Night of the Wolves (14 page)

He nodded. “It’s me.”

She tried very hard to sound casual and yet concerned as she asked, “Is everything all right over at the saloon?”

“Yes. Brendan and I went over for a drink and to talk to the girls.”

“Just talk?” she said.

He laughed. “Yes, just talk.”

She wanted to look indignant, but she found herself laughing instead. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”

“Yes, you did,” he said. “But it’s all right.” He stared at her. “One of the girls was married to your father?”

She shrugged. “Linda. I talked to her the other day. I believe she really loved him. I hope so, anyway. I don’t
really know what…what either of them really felt. I wasn’t here when they got married. I never met her until I came back. I saw her at the meeting, but until Beulah told me, I had no idea who she was.”

He looked as if he were about to say something, but he shook his head as if to banish whatever it was and said only, “Well, I guess we should get some sleep.”

“Of course,” she said, suddenly embarrassed to be standing there in her nightclothes. “Good night.”

She retreated to her own room before the rush of blood to her cheeks could give away her embarrassment.

She lay down, drew her covers up and smiled.

He had gone to the saloon and talked.

Just talked.

She closed her eyes and slept at last.

W
HEN IT CAME AGAIN
, she fought it.

As always, she knew it was a dream. A dream, a vision—or a nightmare.

It started with a burst of wind. The French doors swung open, and the breeze entered as if it were a living being. The drapes billowed and fell, and someone whispered her name, and though she kept on trying to fight, she had no choice. She had to go.

She slipped out of bed, and though she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she needed to fight the desire to go, she couldn’t remember why. The breeze was balmy and delightfully cool. It played with the fabric of her gown, winding it around her legs, lifting it. The sensation alone was more erotic than anything she could remember.

Another voice was calling out to her from behind, commanding her not to go. She knew that voice. It was her
father calling out to her, and she wanted to turn and run to him, but she couldn’t. Whatever drew her toward the balcony was strong, and though she wanted to hate it,
did
hate it, she kept moving, anyway.

Suddenly she was jerked from sleep and realized that she was standing by the open balcony doors.

It wasn’t a dream, wasn’t a vision. It was real.

All of a sudden the connecting door flew open and Cody was there. He wrenched her into his arms, drawing her back. As he moved to close the French doors, a massive shadow seemed to descend. Alex looked up and screamed. Giant bats were sweeping toward the balcony.

Cody thrust her behind him and reached behind the drape. She hadn’t noticed that he’d left a bow and a quiver of arrows there. As the first bat made a dive for the balcony, he drew the bow with muscle-crunching speed and let the first arrow fly. She heard a terrible shrieking, and the massive bat came crashing down on the balcony.

She stared at it in horror.

Cody didn’t even spare it a glance. He was too busy taking aim again.

He hit a second creature, and it, too, let out that chilling, unearthly sound and crashed to the balcony beside its fellow just as the first disintegrated into a pile of black ash.

She looked closely and saw that the second…bat…had the face of a man, then watched as it curled into the fetal position, still screeching, as its limbs shook violently. Then it went still and dissolved into a pile of putrid flesh on its way to becoming ash, leaving her with the memory of something human—and yet not.

Cody closed the French doors at last and searched the room quickly. He grabbed one of her parasols and stuck
it through the door handles, securing them against opening again.

A moment later they heard the sound of a bell clanging from the sheriff’s office, and screams and shouts coming from the street.

“Come on!” Cody told her.

Gripping her hand, he was heedless of the fact that he was now shirtless and shoeless, and she was in nothing but a thin cotton gown. He pulled her along with him as he raced down the stairs. The others were already gathered in the entryway, Brendan gathering the stakes and bows and arrows that had been stored in the hall closet.

He tossed bows and quivers of arrows to Levy and Bert, and armed himself. Cody went for one of the stakes—his bow and quiver were already over his shoulder. “Stay here, and watch over the household,” he told Levy. He threw open the front door and headed out to the street, Brendan and Bert right on his heels.

Alex looked around and saw Tess and Jewell huddled together in a corner, and Beulah standing dead still in the center of the entry hall. As Levy hurried to the window to look out, Alex hesitated for only a second, then raced to the closet herself, finding a bow and a quiver of arrows still hanging from a hook. She drew them out, not certain how accurate her aim might be, but determined that she was not going to be attacked and
not
fight back.

“Alex! What are you doing?” Beulah demanded with dismay.

“Guarding my home,” Alex announced.
And avenging my father
, she added silently.

She opened the front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The shadows were coming from everywhere,
shrieking with a blood-curdling intensity meant to instill terror, she thought.

She took aim as one came near, then loosed her arrow. She hit it, but only in the wing. It tumbled to the street, where it flopped around…

Then rose.

And headed toward the house.

It was some unnatural combination of man and bat, standing but winged, and as black as shadow, except for its eyes, which shone with a red so intense it was like the fires of hell. It came at her, stumbling at first, and then suddenly moving with terrifying speed.

She tried to nock another arrow, but her fingers fumbled. She realized with a sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to be fast enough.

An arrow sailed by her and hit the creature dead-on. This time its cry was a death knell, and it fell and sizzled, and turned to ash and remnants of bone.

Alex spun around. Levy only smiled and shrugged, clearly pleased with himself.

She turned back to the street and saw Cody and Brendan standing back to back, shooting arrow after arrow. The shadows were falling all around them, some falling to dust and others remaining corpses, but all of them screamed and writhed in terrible death throes before finally going still. She looked around and saw Cole and Dave, along with a large number of the townspeople, all drawing courage and strength from one another as they shot their arrows.

One of the creatures nearly reached Dave, but someone shouted, and Cody turned and staked the creature before it could reach its target.

Another one swooped near the house, but this time, Alex didn’t miss. She and Levy held their positions just outside the door and kept firing their arrows into the storm of black-winged shadow creatures.

She heard thuds, flopping, and shrieking and screaming. From the corner of her eye she would catch a flash of fire accompanied by a sizzle, and then there would be only ash…and bone.

Then, just as suddenly as they had come, the creatures rose into the sky in a giant black cloud, hovered there for a moment, and then were gone.

The street was still and silent. What seemed like forever passed as everyone stood dead still and silent, in shock now that the attack was over.

“Good work!” Cody called out at last. “But now we have to make sure they’re dead. If there’s a body, take off the head, because they can heal, if there’s enough of a body left. We fought tonight, and we won the battle, so we don’t want to let one of them in now.”

Alex stood on the porch, suddenly shaking. She jumped when she felt Beulah’s hands on her shoulders.

“You come on in now,” the older woman said. “You did your part. Let the men finish it.”

Alex allowed Beulah to lead her back in. Levy followed, shouting orders to Tess and Jewell, his voice firm and confident now, telling them to make sure that none of the windows had been breached. The girls ran off to do his bidding.

“Tea with whiskey sounds like a good bedtime drink,” Beulah said, heading for the kitchen.

Alex had to admire her calm.

At last Bert, Brendan and Cody returned. Alex was still
standing in the entry hall, and Cody looked at her curiously as he locked and bolted the door.

As she heard the bolt snick into place, she snapped out of the trance that had seized her. “Beulah is making tea and added whiskey for everyone,” she said, her voice calm. Then she turned and walked into the kitchen without looking to see if the men were following.

Tess and Jewell were all but inhaling their drinks. Levy was standing thoughtfully by the stove sipping his, and Beulah was busy preparing more cups.

“Thank you kindly, Beulah,” Brendan said, taking one.

“Yes, thank you,” Cody added.

“Pleasure,” Beulah said, then set her hands on her hips and asked Cody, “Will they come back?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight. They took a beating. But they’ll regroup. And when they
do
come back, they’ll be looking for our weak spot, a way to slip in so that doors can be opened to them.”

“Oh, dear,” Beulah said.

“But not tonight,” Cody repeated. “We took down a lot of the old and powerful ones tonight. Milo will need to regroup. I suggest we all get some sleep—while we can.”

They finished their drinks without any more conversation, then dispersed to their respective rooms.

But Alex didn’t stay in hers. She went straight to the connecting door and tapped lightly, then opened it without waiting for an invitation.

Cody was sitting on his bed, looking weary, wheaten hair drifting over his forehead, his broad shoulders hunched.

He turned swiftly, watching her.

“You’re afraid,” he said, smiling grimly. “You should
be. But you did well—even though I wish you’d stayed inside. So why are you here now?” he asked.

“I don’t want to be the weak link that brings the town down. I dream, and then my dreams become reality, and I’m not fighting very well on that level,” she said.

Cody rose. Moonlight seeped through the drapes, and a lamp was lit on his dresser, casting ripples of light over the skin of his muscled chest and arms.

“I’ll keep watch over you,” he promised. “You can sleep.”

She met his eyes, her own open and honest. “I don’t want to sleep. And I don’t want you to keep watch. I want you to be with me. You say that you’re not what I want, but I don’t believe in forever anymore, and you’re what I want
now
.”

He stared back at her, eyes golden and enigmatic.

“Cody, please. I’m not some fragile creature, though I
have
learned just how fragile life itself can be. All I’m asking is for you to sleep with me.”

Still he stared, those golden eyes on her. And then, at long last, he moved. Sleek and swift, he was at her side.

And then she was in his arms.

H
E WAS EVERYTHING
that she wanted.

She loved the way he held her, the strength in his arms when he swept her up. True, she wanted him on a purely sexual level, but there was more. She had fallen beneath the spell of his eyes, which were caring when he faced the travails of others, intense in anger, like the sun when he laughed. She loved the touch of his fingers, gentle when they stroked her face, strong when he held her. In his arms she was safe.

And dangerously wicked.

She felt no sense of fear as they walked through the doorway to her room.

She was almost preternaturally aware of everything. The feel of the sheets beneath her as he laid her down, the pressure of his body, the cotton of her gown brushing against her flesh. She felt his bare feet against hers and the rough fabric of the pants he still wore, the sleek, hot flesh of his chest burning against her, lighting a fire within her blood.

Moonlight, pale and mystical, bathed them. She saw his face and traced her fingers along the contours of his features, fascinated. She cradled his cheek and jaw when she saw his war with himself reflected in his eyes as he thought again that he should not be with her, and she whis
pered, “You have to believe me. I know what I want,” praying that her voice didn’t sound as desperate as she felt, and that he would not leave her.

He didn’t. He only shook his head ever so slightly, and in a strange way, it was as if he were surrendering.

Then his mouth found hers, and in that kiss, it seemed as if the world around her exploded in a brilliance of wonder. Heat swept through her like a blaze in the desert, and she felt her body arching and moving by instinct, aligning with his lean and muscular form. His lips went from passionate to gentle, playing erotically against hers, and his hands cradled her face, giving him greater access to her mouth. Fevered, she returned his kiss, clinging to his bare shoulders, then exploring the length of his back with eager hands. She felt her gown tangle around her as they twisted and rolled in passion. They broke the kiss and laughed together, and then he lifted the gown over her head and held still for a breathless moment, before crushing her into his arms again.

They kissed again, clinging together, flesh against bare flesh, growing slick despite the coolness of the night air. His mouth ravaged over her shoulders as he cradled her breasts and groaned deep in his throat, and his hands ran down the length of her back, pressing her harder against him. She teased his skin with the tip of her tongue, drawing lines on his flesh, breathing in the essence of him, and with each breath, each touch, her hunger grew ever greater.

At last he rose to remove his pants, and for a moment she was alone, the air around her bringing a moment’s chill. She saw him silhouetted against moonlight, and a rush of desire swept over her again. She knew, whatever he might think or feel, that she would cherish this night,
this time together, forever. Life was so fragile. She had seen it slip away too often, but she herself was far stronger than he would ever truly realize.

He came down to her again, stretching out beside her, his body close, touching, one leg thrown over hers, his hands on her, brushing over her skin like an artist of the flesh. She moved into him, their mouths meeting and melding again, and she felt his vitality and power coursing beneath the skin. She moved against him, her lips traveled across his chest, and she felt his fingers threading through her hair, then moving along her nape and down to the small of her back. His hands cradled her buttocks, pressing her ever closer, until he shifted suddenly, and his lips and tongue began a tour down the length of her body, blazing a trail of liquid sensuality that made her writhe in an agony of need.

He was a practiced lover, she thought vaguely, and yet all that mattered was that he make love to her at that moment.

And he did, both tender and strong, bathing her with the touch of his hands and tongue, arousing her with his kiss on her lips and then the stroke of his tongue against her hips and thighs, and between. She gasped out a soft cry of wonder at the lightning streak of ecstasy that swept through her, her body shivering, shaking, trembling, as she rose to join the moon. And then she felt him inside her, and the desire that built within her then was like something maddening and tempestuous, burning out of control. A slow rhythm began to beat in her blood like a pagan drumbeat. She barely had time to savor the feel of him so completely within her when the fever sent her arching, writhing, falling into the rampant blaze he’d stoked in her.

The world shrank down to the feel of the mattress beneath her, the strength of his embrace, the damp sleek
ness of his body against hers. Finally, just when she felt she couldn’t bear any more, they were seized as one by the power of climax, and their wild dance of tangled limbs became a moment of ecstasy frozen in time and then eased…down to a magical completion.

She grew aware once again of the gleaming moonlight, the air cooling her skin.

And his eyes meeting hers.

His touch was tender as he smoothed back her hair.

“You are…unique,” he told her. “Incredible.”

He started to pull away, and she shook her head. “Don’t leave me, please. Not now. I’m not staking any claim on you, and when it’s time, I will let you go, I promise.”

A smile curved his lips, and he drew closer to her again. “You thought I was going to walk away tonight? Not a chance in hell,” he assured her.

There was so much she wanted to know about him, so much she wanted to understand. But not at that moment. At that moment she was afraid of words. She just wanted to be with him, to revel in the moment and the feeling of being absolutely alive and vital and real.

The war was a world away, along with all the horrors she remembered.

Even the town and the plague that had descended upon it had been pushed to the back of her mind.

In his arms, the world was good and it was hers.

They lay together for hours, drowsy, half asleep. They brushed against each other, they made love again, and at last they slept.

And this time her dreams were only dreams, and they were good, for he was holding her tight as a benevolent moon shone down.

D
OLORES
! D
OLORES
,
it’s urgent that I speak with you. It’s about Amy.

Dolores Simpson was awakened from a sound sleep by the voice.

She jerked up, clasping the covers to her breast, then looked to the side, thinking Bill must have spoken.

But Bill was snoring softly.

She frowned, certain she had heard someone call her name. And they had mentioned Amy. Precious Amy! Everyone said that Amy was dead, and yet each night she heard her daughter call out, her voice stronger every time.

That nice Mr. Vincent had come by to tell her that Amy was with God. That if she thought she heard Amy or any child—any voice—crying out, she had to ignore it. That it was very important to ignore it.

He had talked to Bill and the boys about locking the house and how to destroy the evil that was stalking the town, cutting out the heart or severing the head.

Brendan Vincent was a fine man, no doubt, but she was a good Christian woman, and she couldn’t condone doing such terrible things to a human body, even the body of an enemy. Such brutality was positively pagan.

Dolores got up and slipped on her robe, then glanced again at Bill, who was still snoring softly. He was a hardworking man, and a gentle one. A good husband. She pulled the covers up higher around his shoulders, then walked down the hall and looked in on the last two children still living at home, Gary and Jared, their adopted sons, now fifteen and thirteen. She loved them so much. As much as she loved Amy. Amy had been her youngest daughter. Golden and sweet, so precious. Everyone had loved her.

The boys, too, were sleeping.

Dolores, please! It’s urgent!

She walked to the window. A woman was standing outside. Dolores thought she knew her, but she couldn’t recall from where.

She hesitated. They’d been warned…but the woman hardly looked dangerous. And her voice was so gentle, so compassionate and kind. And mesmerizing…

Dolores, come to me, I can help you. I can take you to Amy. Just come to me.

Dolores stopped thinking and gave herself up to her feelings. She loved her husband and she loved her sons, but Amy…

Nothing had ever before promised her such a sweet peace as the voice did now.

She walked straight to the front door and quietly slid back the double bolts, then carefully opened the door as quietly as she could.

She stepped out onto the porch and paused, frowning, rational thought whispering at the back of her mind that something was wrong.

Dolores
…

The woman glided forward, looking for all the world like a shimmering angel wreathed in mist, and Dolores stepped off the porch.

I have a message for you, a message from Amy
.

Dolores stepped forward eagerly, finding herself embraced by the same mist that surrounded the woman, lit by the gentle glow of moonlight. The woman embraced her and leaned down, eyes filled with compassion.
Come closer so I can whisper to you
.

Then the mist was gone.

And the reality that remained was pure horror.

Dolores saw, eyes wide-open at last, that she had been deceived.

Too late.

Oddly enough, there was very little pain. Like two little pricks.

The sound was far worse as the woman lapped against her throat, drinking thirstily, swallowing like a greedy animal, then sighing with ultimate pleasure.

I will not use you up. Not yet. But…you are mine, Dolores. Mine
.

Again the slurping. But softer now. Careful, even.

When the vampire was done, she pulled away from Dolores and smiled. There was a touch of blood on her upper lip. Perhaps she felt it, or perhaps she saw it reflected in Dolores’s eyes, but she extended her tongue, long and red, and lapped up the last drop of blood.

You will await my call
.

Then she let go of Dolores, who fell as if boneless. When she looked up, the woman was gone.

Dolores blinked, confused, then realized she’d had a dream. A dream about Amy. And she had gone outside. She winced, thinking that Bill and the boys would be horrified, that they would worry about her common sense, even her sanity, if they found out, so she had to get back inside before they realized she was missing.

She tried to rise, but she couldn’t. She was too weak.

Finally she managed to get up and practically drag herself to the porch and through the front door.

It took all her strength to relock the bolts.

Leaning on the wall for support, she finally made it back to her bedroom.

Trying hard not to stumble, she reached the bed and nearly fell back onto the mattress. She froze, praying that she hadn’t awakened Bill, but he continued to snore softly.

She closed her eyes and—amazingly—she slept. She dreamed once again of the woman, of the voice in her head, and of Amy. Her little girl was within her reach, smiling at her. The woman was there, too, surrounded by mist, and her smile was benign once again as she waved to Dolores.

It’s so, so beautiful here, with Amy and me.

So beautiful.

Dolores longed to join them.

In her dream, she moved forward as the shimmering mist grew dark, and the distant sound of shrieking rode the air as deep red clouds…rolled in.

But then she saw Amy again, and in her dream, Dolores wept, and real tears slid down her cheeks.

A
LEX SLEPT LATE THE NEXT
morning, and when she awoke, Cody was gone.

She smiled, though. He hadn’t left her, she was certain.

Not yet.

He had simply risen for the day.

She was about to rise herself when there was a tap at her door. She drew the covers up over herself and called out, “Yes?”

“It’s me. Tess. I’ve got hot water for you.”

“Thank you. Bring it in.”

Just as the door opened, she spotted her discarded nightgown lying in a heap on the floor. She made a dive for it and stuffed it under the covers with her, then pulled them back up over herself again.

“Miss Alex, you all right?” Tess asked, coming in and walking over to the dresser with the pitcher of hot water.

“Yes, thanks, just fine,” Alex said, trying to sound completely normal.

“Beulah is getting worried down there.”

“I’ll be right down. I promise.”

“All right, but you know Beulah. She says her fresh muffins aren’t going to be fresh forever, and you’ll be having chicken if you don’t come eat your eggs soon.”

“I’m on my way.”

As soon as Tess left the room, Alex leaped out of bed and hurried to her washstand.