The Dawning: Bloodlust 2

by Melodee Aaron

  Her hands, the same hands Darrel seemed to love so much to hold, had mutated into horrid claws tipped with three-inch glistening talons able to rip through the hull of the battleship they were aboard. Capping the sight were the long, white fangs that protruded from her mouth dripping saliva as her mouth watered with the hunger for the blood spilling around them.

  Not only did he see her, but she could also see in his eyes that he recognized her. Darrel's arms went limp, and the rifle fell from his hands to hit the deck, but the sound was lost in the riot of explosions, wailing aircraft, and screaming men. She didn't know how he remained standing.

  His eyes were round with a combination of confusion and terror, and her ears picked up his weak voice as he whispered, “Elisa?"

  So distracted by the urge to flee and hide from his sight, she missed the air compressions coming from behind her as well as the accompanying sound of the revving motor of the diving Japanese aircraft. The deck on either side of her exploded in a hail of bullets that, this time, missed her but walked straight to Darrel. The slugs chewed him like invisible dragon's teeth, ripping his body as they hit. He crumpled to the deck and lay still, blood pooling around him.

  She bellowed, a scream to drown out the roar of aircraft engines, exploding bombs, and firing guns in the battle raging around her. She sprang to the still form on the deck of the dying ship and bent to pick him up.

  Someone grabbed her arm, and a growling voice spoke above the din of the firefight. “Come, we must go."

  She wheeled on Wellington. “No! I must take him!"

  "He is dead, Elisa, just as most of these other men will be soon. You can do nothing for him. Come."

  She yanked her arm, but he held her fast. As strong as the change made her, Wellington was several times stronger.

  The crack of rifle fire sounded nearby, and a large hole exploded in Wellington's chest, healing almost as quickly as it appeared. She looked past him and saw a young black man holding a rifle, smoke drifting from the muzzle as he stared at them, his eyes wide with fear.

  Wellington chuckled. “It matters not. Come."

  Suddenly, the world around them exploded. She found herself flying through the air, Wellington still clutching her arm tightly. Shrapnel dug into her skin, burning hot, and the concussion from the explosion had broken several bones, but the pain in her body didn't match the pain in her heart. Wellington transitioned to a large bird, and she let him take her where he would.

  It didn't matter now.

  * * * *

  Honolulu, Present Day

  This made about twenty times that Valerie had gone through the list of the dead from Pearl Harbor, and she still didn't see any names that grabbed her attention. She tried every variant of Darrel she could imagine, and found several names, but none seemed right. She wasn't even sure in her mind what “right” was, but these names weren't it. For that matter, she didn't understand why she looked for men on the list named Darrel. She couldn't recall knowing anyone by that name, so why it stood out in her mind was a complete mystery.

  Roland came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “What are you doing up at this time of night playing on the computer, baby?"

  "Just looking at a few things.” She hesitated, and decided her preoccupation was nothing Roland needed to worry about. “Just trying to get the feel for things so I can help the cast get into character."

  "That's all very commendable for a studio executive and the casting director, but why don't you come back to bed?"

  After a moment's consideration, she realized she could never solve this mystery. It was just a case of déjà vu and nothing more, so she was best to leave it alone and accept it for what it was. She stood and turned to face her husband. “You're right."

  Roland put his arms around her waist and smiled at her. She always loved his smile, and knew it was the very thing that attracted her to him when they met. When he smiled, she knew she was the center of his universe and that nothing else mattered.

  He leaned his head to one side. “You know I'm crazy about you, right?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Do you also know that I feel like we've been together forever?"

  She chuckled a little. “What do you mean?"

  "I'm not sure I can put that into words.” He shrugged. “Even though we just met less than three years ago, I sometimes feel like I've known you a long, long time. Much longer than I am old."

  "And you think I'm crazy because I hear voices sometimes."

  Roland laughed, and his whole face smiled as it lit up with joy. “OK, that was a fair shot.” The smile faded as he leaned to put his forehead against hers. “Baby, do you believe in reincarnation?"

  "Well, most religions I know of say it doesn't happen, and the scientists say it can't happen."

  "That's not what I asked. Is it possible that you and I have been together before in some strange place and time from the past?"

  "I don't know.” She slipped from his arms and took his hand in hers as she walked for the bedroom. “Anything is possible."

  THE END

  About the Author

  Melodee was born in 1971 in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. Anyone who has ever watched the Beverly Hillbillies will know that the Ozarks is absolutely awash in storytellers. One of Melodee's earliest memories is sitting in the front porch of her great-grandma's house listening to the old woman tell stories about the old days.

  "Fanny” by name, great-grandma could remember the days before airplanes. And she talked about men landing on the moon. The stories blended modern technology and society with old values and down-home common sense. The blend didn't always coexist perfectly.

  Be that as it may, coming from a long line of storytellers, Melodee soon tried her hand at the craft. Writing stories in grade and high school that often invoked the ire of her teachers, she was never able to fit into the mainstream of “proper” literary attitude. Even non-fiction work drew the attention, all negative, of her teachers and school administrators. A paper she wrote in 7th grade supporting the death penalty by means of public hangings for sex offenders gained her three days off from school.

  Attending SEMO university, Melodee soon came to the attention of several frat houses for her habit of reading Penthouse Forum in the school cafeteria. She also came to the attention of the dean and, eventually, the chancellor. After three years of study, a year off to work at Steak ‘n’ Shake waiting tables, and another year of school, Melodee finally received her degree in Liberal Arts.

  Because of being a voracious reader of science fiction, most of Melodee's stories took on a sci-fi spin. She has sold, under several other names, a number of short stories and articles that have appeared in magazines and Internet publications. In addition, she has a good list of print novels published.

  In 2005, Melodee turned her attention to Erotic Romance. This seemed a logical step since all of the stories she writes have a romantic element in the plot. The addition of erotica to the mix simply leaves the bedroom door open.

  Also Available from Amira Press

  Ruins of A Past Day

  By

  Melodee Aaron

  Darrel couldn't believe his luck. He had finagled thirty-six hours of leave, and he didn't even have to take it on the ship. He never followed the news that much, but he knew things in Europe weren't going well. France had fallen, and England wasn't far behind. Hitler and Mussolini were sweeping through Europe like Sherman through Georgia.

  Here in the Pacific, things didn't look much better. Japan might as well have taken China since resistance had effectively ended. The Japs and Nazis managed to catch Stalin and his Russian buddies in the middle. Hitler pushed from the west, and the Japs pushed from the east.

  And Darrel gathered enough from letters from back home that things stateside were getting goofy, too. A good number of very loud folks didn't want the United States in the war, but Europe, China, Russia, and most of Africa were begging for help. He wondered how long Roosevelt could, o
r would, stay out of the fray. As third-generation navy and a petty officer first with eight years of sailing in his seabag, he didn't really have an opinion on the war. He just followed orders and did his best.

  But he was a radioman and saw a lot of the communications that the skipper saw. Much of it was stuff that no one other than the skipper and him ever saw. And some of it was scary.

  There were lots of reports of Jap mini-subs showing up all over the place. He knew many of the reports were wrong, civilians seeing things they didn't understand and such, but if only a handful were true, it meant the Japs were cruising into San Francisco and Seattle. The Nazis were doing the same on the eastern seaboard, too.

  Then there was the missing Jap battle fleet. Somewhere out there in the vast Pacific was a flotilla of Japanese warships, including aircraft carriers, and no one knew where it was or what it was doing.

  He hadn't seen anything in the communications, but Darrel wondered if something was afoot. Many ships from the Pacific Fleet were here in Pearl for various reasons. Repairs, restocking, refits, and the like were all normal, everyday activities in navy life, but it seemed like everyone was here and wanting to get done as soon as possible.

  Some of that was because the skippers were getting nervous. So many ships in one place made a good target, but he never heard anyone say that the Japs would actually do anything. Rumor had it that Hitler didn't want the United States in the war until Europe was controlled, and everyone knew the Nazis and Japs were all in bed together.

  Darrel wasn't worried, though. The Arizona was a good ship, if a little old. Even an old battleship could take care of herself, and the Japs didn't have anything that could stand up to the firepower of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. He chuckled as he thought that the Pacific Fleet could just about sink the Japanese islands.

  He stretched in the sun as he laughed, then froze in place, the chuckle stuck in his throat. A woman walked down the beach in his direction, and he couldn't even breathe.

  She was a little thing, maybe five-foot-nothing, and she had hair like he'd never before seen on a woman. The ocean breeze whipped her long, blonde hair around her shoulders to point gently to the land like some kind of shimmering golden flag on the deck of a flattop. And her body just wouldn't quit.

  Her legs reached all the way from the sand to her ass. He almost wished she were walking away from him instead of toward him because then he could have seen her ass. Instead, he watched her hips as they snapped back and forth on top of the shapely legs that looked a lot longer than they should be on such a little woman. He could feel his eyes jumping back and forth in his head like loose marbles as they followed the delightful motions.

  Her hips were the perfect size, too, just broad enough to accent her narrow waist that the T-shirt she had tied around her torso left bare. From there, things got bigger in a hurry. Her breasts were large, round, and firm, and even from where he sat, he could see them jiggle and her nipples pressing hard against the white material of the shirt.

  Her neck was long and supple, moving in smooth contrast to her hips as she swiveled her head around slowly, looking from the water to the beach as she walked closer to him. When he caught full sight of her face, his mouth went dry, like the time he spent six hours bobbing around in the water as shark bait when he had been blown overboard by the prop wash on his only tour on a flattop.

  Her nose was small and turned up a little at the end, and her skin was clear and looked very touchable. Full, red lips rested in a gentle half smile under the nose, but what really grabbed him were her eyes. They looked like two big sapphires set in fresh cream as it solidified into a face. They sparkled and shown in the sunlight, throwing blue fire in every direction as she glanced around the beach.

  She would probably slap him down like a bad dog, but Darrel had to at least speak to this beauty. If he could get his voice to work through the desert of his mouth. He took a swig of Coke from the wasp-waisted bottle he'd left resting in the sand and decided to try.

  "Hi, there. Looking for some company?"

  She stopped and stared, like she'd only just seen him. Her face went oddly slack. “Um, I wasn't, no."

  He patted the cooler of iced Coke next to him. “You seem to have nothing to drink, and I've got plenty of Coke if you'd like one."

  She just stared, and Darrel wondered if this was how the critters under the microscope felt when the medics looked at them.

  She seemed to shake herself a little. “No, that's all right. Thank you, though."

  He'd spent the last eight years following the old navy tradition of a girl in every port, so he called on all the smoothness he could muster. “Well, suit yourself. If you have someone coming to meet you, I don't think he's here yet.” The beach was nearly empty.

  "Oh, no. I'm here alone."

  "Then you might as well join me.” He gave her his best smile, knowing it was pretty damned good. “While I'm not a commissioned officer, I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman that you're safe here with me."

  She stared at him for a moment, and then a smile broke over her face like the dawning. “I know I'm safe.” She dropped her bag to the sand and sat down beside him. “I'll take that Coke now, if you don't mind."

  * * *

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