Wild Boys: Six Shooters and Fangs

by catt dahman

  "He makes me happy. We're a lot alike."

  "But you didn't show interest in men until now, not real marrying interest. Maybe you should wait and see if anyone else catches your fancy."

  She snorted unladylike and said, “You make it sound like picking out a horse."

  "Be sure." Had he seen her almost let Paris Fallon kiss her? She was mortified. How could she have considered that? Something about him, but no, it was gone.

  "I am, and to please you, I might dance with that boring ole Roberts boy."

  "Who's from a good family.”

  "And boring," she said, "perhaps I can find a stray dance or two for some young men you like."

  "But it'll be Holliday you are there to see?"

  She smiled.

  Quinn laughed. "It isn't your mother you are like, by damn; it is me you take after." He shook his head in frustration and more pride than he'd ever admit.

  Across town, a pale skinned man with liquideous eyes finished dressing and thought about how enjoyable the ball would be. George hoped that his kind would be in town that night so they could move about the rooms, scenting prey, and anticipating the succulent feeding.

  Chapter 12

  Heart's Betrayal

  Tell Starr stood uncomfortably: his shirt starched too heavily, trousers too sharply creased, and his tie choking him. Another lady sashayed by, so he had to tip his hat again. He could think of about nine hundred other things he would rather be doing instead of this. Of course, he supposed it could be worse; he could be fighting Indians without a weapon.

  At least he wasn't being forced to dance.

  Edgar Smith had a ball the first of every October and always invited the most important people in town, which was every colorful character. Tell wasn't sure why he had been invited, but he was there; Paris, Doc, and Kit had somehow wrangled invitations and were there also, along with Quinn Masterson's hands, and Pete Lorrance's hands. Tension was thick. Quinn and Frannie weren't there yet.

  "Are you enjoying yourself, Tell?"

  "I'd rather you extract my teeth, Doc."

  "Why is this so bad?"

  "I'm uncomfortable; I don't like to dance; this is all a bunch of foolishness."

  "Some of these ladies look rather nice."

  Tell frowned. "Good way to get yourself in trouble."

  "You don't like women anymore. Tell, you're too bitter, and I hate to see it."

  "It don't bother you."

  Doc smiled. "But some ladies are quite charming."

  "None I've ever met."

  "Every man needs a woman, at least at times."

  "That's what a whore is for."

  Now Doc laughed. "It's nice to be in love; I hate to see this."

  "You have taken leave of your senses.”

  "You think?"

  "You do seem smitten," Tell had to admit.

  "Tonight, you might find your lady love."

  Tell promptly uttered several choice obscenities.

  Doc nudged him in the ribs. "Your mood is worsening, I do believe."

  "How did Kit get in?" asked Tell as he ignored Doc’s choice barbs.

  "I'm not sure. I hope he and Fallon behave. Those two together are trouble."

  Tell looked at Doc, seeing the laughter in Doc's eyes. Doc turned to the landing across the enormous room. This house rivaled all of the largest southern ante-bellum homes that he had grown up with. The ballroom had two larger raised landings with a dance floor in the middle. Guests entered through huge, ornately carved doors.

  Quinn escorted Frannie in and paused to greet people he knew. All about were men in starched shirts, cummerbunds, white bow ties, and cut-away coats. Women floated by in beautiful taffeta dresses and in silks of every color.

  Paris stood next to Kit; they were looking over the women. Kit had just pointed out a pretty buxom, red-haired girl that Paris thought was dull-looking. Kit made a distasteful remark that made Paris laugh heartily; the girl scurried away.

  Paris stopped laughing.

  He looked across the room.

  Frannie was beautiful with her skin creamy white. A cascade of blonde, shimmering curls fell around her shoulders, and her pale green dress looked as green as her eyes, and they seemed to shine with an ice-fire softness. Paris thought he could see a golden light all around her; he couldn't look away. When Quinn said something to her, she tossed her head back and laughed, and when she caught sight of Paris, she smiled at him like an angel.

  Paris gulped down his whiskey all at once and snatched at his tie to loosen it. He couldn't get his breath but couldn't look away.

  "Hey," Paris said as he tried to get Kit’s attention. "Go get me another whiskey."

  Kit frowned at the tone of voice that Paris used, followed his friend's gaze, and saw the way Paris looked at Frannie. He knew why Paris wanted him to go away at once. He said, "Dear God."

  "Get me a damned drink."

  Kit was happy to walk away because he couldn't stand to see the scene. Never had he felt so down hearted, and Paris had tried to save him the knowledge.

  Paris watched her and felt a sickness in his soul. Frannie came down the steps, and from behind Paris came Doc to greet her. Doc took her hands. They looked in love. Doc drew Frannie to Paris and said, "Frannie is here, Paris."

  Kit returned and gave the drink to Paris, which he slammed back all at once.

  Paris nodded formally, "Ma'am."

  Doc noted when Paris downed his drink, "Getting drunk, are we?"

  "I'm in a mood to."

  Although Doc looked at his friend closely, he didn't know what was wrong, which was what made Paris a good poker player. "Doesn't Frannie look lovely?"

  The men agreed she did although Paris didn't look at her. Frannie commented on a waltz that was being played.

  "I need a whiskey, myself,” said Doc, “Paris, dance with Frannie, will you?"

  Kit spoke up, "Paris, I'll get you another drink."

  "Make it a bottle." To Frannie, he said, "I ain't much of a dancer."

  "I'll take a chance." She took his arm.

  Paris saw that Quinn was watching him, and there was no way to get out of dancing with her; he would not let Doc know what was in his deceitful heart.

  Paris was tall, six feet, three inches, and he had long, muscular legs and a lean frame, while Frannie was very petite, so on the dance floor, they looked off-balance.

  Paris had lied about his skill in dancing; in fact, Paris was a splendid dancer who masterfully moved Frannie over the floor so perfectly that they seemed to float; it was as if they had danced together forever. Every eye turned to them as they waltzed across the ballroom.

  The music changed to something slower. The violins were soft and pretty, and Paris was forced to hold Frannie closer. "You said you didn't dance well," she whispered as she smiled.

  "Did I?"

  "I think you just didn't want to dance with me."

  "I'm sorry you think so."

  She frowned. "I thought we had become friends."

  Paris was trying not to think about holding her as they danced, "I'm not a very good friend."

  "John considers you to be his best." Something about her voice made him look into her eyes, and what he saw worried him. I am his best friend, and I'd never betray him."

  Frannie felt reckless and was unsure why she felt so strangely. There was such an odd desperation and confusion in her mind, coupled with utter hopelessness. "You are very honorable,"

  "Not always in my heart," he replied as he cursed himself for even talking to her like that. She had no feelings for him; she loved Doc, his best friend. She was only flirting. But he was deadly serious. "Doc loves you so much. I think without you, he wouldn't be able to stand it."

  "What about you? Can you stand not having what you want?" she asked. She knew it was wrong to ask him that, to play with fire that way, but the words were out before she could stop them. He might not even like her, she told herself, but she knew when his eyes met hers how he felt.
r />   "Yes," Paris said as he lied to her. Then, he was unsure that they were even talking about the same thing. When he considered their conversation, he knew that she hadn't been flirting at all but was just talking. His own guilty feelings had written more into the talk. Or so he tried to believe.

  “A martyr.” She blinked back tears.

  "Frannie," he said, "I need a drink. Please excuse me."

  "Of course." She smiled sadly, and then her eyes lit up again when she saw Doc.

  Paris told himself he was a fool. He understood with a monstrous clarity the self-hatred that Doc once had felt, the need for self-destruction. He settled for another shot of whiskey.

  Doc waltzed with Frannie while Paris, Tell, and Kit watched. The dancing pair was beautifully matched with perfect grace. Later, Frannie danced with other young men, as well as some of her father's ranch hands to make them happy.

  Quinn and Doc stood to one side. "I realize this is most improper," Doc said, "but I would like to ask for Frannie's hand in marriage."

  Quinn knew there were certain things to ask and to discuss, but he refused to follow the procedure. "Does she wish to marry you?"

  "I believe so. I want to settle here in town."

  "I must give you my blessings, then, but she can decide for herself if she wishes to marry. I should announce it."

  Quinn found Frannie and spoke to her privately, long enough to find that she would marry John Holliday. Something was weighing on her mind, despite her bright smile, but she refused to admit it and brushed his questions aside. "John is the type I should marry," she said.

  Quinn went to Edgar Smith and whispered to him.

  Paris Fallon and Kit Darling were in the study, a room just off the ballroom; Kit was watching Paris drink a bottle of whiskey all by himself, turning more sullen by the minute.

  "Are you going to be okay?" Kit asked, "I know...."

  "Damn fine,” Paris snapped, "if you value our friendship, don't say anything else." He warned his friend.

  Kit didn't finish the sentence.

  Edgar Smith loudly called for everyone's attention.

  Paris drank deeply.

  Quinn said, "I have the pleasure of announcing the engagement of my daughter Miss Francis Katherine Masterson to Doctor John Henry Holliday, formerly of Georgia."

  People called out words of congratulations.

  Frannie was stunned. This was why her father had gone into the long story. He had noticed when she danced with Paris what was in her eyes.

  Paris' jaw went tense; his eyes were blank, icy pools. Tendons of his arm stood out as he powerfully gripped the whiskey glass in his left hand.

  With a terrible pop, the glass exploded, and crystal flew and embedded itself in Paris' hand. Shards sliced so deeply that lines of scarlet ran down his arm.

  Frannie saw the blood from the corner of her eye as she dreamed of going back in time to beg her father not to do this, despite it having worked out for him and her mother. She had to fix this, but people were all congratulating her and Doc and toasting to them; Doc flushed with happiness.

  Kit stared. He couldn't say a word.

  Tossing the pieces aside, Fallon looked at the red drops that fell to the carpet.

  "Damnit, Paris," Kit muttered, "what happened between you and that girl?"

  "Nothing, and it never will."

  Kit still stared. "You're cut."

  "It would be better to cut my heart out," he said in anguish. Paris spun and stalked from the room, leaving by a side door.

  Kit was left alone. "Dear God," he repeated, "dear, sweet God."

  The door slammed closed as five people moved as one into the study, eyes glittering with blood lust. The five made the room feel heavy with lust.

  The blonde was full in her bosom and was dressed in sky blue silks with her hair pulled up, the tiny, long strands of her hair braided with bells at the ends and running down her back. Her winter, ice blue eyes took in the room and the men in it as she licked her lips seductively; they were very red against her pale skin.

  The second woman was beautiful, equally as pale, but with dark hair, dark eyes, and teeth, white and sharp. She was dressed in crimson silk that had a low neckline, plunging immodestly.

  The third woman was a red-haired beauty dressed in shimmering, gold cloth. Although her loose blood-colored hair, glittering dress, and white skin caused everyone to turn her direction, it was her red lips and bright blue eyes that drew attention.

  The two men who accompanied the three women were also well dressed, one in black and one in dove grey.

  The dark-haired woman was immediately close to Kit, her nearness arousing, despite his revulsion. “I’m Nita.” He knew at once what she was, but he wanted nothing more than to throw her on the sofa in front of everyone else and strip her, taking his pleasure whether she desired him or not. His groan was half need and half disgust at himself.

  “Let me and Nan see your wound; I’m Jane.” The blonde breathed close to Paris. The men watched with their glittering, admiring eyes. Paris held out his hand, away from his clothing, so it dripped blood onto the rug. He was flaming with desire, too, but he felt fury as both women opened their sultry, bee-stung, pouting lips to show fangs and leaned in to catch the drops of scarlet blood.

  And then two incidents happened at once: one fortunate, the other one very unfortunate.

  Chatting, a woman and man came into the den from a side door. It was just then that Kit pushed Nita away from him roughly, having to use real force since she was strong, despite being a new changeling; her red silks went flying like spilled blood as she fell.

  “What’s this?” the man asked in confusion.

  The very young woman with him had been a virgin before the pair had sneaked upstairs for a secret tryst. The scent of sex and blood was overwhelming to the young vampyre’s senses, so Nan, all sunlight colors and pale flesh, and the man dressed in black were on her before the creatures could even think of their folly.

  Nita scrambled to her feet to launch herself at the man as he tried to protect the very young woman who came with him.

  Because gunfire in the house might cause a bullet to go through a wall and hit someone in the ballroom, Paris reached for the wrought iron fireplace poker, the handle wooden and tipped with silver; it would be as deadly as anything else. He swung it against Nan’s head and then plunged it deeply through the back of the man dressed in black. Paris continued to shove until the poker came out the other side and stuck into the wooden floor. The man howled deeply, unleashing an unearthly noise that shook the glass.

  Chaos reigned.

  “It’s a Hunter,” the man dressed in grey shouted as he pulled Jane towards the doors of the garden, trying to keep Paris and Kit where he could see them. Jane’s blonde and blue innocence faded as she hissed at the two men.

  Nita ran at Kit, so he hit her in the jaw with his fist as hard as he could and fell back against an ornate, delicate chair that exploded beneath him. At that point, the door to the room burst open as men from the ballroom came through after having heard the destruction and howling. Tell and Doc knocked people to the side while they struggled to reach Kit and Paris.

  To their surprise, Jane and the man in grey dashed forward instead of through the doors to the outside, hitting it hard, and making it past the startled people before Doc and Tell could reach the crowd blocking the door.

  Nan and Nita used the distraction to get the garden doors open so they could escape. Kit and Paris drew, firing rapidly at the women fleeing, but while both women took a shot or two each, they were both strong enough to survive a few bullets since the bullets weren’t made of silver. Both women were washed with red, sticky blood from lips to décolleté.

  Tell and Doc changed directions to run after Jane and the man in grey, fleeing from the room, feeling the wave of lust, heat, and hunger crash over the room as they followed. Most people stared stupidly at the odd feelings they had as the couple flew by.

  Frannie stood right in fr
ont of the doorway that led to the hallway and front door, and she took a deep breath, ignoring the other emotions as anger filled her. She didn’t know what mischief those two had been up to, but she somehow guessed it had something to do with the announcement of her supposed engagement, Paris slicing his hand open, and the two running away. Now, there was gunfire. Already angry and upset, Frannie didn’t care who the two were; this was just another little bit of drama that she didn’t appreciate.

  A hand fell on her shoulder, and two men, unknown to her, smiled lazily at her, and one said, “Ma’am.” The other one nodded. He was very handsome with light eyes, pale skin, and a gaze that made her feel she was naked before him. Before she could stop herself, she reached out to touch the man’s sleeve, catching her rapid breath.

  Quinn saw and felt them for who and what they were. Grabbing his daughter tightly, he yanked her face against his shoulder so she couldn’t see them, cocking his head slightly. “They’re coming for you.” His heart raced with fear.

  “Perhaps we will come for her,” George said sullenly as he and the other man turned to run to the door and out behind the other female and male vampyres.

  Doc stumbled to a halt next to Quinn with a questioning look as Frannie cried against her father’s shoulder, her anger, frustration, and anxiety pouring out. “She’s okay; they frightened her. They threatened her.”

  Doc spun, following Tell out the door, but the four had vanished into the night. In the other room, Kit and Paris had run after the women, firing their guns, but other than a few drops of blood on the stones outside, they too had vanished. The wounds had closed, and they would be impossible to track now.

  Some of the men had ushered everyone from the little den back to the ballroom where women sobbed and men roared with anger. Edgar Smith sent his women folk upstairs and had servants pour sherry and whiskey, but most couples left quickly so the room cleared rapidly.

  In a sitting room, Quinn had his cowboys all around Frannie as she sat by the fire, wrapped in a blanket with her feet up and sipping sherry. “What happened?” he demanded of Doc.