Destiny Strikes (10 page)

CHAPTER 16

Fallon was afraid to let herself think about Travis.

The last time she let herself think of him too long, she’d awakened from the daydream with a new set of feathers attached to her back.

Wiping pollen from the seat, she methodically moved the damp rag over SAM. Dating had never seemed so far out of reach, until now. Not to say any of her past forays didn’t end in disaster, too. Every time she got overstimulated, her date ended up stunned or dead. There were the occasional lucky few who knocked out cold or left without memory.

Those situations worked perfectly for her: no muss, no fuss. The main thing she could do for them was to leave them out in the open where someone could find them. She’d read a survey in
Popular Science
about people struck by lightning. It stated that men were hit eighty-two percent more often than women. To say she was sexually frustrated was an understatement.

After the bizarre experience, waking up with the wings she thought had been a dream, she learned that her wings folded into her shoulder blades with minimal pain.

Antsy from dealing with her total lack of controlling anything, she needed a breather. A long ride was in order, and it was a beautiful day to travel since it had rained last night. The one thing she disliked about her plan was rinsing SAM off when she returned. One time, angered over the abuse he’d received, she’d popped every transformer on the property. With two weeks left in July, the humidity was up, and everything she passed burst with color and vibrancy. The trees were greener and the flowers brighter as they soaked in the residual raindrops that coated everything.

With the rumble of SAM beneath her, the wind in her hair and nothing but the road in front of her, Fallon found her morose mood lifting. Then, thoughts of Travis intruded again.

She secretly hoped they’d run into each other again. When she was with him, she never felt more like a woman.

She gave herself a pat on the back for not asking the locals anything more about him.
Intriguing
was not a strong enough word to describe a man who had been a total ass. Yet that first dream . . . Her body on his while lying under the stars, ignited by lightning, and repeatedly kissing his tattoo. To be that fucking crazy over a man, she had to be pretty wasted. One hell of a dream without the light show she usually caused.

Yeah, the whole dream thing was weird, but it was not as if she could pursue him. If they did go for a date and she lost control, it would effectively end any chance she had to show Michael she’d changed and no longer looked out just for herself. A risk she wasn’t willing to take.

Late at night, when she dreamed, had she been able to let loose without consequences. With the incident yesterday, she now feared every in-depth fantasy about him.

Which was the reason why she planned to enjoy the things she could have, and the feel of SAM on the open country road was one of them.

Then she spotted a 1969 Chevelle Super Sport with a ‘For Sale’ sign taped to the windshield. She hadn’t seen a vintage muscle car so well preserved available for purchase since the day they rolled across the showroom floor.

She parked next to the Chevelle, and an older man with a big belly and wearing overalls started toward her.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these bad boys,” she acknowledged.

He came around the hood and into her personal space.

“What’s up with that?” Around town and here, it appeared people needed to be right up under you to talk. “I’d like to find out more about your car.” Still straddling SAM, she let the bike roll backward mere inches.

“The name’s Bixby, ma’am. It’s a great car.” He tongued a wad of tobacco deeper into his cheek. “I can’t afford to finish it. My boy told me he was more interested in the newer model Mustang with all its little gadgets and gismos than this here car. Said there was nowhere for him to install his iPod without destroying the integrity of the car.” His nose and upper lip scrunched. “Anyway, let me show you the engine.”

Unlike current models, nineteenth-century cars didn’t have interior release buttons. Bixby reached under the grill and popped the hood. Fallon got off the bike then peered through the driver’s side window. “It’s in beautiful shape.” Everything, including the interior, was black on black, the way she liked it.

Bixby stretched to his full five-foot-nine height and tapered back his prideful smile. “I rebuilt the original engine.”

“Does she run?”

Bixby didn’t waste a beat as he handed Fallon the keys. “Yes, it still needs a little work, but with a three-ninety-six engine, and four-in-the-floor, it would be worth it.”

She started it up and knew right away that the old guy told the truth, but it wouldn’t be anything she couldn’t fix. If she got it home now, maybe she’d have the repairs finished by tonight.

She glanced up at Bixby after pressing the gas a couple of times. He stood by the open door and blocked her exit. “Ma’am, are you sure you want to take over a project like this? Something just isn’t right with it, even with the rebuilt motor.”

“Well listening to it run, it sounds like your timing is off. Either it’s ten-to-twelve degrees off top dead center, or it may even be a hundred-and-eighty degrees out. That should settle what I’m hearing.” She tilted her head with him as they listened to its unmistakable hesitation. If he lied about her diagnosis, he wasn’t worth buying the car from.

“I can’t believe you heard that. I bet a-dollar-to-a-donut that it’s exactly what’s wrong. I never thought of putting the timing light on it. That could solve the problem.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d been stereotyped as a female who didn’t know a thing about engines. Loads of men mistook her as some dense blonde, and she rarely argued the misconception since it allowed her the element of surprise when needed.

“Why, I do believe you’re right.”

She smiled at Bixby and continued to inspect the interior. He finally stepped out of her way, and then she did a gradual inspection of the exterior. There might be a few touch-ups here and there on the outside, but the interior was immaculate. He’d put a lot of work into the car.

“Are you sure you want to sell it?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Shrugging his heavy shoulders, he continued. “I might as well. My boy doesn't want it, and I hate to see all the work I’ve put into it go to waste. You seem to know your cars, so I’ll know it’ll be in good hands.”

“How much are you asking?”

The price Bixby quoted her was a steal. “Done.”

He turned to SAM, and longing entered his eyes. “It’s been a long time since I rode on one of those. When I married the missus, she made me get rid of my bike. It would be a special treat for an old man to enjoy a last ride on one like yours. Just saying, if that is all right with you, I can follow you home and maybe you could give me a ride back.”

She was reluctant to let the old guy ride SAM, but she needed to get home. In the end, she had Bixby drive the car while she followed him on SAM.

Later, after dropping off the car, Fallon gave Bixby her helmet, put on her long-sleeved jacket, before they both hopped on.

Before the perfected age of tanning leather, the smelly material she once wore was basic protection someone would have against her and death. No wonder she preferred nudity. However, if Bixby kept his hands to himself, with twentieth-century technology he’d survive the joyride.

She returned Bixby to his home, where he met his wife at the door. From the surprised look in her eyes as he wrapped his meaty arms around her waist, she’d bet someone’s love life was sparking. The scorching kiss Bixby delivered to his wife wasn’t anything Fallon relished seeing. Her chances at finding the love they had for each other did not exist.

It was late evening and the sounds of insects fell silent, probably scared off by the loud rumble of her motorcycle. She’d taken a route Bixby showed her, even though it was not a shortcut.

Then she heard music filtering over the bike’s motor. Where was it coming from?

Excited about working out the motor of the muscle car’s kinks, she cranked the throttle of her bike and took off. Maybe she could have some peace tonight. Without idle hands, the world was safe and not her playground.

CHAPTER 17

Dennis hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

The skank on the second twin bed crossed her legs, twitching her foot while she texted. The bitch smirked and studied him as if he was her shot of daily entertainment.

Doubled over, Dennis felt feverish, shivering in pain.

The first sign of trouble with his digestive system had started after he killed Barbara.

That was Wednesday.

Now, two days later, he vomited everything he put on his stomach. He’d even eaten a whole pack of crackers. Nothing. Other than hugging up to the toilet.

At first, he figured he suffered from food poisoning.

Now he suspected it was worse than that.

Every part of his body burned from the inside out.

He moaned. The hussy didn’t move. He curled into a fetal position while dry heaves knotted his stomach. Still she didn’t move. Sweating bullets, a vise crimped his muscles once he placed his feet back on the floor. She didn’t move. His knees buckled with the torture of standing. Embarrassed by his weakness, he didn’t look up. The woman moved and hauled his ass up, but her expression was impassive she returned to her phone.

Reluctant to make a fool of himself a second time, he waited for the bedroom to stop spinning before he another attempt at standing.

Screws drilled into his temples. Her voice tightened them.

“Don’t worry, baby. This is the last step in your induction into the world of immortality and securing your birthright.” Not once had she looked him in the eye. Her fingers remained in constant motion over the cell phone.

Fuck her and the person she texted.

He took baby steps. His goal, the white ceramic bowl beside the shower. He dropped to his knees again next to it. After several attempts to empty an empty stomach, he scrubbed a hand over his mouth.

“You know you haven’t been very forthcoming on exactly what kind of immortality. I hope it’s not a vampire. I think sucking blood is nasty.” Dennis belched, holding himself back from more retching.

Silence. Wrung out, he didn’t care. He must’ve fallen asleep. When he woke, he felt a little better.

He stood over the sink, washed his hand before splashing water on his face. Then headed out the room without a glance in the woman’s direction. He grabbed a water from the fridge.

Beep.

Ready to throttle her, he turned in anticipation of doing just that when the landline started ringing. Curling his hand around it, instead of her neck, his terse “Hello!” caught her attention.

He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone, in spite of every evil deed he wanted to visit upon the woman’s beautiful body.

“What’s up with you, man? Kendrick asked, sounding truly upset. “You don’t sound good. And here I was about to invite you to our small get-together."

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” His smile was all teeth, but she couldn’t see it, as one slender hand shooed him and she mouthed, “Go.”

Dennis agreed to meet him, then passed out again.

Sometime later, Dennis groaned when he felt a large hematoma on the back of his head. Thank God, he’d awakened to an empty house. He pushed away from the floor, grateful the edge of the low table hadn’t caused more damage. Sapped, he flopped onto the couch.

Beep.

The gorgeous bitch wasn’t around so he knew it was his phone this time.

He slid the phone from his pocket and read the text. His stomach knotted.

The bitch Anebasi must have decided to continue fucking with him.

I’m :{ did not catch u. Call ME. Ur? don’t 4get.

Several minutes later, showered, shaved, and teeth brushed, he tied the laces of his new pair of Nike Kicks. He didn’t really want to know what sort of immortality he’d be in for, but he made the call anyway.

The conversation was short. When he ended the call, his mind froze.

He was an angel. Unfreaking believable.

The crunch of van tires on gravel indicated his mother had ended her shift at the hospital.

Dennis had not realized how dark the place was until the late-evening light nearly blinded him as she opened the door. His mother looked like shit.

Then Dennis heard the loud rumble of a truck pull into the drive. The horn blared twice.

Some hours later, as dusk approached, he reclined on a threadbare blanket he’d snagged from the back of the Ford F150, and a prime spot claimed on the outskirts, feeling antsy, the noise from fellow partiers aroused him.

Stretching, he entwined his fingers behind his head. Propped up by an oak, he eyed the crowd. Overindulgent men and women chatted in small groups. People with boisterous laughter and raised voices, a result of copious amounts of alcohol, hovered around a keg.

Intrigued with debauched visions of blood and sex behind narrowed lids, he opened his eyes and breathed deep.

The hellish image again surfaced and he couldn’t shake it free.

The blood in his veins thickened. The entire party scene narrowed down to second-by-second frames. The dreamlike quality and slow-motion undulation of bodies reminded Dennis of the stonework and paintings in the movie
Devil’s Advocate
.

An itch irritated his shoulder blades. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to shake a heaviness that had seemed to settle there.

He slowly rose. The rough bark on the tree dug into the ache. His nose flared at the coppery scent that filled the air. Then an altercation over a girl held his attention. The obvious unwanted attention of a man too deep in his Solo cup made a couple of men angry.

Dennis recalled Rafael’s assertion many weeks back. “
When you accept your legacy, there aren’t many who can do what you do
.”

Guided by instinct, Dennis glided forward.

Arms apart, he savored the dark energy flooding the crowd with malicious intent.

Like a lion among gazelles, he stalked his prey.

His first kill, Barbara, had been a test.

So perfect. So innocent.

Dennis searched faces for the one whose blood sang in his soul, the sound almost too beautiful to extinguish. The symphony of music only he’d been blessed to hear had also lived in Barbara.

He recalled every gory and glorious detail.

Barbara’s surprise as he’d nailed her in the face. Her neck snapping back as she’d been launched off her feet. Her screams of agony. Blood gushing from a crushed nose and gash under her eye.

His fist curled.

Limitless power lifted him into the air.

His muscles quivered.

He’d come down straddling Barbara’s hips. Her sobs and the feeble attempt to buck him off added perverse arousal. Crunch. More bones cracked as her blood spilled.

Barbara might have survived her injuries. Then again, maybe, not. Her Angelic half had riled the beast of death on top of her. Through one violet eye, he’d seen that which she didn’t even know lived within her. Her pupils dilated, a glow filled the center, and the harmonious melody that rose in crescendo had diminished.

Seeking to assuage his inner beast’s thirst for bloodshed and snuffing out pure radiance he was privy too, Dennis honed in on his next victim.

His wings unfurled from his body with a loud swoosh. He decided to share some of his current mood with the partying crowd. He visualized what he wanted to see. Then his vision came to life. Carnage reigned, the pathway to his intended victim parted. Zeroing in, he dismissed twisting bodies locked in combat, hair-pulling contests, the sweet sounds of shattered lives caught in a maelstrom of unadulterated hatred.

Then, everything stopped. Because he willed it so. With the exception of music playing everyone fell silent.

Dennis tilted his head, listening for heaven’s melody. It screamed with helplessness, and Becky was none the wiser.

Her features were pixie-like. She had long brown hair that fell below her waist. They had gone to high school together. They had never talked, or even waved in greeting. Now she would never forget him.

“Becky, you have something that doesn’t belong to you,” he said as he caressed her cheek.

“What you’re talking about?” she asked, her nervousness clear, her tone pitched high, and eyes darting everywhere but at him. She stood as still as a statue. As his fingers came down slowly to settle under her chin, a dazed look formed on her face, and she started weaving a little. “What’s wrong with your eyes? They’re black. You’re starting to scare me.” Her voice wobbled in uncertainty.

Dennis followed her confused gaze around the crowd. Everyone’s focus was on them, and he flared his nose again as he smelled their fear.

He knew, with dawning clarity, what he was. His ancestry came from that of the first family. Anebesi’s reference, ‘He that spilt the blood of his brother and left a stain upon the world,’ was indeed his birthright.

Dennis looked around at the assemblage, at their bowed bodies, and laughed. They might not remember all that would happen here tonight, but he would.

“Becky, you don’t know how special you are,” Dennis whispered, embracing her. His cheek skimmed tears coursing down hers. He kissed her temple. “What you give me tonight will be for all of my kind. A soul. A choice. After this day, the Angelic peace you harbor will never emerge. It will die with you tonight.” He sighed with mock regret. The world will lose something only a few know of.”

“Dennis, please tell me what is happening?” Becky’s throat trembled beneath his fingers, her whimpers suffocated.

“Take your last look at mankind, I offer you that.”