Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One) (12 page)

Cinder waved his hands
around her as if outlining an invisible silhouette. “Something dire
has shifted your karmic emanations. Even as I stood at my post
outside this edifice the vibes beckoned my immediate
attention.”

“
A monster.” With a shaky
finger, she pointed. “In that mirror.”

“
Indeed.” Cinder took her
hand and helped her to her feet.

His hand felt…cold. Very
cold. Unnaturally cold.

She clapped a hand over
her gaped mouth. “Dear Lord. You aren’t f-from here, are
y-you?”

“
From beyond the starry
planes I hail.”

“
A vampire,” the
accusation throaty.

“
Absolutely
not.”

“
What are you? Where are
you from?”

“
A place you know not of.
A colorful and icy planet that dwells on a distant plane.” He bowed
at the waist. Straightening, he said, “I am Sagarion.”

Hands behind her back, she gripped the
rim of the sink and steadied herself.

For decades, strange stories had
existed about Buckeye. Stories that would’ve made Robert Ripley
ecstatic. Like the Chupacabra, ancient aliens, and the Mothman,
some were believers and others skeptics.

For Amy, Cinder was all those years of
speculation come to a certainty. Maybe Buckeye really was a hotspot
for fantastic phenomenon.

Amy felt the breath leave
her lungs. So many questions should have been on her mind, but only
one made it out of her mouth. “Why are you here?”

“
A war is to manifest in
this town. I arrived early to get a grand spectator’s
view.”

“
War? In Buckeye?” She
frowned. “You came to help us fight?”

“
Absolutely not.” Cinder
shook his head. “My kind do not partake in cosmic politics. Life
and love are our shelter and weapon. I come, as I said, to watch
the performers.”

Amy shivered and scowled.
“You come to watch, as if war is some kind of television
mini-series?”

“
That, m’lady, is a
grossly inaccurate presumption. This war will be much more
marvelous than any magic television can cast.” Cinder bent at the
waist and turned to leave.

“
Where are you
going?”

“
The night is still young
and the wine calls forth my name. May your karma be realigned by
dawn.”

# # #

While Derrick’s gray eyes stared down
at her, she recalled the last time they fucked.

Willie
Nelson’s
“
Blue
Eyes Crying in the Rain
” played on the
jukebox. Swaying on the dance floor, with Derrick’s arm around her
waist, Carmen grabbed the bottle of beer from his hand. She held it
high and tipped her hat so she could see him. “Here’s to
Velma.”

She recalled their last
hot evening together. The feel of his lips trailing kisses down her
abdomen...her inner thighs. The tender suckling of her
clit.

“
You want me and I want
you,” Derrick said. “No games. Not tonight.”

“
What’s it matter? You got
the question right.”

“
Because you gave me the
answer.”

Carmen shrugged. She
looked over Derrick’s shoulder toward the restroom. Scowling, she
shook her head. Was Amy bathing in the damn sink?

Derrick leaned down, his
lips close to hers. “This may be a dance floor and we may be
dancing, but I don’t dance. Not for anyone. Not even
you.”

With a beer bottle in one
hand, she pushed at his shoulder with the other. “Fuck
you.”

His body stilled as his
hand gripped her face. Forcing her to look at him, he said, “We’re
fucking tonight but not because I know shit about
Velma.”

# # #

Not wanting to face Chris
or the monster in the mirror again, Amy hurried from the restroom.
A poster of a western-style goth band plastered the hall right. A
local band called The Undead Revolvers. Amy smiled and wondered if
they were uncanny supernaturals, too. How many eccentric people had
she met in her life who weren’t even from this world?

Leaning against the wall, ignoring the
loud music and the near-toxic scent of women’s perfume mixed with
cigarette smoke, she concentrated on clearing her mind.

But what of that creepy
monster in the mirror. The voice in her head! She really was losing
her mind. Good grief. But that mirror was cracked, no denying
that.

Not only had she met some sort of
alien, but he had warned, or rather raved, about an interstellar
war, a war claiming Buckeye, Texas as ground zero. Nobody would
believe her and she wouldn’t blame them one bit. Hell, she hardly
believed it herself.

And what of the attack? Should she
file a complaint? What would Shane do if he found out?

He would kill Chris.

She pictured Shane nude and in a
Mexican jail. The man had no qualms about doing stupid things
because of some miscalibrated moral compass. It was better she not
tell anyone about the almost-rape.

And Cinder had implied it
was all happening because of her karma being out of whack. Was he
saying that she deserved it? Had her screwed up karma directed
Chris into the lady’s room?

She shook her head. Chris was an ass
and karma was not to blame.

But what had thrown her karma so far
off kilter?

So much for clearing her
mind.

Amy pushed off the wall
and through the crowd of nearly naked bodies. She bee lined for the
bar, where she intended to drink as if tonight marked the eve of
the end of the world. Out loud, she laughed. If Cinder was right
then it might actually be the final countdown. The eve of WW
III.

Screw beer. Time for the
hard stuff. Amy sat on a stool and plopped her purse on the bar
top.

Mike approached and set a glass of
iced tea down.

Amy slid the beverage to
the side. “Jack and Diet and keep ‘em coming.”

# # #

Heart racing, abdomen
clenched, Carmen drew a slow breath. With her body melted against
his, barely moving on the dance floor, she forced a smile and
asked, “How’s Susan?”

With a bitter laugh,
Derrick said, “I said dick about Jeff, so why you giving me shit?”
When Carmen grimaced, he said, “If you recall, that night I didn’t
answer the question correctly. So I made other
arrangements.”

When they met two years ago, Carmen
had made it clear she wasn’t the settling-down type. Derrick had
done the same.

She fucked who she wanted.

And so did he.

So why was she giving him shit? She
struggled for a quip and clever rebuke but her mind was
frustratingly blank.

Derrick’s tight lips
stretched into a smile. He kissed her forehead. “If it makes you
feel better, I had to pull over half way home so she could puke. I
dropped her off at her house and spent the rest of the night on my
couch watching the Discovery channel. Being Shark Week and
all.”

Thank
fuck.
Carmen resisted the urge to jump
into his arms, wrap her legs around his waist and squeal like a
school girl with a celebrity crush. Disgusted by her pathetic urge,
she’d simply play it cool.

Carmen sipped the beer and tipped it
to his mouth. When the amber liquid dripped down his chin, she rose
to her tiptoes and licked it off his skin.

Toby
Keith’s
“
Should’ve been a Cowboy
” began
playing. Derrick twirled Carmen and pulled her close. “No
games.”

He kissed her. Long and slow. As their
tongues played hide and seek, the smell of beer and rum from their
breaths mixed in white hot passion. Moisture dripped down her inner
thighs.

There were good fucks.

There were bad fucks.

And there was Derrick.

He was the only man she slept with who
not only respected her but knew where he stood in her world.
Derrick knew she would never love him, not like a woman should love
her man; but she also knew he’d never love her. They redefined
‘friends with benefits’.

“
Let’s get out of here,”
Carmen said, her head on his shoulder.

With an arm around her
waist, he held her tight against him. With his other hand, he held
the bottle of beer. Derrick looked up at the stage where the
mechanical bull waited. “I was going to ride Sick’em tonight.” He
sipped his beer and looked down at her, eyes heavy with promise.
“But I can last a lot longer than eight seconds on you.”

Her fingers wrapped around Derrick’s
wrist and she led him toward the exit.

Once outside, Derrick swung her
against the brick wall. Desperate kisses pulled at her lips. With
rhythmic tugs, she suckled his roaming and persistent
tongue.

Derrick pulled from the kiss, his
breaths coming in pants, heavy with lust. He took her hand and
dragged her toward the parking lot.

Concealed in the shadow of
the building and near the corral fence, Derrick’s silver Ford truck
conveniently offered privacy for what Carmen was sure would be a
quick, hard fuck. Holy hell, her panties were soaked from
anticipation.

Derrick set his bottle inside the bed
of his pickup and with a swoop, he lifted her off her feet. She
plopped onto a mattress while he peeled his shirt over his head and
swung himself over the tailgate.

Her cowgirl hat sailed
over the side to join his shirt. Impatiently, she shimmied her
dress up.

On her knees, she leaned forward and
sucked on his chest. When he moaned, she gently bit his nipple,
sucking the erect tip. Derrick grabbed his Bud. After a long chug
he passed it to her. Carmen drank it empty and he flashed her a
devilish grin.

She pulled aside the
dainty strip of her wet panties and pushed the narrow end of the
glass bottle inside of her. A husky sigh escaped as she gyrated her
hips. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, she licked her bottom lip
seductively as she worked the bottle into her dripping
pussy.

She heard his jeans fall
and opened her eyes. Carmen shook her head. “Back boy.”

Derrick grimaced but
obeyed. He stepped out of his jeans and gripped his hard on. “You
like watching, don’t you baby?”

He nodded.

“
Say it.” She inched the
bottle deeper. God she was ready for him.

“
I love watching you,
baby.” Jerking himself faster, he inched closer until his cock
hovered near her face.

Keeping the longneck inside, she
arched her back and licked the tip of his erection. The sweet
nectar of his precum trailed sparks across her tongue.

Carmen flung herself back on the
mattress and chucked the bottle over the side onto the
cement.

Derrick lunged onto her.
Lying between her thighs, his erection grazed her burning
slit.

Throatily, she hissed,
“Fuck me.”

A flash of white light beamed in his
face.

Derrick and Carmen gawked
at the shadowy figure moving closer. When the mysterious figure
leaned over the tailgate, a familiar face came into view. Sheriff
Bowden stood dressed in a white shirt and checkered sleep pants. He
propped the Maglite on the edge of the truck bed.

Derrick jumped up and
scrambled for his jeans. “Son of a bitch.”

Carmen grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t you stop goddamnit!”

Derrick frowned and pulled from her
grasp. He slid his jeans over his damn fine ass.

With a tilt of his head,
Bowden gestured to his police car. “Fun’s over. Let’s go.” He
turned his back, giving Carmen some privacy. She slid her dress
down and smoothed it to cover her lady bits.

Foregoing the handcuffs,
Sheriff put them in the back of his car. Bowden circled the vehicle
and paused in its headlights. He waved at the two-story house
beside the Rising Bull. “Thanks Ruth Anne! I’ll make sure these
outlaws never see the light of day.”

Carmen gave the bird to the old
Pentecostal woman.

Ruth Anne opened her
window and leaned out. With a wave at the Sheriff, she said, “It’s
disgusting what these young people do these days.”

Sheriff Bowden got in and
cranked the car. “Crazy old bat.” He took a swig from a large paper
cup and turned to face them. “Evenin’.”

Carmen grumbled. “I swear
to God, Sheriff, I’m gonna start a drug ring in this fucking town
just to give you something better to do with your time.”

“
Mighty kind of you, Miss
Vallez.” Bowden shifted to drive and pulled from the parking
lot.

“
How long had you been
standing by the truck anyway?”

Bowden set his drink in
the console cup holder. He flicked his blinker and pulled onto FM
1085. “I gotta admit I’m more of a Miller man myself.”

“
Just throw me under the
jail and lose the key.” Carmen slumped against the door. “So what’s
the deal, Sheriff? You going to drop us off somewhere and let this
slide?”