Cajun Gothic (Blood Haven) (20 page)

He reminded her, “Your job is to keep anyone from escaping back
down this road or out into that swamp. We’ll do the rest.” She was melting
against him, submitting, forgetting her place, her task. He chuckled and
directed her back to her men, allowing just a frisson of lust to course through
his veins before shutting it down. He sincerely hoped she lived through this
night. He was in a serious case of like with her; she was the shiny new toy
that didn’t break easily.

And best of all, she kept his mind off the two women who totally
threatened to derail all his plans… and his emotions.

He had dozens of good reasons to rescue Damien but only two that
mattered.

Ghosting toward a stand of tupelo he motioned for his guard to
join him. The man took up a defensive position, scanning the area for snipers.

Samuels closed his eyes, stretching his senses.

Rinj, where the hell are you?

Rinj?

Walkens estimated how long it would take to find the silver haired
girl, assuming she was still viable, and knew he was in deep shit. The vamps on
his tail had split up, no longer worried about staying silent, having taken out
the two rednecks on the porch. Unfortunately he’d misjudged just how long it
would take for them to remove that little annoyance and then re-engage on his
tail.

He had two choices: stop and wait for them to come to him, or move
on and try to connect with the girl. He knew nothing about her but his gut told
him she was his best bet for making it through the night.

He decided to make a run for it.

Catrina’s head snapped around, sending her platinum dreadlocks
whipping about her face so hard the beads hurt as they impacted her cheek.

Damn it, Mags! I tole you… no vant dah mătanie.

Scenting carefully, she recognized the panic and sweat roiling off
Walkens. He was on fast approach with another in hot pursuit. No, make that
two. They smelled like fear, all of them. The vamps were boys, young, like her.

But not like her.

Catrina looked down at the human male kneeling on a patch of dried
Bermuda grass, his neck lolling to the side. The puncture wounds still leaked
as she had yet to fully close them off. Mags would be distraught at her
untidiness, though she didn’t see the point, not really. Besides, he’d been…
unsatisfying. A vintage too fresh for her tastes.

Walkens, on the other hand, appealed… in more ways than one.

Grasping the male’s head she gave a sharp twist and lift, the
torso sagging to the ground, then pivoted on her right foot, the left arm
swinging high and outside, launching the head at the vamp barreling toward her
at the speed of night.

He never saw it coming. Nor did he see Catrina lift her bloodied
fingers, the chant emerging from her full lips, thick and fast.

Walkens lost his footing on a patch of gore—the severed head had
exploded on the hard ground like a melon spilling its contents. He skidded into
Catrina who smiled shyly and moved to balance him before he tripped over the
remains of the human and the vamp littering the ground at her feet. She stepped
over the bodies and positioned his shorter frame behind her, hissing for him to
remain silent.

Silent wasn’t something his lungs could handle. He was short of
breath and aching in places he didn’t know existed after punching through a
palmetto jungle. It was like breathing underwater, the air so thick, so filled
with panic, it tangoed with his consciousness, leaving it to drift in and out.
The tang of iron and copper pinched at the back of his throat, forcing him to
swallow hard, but it didn’t help to dislodge the bile backing up, choking him.
He tried not to think about the mass of dissolving flesh and bone nudging at
his boots as the girl braced in front of him.

He was bookended between death and salvation. Neither seemed like
a good deal.

He’d seen stuff in Iraq. But not this, nothing like this.

The girl, woman, vampire… whatever she was, she was murmuring in a
language he didn’t recognize but it was like an old woman rolling her rosary
beads, chanting the same words over and over and over, without intonation, head
nodding to an ancient rhythm.

He was just tall enough to see over her shoulder, to see the shape
advancing, bobbing and circling in some weird, lazy holding pattern, dark
droplets hitting the parched soil. What was left of the creature oozed more
than just blood. It looked like every body fluid was being wrung out of
him—ears, eyes, nose, mouth, fingernails…

She wheezed, “Is enough, yes?” Then she turned as if expecting an
answer.

He nodded, jerking his head up, down, up, never taking his eyes
off the disintegrating form leaching into the sandy soil.

“Come. We return to vehicle.”

She took his hand and led him around the carnage. They sauntered,
hand-in-hand, like lovers out for an evening stroll, back up the dark driveway.
The girl helped him into the back of the limo and maneuvered him onto the rear
bench seat. She knelt down and pressed his knees apart, her hands stroking his
thighs, the heat penetrating the heavy twill of his cargo pants.

“I tink ve have time…”

He wanted to ask, ‘Time for what?’ but she answered his question
with a dazzling smile, releasing the zipper before he was aware she’d moved.
She freed his cock, stroking it expertly until it stood rigid. A single talon
worried the slit, then traced the line of the vein all the way down to the soft
sacs, then back up, this time with her tongue.

It hurt. It hurt so bad, to be that thick, that swollen with lust
and need.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, buried the gore, the horror of
the evening, locking it away, focusing on the sensations of her hot moist mouth
encasing his length. He lifted his hips, driving deep... gagging back a moan of
ecstasy with every thrust, fucking her mouth, her throat, hard and fast.

The pain exploded like a million shards of fractured metal eating
through his sensitive flesh from the inside out, so intense his fingernails
raked the seat cushions in an agony and a wash of pleasure such as he’d never
imagined. Time stopped, leaving him suspended, trembling with the spasms that
never seemed to end.

The girl-woman finally released him, her fangs dripping with his
blood and semen. He felt ill, nauseous, disoriented.

She stared up at him, her eyes the same silver shade as her hair,
and asked playfully, “Do you vant more?”

“Oh God, yes.”

Rinj stopped abruptly, a hiss escaping his lips.

“Sir, what is it?”

The vampire whispered, “Nothing. It’s… nothing.”

Oh you bad, bad child. I shall have to discipline you, naughty
girl. You promised…

Samuels interrupted,
Rinj, where the hell are you and what’s
happening?

We are below the house. They have Damien, confirmed, though the
life signs grow weak. They know we are here. One of them is an adept.

Samuels replied,
That makes sense. Something like this requires
leadership, an elder. Can you tell me how many…?

There are two out-buildings, sheds. I feel one in the small
structure, two in what might be a garage. They are frightened.

Good, then they’ll make mistakes. What about the main house?

Damien. The elder. Two others.

That’s not enough.

I agree. Watch your back, Samuels. They have tricks we don’t yet
understand.

“Captain, a word, please.” Samuels led Reese aside, placing his
body between her and her men. “Rinj says there are, at most, six in addition to
Damien.”

“Six?” She frowned, considering the possibilities.

“Ah, then you feel as I do.”

“They are young?”

“Except for one.”

“Then, yes, that’s not enough to hold off a contingent our size.”

“Options?”

“When you don’t have enough personnel, then you must resort to
other measures.”

“Like what?” Samuels had a feeling he knew what his captain would
say next.

“Land mines. IEDs. The ground’s sandy, it’s easy enough to bury
them and impossible to detect, especially at night.”

“Shit.”

Rinj, did you hear that?

Crap, yes. What do you want me to do?

Send your man to take the farthest shed. I’ll have Reese deploy
one from this end. Let’s see just where these motherfuckers have buried their
toys.

Then what.

Samuels chuckled to himself,
Then I want you to reconsider
what’s on your resume.

“You got a name, soldier?” Magda tired of getting the man’s
attention with repeated ‘hey you’s.’

“They call me Smithy.”

“Because…”

The man smiled, his fangs stark white against his dark brown skin.
“I was a blacksmith, ma’am… you know, before…”

“Well, Smithy, get ready to rock and roll.”

“Ma’am?”

She pointed to the mushrooming ball of fire igniting the sky in
front of them.

Smithy pulled his pole out of the water and laid it next to
Magda’s. The thrum of twin 125 hp Mercury outboard engines massaged the deck
under their feet. Magda spun the wheel, easing them into the channel.

It wouldn’t be long now.

She really hoped the morphine was still working. Despite being a
Cajun boy, raised on the bayou, Damien hated boats, hated the water.

He was
definitely
going to hate what she planned to do.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A Bridge Too Far

Reese motioned the man with the rocket launcher to approach. She
had to shout to be heard above the cacophony of exploding mines. The fools had
clustered them, the detonations ricocheting along the elevated mound, leaving
the buildings in stark relief. She’d lost two good men for that advantage. She
refused to lose anymore, no matter what Samuels ordered her to do.

Holding up two fingers, she pointed to the right of the house. Her
man nodded and adjusted the sight, taking a bead on the garage.

Reese rolled and scurried closer to the road as the blue-gray
smoke and launching flash pinpointed their location. The outbuildings were
clustered close enough that the single rocket sent enough debris flying to take
out the shed and its inhabitant.

Three down.

Samuels joined her, his face a study in contained rage.

He hissed, “Take out the house. Now.”

“Sir, are you sure? The asset…”

“Is gone. Do it, woman. Then gather your men and fall back. Do NOT
go on the road, do you understand?”

“Shit.”

“Go into the swamp. Stay under cover. We’ll meet you when we
finish this.”

The Captain nodded and crab-walked to where her man was re-loading
the launcher, leaving Samuels seething.

Rinj, are you airborn?

Flying five-by-five…

What do you see?

Like Mags thought, they’ve got a big-ass boat and they’re locked
and loaded.

Is she close?

Don’t worry about Magda, Samuels. She’ll do what she has to. We’ve
got other problems.

I’m looking at them, Rinj.

No, you’re not.

Wha—

Rinj chuckled, the sound grating.
Later, man. We’ve got us some
runners.

Samuels muttered, “I’ll send the team,” but Rinj was already
smoke. He ordered his men to assist the ninja master, making best time through
the swamp. Regretfully, like him, his people lacked the ability to go airborne
but the hit squad more than made up for it with speed and determination.

Reese shot him an evil look as she shepherded her people into the
fringes of the swamp. It would take more than dinner and roses to win her back.
He’d decide later if it was worth the price she’d exact.

Magda directed Smithy to stand watch. There was no way of knowing
how far flying debris would go and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with incoming
fiery missiles. The weak current moved them marginally toward the intersection
with the spur canal.

With the pyrotechnics lighting the sky she’d have no trouble
making a boat coming out of the side channel. They’d need to be at idling speed
to make the narrow turn, then all hell would break loose.

Smithy asked, “What’s our top speed, Ma’am?” It looked like he
already knew the answer but was just testing her.