Love At First Bite

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  “Stop resisting; the house is about to be overrun!” he hollered.

  “Not in the dark, not outside!” she shrieked.

  He didn’t have time to argue, just simply dragged her until she got with the program. She looked back and the windows were blackened by the unnatural infestation. Black ooze poured out of windows and cracks in the frame as Jose and Juanita ran across the open lot in a hundred-yard dash toward a rickety old shed. Once inside, Jose barred the door.

  “Now, start praying,” he said, yanking down a crossbow, loading it with silver stakes, and then opening the door wide.

  He got the first creature that materialized in the chest, exploded it, and slammed the door shut again. Juanita stood cringing against the wall saying the Lord’s Prayer between sobs.

  “Say it like you mean it, sister!” Jose hollered. “Put authority in your tone, and back this shit up!” He whirled around, eyes wild. “Not on my land! Not in my grandfather’s house! Not when I’m with my woman!”

  A bowie knife went into his back jeans pocket, and he shoved a jug of water toward Juanita, frantic. “Get away from the walls; the boards are loose. Anything that comes near it can scratch you—splash the mutha, and get it away from the walls!”

  She nodded, her face streaked with tears, and the moment a demon tried to get its claws between a loose board she screamed and flung a large splash against the wall. Horrible screeches and hisses became one with the smell of burning, rotted flesh.

  “Keep praying—loud,” Jose commanded, his gaze going to the ceiling, his nose instant radar.

  Reloading the crossbow, he sniffed, took aim, and blew a hole through the roof, and a screeching, squealing demon dropped into the center circle on the shed floor, then caught flame. Spinning wildly, the thing on the floor reached to grab Jose’s leg in a death cry, but a bowie knife ended the creature’s suffering the instant Jose flung the knife down hard.

  “Douse the bastard,” he said to Juanita, who was clutching the water jug to her chest. “Do it now!”

  She flung water at the thing from where she stood, hiccup-crying. Jose’s attention went to the walls, sensing, smelling, and then a low, threatening voice laughed quietly outside the shed.

  “You’re one of us,” it hissed. “Vampire. Distant cousin. A very young one, but the nose is a dead giveaway. You love the night, just like we do. It makes you stronger, just like the female in your lair made you fearless. We’ll be back to finish this another time, half-breed. Maybe next time you’ll get a nick or a scratch, perhaps a little bite, that will make you lose your human stink.”

  Drums and car horns crashed into the yard. Headlights lit the shed from the outside. Chants and voices, torches, were one.

  What the demon had said made Jose’s blood run cold. It had to be bullshit, because he could touch silver, stand in a prayer circle, endure the white sagebrush and sacred anointing water.

  Jose opened the shed door, and a ring of pickup trucks filled with old men and women who had hands raised, pumping shakers, surrounded them. One-by-one they calmly climbed down from the vehicles dressed in full ceremonial garb, feathered headdresses bouncing as they stomped the dried grass under the moonlight and made a circle. Spitting and lighting fire to the ground, they walked with blind purpose, not even looking at Jose or Juanita. Women dropped bundles of sticks and sagebrush in the ring of dirt until it roared and sputtered with fury. Jose held Juanita close to him, a crossbow at his side at the ready.

  His grandfather stopped and spoke first, addressing the spiritual war dancers in Creek, then Navajo, and then finally looked at Jose and Juanita.

  “It is time to join the circle,” the old man said as the drumming quieted and the chants subsided. “Under the silver of the full moon, learn your true destiny, young warriors… Clan of the ancient Thunderbird, step forward.”

  Frozen where he stood, Jose gripped Juanita closer to his side.

  “She is from the clan of the nighthawk and has seer eyes, that understand the darkness. But you must step forward first.”

  Reluctant and glancing up at the shed roof to ensure no predators would harm her, Jose left Juanita to walk forward a few paces to stand before his grandfather.

  A gentle, calloused hand petted Jose’s face as a shaker hissed in his ear, and then his grandfather began a slow, stomping circle around him, dusting his body with a handful of eagle feathers, chanting in a deep tone he’d know in his sleep.

  The drumming stopped when his grandfather stopped to face him. “Young warrior, they came for you early, because they sensed it was time when you left the house to go to town, son.” Tears made his grandfather’s eyes glisten in the moonlight. “The prophecy begins… It will be hard, but we have made good medicine for you.”

  The circle shifted, and women shamans collected Juanita to make her stand by Jose before the roaring fire. Embers rose and carried on the wind like red-flecked fireflies. The silence created a natural harmony as fragrant sticks and twigs crackled and popped, and coyotes howled in the distance. Jose’s grandfather waved two women forward; one was Jose’s nana. The women came with bowls of oily water for Jose’s grandfather to dip the feathers he clutched into, and he violently splashed the liquid across Jose’s and Juanita’s chests as though exorcising demons.

  “Legend is truth; truth becomes legend. Without one the other cannot endure. We go back in time, many moons,” he said as Native American flutes filled the quiet around them. “Eight generations ago, when the buffalo were plentiful, and the wolf could shift into man-skin and still run with packs at each full moon, it began on this land.”

  He paused and splashed Jose and Juanita with more of the strange liquid. Jose touched his chest with his fingertips as the substance started to make his skin tingle. He looked at Juanita and her lids were heavy. Instinct made him reach for her to hold her upright as she weaved a bit, appearing flushed and faint. The scent from the ministrations was strong, but he couldn’t place it. He just prayed it wasn’t some serious tribal hallucinogen, but everything was becoming hazy and his body felt too warm. Jose rubbed his eyes with his fists, seeing double. There was a ghostly layer of bluish-white aura around the old men and women in the circle, and his eyes went in and out of focus as it seemed like transparent forms of spirits wafted among the living, standing elders.

  “A young warrior, our ancestor, was out chasing the shape-shifters… and he was attacked in battle by another beast.” The old man paused and flung more oily water at Jose. “The beast with two fangs. The one that can only witness the shadows of the night. But the warrior was strong and did not die from his wounds.”

  The old man began chanting again and the drums accompanied his dance around the circle until he stopped and stared at the young couple once more.

  “He sired many children, and only one lived to pass his seed to the next generation and then the next, all others dying young of blood diseases or sterile… then through the generations times eight you were born. Like your ancestor, part tracker, part the night itself. One day you will hunt what almost destroyed all generations to come. You will stand by one like yourself, a blood brother.”

  Jose’s grip tightened on his crossbow. His mind was on fire like the inferno on the ground. Hot tears stung his eyes. What was his grandfather saying? He was a vampire, or part one, the undead! He didn’t realize he was backing up and shaking his head until he almost bumped into another old brave. But Jose’s grandfather’s eyes held patience and such loving compassion that it made him swallow hard and stop.

  “It is a gift,” his grandfather whispered, his aged eyes holding Jose’s gaze. “You can hold the sacred instruments of cleansing,” he said, pointing to the silver stake in the crossbow. “You went into the place that is guarded by the Great Spirit,” he added, motioning toward the shed with a wave of eagle feathers, “and the sunlight smiles in your hair. Do not fear. What you received from our ancestor is the best of the beast, making you a strong warrior—like the hunter who kills the bear but gains hi
s strength. This is why you, alone, could defend a house from invasion. We had to see and know before we could complete the prophecy.”

  The old shaman moved the feathers about and used them to point to Juanita. “Your eyes will also guide him. You see through dreams and are his soul mate. You feed his hunger for the flesh and for the blood by living rhythm… he needs you, like you need him. But you will also have the quest to find his blood brother with your night eyes, and bring them together as one.”

  “Rider’s dead,” Jose whispered. “He never came back for his bike. She’d never know where to find him.”

  “Rider is the brother of your soul, and lives,” Jose’s grandfather said quietly. “You will soon bring the bike to him. Your blood brother is younger than you, but older in spirit, and does not have the fangs yet, but soon will… She is to wait with him until that happens.”

  Juanita shook her head and backed up to grab Jose’s arm. “I’m not going looking for vampires by myself !”

  “You are to hold the place and hold the line for the coming female warrior, the Neteru, who will slay him the way you have slain the inner beast within my grandson,” the old man said without blinking. “It is prophecy.”

  “He will come to you and trust only you for a while before the blood hunger hits…” Jose’s grandmother said softly, touching Juanita’s arm. “But Jose will come back for you, once the prophecy is complete. It is out of our hands; the ancestors have spoken. Your eyes will be blinded, but soon the second sight will reveal your purpose, child. Do not fear the wisdom of the ancient ones.”

  “We ain’t breaking up; that’s all there is to it. As soon as the sun comes up, we’re out. I’m going to art school; she’s going to college with me. I’m not living my life in this madness—you can forget that!”

  Jose grabbed Juanita around the waist and raised a crossbow toward the patient souls who simply stared at them.

  “When that which is within comes to the fore,” his grandfather said in a quiet, serene tone, “you will be reunited. You were her first, and marked her soul with pure love. She was your first, the first to see you as a true warrior. That marked your soul with pure love. The darkness cannot eclipse a sun so bright.”

  “I don’t care what you say; we’re not breaking up so she can go hunting demons alone and I can go on some bullshit quest!” Jose shouted, staring at his grandfather and trying to stay on his feet.

  “I’m not leaving him,” Juanita whispered, holding Jose’s waist tighter as she swooned. “I won’t!”

  “When the full moon calls the coyote and the demon is ash,” his nana whispered, “then you will have each other again.”

  “When the sun draws your blood brother to dance with ancient spirits… only when you step into the darkness without fear, and a light within burns brighter than that, will you taste your memory of this time.” His grandfather began walking in a circle, touching the feathers to the ground. “It is done.”

  Shakers hissed; a slow drumbeat began. The flutes lilted a sad wail.

  His grandfather’s voice felt so far away, and Jose struggled to remain standing. He brushed the wet surface of his T-shirt and battled for consciousness.

  “It is on your lips, the Thunderbird. Take back the night,” a cacophony of faraway voices murmured. “Then it will fill your mouths and lungs to breathe new life again, and you will be home once more.”

  The last thing he remembered was having a very bad dream. His mother stood over him with her arms folded. Sunlight poured into the bedroom within their apartment. Bleary-eyed, Jose stared up at her frown and then blocked his eyes from the sun’s glare. The taste of sulfur and a burger, dead meat, was stuck to the back of his tongue, nauseating him. The scent of white sagebush and campfire smoke clung to his clothes. Jose sat up quickly. The scent of a woman was a whispering memory from his pillow.

  “Now that you’re back home, don’t you waste all day sleeping—you hear me, Jose?”

  He stood, his eyes burning with tears. “Momma, how long was I gone?”

  “Stop playing games with me, and clean up this place, at least, while I’m at work! I’m late and don’t have time for your foolishness first thing in the morning.” She strode to the door with her purse over her shoulder. Turning to him once, she glanced back. “Don’t forget to put in an application to vo-tech school, all right?”

  As his mother left, Jose just stood very, very still, watching the door. Drums were in his head; a sketch pad called out to him. There was an image stabbing into his brain. He finally had the rest of the face for the mystery woman in his dreams, but for the life of him wasn’t sure why.

  “Baby, this time I thought you were real,” he whispered, and swallowed hard, his tongue tasting tears.

  Juanita awoke from the sofa with a start at the sound of her baby brother’s cries. She sat up slowly, scratching her head, and looked down at her red halter, remembering the party she never got to attend. Her mother’s slap stung like a very old wound, and Juanita rubbed her face as the toddler wailed. She briefly closed her eyes, and for some unknown reason tears wet her lashes. The dream had been so vivid, so horrible, and yet so wondrous. He’d finally taken off his helmet, the fantasy lover in her dreams… and his eyes had been the most intense, gentle brown. He’d held her with sweet innocence and so much love.

  She covered her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud and then ran up the steps to fetch the bleating child. She picked her little brother up from the crib as he stretched his arms out to her, and she hugged him, crying into his soft curly brown hair. “You be my hero, okay, Papi?” she whispered. “Mine only comes to me in my dreams.”

  EPILOGUE

  Arizona, present day

  Jose sat on the porch rail of his grandfather’s house, his gaze on the horizon, his nose catching the fragrance of wildflowers on the early dawn wind. The smell of Jack Daniel’s filtered into the layers of fragrances, and he didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know that Rider was moving through the house toward him.

  So much time had passed, and yet there was subtle comfort in knowing that the entire Guardian team had been built body by body, each of the twenty-one-members of the squad leaving something cherished behind to give of themselves to the world.

  Warriors. Band to move about the country by day, demon killers by night. His art now was the weapons disguised as stage mounts. His dreams of personal freedom were long dead, like his mother and grandparents.

  “Morning, partner,” Rider said, bringing Jose a cup of coffee and handing it to him.

  “Thanks, man.” Jose took the coffee and let the aroma enter his sinuses.

  “Least I can do for the shift change. You need a little something extra in it this morning?” Rider asked, reaching into his back jeans pocket, extracting a silver flask, and pouring a healthy splash of Jack Daniel’s into his own mug.

  “Naw, I’m all right, man,” Jose said, slurping his coffee but keeping his eyes on the horizon.

  Rider leaned on a porch support beam and studied Jose with concern. “Dude, you’ve been up all night. It’s daybreak. Shift change. You get to go to bed. That’s how it works. Then, tomorrow night, some other poor SOB gets to sit up, walk point, and have his nerves screwed until dawn so a couple of us can get some rest and sleep with one eye open, watching the team newbies.”

  Jose gave Rider a sidelong glance. “I don’t feel like going inside; is that all right with you?”

  Rider held up a hand and his mug in front of his chest. “My apologies. My bad, as they say. Awful testy this cheerful sunny day, though, I might add.”

  “The house is overrun with warriors—it’s like a damned army barracks in there,” Jose said, slinging his legs over the rail and sloshing coffee on the porch as he stood. “That’s not how it used to be. The bull is working my nerves.”

  “Let’s me and you take a walk out of earshot, huh?”

  “I’m cool, just need to get my head right this morning, is all.”

  Rider poured a
long trickle of Jack Daniel’s into Jose’s mug and then capped his flask with a smirk. “That’s why we should take a walk. Have your morning coffee and humor me.”

  “I ain’t in the mood.”

  “Then keep me from accidentally dropping a lit cigarette as we walk and talk.”

  Jose sighed and obliged his longtime friend. What was the point in arguing with the insufferable Jack Rider anyway? The man couldn’t be dissuaded by insults, and at nearly fifty, maybe older, Jack Rider was as rusty as an old barn nail. Jose began walking. He needed space. Rider hung back, lit a Marlboro Red, and shoved the pack back into his jeans, catching up to Jose in long, lanky strides.

  “So, she’s back.”

  Jose stopped walking and just looked at Rider for a moment. “Yeah.”

  “Old bedroom is calling your name, but she’s a brand-new Guardian on newbie lockdown—no fraternizing until all her powers of second sight come in full force, according to the house seer, the inimitable Marlene Stone. I take it that you’re in such a foul mood, my friend, on account of the fact that Juanita needs to be judicious in her experiences until her third eye and special demon-hunting powers fully develop?”

  Jose began walking again, taking a deep swig of his coffee.

  Rider kept stride as his paces increased. “And the house now has a bunch of demon hunters in it, chasing the best memories of your life out the window.”

  Jose stopped walking. Rider’s eyes held his without blinking.

  “Been there,” Rider said, then took a long drag on his cigarette and slurped his coffee. “Only my soul mate died. Went vamp, lives somewhere this side of hell, and I had to deal with it. Conversely, yours is in the house, alive, with her memory coming back by very fast degrees.” He took another drag and studied the glowing ember, speaking to it in a philosophical tone. “Don’t let the fact that she had to complete her mission to go bring your old line brother to us be a problem. Why stand on some old machismo ceremony? Bottom line is, you were her first; only a seer female could have smoked him out, blocked him from going after the Neteru before she was old enough to deal with a male with a lotta vamp in his veins.”