The Hunter's Prey

by Diane Whiteside

  I trust him more than I did before, which is an odd thing to say about a vampire. We have an understanding of sorts that feels almost like need for each other. We never discussed any changes in our relationship and I don’t plan to ask him. There’ll be time enough to see what happens when we meet again.

  In the meantime, I’m going to try drinking bourbon.

  traffic stop a tale of ethan templeton

  Steve came back into the bedroom quietly and stood still for a moment, watching Ethan sleep. He was asleep, not dead, no matter what he looked like or how cold his body felt. She’d seen him wake up more than once at sunset, coming fully conscious as the last daylight faded beyond the horizon.

  Her lover. Her partner too, at least while that murderer was still out there.

  She took off her gun and set it on the nightstand. Ethan would protect her better than it ever could. Strange thing for a Texas Ranger to say about a vampire.

  Steve sat down on the chair and began to take off her boots, wondering how she’d come to trust him so much. Her subconscious promptly unrolled the memory for her. She’d remembered it so often, especially on the long waits that defined a cop’s life. Now it unrolled before her as she’d once told her girlfriends.

  I met the sexiest guy while I was working out in the Hill Country. It was a little town but they had big ideas about their cops. Wanted us to be a real spit-shined bunch, no matter what we were doing. A good place to start out, especially if you’d always wanted to be a cop.

  I got off late that night. I didn’t have a date so I headed home on the scenic route. Not many guys want to date a girl with a third-degree black belt in karate, rated expert in pistol and rifle, who can bench press over 150 pounds.

  It was clear that night with a full moon so I could see a long ways ahead as I drove. Coming down one hill, I saw a late-model black pickup speeding in front of me. He was going at least ninety so I did my duty. It took almost five miles of flashing lights before I got him to stop. I was pretty steamed by that long of a chase but I calmed down some while I ran his plates. They came back clear and I headed out to talk to him.

  He had rolled down the window and looked at me when I came up. My heart stopped beating. Anglo, sandy hair, and hazel eyes. Just a gorgeous hunk of bad boy. Yum . . .

  As soon as I saw him, all I wanted to do was haul him out of the cab and jump his bones. His eyes had a look in them that said “Sex!” and I wanted lots with him. I tried to cool down and talk to him about speed limits though.

  He just sat there and nodded, gave me his license when I asked for it, and looked at me. I kept getting hotter and hotter thinking about all the things I could be doing with a man who watched me the way he did.

  I took his license back to my cruiser and ran it through the system, trying to cool down. The license came back clean and I got out, only to find him standing next to the door watching me. Six feet, one hundred eighty pounds of pure muscle perfect for giving a girl a good time.

  Well, I did what any self-respecting female cop would do: I told him we needed to talk, and I needed to search him. Then I told him to put his hands on the hood. He gave me one steady look that saw every detail of my uniform. He even checked to see how much chest I have under my Kevlar vest. Then he turned around and put his hands down flat. His beautiful butt was pushed out toward me, just begging for appreciation. I could see the muscles under that thin white Western shirt, hard muscles echoed in the strong legs below.

  I ran my flashlight down his back, following that smooth flow of muscle. He pushed his hips back some, letting me know that he liked the touch. I teased his waistband with the flashlight but couldn’t get inside. So I told him to take off the belt. He dropped the belt next to him and went back to standing there, watching me over his shoulder with a half-smile in the moonlight. Mostly he kept his mouth closed when he smiled but I thought I saw some pretty sharp teeth there for a moment.

  My hand slowly slid down inside his jeans over that beautiful butt. I did a full cavity search of that man. All I found was the best set of masculine jewels that you’re ever going to find. And I searched carefully and thoroughly . . .

  When I was done, he was standing there with his jeans on the road next to his feet. Somehow his boots had gotten tossed off to one side. One of them didn’t look quite right; maybe he had a knife in it. But I didn’t care about that. I was much more interested in that big thick dick rearing up to greet me, looking more than ready for a long night’s ride.

  The radio blared something. I answered it with some garbage, anything to keep that old biddy Louise in Dispatch from bothering me for the rest of the night.

  He hadn’t moved when I came back to him, just kept on looking like sex on the hoof leaning against my cruiser. I turned off my flashlight after another good long perusal. I fumbled putting it back onto my belt and my hands touched the cuffs hanging there.

  A moment later, I had him facing the cruiser again, hands cuffed behind his back, and was feeling a bit more in control. His head twisted around to see me but he stayed calm. His eyes did get a little greener in the moonlight and his smile a little wider with those silver bracelets around his wrists though.

  I put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around while I thought about what to do next. You’d think that I’d just jump him but I didn’t. I told him to take my clothes off. His eyes really gleamed at that order and he bowed to me just a bit. Looked rather like a tiger whose animal trainer had just cracked the whip.

  Well, he took my entire uniform off, one piece at a time. First my belt yielded to his mouth’s persuasion, then my trousers, then my . . .

  He had the strongest teeth and tongue too; didn’t have any real problem getting even that Kevlar vest off me. He just kept working at the uniform, and items kept sliding off me. Of course, he got in lots of little licks and bites at the same time. A mouth like that didn’t need the help of hands to get a girl worked up and undressed. I was hot and shaking, almost moaning by the time he finished.

  Then I sat down on the hood and spread my legs wide. He didn’t need any more invitation than that. Just went straight down on his knees and applied his mouth to where it would do the most good. I threw my head back and rode his face, my legs gripping his head like it was the finest bronc in Texas. I jumped when he nipped me and felt the blood running down my leg. But mostly it just felt so damn good that I kept ordering him to give me more.

  He started working his way up my body and I started grabbing at him to bring him closer. His mouth fastened on mine and I opened up to him like a 9mm Beretta welcoming a magazine of ammunition. My arms and legs wrapped around him and we fell back on the hood together, one sweaty, heaving mass of flesh. He thrust home, I threw my head back and he bit me on the neck.

  I was really glad then for the sergeant’s insistence on having a good-looking cruiser. All those wax jobs that I’d cursed at sure came in handy when a bad boy is pumping your body across the hood. . . .

  I woke up the next morning, naked as a jaybird in the backseat of my cruiser. I had bruises all over me, plus scratches and bites. It looked like I’d gone five rounds with the champion and the ache between my legs confirmed his prowess. I pulled my uniform on and headed home for a quick shower and change before going on duty again.

  The worst bite, on my neck over my jugular, healed within two days so no one at the station ever noticed anything.

  The hardest part to explain was why my handcuffs had to be replaced. I’d found them in pieces next to the cruiser and, well, I couldn’t tell the sergeant what had been going on before that bad boy snapped them, could I?

  And I thanked my guardian angel that I never had to discuss this night with my sergeant. He’d have fired me for sure if he knew just what went on that night. . . .

  Steve sat still, watching Ethan sleep. Her neck itched and she rubbed it reflexively.

  Her finger came away with a drop of blood.

  Ethan’s chest slowly rose. And fell.

  She smiled, t
he contented smirk of a tabby cat eyeing a fresh saucer of milk as the sky darkened outside.

  a pex predator a tale of don rafael perez with mention of ethan templeton

  April 5 (Davis, California)

  Dreamed again last night of Rodrigo, my medieval Spanish knight. He was dressed in full armor, with a chain mail coif draping his head. The dream was remarkably vivid: I could hear him singing a cantiga about a knight who had unwillingly left his beloved to follow the king’s orders. His gaze was soft and a little absent-minded, as he hummed more than sang the melancholy lyrics.

  May 31 (and my first chance to write in my diary since I moved here)

  San Leandro, Texas: It’s a very small town (five hundred people at most) and I’ve got a little house on the outskirts with an acre of land. It’s the most space I’ve had in my life, except when doing fieldwork. My old pickup fits in just fine, as do my T-shirts, jeans, and boots. It’s only twenty minutes to the rescue center and I’ve been working there for a week now.

  I’m damn lucky to have the job at the raptor center here. Not many good jobs for wildlife veterinarians around, let alone one that combines research and veterinary medicine with owls. The center’s staff has been very friendly and even put in a rush order for the name tag on my office door: Grania O’Malley, M.S., D.V.M., Ph.D. How cool was that? They even hugged me when I cried over seeing my name for the first time with all those degrees I’d worked for years to get.

  Wonder what the available guys are like down here, an hour out of Austin?

  June 1 (afternoon)

  Today I took part in the monthly open house at the raptor center, where I gave a few tours. In between walking people around, I wound up back in the big library/ conference room where the refreshments were laid out.

  Late in the afternoon after the crowd thinned out, I made conversation with Caleb Jones, a geologist working for Santiago Oil & Gas. Surprisingly, he was wearing a Kevlar vest under his starched cowboy shirt. (Wonder if Santiago Oil & Gas is a subsidiary of the enigmatic Santiago Trust? When I researched the center and this neighborhood, I heard rumors that the trust was older than Texas, richer than Fort Knox, harder to figure out than the Pentagon, and more dangerous to its enemies than a nuclear bomb.)

  As we sipped watery lemonade, Caleb and I chatted about our scientific specialties, the local ecosystem, professors we’d suffered under, and other standard academic social topics, while waiting for his boss. Caleb’s a very nice guy but not available for dating. At least not with women, since he was definitely very aware of every good-looking male that passed by.

  Then a big cowboy walked in the other end of the library, gliding like the mountain lion I saw once in Utah. My mouth went dry. He could have been my knight’s twin.

  He had raven-black hair, as thick and glossy as in my dreams, which reached to the bottom of his collar. A memorable face with olive skin and a light shadow of beard, not pretty but so very strong. His nose was as aquiline as an eagle’s beak, and that mobile mouth looked capable of both singing poetry and shouting battle orders. He stood just under two meters tall—or six feet-five—all of it heavily muscled, as if he could fight in armor against Saracens all day and all night. He strolled past the bookshelves with the slightly rolling gait of a man who spends more time in the saddle than on his feet.

  His face was surprisingly young—about my age—even with the slashing scar on his forehead. But I grieved to see that his eyes were ancient and guarded, despite the polite social smile he wore. He exuded competence and the quiet aura of danger, a man who didn’t give a damn what the world thought of him because he could remake it to suit himself.

  I was so stunned, my knees almost gave out under me. I’ve never understood girls who had one-night stands with strangers but I’d have had one there and then with that big cowboy, no matter who was watching.

  He walked straight up to Caleb, who introduced him to me as his boss, Rafael Perez. I automatically held out my hand and he kissed it.

  When the hell had anything like that ever happened to me? I gulped and tried to think of something polite to say other than “How about a fuck, cowboy?” I did manage to stammer “Señor Perez” like an adolescent schoolgirl.

  He said something polite about my working at the center that didn’t require much of an answer, then excused Caleb and himself. And my heartbeat finally had a chance to return to normal.

  Still behaving like a schoolgirl, I drifted over to the window to see them leave. Two identical big new Mercedes sedans waited for them, not pickups or SUVs; classy and expensive, to match those well-worn Lucchese alligator boots he was wearing.

  But his party—entourage, really—made me stare. Five men, all with the thick chests denoting Kevlar vests hidden under their cowboy shirts, were lounging beside the cars. As deceptively innocent as a pride of lions by a watering hole—and as ready to spring into action. I’d have bet a month’s rent they could have stopped an armed attack in a matter of seconds, without turning a hair.

  They came to attention as I watched and quickly pulled one big sedan up to the center’s entrance. Rafael got into the back seat and Caleb took the wheel, while the previous driver—a particularly deadly looking fellow—slid over to ride shotgun. As the two cars turned down the long driveway to the highway, both vehicles displayed the slightly too solid handling of armored vehicles.

  Why on earth would an oil industry executive be protected so heavily? Were the rumors about the Santiago Trust true? A chill ran down my spine.

  June 1 (evening)

  I couldn’t relax after that, of course, even with the next two days off. So I decided to do some owling, my favorite way to unwind. I do so love to see and hear owls.

  After changing clothes, I went out with my night- vision goggles and camera. I studied the map and then drove the center’s boundaries. It’s completely within a public park whose big lake was very busy, even allowing for the Memorial Day holiday week.

  The center itself is toward one edge of the park, which borders some private land. (Wonder if the owners are yet another Santiago Trust subsidiary?) It’s rough terrain so it’s never been farmed or ranched; the ecosystem is still virgin. Bob, the center’s director, wants to do research there. The owners haven’t said yes, but haven’t said no either. He’s hoping to coax them into agreeing.

  The evening was a joy, with more owls than I’d hoped for. It’s the events after that that baffle me. But I’m just going to record all the facts, at least the ones that can be documented. I can analyze them later, after time gives me some perspective. There’s got to be a good scientific theory to cover this, if I can just come up with it.

  I gradually worked my way toward the lake. It was fairly quiet by then since most of the people had gone to bed. I could see a lightning storm light up the sky miles away but it was miserably hot and humid where I was. The mesquite smell was quite distinct and I tried not to get too many twigs caught in my hair.

  I finally settled just within a thicket, watching a really magnificent horned owl. I slowed my breathing, using some yoga exercises, and let myself blend into the scene. After a while, I could hear the small animals start moving around as they became accustomed to my presence.

  I heard two people coming. Actually I heard the woman first. She was loud, with a voice that combined the worst of Brooklyn and Texas. The man kept kissing her, which shut her up some. But then he’d do something else that freed up her mouth and she’d start letting loose with that voice. She had a filthy mouth, talking about what she wanted from him. It sounded as if he was carrying through on her requests, too.

  I stayed where I was since I didn’t have an easy way to get out of there unnoticed. Okay, I was curious too.

  When I’m married, I want to be a good lover but how can I learn? I could count all my past lovers on the fingers of one hand and still have digits left over. Real-life examples would be much more useful than adult videos; I’ve always wondered just how real the wall-to-wall-sex DVDs were that’d been passed
around the dorms a few hundred times.

  They stopped in the clearing next to my thicket and I could see them easily, thanks to those military prototype night-vision goggles Bob had so kindly loaned me.

  The woman was blonde, with breasts that came from a catalog, not genetics. Very fit, fashionably dressed.

  The man was big, two meters tall, muscular, black hair, and dark eyes—strong profile; I’ll remember that face forever.

  It was Rafael Perez.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. What the hell was he doing making out in the woods with a woman? I’d have sworn he had money, certainly enough for a hotel room.

  He kissed her and kneaded those breasts through her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra and I immediately saw her breasts become firmer, the nipples more prominent. And damned if my breath didn’t catch as an answering thrill ran through my body from my throat to my core. My nipples rubbed against my cheap white cotton bra, as if Rafael’s hand was kneading them through the cloth too.

  She moaned some and clutched at him, definitely enjoying herself. I fought to control my own breathing, as my pulse sped up. More than anything else, I did not want them to know I was watching, especially when my breasts were aching and liquid heat was building between my legs.

  Pretty soon he had his hand up her skirt and she started humping his fingers ferociously. Every muscle in my body wanted to rock with her but I couldn’t, wouldn’t let myself do so. Yet the battle somehow made me more aware of the fire building inside me, more conscious of the strength of his arm. My hunger grew to see what his hand was doing so that my body could echo the effects.

  He quickly pulled her T-shirt off. Then his hands really became busy, fondling her with more skill than I’d ever seen in an adult video. Mercifully, his mouth stayed over hers and kept her fairly quiet, except for grunts and such.