"Love At First Bite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenyon Sherrilyn, Banks L. A., Squires Susan, Thompson Ronda)

Chapter Six

The only rational thing to do, so they could get out of the house, was let the woman go into the bathroom alone.

"Open the window," he said as he walked down the hall with a rifle. "It's not dark yet, got a few hours, and I'm gonna go check on the bike—see how much gas is left to get us to town."

He didn't wait for her to argue. He was on a mission. He needed to score latex like a junkie needed to get crack.

Out the back door, down the steps, Jose went to his bike and groaned. Damn! His black beauty was running on fumes. Okay, new plan. The toolshed caught his eye. Maybe, just maybe, if there was mercy in heaven, his grandfather might have an old red gas can with a spit of fuel in it.

Jose jogged across the backyard, scattering angry hens. Resting the rifle against the outside wall of the dilapidated structure, he pulled the rusty door open with both hands. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he squinted, searching for a light. But soon the low afternoon sun and opened door allowed his eyes to scan the interior. However, what he saw gave him pause.

It was a veritable artillery shed. Medicine wheels and amulets with eagle feathers covered the walls, along with silver stakes, crossbows, and bowie knives in varying degrees of blade length. He stepped inside, his curiosity dragging him over the threshold. In the center of the floor were strange circles and symbols, bones and stones, as though a hex or a ward against evil.

His gaze went to a litter of shells and dirt on the small wooden table by the wall. Jose approached it with care, peering down at the gleaming silver bullets and dark soil that had an incense fragrance. Jugs of water with war paint etchings from a time long gone sat beside the shells. He looked up at the crossbows and the long stakes plumed with eagle feathers.

They knew. Not just empathized or believed but knew.

Jose stared harder at the walls as dust motes danced and played in the murky stream of low sunlight. The interior had been whitewashed with war paint. The scent of white sagebrush hung heavily in the air, stinging his nose. A sense of calm, safety, spiritual fortress emanated from everything around him. Sagebrush and silver, chicken blood and burnt wood, all of it crawled over his skin in an odd sense of knowing. He was standing in the middle of a spiritual bomb shelter. If his people had built this, then what was coming?

Suddenly getting into town had less urgency. But finding gas to ride out a storm was still the thing to do. Jose walked through the shed with new reverence, only to be disappointed. He grabbed the rifle and jogged back to his bike, determined to rinse the demon gook off it before Juanita saw it again.

Hurrying with the task, he got the backyard hose and quickly blasted off the muck—this time more careful with the water that was scarce where his grandparents lived. Respect for them, what they knew, what they calmly accepted, what they'd built, entered him as he dropped the hose and ran up the back steps.

He passed Juanita in the hallway. "I'll be in and out in a few seconds." He knew he sounded panicked; he was panicked. But she didn't need to know why.

When he got out of the shower and raced to the bedroom, she had on her jeans and broken spike heels in her hands and was covering her breasts with her arm.

"Can I wear one of your T-shirts?" She gazed at him, chewing her lip for a moment. "My mother said the red halter made me look like a whore… and I don't want to look like that when I'm with you."

"You don't look like that to me, no matter what you wear." He pulled on his jeans and nodded toward the dresser. "You can have one of my T-shirts, and Nana left you some dresses in there, too."

"How did she know I was coming, Jose?"

They both stopped dressing and stared at each other.

"She's a seer," he said quietly. "Don't ask me how they do it; all I know is, that's what she is. Abuela knows things. So does Pops."

"I know things like that sometimes," Juanita said, going to the drawer to get a T-shirt. "That's why I know I don't want to wear this red halter right now."

He stared at her back for a moment and then found his sneakers and a T-shirt and she began to finger-comb her hair.

"When we go to the store, I'll get you a brush, too, and get us some toothbrushes—I need a razor," he said, rubbing his chin and trying to distract himself from the eerie feeling that had come over him. "But one thing's for sure; we've gotta get you some flip-flops, or something, until we can get you some sneakers."

Juanita bent without speaking and opened the bottom drawer. She slowly lowered herself to a squat, her hand stroking the doeskin dress. "There's moccasins in here with this dress."

Jose rushed to her side and stooped down to look, then snapped his glance to her quickly. "Full ceremonial outfit—how'd you know it was in there? 'Cause I damned sure didn't."

Juanita shrugged. "Can I wear the shoes, until I get some slides or flip-flops?"

He nodded and walked away, pacing in front of the bedroom door. "Let's make this a quick run. I think we should hang close to the house till my people get back."

Worry clung to him as Juanita kept a firm grasp around his waist. Dust stung his eyes and nose as they roared down the deserted strip of road, and he told her to keep her face pressed to his back to shield it from airborne debris.

Her wet hair whipped and slapped his neck, and the rose-orange hue of the setting sun made him push his bike to the limit. He had just enough in his wallet to put a couple of gallons in his tank, buy her some flip-flops, maybe a burger or two, a comb—but latex was king. If he'd known he was going on a serious road trip like this, he would have… done what? His ass was flat busted.

Jose almost cheered when he made it to the gas station and the old brave who ran it simply smiled and waved away his payment. He and Juanita shared a glance, and Jose walked over to the sun-blistered wicker rocker where the gas station owner sat calmly whittling down a stick. Even though he was nearly broke, Jose knew that the people in the town were poorer than that. He kept a respectful gaze on the gaunt, elderly silver-haired man who sat in the desert heat in a white sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of mechanic's uniform pants and worn leather slippers.

"Sir, it's cool," Jose said, extending a five-dollar bill.

"Your grandfather and I go way back. You're family." The elderly man glimpsed Juanita and kept whittling the stick into a sharp point. "We had a meeting, young Thunderbird. That which is within is about to come to the fore. You need everything you've got. The ancient spirits are dancing."

Jose folded up the bill and shoved it into his jeans. He hadn't a clue about what the old dude meant but also knew enough to know that once the elderly started talking in riddles, there was no arguing with them.

"Thanks," Jose said, quickly going to his bike and mounting it so Juanita could climb back on.

He was out.

Back on mission, he tried to wrest his memory back to the town layout. The streets were nearly deserted. Some stores already had their grates down. Full darkness wouldn't come until eight thirty, and judging by the height of the sun, it wasn't six yet. He stopped the bike at the corner of a strip of businesses. How did he know what time it was? He was freaking himself out and had to get a grip.

His gaze scanned the line of small stores, and when he spotted the old pharmacy he kicked the bike stand down in relief. "We can run in there, cool?"

Juanita got off the bike with a smile. "It's like the old West out here—like you see in the movies."

He laughed and slung his arm over her shoulder as they walked. "Baby, this place ain't changed since those times, believe me. That's why summer was enough."

Now, the challenge. It was simple enough to collect a pair of cheap rubber sandals, a plastic disposable razor, a comb, and a two-pack of toothbrushes, but this wasn't some impersonal, huge chain store where nobody knew your name. The real reason for the mission was up high on a shelf behind the counter, and the old lady who sat on a stool at the register fanning herself only spoke Navajo. How in the heck was he gonna ask Grandma for a double six-pack of Trojans!

Juanita edged away from the register. Aw, man, this was bad.

Jose dumped his stash of toiletries on the counter, and the old woman grinned a black, toothless grin and began ringing up his purchases. He spied Juanita glimpsing him from the corner of her eye. Okay. Cool. He lifted his chin. He was grown, was a man. So what if the old lady dimed him out to his grandmother? Pops had left a stash, anyhow.

"And, uh, two boxes," he said, pointing to the shelf behind the elderly matron. What was the word, what was the word—damn, he never learned the language cold like he should have!

She frowned and picked up two boxes of aspirin and began to add them to the items she was ringing up.

"No, uhm, not that."

She stopped and stared at him, then slowly put the items back, pointing at Pepto-Bismol.

The old woman was making him die a thousand quiet deaths, and he motioned with his thumbs higher to the next shelf.

She hesitated for a moment, then looked at Juanita, who had worked her way toward the door, and then looked back at him. Slowly, the old woman covered her mouth, giggled, nodded with a sigh, and jumped down off the stool to fetch a retail grabber stick. Jose sent his gaze down an adjacent aisle, too through. The boxes the storekeeper pulled down had so much dust on them he could write his name on the top. Now he had to check an expiration date, too, with Grandma staring at him?

Cringing, he pointed at the date without a word, trying to keep his dignity, act cool, nonchalant, like it was no big deal.

But when the old woman covered her mouth and burst out laughing, he was ready to forget it all. However, Juanita's shy smile bathed in setting sunlight made him endure while the elderly lady went to the back and brought out something with a fresher date.

She said something to him in Navajo that he didn't totally catch. Something about breathing new life. But he wasn't trying to hang around to hear all of that. He paid for his purchase, collected the bag, said a quick thank-you, and walked out the door ahead of Juanita.

She jumped on the bike behind him, laughing. "Oh, my God."

"Yeah," he said, finding it hard to laugh. "Like I said, this ain't LA."

He heard her stomach growl so loud that he thought the motor was already on. "You hungry?" he asked, stomping down on the pedal and realizing how starved he was.

"Can we grab a couple burgers and take them back to the house?"

"Yeah, but there's no such thing as fast food out here. We can get burgers at the diner and have them boxed to go."

"Then let's ride," she said, snuggling against him and laughing.

He loved the sound of her voice through his skin.

The smell of meats cooking, milk shakes, and coffee was making his stomach contract with need. They sat outside on the small metal bike rail to escape the inside fans that just re-circulated heat, waiting for their order, which was slow to come. Even though there were only a few truckers sipping coffee inside, the process of getting a couple of pops, two burgers, and some fries seemed like it took forever. But somehow, when he was with her, just laughing and talking, time didn't matter so much.

"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.