SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits by Sheri Whitefeather, Maureen Child, Caridad Piñeiro, Erin Kellison, Erin Quinn, Lisa Kessler, Chris Marie Green, Mary Leo, Cassi Carver, Janet Wellington, Theresa Meyers, Elisabeth Staab
Authors: Sheri Whitefeather, Maureen Child, Caridad Piñeiro, Erin Kellison, Erin Quinn, Lisa Kessler, Chris Marie Green, Mary Leo, Cassi Carver, Janet Wellington, Theresa Meyers, Elisabeth Staab
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They entered the trees and circled among the pines. I crouched still as time, waiting for them to see me. The man with the wagon splinters in his face stopped at the tree next to the one where I hid. The side of his cheek was puffy and bloody, the eyelid swollen nearly shut. Still, if he moved, if he looked straight on . . .
My heart thudded, and the terror I’d held down threatened to swoop up and out in a never-ending scream. My eyes streamed with the effort to be silent, to be still. The man coughed and spat, his face coming up and around to where I huddled. I closed my eyes and silently whispered a prayer.
“Jake!” one of the others shouted. “Anything?”
To my left, Jake answered, but I dared not turn my head to look. I dared not move. Someone else called something from beyond the trees.
“She’s gone,” the bloodied man beside me said. “I say let’s git, too. Ain’t nothing she can do out here but die.”
The truth of that added another layer to my horror.
The four of them gathered together and I trembled with the effort to remain motionless. They conferred for a moment that lasted so long my hands ached and my legs felt weak. Finally they rode away, single file. As the last man spun away, I caught one clear look at him.
It was Lonnie Dean Smith all right. I bit hard on my lip, choking back the sob. The bastard.
I stayed where I was until they’d left the cove, until they’d ridden up and over the ridge. They passed my hiding place close enough that I could have reached out and touched them as they went by. The last man towed Daddy’s two horses behind him, the supplies they’d pilfered weighing heavy on their backs.
Unmoving, I stared at their tracks. Is that how they’d found my family? Followed our trail from our front door? But how were they free? I’d seen the brothers taken away in handcuffs to await their execution. How were they here when they should be in jail? Locked up. Ready to hang?
My daddy must have known they’d break free and come for him. That’s why he’d wanted us to leave as we had, in the dead of the night with only a wagon full of possessions. Daddy had known the Smith brothers wouldn’t hang. He’d known they’d hunt for him. He hadn’t known how fast, though, or with what determination.
Branches pulled at my hair and snagged my clothes when I finally scurried down from the tree. My hands were sticky with sap, and my arms were scratched and bleeding. I hit the ground, wiggled out from under the boughs, and raced toward the camp, silent lest my voice carry and bring the outlaws back. Great billowing waves of black smoke rose up from the valley where we’d stopped. From the hilltop, I saw our wagon ablaze and all our things burning like bonfire. I half-ran, half-stumbled down the to the inferno.
“Momma!” I shouted. My daddy and brother still lay where they’d been gunned down. I ran to them, touching their bloodied and broken bodies with shaking hands. Most of Johnny’s face had been blown away, half of Daddy’s head. There would be no miracle survival for either.
I stood, my hands red with their blood. “Momma!” I cried again. “Grandma!”
No one answered. Holding my apron up to my face, I circled the hot flames to the place where I’d seen my grandmother’s wheelchair. Now I saw what had been hidden before, my grandmother’s wasted body, bloody with gunshots, sprawled on the ground. I dropped to my knees beside her, sobbing, my eyes streaming with tears from grief and pain and smoke. The ground near Grandma’s gray hair was wet, and I realized with sickening rage that the man I’d seen had been urinating not on Grandma’s chair, but on her body.
“No!” I screamed at the sky.
I still hadn’t found my mother. I stood and hurried to the far end of the wagon, where the smoke was like a black wall holding me back. I saw a foot sticking out from beside the wheel. Dropping to my hands and knees I crawled under the
They entered the trees and circled among the pines. I crouched still as time, waiting for them to see me. The man with the wagon splinters in his face stopped at the tree next to the one where I hid. The side of his cheek was puffy and bloody, the eyelid swollen nearly shut. Still, if he moved, if he looked straight on . . .
My heart thudded, and the terror I’d held down threatened to swoop up and out in a never-ending scream. My eyes streamed with the effort to be silent, to be still. The man coughed and spat, his face coming up and around to where I huddled. I closed my eyes and silently whispered a prayer.
“Jake!” one of the others shouted. “Anything?”
To my left, Jake answered, but I dared not turn my head to look. I dared not move. Someone else called something from beyond the trees.
“She’s gone,” the bloodied man beside me said. “I say let’s git, too. Ain’t nothing she can do out here but die.”
The truth of that added another layer to my horror.
The four of them gathered together and I trembled with the effort to remain motionless. They conferred for a moment that lasted so long my hands ached and my legs felt weak. Finally they rode away, single file. As the last man spun away, I caught one clear look at him.
It was Lonnie Dean Smith all right. I bit hard on my lip, choking back the sob. The bastard.
I stayed where I was until they’d left the cove, until they’d ridden up and over the ridge. They passed my hiding place close enough that I could have reached out and touched them as they went by. The last man towed Daddy’s two horses behind him, the supplies they’d pilfered weighing heavy on their backs.
Unmoving, I stared at their tracks. Is that how they’d found my family? Followed our trail from our front door? But how were they free? I’d seen the brothers taken away in handcuffs to await their execution. How were they here when they should be in jail? Locked up. Ready to hang?
My daddy must have known they’d break free and come for him. That’s why he’d wanted us to leave as we had, in the dead of the night with only a wagon full of possessions. Daddy had known the Smith brothers wouldn’t hang. He’d known they’d hunt for him. He hadn’t known how fast, though, or with what determination.
Branches pulled at my hair and snagged my clothes when I finally scurried down from the tree. My hands were sticky with sap, and my arms were scratched and bleeding. I hit the ground, wiggled out from under the boughs, and raced toward the camp, silent lest my voice carry and bring the outlaws back. Great billowing waves of black smoke rose up from the valley where we’d stopped. From the hilltop, I saw our wagon ablaze and all our things burning like bonfire. I half-ran, half-stumbled down the to the inferno.
“Momma!” I shouted. My daddy and brother still lay where they’d been gunned down. I ran to them, touching their bloodied and broken bodies with shaking hands. Most of Johnny’s face had been blown away, half of Daddy’s head. There would be no miracle survival for either.
I stood, my hands red with their blood. “Momma!” I cried again. “Grandma!”
No one answered. Holding my apron up to my face, I circled the hot flames to the place where I’d seen my grandmother’s wheelchair. Now I saw what had been hidden before, my grandmother’s wasted body, bloody with gunshots, sprawled on the ground. I dropped to my knees beside her, sobbing, my eyes streaming with tears from grief and pain and smoke. The ground near Grandma’s gray hair was wet, and I realized with sickening rage that the man I’d seen had been urinating not on Grandma’s chair, but on her body.
“No!” I screamed at the sky.
I still hadn’t found my mother. I stood and hurried to the far end of the wagon, where the smoke was like a black wall holding me back. I saw a foot sticking out from beside the wheel. Dropping to my hands and knees I crawled under the
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