Wild Boys: Six Shooters and Fangs

by catt dahman

  The moon was only a little fuzzy as she let him suckle her throat, nourishing him tenderly. He sucked harder, but the pain was sweet.

  When he was finished, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, feeling stronger even as his teeth felt sharper, his skin felt more like velvet, and his eyes paled. He was becoming more like the vampyres of old as he fed on life itself.

  Quickly, he cut into her stomach, removing a mass of organs that he slung between her legs, stabbed and slashed her face until bone gleamed through the flesh, and then sliced and tore into a breast before tossing it a few feet from her body. This might throw off anyone looking for signs that his type was anywhere near as he had been told by his maker just a short time before.

  He would feed more in this town until he got his full strength, and then, again, as he had been told, he would go to find more of his kind. If the rest of the vampyres found him this weak, they would destroy him. He cleaned up as much as he could and then slipped off into the shadows back to his hotel room to sleep.

  At the boarding house, Tell walked down the hall and knocked; he and Kit knew Paris and Doc were drinking in Doc's room. “I got Kit waving people off, but come see this; we had another whore killed down by the water.”

  Doc and Paris stood. “So quickly after the other one? I think we have a newly turned one then. He’ll make mistakes and not be very strong.”

  Tell raised an eyebrow at Doc. “I hope so, but he’s not with his mentor if he’s being this reckless. You know sometimes they can be very clever when they haven’t become so complacent.”

  Following Tell, the two men hurried to the water’s edge to see Kit standing close to a body. “It’s one of theirs. He sliced her up, but I can see where he fed on her throat. He’s trying to throw anyone off his trail who is lookin’, not that many know about them anyway.”

  “See? He fed well but used a knife, so he ain’t fully evolved yet. His teeth ain’t sharp yet, and I bet his eyes ain’t changed. How are we gonna find this son of a bitch?”

  “Awe, Tell, he’s just killin’ whores right now. You think he’s foolish enough to go after common folks?” Kit asked. He was the newest to the calling to hunt the creatures.

  “I think he will. He’s bold, leaving the bodies to be found. He could have dumped them in secret places, but he didn’t; is he stupid or bold? Throwing off the scent if there are hunters nearby, but leaving the bodies, he’s eager for a show of power when he gets changed in full. He might be concerned that there’s a hunter here, but he sure don’t know four are in town,” Tell added as he chuckled.

  It still amazed him that people knew the legends and whispered the secrets, but no one ever said much out loud, and papers never warned anyone of the monsters who roamed the land, preying on people. How many outlaws were shot in the heart or buried with a stake through the heart? And no one ever asked why that was. No one asked why bounty hunters kept so busy. People went missing, and people were found dead, but they blamed the Indians and not the ones really doing the deeds.

  Tell shook his head and explained, “My daddy always talked about the Donner folks what were killed out in California. Them women drank their fill of those hundred folks, messing up the bodies, and they were called cannibals, but that clan of the vampyres fed well. You know after that how many gold mine towns just up and vanished over night, people saying folks left when veins dried up, but that clan drank all through those towns ‘til some hunters caught them and finished them bitches off.”

  “We need to keep our eyes open. It could be a female, but I think it’s male with the whores as targets, and he’s new, so he will be clever but could make mistakes, and he’s bold,” Paris told Kit. “You’ve been against worse, but don’t write him off as easy; them bastards are never easy.”

  "I'd hoped it wasn't them," Kit admitted.

  “I best get the undertaker out here,” Tell said. He huffed. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another, and now he was the marshal in a town being preyed on by a vampyre.

  Chapter 7

  Gentleman Caller

  Doc leaned over the saddle horn, his muscular legs bunched up tightly as he urged his black gelding to run faster. Damning his own chivalry, he leaned forward, muttered under his breath and wondered why he had held his own mount back in those first few, precious seconds of the beginning of the race. He had allowed Frannie to take a lead as they raced across the pasture, and now it looked as if she would beat him by a mile.

  Maybe it was in Doc’s mind, but he thought he could hear her high lilting, musical laughter taunting him.

  Fear of death and the too-quickly passing time had made Doc feel much older than his years, but at that moment while racing against the wind, he was younger, stronger, and healthier than he had ever been.

  Doc had never known any woman who could ride like Frannie, not that he knew women who wore trousers and let their hair fly in the wind and who sat astraddle. Regardless, it was a damn embarrassment to have a woman beat him in a horse race.

  In the end, he had to ride all out to beat her by only a half a length.

  She rode up beside him to rest in the shade of the tine of trees; a triumphant smile was across her flushed face.

  "I won," he reminded her.

  With a shrug, she said, "I let you."

  "I had to ride all out; you couldn't have won that race, and I know for a fact that you never let up."

  "You think so, do you?"

  "As an experienced horseman and older than you, I can tell you that I won that fairly."

  "If you think so." She taunted him.

  ”You didn't throw that race."

  Frannie laughed again, a pure sound in the sunlight. "You tried to throw it, though; you held back at the first."

  "Because I'm a southern gentleman."

  She turned her mount, and he had to follow. "If you are such a gentleman, why didn't you just let me win?"

  "I think I felt taken. I didn't expect that kind of competition from a woman.”

  She tossed her head. "Truly from the South.”

  "If I had let you win, as a gentleman would I have lost your respect for me?”

  ”Oh, yes. Just as you wouldn't have respected me if I had played coy and delicate and let you beat me easily."

  He laughed with appreciation. "I can't forget that I'm in a constant battle of wits with you.” How utterly refreshing she was, he mused.

  "You enjoy the competition, I believe."

  Doc couldn't argue.

  That past Saturday he had arrived promptly to call on her although she had halfway expected him not to show up. Quinn had allowed him in the house, and Doc had greeted him and then Frannie, most formally. She had hardly seen her caller before Quinn had ushered him into the study where intentions and rules of conduct were made crystal clear. Doc was a true southern gentleman and knew all the genteel codes of behavior. Still, Quinn rushed through all of it just for formality sake and then poured both of them glasses of excellent whiskey.

  Quinn hated these etiquette challenges and knocked back his drink as quickly as did his guest. Quinn bypassed most of the protocol, poured another round for them, and asked Doc about a story he had heard.

  "Yes, it is true, what you heard. It was in Las Vegas, and the man was named Charley White. If he hadn't been dead-drunk, he wouldn't have said what he did, but the liquor made him brave.”

  “It will do that,” Quinn agreed.

  “I had already chased White out of Dodge City,” Doc explained, ”and he carried a grudge. He decided to try to settle it with me.”

  “Tried.”

  “Yes, he did.” Doc's bullet had been faster and more accurate; White went down, heavily, behind the bar. "They called the undertaker, but White wasn't dead, just knocked out. I didn't hear until the next day."

  "I heard you shamed him into the draw,” Quinn said pointedly.

  Doc didn't take offense but shrugged as he said, "I'll admit there is an exhilaration in being good enough to make a man back down in
fear. I like the bluff. Some men don't bluff; they want to stand up to me.”

  "I envy your confidence, Doctor Holliday."

  “It has been hard earned with too high of a price on it," Doc admitted.

  Quinn nodded, "Well, Francis is probably out there worrying herself that we are in her insulting one another and that she is being left out of things; she hates that."

  Doc grinned lazily; he liked this man. "I would hate for her to feel left out, sir."

  "Of course, it doesn't hurt her to worry a little; she is too spoiled.”

  “You relationship with Miss Masterson seems to be special.”

  “I think so.” Quinn made a sudden decision and said, " I have a bit of a problem which you might help me with, Doctor.”

  “I would be honored.”

  “My youngest sons, Patrick and Ford, have fallen into a bit of trouble, and I have to go to Dallas to straighten it out.”

  “How can I help?” "Joshua, my youngest son is bright and dependable, and he and Perry Creek can take care of the ranch. Perry has been with me for years and is really like a fourth son. But I've had some difficulties with Pete Lorrance and his bunch, fencing trouble and the like. Tempers have been running hot, and it is my fear that something very serious is about to happen. I worry that it'll get nasty.”

  "I ride with Fallon and Kit Darling. I think it would be nothing for the three of us to pay the scalawag a visit," Doc offered.

  “I have indeed considered asking you just that very thing, but I don't want to have a range war or anyone get killed, either. That might be hard on Frannie.”

  "It might. Those things get rough."

  "It's not what I want."

  "So how can I help you?" asked Doc as he realized that it was hard for Quinn to ask for help.

  "You have quite a reputation as someone not to fool with, and you can back it up. I'm going to speak plainly, Doctor Holliday."

  “Please do.”

  “I'd like you to call on my daughter while I'm out of town if you'd like to see her. I believe that your presence alone would encourage the Lorrance boys to leave things alone until I can get back and deal with all of it first hand.”

  "It would be my pleasure and privilege to call on Miss Masterson, sir. I am honored."

  "And I am sure you would treat her in a gentlemanly manner, sisterly and respectfully." Quinn met his guest's eyes meaningfully.

  "You have my word," he promised, "Miss Masterson will be well cared for."

  "Without her knowing of her brothers’ difficulties and the problems with the Lorrance boys."

  "Yes, of course."

  They finished their drinks and stood with a handshake. When they came out, Frannie noticed that they were using first names now. It could not escape her notice that a quick friendship had been forged. She was suspicious.

  Dinner was perfect, and Joshua was obviously awed by the guest at the table. Later, Frannie gave Doc a horseback tour of the ranch, introducing him to all of the hands who were at least coolly respectful. Frannie and Doc conversed politely but only relaxed later in the library over a discussion of literature.

  It was Frannie's opinion that she couldn't possibly interest a man as worldly as the doctor, but he found her fire-and-ice personality refreshing, liked that she didn't play coy, and found her to be heartbreakingly lovely. Each time he looked at her, he thought he might never look away.

  Legs weak, she stood at the door. As he left, he thanked the Mastersons for their hospitality and asked politely if he might call on her again in a few days. She told him yes.

  With a tip of his hat, he was gone. Frannie put her back against the door; this was so unexpected and so fast.

  Quinn had felt a bit deceitful in asking the man to call on his daughter, but it was clear that he had not asked anything unwanted, for Doc was clearly interested in Frannie, and she was down-right starry-eyed. He smiled ruefully to himself.

  When Quinn left the ranch, Frannie didn't complain as she often did; she was too pleased that he had given his permission for John Holliday to call on her in his absence. They read in the afternoon, had deep discussions that bordered on debates, and went for long, strenuous rides. She showed him the ranch boundaries, the thickets, bluffs, and ponds.

  Every evening at the door with her heart hammering, she would tell John yes that she would like him to call again as each night he asked if he could. Gradually, he and she began to use first names as well, which was somewhat an intimacy. That she used his Christian name instead of his nickname was like a balm.

  As they rode together, they traded life stories, and they grew very comfortable. She felt as natural with him as she did her own brothers and Perry Creek. He shared with her things that only Paris knew, told her about life in the old South, about his mother and Hattie, about everything, even his most violent gunfights.

  But today, weeks after their race and first evening together, he was still fascinated by Frannie. He was thinking about the past weeks when she interrupted his ruminations to accuse him of not listening to her.

  Doc pulled himself out of his private thoughts and said, "I am listening. I'm enjoying your company."

  "Do you miss your friends' company in the afternoons?"

  "Not much."

  “It was fortunate that I came into the saloon with my father that day," She said as she smiled.

  "Ironic, wasn't it? Of course, it saved me the trouble of having to find a way to call on you.”

  "You had planned to?"

  He nodded, "Indeed." He told her honestly," I wanted to do it correctly. But I wasn't sure that you would even receive me."

  "Then I was appropriately unconcerned. These games that men and women must play are tiresome," she announced. Frannie reined in her horse and dismounted, motioned him to follow her after she tied her horse.

  Doc saw the bubbling, wide creek that she pointed out; the murmuring water poured over smooth rocks. It was beautiful and peaceful as it dropped off into a large quiet pool before resuming its course. The banks were covered in large flat, smooth grey boulders. The pool itself was canopied by tall trees and was deep and blue-green.

  Frannie went over to sit on one of the rocks, her legs clad in jodhpurs drawn up under her. With a quick motion, she pulled the ribbon from her hair so that her blonde hair cascaded down her back in a fan.

  "Isn't it beautiful?"

  "Yes." Only he didn't mean anything but her.

  He was content to join her and listen to the creek's whispers. Finally, he had enough nerve to tenderly take her hand. "This town could use a dentist."

  "It could," she said as she squeezed his hand.

  He went on apprehensively, "Seems I need to settle down sometime." He had plenty of money with him and could get more from Tombstone when he wanted.

  "This is a nice place to live."

  "I would like it. I would like a future here." This time he squeezed her hand meaningfully.

  He had never felt this way, and it terrified him. There was something else. "Your father is in need of my influence in Dallas; I shall have to join him there."

  Her eyes narrowed at the change in topic. "Why does he need you? What is going on?"

  Doc had vowed not to tell her, but he wouldn't lie, either." A sheriff named Brodie Marren is being difficult. I have a certain influence over him."

  "Is it dangerous?”

  "Not at all. I'll make short work of the problems and be back in a flash. It is my opinion that when I show up, this will be resolved very quickly."

  “I'll miss you,” she said with a flushed face.

  “I'll miss you." This was a new intimacy. "Kit Darling will be going to Dallas with me.”

  She sighed, “I hope it doesn't take long.”

  "It won't." He had noticed her acceptance of his other professions, and he felt pleased. "I'm going to ask Fallon to look in on you because your father worries that someone might stir up trouble while he is gone."

  She had suspected something and had overhe
ard snatches of conversations. She didn't argue although she didn't like the situation one bit. Now another concern was paramount to her, "Please be careful. I'll worry."

  "Don't." He meant to touch her cheek as he leaned closer, but her eyes were huge and full of concern, and her mouth was so close to his. Gently, he kissed her, and her own lips parted beneath his, and Doc's arms went around her, crushed her breasts against his hard chest; their kiss intensified passionately. He moved his mouth to taste her soft throat, and suddenly with a groan, he pulled himself back. He stared into her eyes and said, "When I return, I would like to talk to you about some things. I would like to speak to your father.

  Her breath caught.

  He whispered, “I'm coming back for you, Frannie.”He pulled her to her feet quickly, his blood boiling in his veins. He felt besotted.

  “Hurry back

  “I will. Promise me you'll cooperate with Paris Fallon.”

  “I don't need him here." A stubborn line appeared on her forehead.

  "He's the best man with a gun I know. Frannie, do this."

  She wouldn't argue with him, and so she agreed. Frankly, she didn't care so much anyway, not when he had said he wanted to speak to her father. How thrilling. He was her first beau, and she was tickled with the attention. She knew her female friends were envious, as well.

  This time before he left, there was a kiss and a look in Doc's eyes that spoke of promises; some that made her flush. One day with him, it would be more than just a kiss, she knew. That part scared her. Why couldn't they remain this way? As such dear friends? Oh, having a beau was troublesome.

  Chapter 8

  Bloodsuckers

  George slept away the day, stretching at times like a lazy cat, growing in strength as he rested.

  A month and a half before, he had been a regular man, born of a nice family, and interested in little else but women and cards. He was no longer normal but was becoming a demi-god as time passed, and he fed regularly now. In a few more weeks, maybe a few months, he would be a minor god.