving credence to the Chupacabra was not high on his list. A sort of “deny it and it goes away” philosophy.

But the gossip in town had been escalating. Jonah picked up the rising undercurrent every day in the café so he was sure Denby was getting unwanted pressure.

He studied the sheriff, curious about his remark. “You think I could have found something you didn’t?”

“You said you’d been digging up information on other so-called cases. Maybe there’s something there that could be helpful to us.” He frowned. “Unless you have some reason for not sharing it with us.”

Jonah smiled. He could feed them just enough to keep them interested and on track, but the rest he’d keep to himself. “No problem.” he agreed.

“How about if we do this right now?” Enoch asked. “My neighbor’s home and said he’d talk to you and I don’t want to take a chance he’ll change his mind.”

“Then let’s get to it.” Breakfast could wait.

Jonah picked his Stetson up from the chair and clamped it on his head, dropped some bills on the table for his coffee and followed the two men toward the door. He was about to step out onto the sidewalk when he nearly bumped into a customer coming in.

“Sorry,” he murmured, then looked up to see who it was he’d nearly mowed down.

Her! The cabin woman!

Shit!

He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get out of the way. In daylight she was even more ravishing. Sunlight picked up the reddish glints in the rich black color of her hair. Today it was plaited in a braid and hung down her back, tiny wisps escaping and framing her face. And what a face! High cheekbones stood out in flawless skin, and eyes so brown they were almost black looked out from thick fringes of lashes.

When her eyes met his, an arrow of heat shot through him with the force of a thunderbolt, and he stepped back as if physically bombarded. What the hell? For a long moment they were frozen in place, eyes locked, some invisible essence passing between them.

“Grey?” Denby’s voice broke into his consciousness. “You coming?”

Jonah let out a slow breath, and touched the brim of his. “Sorry. I need to pay more attention to where I’m going.”

“Me, too.”

The soft sound of her voice reminded him of water siding over smooth stones. He had to concentrate to keep his cock from pushing against his jeans and giving him an embarrassing hard-on in public. Something was going on here and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what. He had a mission. That was his focal point. Not this woman. When he tracked the area around her cabin again he’d do well to remember that.

Then she was past him into the restaurant and he was out on the sidewalk with the two men.

“You can leave your truck at my office and then ride with me and Enoch,” Denby said. “Or follow us. Suit yourself.”

Jonah glanced at the sheriff’s SUV. A barrier of mesh was fastened between the front and back seats, protection for when he transported prisoners.

“Thanks, but I’ll follow.”

A ghost of a grin traced itself over Denby’s lips before he and Enoch Brazile got into their vehicle. Jonah started up his truck, pulled up behind them and followed them down Main Street through town.

The county car pulled up eventually at the end of a street near the edge of town. Jonah parked behind them, noting the neatly kept houses and the wide yard. Not expensive real estate but very well kept. And probably trouble-free with Deputy Brazile in residence.

He climbed out of his truck, followed the two lawmen through the gate in the cyclone fence and up onto the front porch. The man who answered the door was middle-aged and thin, but still muscular with leathery skin. And his blue eyes were still as sharp as any Jonah had ever seen. Good. This wouldn’t be someone given to evading questions or brushing them off.

“Larry Forman.” His eyes darted nervously from face to face but he shook hands with everyone and gave Enoch a half-smile. Then he looked at Jonah. “The writer, are you? I guess y’all want to come in and talk to me.”