The Comanche Vampire (7 page)

Without thinking, Ned replied, “We were.” In his
mind, he recalled the others. In memory he rode among the
Quahadi
again.
 
He failed to think about what
he’d said until Anne, her tone sharp with amusement, said, “You sound almost as
if you’d been one of them.”

He had but couldn’t admit it. “My grandpa told a
lot of stories handed down from one generation to another,” he told her. “I
always wished I had been. Besides, I’ve seen some of the movies where they look
almost real.”
 
A few did, authentic
enough to give him pause.

“You know what, Ned?”

“What’s that?”

“I think you wish you’d lived back then, when the
Comanche were still wild and free.
 
It
must be in your DNA from
Pea’hocso
or something.”

“Yeah, something like that, I suppose.
 
I imagine some of it wasn’t as nice as it
sounds like in stories or books or shows up on the movie screen.” He kept his
voice even but Ned wondered how he felt.
 
Sometimes he missed the old days so much it became an ache in his
chest.
 
But, when he thought about the
way his sons died and his wife, remembered so many deaths and the relentless
violence, he thought maybe humans had progressed at least a little.
 
Life meant less in the past, Ned believed.
 
He didn’t always feel he belonged here in
this time and place but if he could, he wasn’t sure he’d want to go back
either.
 
All he knew with any certainty
was he’d want to be Comanche anywhere, anytime.

“I’ve thought about it myself, daydreamed about
living out in Texas on the plains,” Anne said.
 
Her words summoned up a mental picture of Anne, dressed in calico with
all her wild hair tamed into a braid and topped with a sunbonnet.
 
Ned envisioned her standing in front of a
settler’s cabin along the Brazos with a baby on one hip or riding on the seat
of a covered wagon.
 
With her apparent
spunk, he figured she’d been one of the pioneer women who stood with a rifle at
the ready.
 
Then he imagined her as a
captive, like Quanah Parker’s mother.
 
Back in the day, Ned would’ve slung a pretty prize like Anne across his
saddle and brought her home without hesitation.
  
Aiyana wouldn’t have liked it but he didn’t
care.
 
This fantasy meant he could dream
about Anne as his captive, before or after Aiyana.
 

His cock stirred at the idea.
 
Desire throbbed through his veins and ignited
a fever.
 
Ned hadn’t had a woman in a
long while and he wanted this one.
 
Lost
in memory, distracted by his wanton thoughts, he almost didn’t hear what Anne
said next.
 
“I know I’m as white as
Christmas snow but family legend says my great, great, great, maybe five times
great-grandmother was Comanche.
 
She was
Penateka
or so they say.”

“Honey-eater,” Ned said. “I, uh, my ancestors were
Quahadi
, antelope.” He’d guessed right. His earlier speculations
that she might possess some Indian blood were correct and it happened to be
Comanche.
 
His imagination shifted and
turned her hair black.
 
Ned put his dark
haired version of Anne into a traditional deerskin dress, fringed and
beaded.
 
He added a bright Spanish shawl,
large enough to wrap from shoulders to knees, like one he’d brought his wife
from a raid deep into Mexico.
 
Ned
suppressed a shiver.
 
He wanted this
white woman, in her jeans, in pioneer garb, or traditional dress.
 

“Of course, since you’re descended from
Pea’hocso
,” Anne said. She didn’t sound sleepy now.
 
“I’m sure life was more difficult than I
think but I’d love to go back and experience it.
 
It could be like a little vacation.”

That wasn’t the word Ned would choose but then he
wasn’t familiar with the whole concept of vacation.
 
He’d never taken one, and even on his
periodic moves to another location he worked, ate, drank blood, and passed the
time.
 
He enjoyed travel, had even as a
horse-riding warrior, but the idea of a getaway remained foreign.
 
What he understood of vacation, however,
involved relaxation and down time, doing little or nothing.
 
As he recalled life on the wide plains as a
nomad Comanche, he couldn’t help but laugh at Anne’s idea.
 
“I doubt it very much,” he told her.
 
“More hard work than anything else.”

Anne stuck out her tongue at him, brief and sassy.
Her childish gesture fascinated him and the sight of her tongue inspired him to
do wicked things with his. “Says you,” she muttered.
 
Then she sat up and smiled. “Oh, I know
you’re right.
 
I’m sure it wasn’t all romance
and fun. But when I see the dancers painted up like warriors, it gives me goose
bumps.
 
I’d give almost anything to have
seen an authentic warrior.”

Ned had paints he’d made with the same ingredients
he’d used in life.
 
He could go home,
strip out of his white man’s garments, and dab the black onto his face in the
patterns he’d adopted as a warrior.

 
“Warriors
used black paint for war raids,” he commented. “And paint was often used for
other ceremonies too, but I’m sure you know that.”

She nodded. “Yes, but I’m talking about what I’d
love to experience instead of what I know from books and study.” Anne smiled
over at him with a gleam in her eyes, adding, “I don’t think I’ve ever found
anyone sexier than a Comanche in full-fledged old fashioned clothing, buckskins
and all.”

She’s going
to be my ruination and I’ll suffer for centuries over this.
 
Drawn to her, wanting her, Ned couldn’t
believe her fantasy turn-on happened to be what he was.
 
He might be a little old-fashioned and lack
the best flirting skills but he read between her words.
 
Anne wanted him too.
 
His resolve to walk away weakened as his cock
stiffened.
 
Ned almost laughed
aloud.
 
He’d done more than a little
reading about vampire lore and although he didn’t own a computer or see a need
for one, he’d used one at the public library.
 
Some vampire experts believed vampires couldn’t get a hard-on because
they were dead men walking.
 
I’d like to see one of those bastards with a
boner like this,
Ned thought with a chuckle.

Ned followed Highway 62 to I-44 then took the Route
49 turnoff, where he headed west toward the Wichita National Grasslands. When
he changed direction, Anne sat up straight. “Aren’t we going to Lawton?” she
asked.

“If I’m going home, we’re not.”

Her frown line returned between her eyes. “I
thought you lived there.”

“No, I live out just north of the grasslands,” Ned
told her.
 
“It’s not as far as it
probably sounds.
 
Is it a problem?
 
I can take you home and figure out a ride later
or something if it is.”

She chewed on her lip. “Well, no, it’s not a
problem.
 
I just figured I wouldn’t have
to drive farther than across town.
 
I’m
not familiar out here in the boonies and I’m afraid I’ll get lost.
 
I’d hate to lose my way or fall asleep at the
wheel.”

His eyes flicked over to study her closer. Anne
didn’t seem drowsy now and he wondered if she had been or if it’d been a ruse
to spend more time with him.
 
He
suspected the latter. “How about you come in and have coffee at my place?” he suggested.
“Then I’ll drive into Lawton and you can follow me.
 
You won’t get lost if you do.”

A smile developed and spread across her features
the way dawn broke out on the horizon.
 
“I’d like that,” she told him. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”
 
For no real reason except to impress Anne, Ned chanted bits of a war
dance chant he remembered.
 
Even he
didn’t know all the meanings behind the words because it dated back to ancient
times, but reciting it sent a shiver down his spine and evoked memories.
 
Although he kept focused on his driving, part
of his mind saw the people’s camp, the tipis stark against the night sky and
felt the warmth of the leaping flames in the fire.
 
He heard other voices join his and he
remembered the steps, the way of the dance.
 

The sight of his mailbox brought him back into the
present and he turned down the lane, slow so he wouldn’t damage Anne’s car. As
they bounced along the worn ruts at low speed, Anne peered into the darkness.
“You live down here?”

“Yeah,” Ned said. “Don’t worry.
 
I haven’t hauled you away from civilization
to scalp you.”

Her nervous giggle told him maybe it hadn’t been
the right thing to say. He wanted to ravish her, to take her body and join it
with his.
 
Maybe he shouldn’t but he
might and he knew it.
 
He parked her car
facing out toward the road, so when they left, she wouldn’t have to back up in
the dark.
 
Ned shut off the ignition and
handed her the keys. “Here we are. Come on in.”

As they entered, Ned wondered how his home would
appear to fresh eyes.
 
He gazed around the
rectangular living room.
 
The stone
fireplace he’d built himself stood against the far wall. To the left, a long
old divan, 1970’s vintage, stretched along the wall and faced his television. A
few shelves held his favorite movies and music. At the end of the room a stereo
topped an old coffee table. His walls were bare save for a Comanche shield.
Sparse by any standards, the kitchen was no different. Bare, clean countertops
reflected the overhead light when he flipped it on. The ancient round-topped
refrigerator hummed across from the stove, both appliances older than Anne he’d
guess.
 

As she watched, Ned filled the percolator with
water from the tap and added coffee from one of the cabinets. He plugged it in
and as it began to heat, he turned to Anne. “This is it.”

“It’s…basic,” she said. “Do I get the full tour?”

Ned shrugged. “If you want, sure.”

He opened the door to the tiny back porch, which
doubled as his laundry room with a fairly new washer and dryer along one wall,
shelves along the opposite side of the area.
 

Anne peeked into his bathroom, small but
standard.
 
He didn’t keep a lot of
toiletries or items on the counter there either.
 
Last, he led her into the two bedrooms, the
back one he used for storage although he didn’t own much to store, then into
his bedroom.
 
A low king-sized bed took
up most of one wall and faced a triple dresser. One tall bookcase held some of
his favorite volumes. A single chest of drawers stood against the side
windows.
 
The door to the closet remained
closed but if Ned opened it, Anne would see his garments hung in neat rows, his
shoes and boots lined up with military precision.
 
No dust catchers sat on tables anywhere in
the house and no clutter took up space.
  

Anne walked back into the living room from the bedroom
and shook her head with a tinkling laugh.
 
“How long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I’ve been here quite a while.”

“It looks like you just moved in or something. I’ve
seen apartments staged with more personal stuff than this.”

“I travel light,” Ned said from where he leaned
against the bedroom door frame.
 
He
didn’t find it so strange because his people always had.
 
“Is that a bad thing?”

Anne turned back and stepped closer to him. “No,”
she told him. “It’s just different, but so are you.”

Ned knew he wasn’t prone to smiling but his lips
stretched out wide. “Am I?”

“You know you are,” Anne said.
 
She moved so close her full breasts, encased
in his shirt, brushed his chest.
 
Her
scent blasted into his nose and filled it.
 
The heat she radiated proved to be his undoing.
 
As a cold natured creature, he craved her
warmth and her proximity ignited an inner fire.
 
Without thought for any consequences, because he longed to and needed
to, Ned wrapped his arms around Anne and kissed her.

His cool mouth met her fevered lips with the force
of two weather fronts creating a thunderstorm.
 
She tasted of sunlight and honey and woman, a heady combination and he
imbibed it, as willing for more as a drunkard offered good bourbon.
 
Wild sensations rippled through him, so powerful
and intense they made him shiver.
 
Taking
blood didn’t come anywhere close to this thrill.
 
Her body heat spread over him and consumed
him.
 
Ned burned as he kissed deeper,
harder with a hunger he’d repressed for far too long.
 
He wanted more with a greed he didn’t know he
owned and knew he wouldn’t stop.

Anne’s lips melted beneath his and she clung to
him, tiny sounds of delight coming out from her mouth.
 
Her hands locked behind his head and she
clung tight.
 
Ned raked a free hand
through her wild hair and rammed his tongue into her mouth.
 
She cried out with what he took to be
pleasure.
 
He returned to her mouth again.
Then he pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat and put tiny butterfly
kisses all over her neck.
 
He didn’t use
his fangs, not once.
 
Ned let his tongue
lick a trail between her breasts and when she moaned aloud, he lost any
restraint.