Venom & Vampires: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by Casey Lane

  “I bet you were so grateful that you dropped your jeans and put out for Law over a scratchy bale of hay. Am I right or am I right?”

  “Shucks, nothing so romantic.” My smile died as I sighed. “But Law was my hero.”

  Reaching for my hand, Sean’s dark eyes were sympathetic when he replied quietly, “My hero, too, Cadie.”

  I looked away, but squeezed his hand back to verify the truth of that statement. When Law married me, eleven-year-old Sean was part of the package. Sean had always looked up to Law as a father figure and their relationship was tight.

  Sean’s mother, my Dad and Coop’s only sister, died of ovarian cancer when Sean was five. Even on her deathbed, Aunt Cathy stubbornly never divulged the name of Sean’s father to anyone, so we all assumed it was the Devil, since Sean was such a little demon.

  Uncle Coop was off wandering the globe when Sean came to live with my family. Calling us a family was a misnomer. Unfortunately, my father was a heavy drinker. Threats, tears, fights, begging--nothing my mother or I said made him stop for long. Within another year, my mom was done. She divorced my dad, fell in love with another man before the ink dried on the divorce papers, and moved to Arizona where her new hubby worked and lived.

  A life in the far off desert was an exotic dream to a young girl like me living on an old farm in the middle of nowhere. I was thirteen and longed to go with my mother and her nice new husband named Phil, but I refused to move with them. My poor mom was shocked and broken-hearted at my steadfast refusal to leave. Sally tried every argument, and then threats, to convince me to come to Arizona, but I simply could not go. I couldn’t leave Sean behind and my mother couldn’t legally take him.

  Sean waved a hand in front of my face. “Hello! I asked why Tryg is drunk dialing you after all this time?”

  “I have no idea. Someone mentioned Lars died recently, may he roast eternally in hellfire, and Tryg is now the new leader of the Iron Fists.” Sean laughed at my curse and I raised my brows. “You can laugh, but be glad you never crossed Lars path. He was a homophobe. Given half a chance, Lars would have skewered your butt and roasted you like a kabob over an open fire.”

  Sean sputtered in horror, “Brutal image, Cousin. Good God!”

  “Hey, Lars was a brutal man. But now that I think on it, I’ve run into Tryg a couple of times in the last few months. Once was in the cereal aisle at the Cub in Rosemount, of all places. He’d heard about Law’s death, came on all sympathetic, and actually invited me out for a drink,” I smirked, “for old time’s sake.” Sean shook his head in disgust at that and I grinned in response. “I know, I should have sung “Auld Lang Syne” while I busted his nose.”

  We were still snorting when my phone buzzed again. I never got around to mentioning the second, creepier encounter I’d had with Tryg last month at the Minneapolis Farmers Market because I forgot everything once I recognized Gary Knutson’s frantic voice.

  “Yes, this is Mary Jensen.”

  I shushed Sean with a warning fist when he kept mouthing questions at me, starting with my alias name. I turned away and listened to Gary for a few minutes, asked a couple of questions, and then tapped Gary’s address into my phone. I ended the call by promising to be there in about twenty minutes or so.

  I held up a finger to silence Sean, ran to the basement door, and called down the stairs for my Uncle Coop.

  The brothers ran in from the dining room at the same time Uncle Coop and Rex came bounding up the basement stairs into the kitchen.

  I quickly filled the group in on Gary Knutson’s call. It was bad news all around. Karen had become infected. She felt ill almost immediately after the attack in the parking lot. They’d gone home and Karen had been lying down ever since.

  Gary remembered he’d left his phone in their car and noticed my voicemail when he went out to retrieve it a few minutes ago. After hearing my description of events at the hotel, he immediately went into the bedroom to check on Karen—only to find his wife convulsing on the bed. She attacked him, but Gary was fortunate to still be wearing a jacket, so he was protected from her scratches and attempts to bite him while he wrestled with her. He’d pushed her into the bedroom closet and locked her up. He tried to call 9-1-1 for help, but no help was available to come anytime soon. Emergency Services were already stretched beyond their limits sending their people out to help in Bloomington and Minneapolis.

  “Gary said she’s been screaming like a wild animal in the closet.” Uncle Coop’s eyes narrowed, but I rushed on before he could speak, “They moved back to Minnesota from Houston two weeks ago, so Gary can’t ask neighbors he doesn’t even know to risk their lives to help him get Karen some help.” I started patting my photography vest while adding, “Their only son is in the Army, stationed in Afghanistan.”

  Uncle Coop put his hands on his hips. “But this Gary Knutson character didn’t hesitate to ask you to risk your life to help him?”

  I verified my gun, spare mags, phone, truck keys, and gate clicker were in their proper pocket. “It sounds terrible when you say it like that, but can you blame the poor guy? I’m the only person Gary knows that understands what he’s dealing with in that closet.” I shot my uncle a reproving look. “This is his wife. Gary’s frantic to get Karen to a hospital where maybe they’ll have a clue how to help her. I would have sold my soul for a chance to save Lawson.”

  “Ah, you fight dirty, girl.” Coop sighed. “We’re going to need some duct tape.”

  “Thank you.” I grinned; tremendously relieved he was coming with me.

  Sean and the brothers wanted to come along, but my uncle put them to work securing King House for the night. Not as glamorous as wrestling their first zombie, but not even Sean argued with Coop when my uncle spoke in that certain stern tone. Under Sean’s supervision, the brothers were already off to the shed getting lumber within the couple of minutes it took Coop and I to quickly gather what we needed.

  As we barreled down the graveled road towards Hwy 52 in my Dodge Ram, Uncle Coop got off his phone and instructed me to stop at his house first. “Salty said their truck is turning off 52, so I thought we could use an extra pair of hands.”

  “Great idea.” I vividly recalled the ferociously unflagging strength of the attackers in the bar.

  The house Coop referred to was my childhood home located near the junction of 180th and Hwy 52. I pulled into the drive a few moments later and turned around. The quarry truck soon lumbered past us and Salty’s pickup followed shortly, turning in to stop next to mine.

  Expecting to see Salty or Bobby get out of the truck, I frowned over at Coop when I recognized the big man striding towards my Dodge’s back passenger door.

  “Why is Rod coming with us?”

  Uncle Coop responded evenly, “Rod asked me to let him know if you were going to be doing anything dangerous.”

  “And you agreed?” I asked in surprise, not sure why this made me instantly angry.

  Coop casually shrugged a shoulder. “The man is huge, tough, and wants to protect my niece. Why wouldn’t I agree?”

  Oh yeah, now I knew why I was furious. “Because your niece doesn’t need or want you making deals with men behind her back to protect her.” Rod climbed into the back of the quad cab and flashed his dazzling grin. I glared back in disgust at that damn smile, put the truck in gear, and sped off before Rod’s door had fully closed.

  I spit out over my shoulder at the man who was driving me crazy, “Did you hear that, tough guy? I do NOT need your protection.”

  “Why, hello to you too, Mary-Acadia. Yes, the supply run went very well, thank you for asking.”

  “Dammit, quit calling me Mary-Acadia!” I included Uncle Coop in my glare when I heard his soft snicker, but he was looking out the side window.

  I glowered in the rear view mirror at the handsome blonde man who smiled in return, and then mouthed a kiss.

  I swerved back on the road while shouting, “You don’t even have a gun! What are you going to do, throw me your room
key again at the first sighting of a crazy and I’ll be magically protected from danger?”

  “Oh my, somebody’s blood sugar is a little low right now.” Rod’s voice was so smarmy and brimming over the top with false sympathy, I burst out laughing despite my very real irritation. My comment about the room key had been a low blow and I instantly felt like a heel.

  Why did I allow Rod to get under my skin this way? I should be happy he wanted to get eaten instead of me.

  Rod leaned forward and something softly brushed my cheek. I accepted his peace offering of a cherry Twizzler with a grunt. I didn’t usually eat this kind of crap candy, but it was a good time to shove something in my mouth besides my foot.

  Rod sat back, and as I drove down the deserted highway, his voice was cheerful from the darkness behind me. “Salty loaned his gun to me, so I’m not quite worthless.”

  Uncle Coop shot me a look of vindication, but said mildly, “Let’s hope we don’t need guns tonight.”

  I silently, begrudgingly admitted Salty would never give a man his gun if the man couldn’t use it, but I kept my mouth firmly closed and concentrated on driving to Gary’s house. Once we hit Hwy 52, Gary’s address was only about fifteen minutes away in the suburban city of Apple Valley. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and tried out various plans in my head to capture a rabid Karen Knutson alive.

  The men were quietly discussing the defense plans for fortifying the farm tomorrow, when Rod suddenly leaned forward again. “What city is that over there on the horizon with all the lights and the towers?”

  Coop chuckled. “That’s not a city, but the oil refinery. Those towers are smokestacks.”

  “Whoa. It looks like something straight out of a steam punk movie.”

  Coop probably had no idea what Rod meant by steam punk, but my nemesis was right. During the night, the factory was lit up like it was daylight and did have the appearance of an evil, dystopian city from another place in time. Dense, black plumes of oily smoke continually belched from the smokestacks and polluted the sky. As people approached the Twin Cities for the first time on this road, they were often mistakenly horrified the oil refinery was a view of downtown St Paul.

  “Unfortunately, Acadia was too old to believe me, but I used to threaten Sean that was where he’d have to go live if he didn’t behave.” Coop chuckled again at the memory.

  The sight of the refinery was gray, grim, and even an as adult, triggered not only my depression, but a superstitious unease deep in my gut.

  I vividly recalled Sean’s stress at the thought of being sent to the refinery. “Oh, and wasn’t that just a wonderful way to treat an orphaned boy?”

  My uncle scoffed lightly. “Ah, it put hair on the little shit’s chest.”

  “Yes, and Sean appreciated that so much, he now shaves it all off,” I retorted, as I exited the highway at a 160th Street.

  Looking over, I laughed at the stunned expression on Coop’s face.

  Rod exclaimed, “Jesus, Coop, if you threatened me with that now, I’d probably sprout hair on my back. The place gives me the willies.”

  My startled glance flew to the rearview mirror at Rod’s comment, so near my own thoughts on the refinery. Rod lifted a brow in question, but I looked away. Everybody probably felt that way about the creepy place; there was nothing special about what Rod said.

  “The Willies,” Coop snorted over his shoulder. “Sean may be on the effeminate side, but unlike you, Ramaldi, my nephew wasn’t a pansy, even as a kid.” I laughed with Coop when Rod protested futilely in defense of his manhood. Coop reminisced, “That boy was a holy terror. He feared nothing and I was scared to death he was going to kill himself pulling some crazy stunt or another. You can think I was cruel, but finding one thing to threaten my nephew with that he actually feared probably saved Sean’s ass.”

  Approaching Apple Valley, our laughter died away and we turned back to the serious task at hand. We talked over a general plan the best we could without knowing the layout of Gary’s house. It was a big surprise when Rod insisted on leading the way in and my uncle quickly agreed to take the rear, but I said nothing. Okay, maybe I made a disgusted noise, but I went along without argument.

  At three-thirty in the morning, the upper class neighborhood of homes in Cobblestone Lake was quietly slumbering. We drove our way slowly down the winding streets deeper into the development. Nothing seemed amiss, which was a good start.

  I parked the truck in front of the bungalow that matched the address Gary had recited. Coop noticed first, pointing to the front door standing wide open. A low wattage overhead porch light glowed dimly. The interior of the house appeared dark, except for a faint flickering of orange light through the curtains on a bank of front windows.

  We regrouped on the short sidewalk leading to the porch. Without a word, we all had our guns out and held down at our sides.

  I got out my phone. After a few rings, Gary answered in a dull, hollow voice.

  “We’re here out front.”

  “You’re too late, Mary.” Gary’s voice broke on a sob. “She died a few minutes ago…”

  I whispered urgently, “Don’t turn your back on her! She could still attack you!” Not waiting to hear more, I dropped the phone into my pocket and we ran for the porch.

  Rod overtook me in a few strides, and leapt over the three stairs onto the front porch while Coop followed on my heels. We’d slowed down, but still were moving at a clip when we burst into the front hall. I fumbled for the light switch as Coop closed the door behind us. Guns drawn, we spread out as agreed and all looked around quickly, but didn’t see Gary in the small formal living room. The flickering light was from the fireplace.

  Rod moved silently down a wide hallway, and Coop and I followed behind him a few feet apart into an open kitchen and dining area. Again, the rooms were empty, although a light was on over the stove.

  A cry of anguish erupted from our left and then a single gunshot blasted the still night.

  “Gary!” I called out, and we raced in that direction across a family room. Rod held us back with a cautionary arm and we halted to a stop a foot inside the spacious master bedroom.

  Gary was on his knees by the end of the bed, head bowed and shoulders heaving. A shotgun lay beside him on the hardwood floor. Rod lowered his arm. Coop bent to pick up the shotgun while I walked over to Gary. Silently squeezing his shoulder, I swallowed past the residual lump of fear in my dry throat as Gary sobbed quietly.

  Karen was flopped out spread eagle on her back on the floor a few feet away. Her face was partially missing, and what was left was destroyed beyond recognition, but she was blessedly still. I noticed that her fingers were oddly misshapen. I stared fixedly until I understood it was because they were broken stumps, the bloodied, jagged ends covered in flaky stuff that looked like grayish shredded paper. It soon became apparent why.

  Past the bed, the wall near the walk-in closet door had a narrow, but long, ragged hole between two studs. Chunks of drywall and insulation were scattered below on the floor, along with a tire iron that had a clump of bloody hair on the end.

  My darting eyes lifted to meet Rod’s. It didn’t even register until much later how easily I could read Rod’s swift, but guarded appraisal as he carefully observed how I was handling Karen’s death. I simply nodded back that I was okay and raised an inquiring brow in return. He didn’t smile, but his lips twitched when he nodded his head back at me. He relaxed his guard a little and we both grimaced in mutual, sympathetic horror at the scene before us.

  Rod and Coop stood gazing down at Karen’s mutilated body for a moment and then Coop pulled a throw blanket off the end of the bed to drape gently over Karen’s body.

  Gary looked up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I stayed out of here while she was screaming and banging. I heard your truck coming, Mary, and so I went to open the front door. It was then I heard a different noise.” He bowed his head for a moment. When he stood up, he was moving as shakily as a ninety-year
-old. I supported his elbow and made a soothing sound. “She had been kicking and clawing out the wall, not at the door like I first thought. I came in just as she was climbing through.” He shuddered and gazed at me. “Her eyes, her face, dear God, the way her teeth were gnashing like she could taste me from ten feet away.”

  “I know, I know, I’m so sorry, Gary.” I murmured, pointing with my chin for Rod and Coop to follow us out of the bedroom, as I led the grieving man into the family room.

  Coop stepped over to a wall of family photos and mementos while I continued listening patiently to Gary tell us how he was unable to shoot his wife. Instead, he hit her with the tire iron with the intention to only stop her, not kill her. She lunged at the last second and he’d hit her in the head by mistake. Seeing her fall to the floor and lie still, he’d confirmed he had accidentally killed her. But the blow hadn’t killed her like he thought, at least not permanently. Right when I called, Karen had started to shake and moan. She was getting up and coming for him again.

  “I shot her,” Gary whispered dully.

  Rod had walked to the front of the house and I saw a shared look pass between him and Coop when he came back.

  My uncle cleared his throat to get my attention, making a wrap-it-up gesture with his finger. I nodded.

  “Gary, this is my uncle and a friend. Why don’t you come with us tonight to my farm? Things are going to hell quickly and there’s nothing we can do for Karen.”

  Gary lifted a limp hand, looking around his house in bewilderment. “But I can’t just leave her!”

  I wrapped my hand firmly through Gary’s arm. “We can’t stay, Gary. We know Karen was sick and would have killed you, but your neighbors and the police may not understand that yet.” I added softly, “We’ll come back and take care of things when it’s safe, okay?”

  I continued to lead the vaguely protesting man out to the porch. Rod grabbed the keys he spotted on a side table and locked the door behind us. It would be nice to take the time to pack a bag for Gary, but there were a couple of porch lights on now that hadn’t been lit before. A screaming wife and a shotgun blast in this neighborhood in the middle of the night were not your typical sounds. We kept our heads down and hurried Gary to the truck.