Phantom Warriors Volume 1 Page 3

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  Bacchus found the car and followed the highway south, heading to the palm tree-lined area Carrie called home. Driving ended up being a bit more difficult than it first appeared from viewing Brady to it, but Bacchus eventually got the hang of it.

  He learned to wave with one hand while honking and steering with the other, just like the drivers who passed him. Bacchus still didn’t quite understand why they’d put that red octagon-shaped sign on the side of the road. It now sat in his back seat, along with a couple of orange cones, the car’s bumper and a small pine tree. It shouldn’t have been planted so close to the sidewalk, anyway.

  Bacchus arrived as darkness descended upon the neighborhood. Finding things in Los Angeles was difficult with its one-way streets here, no entrance areas there. He’d barely missed the man holding the 'slow traffic ahead' sign. If he hadn’t dove out of the way into a nearby pile of dirt, Bacchus would’ve flattened his feet. He could still hear the man’s curses ringing in his ears and see his raised fist punching the air. Luckily, Bacchus had made it and the car was still in two pieces.

  He slipped out of Brady’s borrowed clothes, folding them neatly on the leather seat beside him before killing the engine. Bacchus sat in the car for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the night. His forked tongue darted out of his mouth so he could scent the air. The streets were relatively quiet, except for the constant hum of traffic on the freeways in the distance. Nearby dogs barked as underground sprinklers sprouted to life.

  Bacchus could hear stereos thumping alien music, couples making love, murmuring television sets, yet no ocean. His ears strained as he searched for the gentle lapping of the distant waves. There it was, buried beneath the cacophony of existence. He stepped out of the vehicle, his feet falling silently on the pavement, and faded into the darkness.

  Shrubs lined Carrie’s small yard, creating a green wall of privacy around her little white home. Fragrant flowers surrounded the windowsills, their red and yellow blooms adding a burst of color to the otherwise plain palette.

  Neat and obviously well tended, the space was cozy and seemed to fit the personality Brady assigned to her. Curious, Bacchus allowed his image to solidify. He stood in the shadows, searching the windows for any sign of life.

  Would she look like the woman Brady created in his mind? Would she have short brown hair and a pixie face?

  Then Bacchus saw her. Like taking an Atlantean energy blast to the gut, the air rushed from his lungs in a whoosh. Carrie flicked the light switch on, illuminating her fair skin under the soft glow.

  She’d changed her hair since Brady had last seen her. It was now shoulder length and blonde, without a trace of the brown that had been there before. Tiny boned but long of limb, she moved with the grace of a gazelle as she walked from room to room, lights twinkling on in her wake. She stopped in the main area, a rolled magazine grasped in her hand. Carrie brought the pages to her mouth and began to sing into it. She tossed her head back as she held a long note, while her hips swayed in time to the beat.

  Bacchus stared, gaping, unable to look away. He'd expected tears and moping, not singing and dancing. Blood rushed from his head straight to his cock as she dropped the magazine and bent over to pick it up off the floor. She held it in her hand, carefully unfurling it, before placing it onto a side table. Bacchus knew without looking that his eyes glowed red to match the heat churning inside of him. He could feel the color as it surged through his body, demanding release.

  The need to possess this woman was strong, but he fought his instincts. He couldn’t exactly march in and demand she mate with him. He didn’t even know if it were even possible. Beyond that, Bacchus knew he would scare her to death in his current condition and that was the last thing he wanted. He needed Carrie to come to him willingly in order for the blood bond to work. This was going to take careful planning, not a direct assault. He hated the idea of deceiving her, but what choice did he have? The future of his people depended on his success with this species, this fragile woman.

  Tiny lines bracketed her mouth as she pursed her lips into an ”o” and began to whistle. The sound tore through him, slicing into his flesh while imbedding in his soul. His gaze remained locked on her enticing lips as they puffed out in order for her to blow. Bacchus longed to cover her mouth and capture the sound, draw it deep into his body for safekeeping.

  His three-inch fangs unfurled without warning. Sudden hunger beat at his brow. He brought his hands to his temples and rubbed as he followed the curve of her mouth down to her chin and over to her throat. Bacchus could hear her blood pumping just below the surface of her milky skin. It called to him, demanding that he taste her essence.

  Bacchus swallowed hard, fighting the urge to mark her as his own. He needed to be sure Carrie and the other females like her were compatible with his people. The only way to do that was to get close, but not tonight.

  Tonight was for observing. A breeze filtered over his skin. He watched her for another two hours. She sat on the couch, laughing at a television show he didn’t understand. The yellow cartoon characters appeared to be some kind of family with a particularly unruly son. Bacchus glared at the screen. If that boy were his child, he’d spend his time in the fields picking crystals until he learned how to behave and stop mistreating his sister, Lisa.

  * * * * *

  Carrie watched her favorite show, feeling the quiet press in around her. She'd tried singing and whistling, anything to fill the silence. Ryan had brought the house to life with his raucous laughter. Always one to pull childish pranks, he kept her in stitches for the short time that they'd lived together. It was one of the many reasons she'd said yes, when he'd asked her to marry him. The other was because he'd been Brady's best friend and was always around. She thought she knew him. Thought she could count on him. Turned out, she didn't know him at all.

  Despite the ugly breakup and his subsequent car accident, she still missed him. The blame and guilt lingered, but the pain wasn’t quite as acute as it had been in the beginning. She had always thought that she’d been in love with Ryan, but lately…

  Even Brady’s sudden desertion nine months ago didn’t hurt as much as it once had. Carrie wasn’t sure what that said about their sibling relationship. Oh, she knew her brother loved her and she loved him, but there'd been a darkness growing inside of him for years. Ryan's death and the loss of his job had only hastened the spread. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't save Brady from himself.

  The skin on the back of her neck prickled and heated, something it had been doing for the past hour. Carrie looked over to make sure her alarm system was set, then glanced out her living room window into her front yard. Darkness met her. The shadows clung to the bushes, making them seem particularly dense for the time of night. Her eyes strained to penetrate the inky mass.

  No movement came beyond the hiss and spray of the sprinkler system. There was nothing to explain the sudden wave of hyper-awareness coursing through her body or the heaviness in her breasts. Carrie looked down at the front of her shirt, noting her pebbled nipples. She crossed her arms over her chest. Maybe it was time to start dating again. She gave the darkness one last glance, before dismissing the whole thing as an overactive imagination and settling back in her chair.

  Carrie stared at the empty chair opposite her. Loneliness rose so quickly that she barely had time to tamp it down. She loved this house, but she'd been thinking lately that a change might do her some good. Carrie wasn’t sure where she’d go, but it would certainly be easy enough to sell the house, since she was only a few miles from the beach. With the money she’d make from the sale, it wouldn’t be a problem to start over. Maybe she would even take the time to get back into her original field of study, herpetology. Not that there was anything wrong with training and breeding dogs, but the job wasn’t the same as working with amphibians and reptiles. Some girls loved the warm and fuzzy, she loved cool and scaly. Surely there was someplace in the world in
need of an experienced herpetologist.

  A particularly funny line from the TV show drew her back from her musings. Carrie laughed, temporarily forgetting about her plans and her earlier apprehensions.

  * * * * *

  Bacchus left Carrie’s house after she went to bed. Tonight, he’d organize for his approach much like he prepared for battle, with one exception. This war, more than any other, would determine his future and the fate of the Phantom race.

  He drove north for several miles, his mind on Carrie. The open window delivered cool air to the inside of the car, but did little to diminish his need. He was so caught up in planning for their first meeting that Bacchus almost missed the woman’s muffled screams in the distance. He hit the breaks and the car skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. Bacchus listened, his heart pounding in his chest. Silence ensued.

  Had he imagined the cries?

  Bacchus pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He glided out of the seat, his tongue testing the air for danger. It took two turns to the right, but he found what he sought. The trail of sweat and fear was faint, but he’d be able to follow it. Bacchus got back into the vehicle and swung it around.

  A mile later he found the darkened alley where a woman lay crouched on the ground. Her knees were cut, along with her hands. Bruises marred her pretty face. Her eyes watered as shock took hold and left her shaken. The men had ripped her skirt, leaving her exposed, covered in nothing, but her underwear. The group surrounded her, taunting like a pack of hungry wolves. Her shirt hung from her limbs, the buttons torn from their threads.

  Bacchus caught snippets of the conversation, something about pulling a train, which made no sense, since they were miles from the railroad tracks. No one in the nearby houses came to her rescue. It was as if they didn’t hear her cries. Or didn’t want to. Televisions were turned up to their highest volumes and radios blasted distorted songs.

  His forked tongue slithered out of his mouth once again. Bacchus tasted sexual need, along with depravity. So they planned to fuck this helpless woman once they finished beating her. Anger boiled inside of him. Bacchus pulled the car into the alley and stopped, cutting the engine and the lights as he stepped out. His feet were silent upon the uneven ground as he moved closer to the men.

  “Are you lost, man?” one of the men asked, noticing his approach.

  “No, I’m aware of my surroundings,” he said, causing the men to shoot confused glances at each other.

  “Then what are you doing here?” a dark-haired, pock-faced man asked, stepping toward him in a manner Bacchus was sure was meant to be threatening.

  The man had no way of knowing the creatures that he’d faced in battle in order to prove himself a warrior. His stern stance was little more than an annoyance that Bacchus could easily dispatch with no effort whatsoever.

  “This isn’t a safe neighborhood to be in,” he continued, aggression oozing from his pores.

  “I can see that,” Bacchus said. His gaze flicked to each man, before focusing on the woman who wept silently, her brown eyes a mixture of pleading and fear. The beast inside Bacchus rejoiced. A good fight would alleviate some of the sexual tension strumming through his body.

  “I think you should leave, if you know what’s good for you,” the young man said, pulling up his shirt to show Bacchus the gun hidden in his low-riding pants.

  A bullet couldn’t penetrate his flight suit, but it could leave a nasty hole in his head. Bacchus doubted any of these men were good enough shots to pull off that feat, especially with him moving in and out of their sights. Even so, he wouldn’t give them the opportunity to try. He felt his power flow. He knew his eyes would blaze red in the darkness like a demon from their religious texts. He heard the men gasp, and then they stepped back.

  In the next instant, Bacchus’ fangs unfurled and venom shot out ten feet, spraying three of the men in the face. Screams rang out as the men wiped their eyes. The toxins would temporarily blind them while he took care of the others. Bacchus roared, blurring his image until he was a nightmare come to life.

  He surged forward as the young man who’d been speaking earlier reached for his weapon. He pulled the gun out and fired repeatedly. The rounds penetrated a wall nearby, sending plaster raining onto the ground. Bacchus grasped the man’s fingers and squeezed. The man screamed. A loud crunch filled the air as the bones snapped and crumbled to powder. He kept his grip on the man long enough to pull him forward. The man’s terrified wails increased when Bacchus sank his fangs deep into his throat and began to drink. He struggled for a second more, then went limp in surrender. He may talk tough, but he behaved like prey.

  The man's blood tasted sour on Bacchus’ tongue. Something tainted his body. Bacchus dropped the man onto the ground with a thud. He’d remain paralyzed for the next few hours due to the tiny bit of venom he’d purposely expelled when he bit him. Bacchus turned to face the final three, only to see two of them swivel and run. The third stood his ground, a knife clutched beneath white knuckles.

  “Come on!” he shouted. “I’m not afraid of a vampire. I have a cross.” He pulled his shirt open to show Bacchus the large silver chain around his neck, grasping it like a talisman.

  The hypocrisy of the move did not escape him. Bacchus threw his head back and laughed, licking blood from his fangs as he did so. The young man’s taste triggered his hunger. He fought the need for satiation.

  “Do you expect me to fear the metal pressed against your chest, when you do not?” Bacchus asked.

  “Vampires can’t look upon crosses. It hurts them.” The man glanced around as if help would suddenly appear. "Everybody knows that."

  Bacchus brushed his clothing. “I did not,” he said, disappearing, only to reappear behind the man. The brush of breath on his neck was the only warning the man received as Bacchus plunged his fangs into his shoulder.

  The man tried to stab him, but Bacchus’ hand shot out, catching the weapon before it could do any damage.

  He retracted his fangs to speak. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said, before gripping the man’s chin and craning his neck for better access.

  Bacchus drank until he sated his hunger. The rich fiery taste of blood filled every cell in his body. He stopped when he heard the man’s heart stutter, although he had no moral qualms when it came to killing. Bacchus bent the knife blade with little effort and dropped it onto the ground with his drowsy attacker. He’d think twice before he pounced upon a stranger again in a darkened alley.

  The woman remained on the ground, her eyes wide with horror. She bled from so many places it was hard for Bacchus to concentrate. He took a couple of deep breaths, his body fading and solidifying repeatedly while he wrenched back control. The smell of blood permeated the air like coppery perfume. Finally, he stilled, his mind firmly back under his command.

  “It’s okay,” he said, holding his hand out in a soothing gesture. Bacchus lowered his voice. “I won’t harm you.”

  She whimpered and hunkered down in an attempt to make herself smaller.

  Bacchus forced his fangs to retract. He hadn’t intended to scare her, but he knew there was no helping her without a fight. He needed to get her home, so that her family could get her medical attention. Bacchus didn’t think the men had sexually assaulted her, but the shock of the beating wouldn’t wear off anytime soon. “Do you live around here?” he asked.

  The woman glanced up tentatively, eyeing his mouth as if she didn’t trust what she’d seen. Bacchus relaxed. Soon she would doubt her recollection, which was for the best. She’d been through enough. “I live a couple of blocks over,” she said, taking shuddering gasps of air and clutching her tattered clothes to her chest.

  “Let me take you home.”

  She glanced around at the men on the ground. “They were going to rape and kill me.”

  “I know.” Bacchus clenched his fists. “They will not harm you again or I will return and finish what I started. Next time I will not be so
merciful.” The threat was clear for all to hear. The men whimpered in response.

  “Are they going to die?”

  “Not tonight, but they will if they continue on this path of destruction.” He shook his head. The instinct to kill was tempting. This wasn’t the first woman to suffer at the hands of these men. Others had not been nearly as fortunate. Bacchus had tasted the truth in their veins. He knew he could have killed them easily, but he wasn’t here to battle an enemy, however deserving of death. He thought about Carrie and his three hearts began to pound. He was here for an entirely different kind of fight, one that involved domination, submission and ultimate survival.

  “Please, come,” Bacchus said before he changed his mind and sentenced the men to death. He led the woman to his car, supporting her with a hand at her elbow. He opened the door for her and waited for her to step inside. “I’ll be right back. Wait here.”

  Bacchus strolled back to the incapacitated men. The three blinded ones wept in fear as they heard his purposeful footfalls, while the fourth and fifth lay supine, unable to move, their black eyes wide with fright.

  “If I ever see any of you around this woman again, I will kill you. I can do so at any time and you'd never see me coming." Bacchus allowed his fangs to unfurl as he bent over the paralyzed man. Venom clung to the sharp tip, dropping onto the man’s white shirt. “Blink if you understand me,” he snarled.

  The man blinked rapidly, tears filling his eyes.

  “Good.” Bacchus smiled, flicking his forked tongue into the air. The two men who’d run earlier hid not far from the alley. He could hear their rapid heartbeats. They would return and gather the remaining five. Bacchus didn’t understand this planet. With all the resources here, including healthy women, why did they take so much for granted?

  He pictured Carrie. He did not have such a luxury and for once in his life he was grateful for that small gift.