Night of the Wolves (16 page)

Returning to the entry, he found Beulah and demanded, “She’s here, isn’t she?”

Beulah nodded. “What’s going on, Mr. Fox? Why is she so upset?”

There was no reason to honey-coat his words with Beulah, who always got straight to the point herself. “Her father’s grave is empty. We discovered it the other day, but—”

“But no one wanted to tell Alex, and you were sure you
had the situation under control,” Beulah said tartly. Cody stared at her, and she went on. “Well, you know what, Mr. Fox? I believe if anyone can control what’s happening around here, it’s you. But that don’t mean you can manage Miss Alex.”

“Where is she?”

“Up in her room, and you leave her alone right now, Mr. Fox. You can talk to Alex when she’s had a chance to calm down a bit and think things out.”

Cody frowned suddenly. “Beulah, you haven’t had the sense that Eugene’s been around here, have you?”

“Why, no!” Beulah protested.

“Beulah? This place is decorated with crosses and garlic.”

She raised her chin and answered him with great dignity. “My grandmother was a wise woman, Mr. Fox. She was a slave in Haiti, but she came to the United States during the Haitian Revolution. She taught us things she’d learned back in Africa and things she’d learned from her French master. She knew all about the walking dead. Once Mr. Eugene was gone, I decided we needed to do everything we could to keep this place safe, what with the things going on in Brigsby and Hollow Tree.” She sniffed. “Didn’t help much the night those filthy scallywags came in here.”

“This is a boardinghouse, a public place,” Cody said. “But Brendan and I are here now, and we’re prepared.”

“Prepared?” Beulah said. “Maybe here, but the people of Victory are spread out all over the countryside. All the ranches, all the farms. And there’s John Snow’s place, and the Apache camp, and…Oh, Lord, Mr. Fox, what would happen if they got into the Apache camp, if they…made those warriors into monsters?”

Cody groaned; she was echoing his own thoughts.

“We won’t wait for that to happen. We intend to find Milo and his gang, and exterminate them.”

Beulah nodded. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “For now, you come and sit down and have a nice dinner. You and Mr. Vincent, you’re going to be needing your strength. Then you can go and talk to Miss Alex.”

C
OLE AND
D
AVE PLAYED
poker at the saloon, whiling away the time until sunset. The minute the sky began to don its nightly cloak of crimson, Cole grew wary and alert.

They were armed, just as he’d told the entire town to be. Eight bows, eight quivers of arrows and a stack of sharp stakes were at the ready, and garlic and crosses guarded all the doors and windows.

The girls, now that the men of the town were battening down their homes each night, had gotten bored with card games and gossip sessions, and gone upstairs.

Roscoe was sleeping behind the bar until an attack came or it was his turn to stand watch.

Jigs was up and alert, staring at the new saloon doors.

The new doors had just gone up an hour ago; the swinging doors with their implicit welcome had seemed not only inappropriate but an invitation to danger. The wooden doors that had taken their place were rough, not sanded or painted, but they had a bolt that kept them closed. Cole wasn’t sure just how much good the new doors would do, given that the saloon was still technically open to the public, but he would take what he could get, and they were as ready as they would ever be.

He was restless, and he tossed his cards down on the table.

“Danged if you didn’t beat me again, Cole,” Dave said with disgust.

Winning a hand of cards had been the last thing on Cole’s mind. He rose and walked over to Jigs. “Jigs, Dave and I are here. You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet, so go to bed and try to get some sleep now in case we need you later.”

Jigs looked up at him. “Ain’t right, Sheriff. Ought to be me, watching over the place. Me and Roscoe.”

Cole set a hand on his shoulder. “Go to bed, Jigs. We’ll wake you later, so we can catch some sleep. Now, get to bed or you’ll be so tired, you won’t be any good to anybody.”

Jigs stood and arched his back, stretching. “I guess you’re right, Sheriff.” He shook his head. “Don’t see how this can come to no good end. This town can’t make it, everybody hiding all the time. This saloon, those girls…well, we can’t survive without customers, you know?”

“We can hold out, Jigs. We got help when those other towns didn’t. We’ll win. You wait and see.”

Jigs might not have believed him, but he was too tired to argue. With a wave of his hand and a muffled “Thank you, Sheriff,” he shuffled on up the stairs.

He was so tired, Jigs thought. Dead tired.

He winced at his own choice of words and looked around as if afraid someone might have overheard his thoughts. “Dead” just wasn’t a word to be using loosely these days, even in his mind.

He checked his window, which was securely locked, and rearranged the crosses and garlic around it. If anything happened downstairs, the noise would wake him, he knew,
so he crashed down on his bed still dressed, boots and all. In two seconds, he was drifting off to sleep.

Jigs liked sleeping lately, thanks to the erotic dreams he’d been having. He didn’t have any trouble finding women in Victory because of his mixed ancestry. Hell, not in a whorehouse. But finding love, that was something else again. Truth was, he was ugly, and women didn’t cotton to that.

But in his dreams…

In his dreams,
she
would sneak right into his room, then kind of slink up to the side of his bed. He would open his eyes, and she’d be standing there, smiling. She would put a finger to her lips to warn him to keep quiet, and then she would grin mischievously and start to do things to him.

Not…everything.

But enough. Enough to have him panting like a schoolboy as she cuddled up beside him, all lean and sleek, and whispered in his ear. She liked to tease, to nip at his earlobes and caress his neck. He’d feel a pinch now and then, but then she’d start licking him, soothing his flesh, and he would be just about flying out of the bed.

“It’s our little secret, Jigs,” she would whisper as she left. “I wouldn’t want the other girls knowing what a treasure you are. And I sure don’t want anyone knowing that I come to you…on the house!” That always made her giggle.

And then she would be gone, leaving him alone in bed to relish the lingering arousal of that dream. He was always so tired afterward, but tired in a way that made him smile. What a fine way for a man to get so exhausted.

He knew they were just dreams…but every man deserved his dreams.

A
LEX TRIED TO PICTURE
her father. He was a good-looking man, and not so old, only forty-five. His hair was graying, but that only enhanced the character evident in his face. He was straight-backed, broad-shouldered and fit.

She pictured him out on the plain on the last day of his life.

She tried to feel the breeze, the touch of the sun, the glow of the sunset. She imagined the tumbleweeds.

Show me
…

It was a thought. It was a prayer.

But no matter how hard she tried to conjure the image of her father, the picture kept slipping away.

It wasn’t fair. He had already come to her once in a vision. Why couldn’t she recapture that vision now?

But even as she tried, it was as if dark clouds came roiling through her mind, blocking both the plain and the image of her father.

The darkness was thick, with a life of its own.

Then it began to clear.

She saw a house. A pretty ranch house, and around it there were fields, some of them fenced.

The house was familiar, and she was sure it had been there a long time.

She heard a horse whinny, then another, and knew that there were stables just beyond the house.

And inside…

Inside there was usually the smell of fresh-baked goods and the laughter of children.

Not tonight.

She moved inside in her dream, her vision, and realized that tonight, while it was still early, the children and their mother had gone to bed, while her husband doused the
lights. She knew them, she realized. Bill and Dolores Simpson. Poor couple, still mourning their beloved Amy, who’d been like sunshine in the house.

As she watched, Bill finally got into bed, and the house fell silent. Alex could almost feel the depth of their grief, something she knew far too well.

Then she sensed movement in the darkness, and in a moment she saw Dolores rise and get out of bed. She didn’t bother with a robe, or even with slippers, just headed for the bedroom door, where she paused briefly and looked back. Bill hadn’t moved and appeared to be asleep.

Dolores slipped out of the room, closing the door carefully behind herself, and walked down the hall. She almost seemed to…flow.

She reached the boys’ room and stepped inside to assure herself that they were safe. After a moment she walked to the bed where the younger boy, Jared, was asleep and sat at his side.

A creeping feeling of unease swept over Alex, and she fought the dream, but it was no good. She had no choice but to watch as Dolores leaned over her son and clamped a rough hand over his mouth, then drew back her lips, baring her teeth.

No, her
fangs
.

She threw her head back with an animallike groan of pure pleasure. Then she ducked forward and sank her fangs into the soft flesh of her little boy’s neck.

D
INNER WAS ALL BUT OVER
.

Cody and Brendan were drinking coffee, picking at the last of Beulah’s cherry pie, when a blood-curdling scream sounded from the bedroom above.

Cody knocked his chair over as he leaped to his feet.

He raced for the stairs, bounding up the steps in seconds. He didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate, didn’t go through his own room, only burst through the door of Alex’s room, ready for anything.

But there was no intruder in sight. She was simply sitting on her bed, barefoot but dressed, staring straight ahead.

And screaming.

He scanned the room, seeking out any danger he might have missed, but no one was there and nothing had been disturbed.

He hurried to her bedside, clasped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Alex, what is it? What happened?”

She blinked and fell silent, staring at him.

“Alex?”

She gasped and grabbed his arm. “We have to get out to Bill Simpson’s ranch. His wife…the boys.” She stared at him, her eyes clear. “I saw it happening, but there may still be time.”

She bolted off the bed, searching for her boots. Cody saw that Brendan had followed him and was waiting in the doorway, the rest of the household behind him. Brendan looked at him quizzically and whispered, “Did you tell her?”

Cody knew he was asking if Cody had told Alex about the Simpsons coming to the sheriff’s office and wondering whether Alex might be having strange dreams because of that. He shook his head.

“Let’s go,” he said to Brendan. “We’ve got to get out there.”

“You’re not going without me,” Alex said.

“Alex, there’s no reason to risk—”

“There’s every reason. It was my vision, and I want to help you stop it from happening. Levy, you and Bert keep a close eye on the house,” Alex said.

“Alex, I’m telling you—” Cody began.

“And I’m telling you we’re going to have another child to bury if we don’t get out there—fast,” Alex said, already putting on her jacket.

Cody was worried that he might be distracted from the fight at a crucial moment by the need to protect Alex, but since she was already heading for the door, he reckoned he had no choice.

“Bert,” he said, following Alex, “get over to the saloon and warn the sheriff. This might be a ruse to get us out of town. Be on the alert.”

Bert nodded gravely.

“Levy, don’t leave the house,” Cody said.

“I won’t,” Levy vowed solemnly.

“Let me lock you all out,” Beulah offered. “Tess, Jewell, you girls be ready to defend yourselves.”

Alex, familiar with the way out to the ranch, rode in the lead. Cody and Brendan raced just behind her, neck and neck.

Cody glanced up at the sky. Still a few days until the next full moon.

Still a few days before Milo Roundtree would make his final assault.

And still he watched the night sky, leery of what might be afoot. Did Milo know about Alex’s strange dreams? Was this a ruse to get them out of town?

Or, worse, to get
Alex
out of town?

They pulled up at the gates of the farmstead, which had been chained shut. Bill had posted signs that warned, No Trespassing. Trespassers Will Be Shot on Sight.

Cody circled his horse away, then rode hard for the fence and sailed over.

Brendan and Alex followed suit.

As they neared the house, Alex called out, “Bill, it’s Alex. Don’t shoot. You’re in danger, and we’ve come to help.”

Cody didn’t waste time waiting for Bill to open the door. He broke it down and strode inside, almost crashing into the man who stood in the hallway, shocked, a shotgun in his hands.

He was obviously debating whether he should be using it or not.

“It’s your wife,” Cody heard Alex say. “She’s sick, Bill.”

Cody left them to talk and started checking the rooms.

Dolores was in the second one he tried, sitting on the bed next to one of her sons, her face contorted and her mouth opened unnaturally wide.

Saliva dripped from her fangs as she leaned toward the boy.

Cody flew across the room, tackling her and knocking her off the bed. He straddled her on the floor while she shrieked in fury and swung her fists at him, twisting and turning, trying to sink her fangs into his flesh. By then the boys were awake, shouting, crying.

Jared, who had so nearly just been drained by his mother, raced up behind Cody and started slamming him on the back.

By then, however, the others had come in.

“Bill, get the boys out of here!” Alex cried, then managed to corral Jared, while Bill collected his other son in his arms, looking down at his wife with a combination of horror and fear.

Brendan moved quickly to help Cody, immobilizing Dolores’s legs very effectively by sitting on them, leaving Cody free to grapple with her arms—and avoid her fangs. Just as the two men managed to get her under control, Bill burst back into the room.

“Oh, thank God! She’s still alive. You can’t kill her. But…what on earth is going on?” he demanded.

At the sound of her husband’s voice, Dolores went off in another frenzy of rage, kicking, shrieking, trying to free her arms from Cody’s grasp.

“Bill, damn it, I don’t want to have to kill her,” Cody said. “Get me some good strong rope. I’m going to do my best to save her, but I’m not letting her take anyone else down, do you understand?”

Bill nodded jerkily and disappeared.

A minute later he was back with the requested rope. Cody carefully tied her arms and legs while she struggled
against Brendan’s hold with a maniacal strength. Then the two men hefted Dolores onto the bed and tied her there. All the while, she was straining toward them, fangs snapping as she tried to bite.

“What should we do?” Bill asked anxiously.

“You should get out of here,” Cody said softly. “You don’t need to see her this way.”

Bill stared at Cody, his eyes pleading. “She’s my wife. We just lost our little girl.”

“I know that, Bill, and I will try to save her. Now, go look after your sons. They need you.” As Bill left the room, Cody turned to Brendan and said, “I need my medical kit.”

“You’re going to give her your blood?” Brendan asked, frowning. “It’s too soon after last time, Cody.”

“It’s all right. I heal quickly.”

“This quickly?”

“Yes. I think. Hell, Brendan, it’s this woman’s only hope.”

Brendan left the room, and Cody leaned against the wall and watched Dolores as she began to slowly return to true consciousness. She closed her eyes and went still, then, a moment later, opened her eyes and looked around. She seemed absolutely mystified by the fact that she was tied to her son’s bed.

She stared at Cody. “What—what happened?” she asked.

As he walked toward her, a look of alarm came over her features. “Where are my children? What have you done with my children? Where’s my husband?”

“He’s all right. The boys are all right. But you’ve been…infected. You nearly killed your son tonight.”

She stared back at him in disbelief, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. But he could tell that she believed him. “No, no, no,” she began to moan.

“Dolores, you have to trust me. You have to let me help you. I’m going to give you blood. My blood. It will fight the disease.”

“Where’s Bill?” she asked plaintively.

“He’s right outside. I didn’t want him to see you…until you were yourself again.”

Tears suddenly filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “Amy. I love my Amy so much. But my boys…how could I hurt my boys?”

“You weren’t in your right mind, Dolores. Everything’s going to be all right, but I have to keep you tied up for now. I’m going to give you some of my blood, and you can’t fight me while I do it. Do you understand?”

“I won’t fight you, Mr. Fox,” Dolores said. “I promise. Please…” She was suddenly straining against her bonds again, not fighting, but desperate. “I’d rather die than hurt my boys. Please don’t let that happen. If I…if I don’t…well, if I don’t come out of this right…then you’ve got to kill me. Don’t let me put my boys in danger.”

Brendan returned with Cody’s medical bag. Cody quickly started selecting needles, while Brendan assisted him, arranging the tubing. “Blood transfusion is quite an amazing feat, Dolores,” Cody said, trying to keep her calm. “In 1628, an English physician named William Harvey discovered the circulation of blood. Shortly after that, doctors tried the first transfusion, but it wasn’t until 1665 that someone was finally successful, and it wasn’t even on a person. A physician named Richard Lower kept dogs alive by transfusing them with the blood of other
dogs. After that, there were several successes with humans, but because the doctors used animal blood, the law stepped in and it was a hundred and fifty years until we started being able to use human blood to save people’s lives.”

Cody wasn’t sure she was paying any attention to his words, but she seemed to like the sound of his voice. “This is going to sting,” he told her.

Dolores let out a little cry as the needle went in. Cody swiftly unstrapped the tourniquets he had tied around her arm and his, allowing his blood to flow into her, as she asked, “Am I going to be all right?”

“We’re trying our best,” Cody assured her.

Then her eyes closed, and she fell silent.

Cody took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fist to keep the blood flowing.

“Cody,” Brendan said warningly. “Enough.”

Cody nodded. As Brendan put pressure on Dolores’s arm and withdrew the needle, Cody tended to himself.

“What do you think?” Brendan asked anxiously. “Does she have a chance?”

“There’s always a chance,” Cody replied grimly. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

M
ILO
R
OUNDTREE PACED
beneath the trees, his shoulders squared, his expression hard. Nasty.

The woman squared her own shoulders and approached him. “You sent for me,” she said. “But you could have just come to me. You had no problem with that before.”

He cast her a cold glance that sent chills racing through her.

“I’m not risking myself to come to you.”

She stiffened. How the story changed. She remembered his original seduction so well.

She’d never stood a chance against his blandishments and promises. She had believed that he adored her, needed her, wanted her, and that she would be a queen among a new race, who were strong enough to take everything they wanted. To rule the world.

“All right,” she said crisply. “What do you want?”

“Why is everything taking so long?” he demanded. “They’ll be hunting—by day—very soon now, if they aren’t already.”

She laughed. “Cody Fox and Brendan Vincent. Two men, and you’re afraid, when you’ve gathered so many around you?”

Milo looked uncharacteristically thoughtful for a moment. “There’s something…Cody Fox isn’t a normal man.” He shook his head. “Never mind. That’s my affair. What’s happening in town?”

“In town? Things are going very well. I’ve already turned many people, and soon I’ll have turned even more,” she said proudly. “Now, as to the Apache camp…I’ve heard it’s quiet now. And I haven’t heard about the family turning on itself out at Calico Jack’s, either. But I’ve already started infiltrating the ranches. I’ve done as you desired. I haven’t failed.”

He grasped her suddenly, his strength terrifying, and wrenched her to him. “I made you, my love. And I can destroy you.”

“I have done as you desired,” she repeated, trying not to shake. He was so powerful, and she’d seen the way, when he was displeased, he turned on his own.

He released her so suddenly that she almost fell, but she caught herself, straightened and stood very still.

“We’ll see about the ranches,” he told her.

“By tomorrow—”

“By tonight,” he said. “I will know.”

She kept her distance as she said, “If you don’t want to come yourself, send anyone you want to check on me. They’ll see that I can manage my end of any deal.”

She saw that she had angered him. Good. She had meant to. She wanted to tell those foolish idiots following him that he was selfish, and a coward. He would cheerfully risk others’ lives, but never his own, letting the townsfolk shoot down his minions, those he had seduced into doing his bidding.

And she was, she knew, expendable.

He walked over to her, but she held her ground, staring at him with hard, knowing eyes.

His arm shot out, and he slapped her. Hard. So hard that she fell to the dirt.

“Remember this, and remember it well. I made you, and I can destroy you. I made you, and I gave you power—I didn’t leave you to rot, or survive off rats and vermin in the woods. Cross me, fail me, and I
will
break you.”

She sat in the dirt, loathing him.

Loathing herself.

Then he was gone.