“If I hadn’t dropped my purse back in LA, I would have been able to help out in the store,” she said merrily, swinging her legs back and forth.
“It’s cool,” Jose said, enjoying her smile. “Like we’re in this adventure together and I’d do it anyway, even if you did have your purse.”
“Yeah, but you’ve gotta keep your ride straight,” she said, nodding toward the bike. “It’s beautiful.”
“Ain’t mine,” Jose admitted, jumping down off the rail to go run his hand over the gleaming handlebar. “It’s just a loaner.”
“Who loaned you a bike like that? I mean…”
“Now you sound like my mom,” he said, chuckling.
“Look, I wasn’t trying to go there, but a bike like that, Jose… I don’t want you to get yourself caught up in any—”
“It’s cool, but I like that you’re more worried about me than a fly hog.”
“My brother… he deals, okay? And his friends, they do, too. I never rode in their cars and went with them because—just because. I don’t believe in it.”
He studied her sad face in the shards of sunlight that were left, loving every word she’d said. The rose-orange tinge made her complexion so beautiful. The way the breeze blew her wind-dried hair and she repeatedly removed it from her face and licked her lips, growing nervous. If she had any idea what her caution had just done to him…
“Remember that old guitar player I told you about?”
She nodded but wasn’t looking at him when she did.
“My people did him a favor, a long, long time ago… maybe I was like five or so.”
Juanita glanced up.
“He rode into town on this machine, lady on the back of it, near dead from a demon bite—legend has it.” Jose stood taller and walked around the bike, touching it with gentle caresses, like he’d approached a shrine. “She was the love of his life, and he brought her to her grandmother, who later married my pops, became my abuela by marriage.”
“What happened to her?” Juanita said, quietly rapt.
“Pops and Nana made good magic, but she crossed over and became a spirit.”
Juanita covered her mouth. “Oh no, she died?”
Jose nodded. “Fucked my mentor around, you know. Rider sorta stood in every now and then for my dad, who died real young.” He stared at her, smoothing his hand across the seat. “Dude left here, went to go lose himself in a bottle for a while to get over the loss, then little by little, once a year, he’d come back all sick for my nana to heal him. After a few days, he’d hang around and chill out with me… tell me stuff about me having a nose like him—a schnoz, he called it.” Jose looked at her, hoping she’d understand. “Said I was a tracker, and needed to learn how to shoot dead-aim. Then he’d get all weird about legends and shit, talking about my destiny… would start sounding like Pops.”
“He must have been in a lot of pain.”
Jose nodded, his eyes locked on her sad gaze. “Until I met you, I couldn’t really get with how deep it was for him.” He shrugged and looked out into the distance. “One day he said he wasn’t coming back for a while. The year I graduated high school… said to keep his lady clean, talking about this silver and black beauty that purrs in your crotch. Said where he was going he didn’t need a chopper.” The hard memory got caught in the lump in Jose’s throat behind his Adam’s apple, and he drew in a shuddering breath to dislodge it. “It’s been years—ain’t seen or heard from him. I keep the bike clean, polished, hoping he didn’t do something crazy like put a bullet in his skull. He’d said he was gonna go join a band, some warriors or something.” Jose let a hard breath out. “Who knows?”
Juanita slid down off the rail and came to his side, her graceful hand touching his forearm. “You keep the bike clean for him, okay? He’ll come back.”
“It’s cool,” Jose said, kicking a pebble away from a tire. “I’m just glad you believe me and didn’t think I got it dealing drugs, like my mother. Have it her way and she’d take it to the scrap metal yard.” Jose walked around the bike, his fingers grazing surfaces. “This is a custom-kitted Harley that the man designed and funked out himself.”
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, not sure what to say as she watched him go inside himself and bleed.
“It’s a fucking fingerprint, a one-of-a-kind work of art. It’s in every drawing I do. Respect,” he said, his gaze catching hers in a sudden trap. “He told me a story about how he’d ridden this halfway across the country with his woman bleeding on it after a demon attack. Until I saw what we saw, I didn’t believe him. I thought it was the bottle and bullshit talking. But that night, last night, when you were on the back of this night rider, all I kept doing was praying to God—‘ride me like the night wind, let me make it without one of those things slashing my woman,’ that was my prayer. ‘Don’t let me drop the bike on a spinout.’”
“You didn’t drop me, and nothing touched me, Jose,” she said in a near whisper.
He glanced up at the waning sun and then stared at her. “If something like that ever were to happen to you, I’d be messed up—just like him. And he told me some crazy shit, that I’ve never told another living soul… said to bring me back his bike and he’d buy me my own, when I was ready to go demon-hunting with him.” Jose raked his hair. “Said I’d be coming into some special powers, would learn how to track a scent like a bloodhound. Would join some underground group of warriors who had to protect this chick called a Neteru, or something, whatever that is. Then Pops keeps saying that I have Thunderbird in me, whatever that shit means. All I know is, since last night, my nose is… it’s like I can tell the time of day without a watch, and can separate out scents like a damned hunting beagle. I don’t know what I’m trying to say; all I know is the burgers and fries are done—and I shouldn’t know that!”
“Let’s go get our food and go home,” she said as calmly as possible. She used her voice as a gentle prod, not fully understanding Jose’s angst but feeling everything he’d said in her marrow.
He seemed so bewildered that she simply threaded her arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder, walking him toward the diner. But as they stood at the register and waited for their food to be bagged, her gaze locked with her reflection in the shiny aluminum panels above the kitchen pass-through.
Much older eyes stared back at her, frozen in time. A pair of sensuous male hands slid down her arms, but she couldn’t see his face… couldn’t see anything in the shiny surface but could feel it. Smooth enamel caressed the side of her neck, making her shiver with revulsion but also with desire. She suddenly felt drowsy—drugged. Yet a part of her was so wired that she almost screamed in the diner.
Juanita rubbed her neck with the palm of her hand to stave off the feeling of something touching her there. She sought Jose’s eyes, but he was staring out the window, gaze locked on the nothingness in the parking lot. His profile was tense, his jaw muscle pulsing. Looking at him, his skin, she was drawn into his pores as his face suddenly became constructed by thousands of black dots. Darkness swallowed her whole as she stood in the diner by the register. She wanted to scream, tried to cry out, but something had paralyzed her vocal cords, her limbs; she could barely breathe from the crushing weight that pressed the air from her lungs.
In the faraway part of her mind she could see herself standing next to Jose in the diner, people moving about in slow motion while the waitress bagged their food. But she couldn’t move as the interior of her waged war, struggling to break free of the black dots that were beginning to blot out the waning sunlight around her. Instinct told her to stay in the light, not to allow her soul to be covered over. Then her sight line became trapped in an inky splatter—that’s when she saw them. The feeding.
A scream threatened to split her lungs, yet it couldn’t break free as she watched the fanged creatures kneel over their limp, drained kill, heads thrown back, bulbous red eyes glowing, mouths washed red with gore. They had infested victims, mating with the dead,
with one another, all of it a frenzied orgy of feeding and the carnal. Writhing bodies were everywhere. One of the creatures lifted an ashen woman’s neck, then looked at her and turned the victim’s face so that it could be seen.
Juanita’s eyes locked with an older version of her own as the fanged, naked entity smiled, then viciously sliced into the victim’s jugular with his huge incisors. Juanita stopped breathing, the scream still lodged in her chest. Perspiration coursed down her back. Her nails dug into her palms. She could hear her own heartbeat as the pain in her chest chased her pulse. Stroke, heart attack, one or both of the above, she was quickly losing consciousness but fought to remain awake. She knew in her soul that if she passed out, they’d have her.
“Darlin’, you all right? You want some water?” the waitress said, nearing the register. “You younguns gotta be careful and pace yourself in this heat.”
Juanita reeled and Jose’s attention snapped toward her just in time for him to catch her before she fell.
“She don’t look so good,” the woman behind the register said, rushing over with a glass of water.
“My bet she’s pregnant or high,” the cook grumbled, and then went back to the fryer baskets.
Juanita clutched Jose’s T-shirt as he helped her to sit on a counter stool and sip water. “We need to get out of here,” she rasped, gulping water and wiping at the rivulets of sweat coursing down her temples.
“You gonna be all right to ride?” Jose asked, looking concerned and glancing out the window at the waning sun.
“When’s the last time you ate, hon?” the waitress asked, setting the food bags on the counter.
“That’s all it is,” Jose said, grabbing the satchels and helping Juanita up. “She just needs to get something in her stomach.”
The moment Jose and Juanita were outside alone they both began talking at once while they hustled toward the bike and he handed her the greasy bags.
“I know, I know, it was freaky in there,” he said, nerves clearly shot.
“I couldn’t move, Jose! I was just standing there one minute, then I started seeing this horrible stuff, blackness was covering me, and I was choking on—”
“Sulfur,” Jose said, finishing her sentence.
“You saw it, too?” She clutched his waist with the bags still held in her fists as they hopped on the bike.
“I didn’t see it; I smelled it,” he muttered, and then stomped down hard to start the motor.
Chapter Seven
Warm air slapped his face as he rode hard, but he tried to keep the speed to a level where Juanita could hold on to his waist with one arm. She held the bags; he held the handlebar. He talked, hollering over the roar of the bike, trying to rationalize the irrational. She listened, soaking it all in, holding out hope that he was right—that what had happened in the diner was just a freaky aftershock effect brought on by suppressing what had happened the night before. It was an unrehearsed dance of trust through the wind, down the dirt road, the family house a destination of sanctuary. The moment they crossed the threshold, he felt better.
It was near dark and his nose was picking up every scent in the house and beyond it, but burgers, fries, and two Cokes were calling his name. Why he was so hungry was a question he didn’t have time to ponder. They both tore into the bags, swiping fries, stuffing their mouths, relief glittering in their eyes as they sat down heavily on kitchen chairs.
“I’m starved,” she said through a mouthful of food. “I don’t know why, but I am. After all this I should be ready to puke.”
“I know. Ridiculous,” he said, wolfing a burger and then closing his eyes. “I could eat a horse.”
Slowly calm began to settle over them as they sloppily ate, licking their fingers and practically inhaling their food. He wondered what it would have been like to meet her under different circumstances and was glad that he’d shared so much with her while they recovered between lovemaking sessions in bed. It was odd, now, that they could just vibe, didn’t need to say much, but could read each other even though only having known each other for such a short time. She was so easy to talk to. It was as though he could tell her all his dreams—even the crazy ones about joining a band—and she didn’t laugh at him. He quietly wondered how things like that happened but was glad that they did. More important, he just hoped that he was right about her vision in the diner being set off by the past, not the future.
“Good thing you didn’t join a band like you’d wanted; they’d put you out for eating up the concert door draw,” she finally said, smiling and watching him devour his food in record time.
He glanced up from his Styrofoam and smiled, knowing that she was making small talk to stave off the earlier case of nerves. “Hey, they wouldn’t put their lead drummer out,” he said, banging on the table in a riff.
“You’re pretty good at that, hmmm… maybe they’d keep you.”
“Used to practice for hours, banging on anything around the house to keep my chops right,” he said with a wide smile and striking the table to keep the conversation light—anything to keep fear at bay. “Would watch all the college bands on TV and could mimic whatever they did in a day; love the drums. Would work at it for hours till I got it down cold… sweatin’ and thumpin’ on the coffee table. You’d be surprised, but to play the drums, you’ve gotta be in serious shape. It ain’t as easy as it looks.”
“For hours,” she said with a sly smirk. “Now I know why you’ve got a hard, soldier’s body, not a soft, artist’s gut.” She laughed and shook her head. “I’ve experienced the upper-body strength that comes from hours of beating on furniture… sweatin’ and thumpin’, as you say.”
They both laughed.
“I’ma have to practice some more tonight,” he said, shoving another bite of burger into his mouth and giving her a sexy wink. “Bought two boxes.” He lifted an eyebrow. “That oughta hold us till daylight.”
“Man, stop talking trash and eat your food!”
Knees touching beneath the table, feeding each other fries, glances going between food and the other bag from the drugstore, they laughed like little children who had stolen fresh-baked cookies. Finally sated, they both leaned back in their chairs and groaned.
“We should have done this hours ago,” he said, rubbing his stomach.
“I kept trying to make you get up, but you wouldn’t listen.” She giggled as she sipped her Coke loudly through a straw.
“And that’s exactly why I couldn’t get up,” he said with another wink, standing to fold away the greasy containers.
“What?” she said, playing with the straw, complete mischief on her face.
He stood by the trash can with a smile, his mind working on a comeback, when a shadow flitted by his peripheral vision. His smile faded. She set down the cup gingerly, her smile fading, too.
“Jose, what is it?” she whispered.
He held up his hand, sniffed, and caught a whiff of sulfur. His gaze immediately tore around the room for the rifle, and he went to it and cocked back the hammer. “I saw something.”
She stood, almost toppling her chair. “What was it?” she said in a fast, harsh whisper.
“I don’t know, but it went past the side window.” He stood legs wide, braced toward the window, and then backed up to keep her behind him.
A thud on the porch made her cover her mouth in a silent scream. He held up his hand and shook his head, begging her with his mind not to shriek. Whatever it was had the same smell as the things that had chased them. The dank odor of rotting meat and sulfuric ash created a slurry of nausea in his gut. What had gone wrong? Pops and Nana had said the house was safe! Strong medicine was supposed to protect it. Panic-induced sweat made his T-shirt stick to him. But there was something else roiling in his system, something lethal and inspired by adrenaline.
“I’m going outside,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.
Two small fists clung to the back of his shirt. “Oh no, the hell you aren’t!”
“I’m
damned sure not waiting for it to come in here and get us.” Jose looked at her hard. “The sun just set; we’ve got twelve hours till daylight.”
“Then we can just freaking wait in here for twelve hours with the lights on and live!” she whispered furiously through her teeth. “My momma said to pray the demons away!”
Another thud hit the porch, and then another sounded above them on the roof.
“You really think so?” he asked, shrugging out of her hold. “You stay here and pray while I blow the bastards off the porch.”
Something insane had been embedded in his DNA, as he broke from Juanita’s hold and stood by the door, opening it slowly, and then kicking it wide, gun barrel out first. She ducked down beneath the sofa and covered her head, and the moment he quickly peeked out, a hideous face with drool-slicked fangs leaned in. It was pure reflex. Dead-aim, center of the creature’s head, and green gook splattered the porch with the shot. The smell of demon blood entered Jose’s sinuses, connecting with a craziness encoded in his system like he’d never known.
Juanita’s shriek blended in with hisses and snarls coming around the sides of the house. He ran to the steps and jumped down them into the front yard, spinning to catch an airborne predator in the center of its chest with a shell midnight. Two more creatures scampered over the flat rooftop and leaped, claws extended. Jose was down on one knee in seconds, pulled the trigger, and no shot rang out. But he held his position, gouging into the heart of the first beast as it attempted to land on him, then yanked hard to extract the rifle barrel and slammed the other one’s skull with the gun butt.
Piles of smoking ash were all around him. He was pure motion. The thing that had fallen from the gun butt was only temporarily dazed. He needed more artillery!
Jose hit the front door and slammed it, hearing the thing behind him crash through the door. Kitchen knives in both hands, he flung them, sending blades into a yellow-green-skinned chest. Smoke and a sulfuric stench were everywhere. He could hear Juanita screaming, couldn’t see her, but could smell her. He reached out, grabbed her arm, and hustled her through the house out the back door.
Love At First Bite Page 15
