Stallion of Ash and Flame (Siren Publishing Classic) (23 page)

The crystalline clarity of her eyes told him all he needed to know, that she’d shared her deepest truth with him. He indicated with a subtle nod that he heard her.

“Here, on Earth, I cannot sire a child. The frequency matrix of Earth neutralizes my sperm. On my world, I could only impregnate you if you were given a substance that would cause your fertility. Seneca, we have time for whatever we decide. Now I want to be with you, live with you, love you.”

She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “Come on, stud, before I start crying.” She gave a little jump.

Trail eased her up and off his cock, setting her on her feet. He stood as she pulled up her jeans and closed them. What his precious mare needed was her routine. She needed to feel the love of her horses and to feel her love for them.

Zipping up his jeans, he followed her, then stood watching as she rapidly changed her t-shirt.

Freeing her hair, she tossed her gorgeous mane. “Don’t want everyone knowing what you did.” She eyed him, stifling his comeback, and they moved from the room to the front door.

Enjoying her strength with him, he psi-searched for Sheriff Colgan’s location, certain he’d discovered his surveillance bugs no longer worked.

“Do you want a gun?” she asked, strapping on her own holster.

“No, it will slow me down.” She nodded. “Who are you remote viewing?”

“The sheriff. He should know by now he’s hearing and seeing nothing.”

“Do you need to stay here?”

“No. I can tune into your energy and stay beside you.”

Pivoting, she peered through the front window, checking before she opened the door. “Fear, I love it,” she drily muttered, then turned the handle. Briskly she walked onto the porch, paused to sweep her gaze around, then trotted down the steps heading for the stable.

With his energy body attached to hers, he kept up with her stride and watched Sheriff Colgan pace his cluttered office, his mood severely agitated. Grabbing up an unused ashtray with the hand Trail hadn’t bitten as shifted stallion, he hurled it against the wall.

Despite the heavy duty painkillers he’d taken, Sheriff Colgan groaned with the pain of his severely bruised chest, where Trail’s hooves had pummeled him. For seconds, Trail observed the webbing of the Oxycontin break apart, then reunite.

Made of thick plastic, the ash tray didn’t break. A string of vile curses flew out of the sheriff’s mouth. He slapped a pile of files onto the floor, then grimaced with more pain.

“People are here,” Seneca warned him over her shoulder.

“Got it.”

Trail watched Sheriff Pork Belly grip his holster belt, turn, and stomp toward a separate phone on a rolling stand near his desk. It appeared to be a private line, since a fax unit with a phone sat on top of his desk. Snagging it inside his palm, he thumbed in a number and growled curses when there was no answer.

“Why don’t you go get my truck?” she suggested. “I’ll tell them you’re putting in some oil if anyone notices.”

Trail caught her hand, briefly squeezing. He veered toward Rory’s workshop. One part of his awareness noticed the waning afternoon light, and he scanned the stable area to make certain only her boarding people were present, easily seen since he saw their vibrational attachment to their horses. Satisfied, he broke into a fast stride.

Concentrating, he heard the sheriff grunt and watched him shove the phone next to his ear.

“Yeah. That you, Kenny?” Pork Belly demanded in a low voice.

Stepping inside her truck’s cab, Trail settled comfortably, and trained his entire mind on the sheriff’s conversation.

“You owe me a favor...Yeah, you do, boy. Remember that little jail incident I covered up? I don’t give a shit about your anniversary with your girlfriend. You need to finish the job I hired you for in the first place. She ain’t dead. She ain’t even wounded. Shithead, what do you use for brains? I know I told you it turned out better that way. Things have changed. The bitch thinks she can bust my nuts. No, never mind. Just get up there tonight. Kill one of those damn horses of hers. What the fuckin’ hell are you talking about? That drifter she hired won’t be stayin’ in that fancy barn. By now, with his reputation, he’s probably got her ass in bed and givin’ it to her in the ass. I don’t give a mountain of shit how fast his reflexes were. All you have to do is...Yeah, okay. I’ll make it worth your while. Just get it done.”

Slamming down the phone, Sheriff Colgan swiped his hand through his thinning hair, then plopped his hat on his head and lumbered out of his office. Trail arrowed his sixth sense through the phone line. The first thing he discovered was that Kenny had recorded the sheriff’s entire call. Trail thought fast.

With a few manipulations at the town’s main fiber optics switch, Trail sent the recorded call to every residence with a phone line. Locating the nearest cell tower, he repeated his efforts. When he found the Agency tap on the phone line Rory had used, he sent the recording directly, just for grins.

Grimly, he realized the time had come for him and Sheriff Colgan to have a meeting of the minds, fists included—before the local Boss Hawg went hog-wild crazy coming after Seneca, her brother or her horses.

Trail started her pickup, not bothering with the ignition key. Wheeling it around, he headed for the stable.

Seneca met him as he neared the stable’s entrance, her expression questioning. Relieved no one was nearby, he lowered the window.

“What is it?” she asked in a low voice.

“Sheriff Colgan is losing it, Seneca. He’s acting like a wounded wild boar.”

Her eyes widened. “What are you planning?”

“I’m planning to mess with his mind and leave a very strong impression.”

Her brow furrowed with worry. “You don’t want me going along, do you?”

“You’re safer here.”

“I’m not happy about this, bossy stud,” she whispered. Planting a fist on her hip, she twisted the corner of her mouth. “But do what you have to do. I guess I’ll be the good little future girlfriend and wait here. Yeah, you can find me in the kitchen, baking or something.”

Trail grinned. He couldn’t help it. “I’ll remember to bring dinner home.”

“Suit yourself. While you’re at it, pick up the groceries you want.” She started to whirl away, but turned back. “Be careful,” she mouthed, her heart in her eyes.

“I love you,” he mouthed back.

Her eyes glowed beautifully for a split second, then she shook her head as if it was all too much. Still, she offered him a tiny smile before striding away. “Marcia, I’m coming,” she called out. “I can help you.”

Trail pulled around, driving toward his pickup. Acting as if he wasn’t in any hurry, he parked her truck and hopped inside his. It’d been a good thing Marcia had shouted for Seneca, or he would have been damn tempted to bring his woman along. Not a smart move, no matter how he analyzed it.

Honing in on Sheriff Colgan, he psi-found him with one of his prostitutes, giving her explicit instructions on how he wanted his semi-erect penis handled.

That’s right, honey. That’s what the bull horn wants. You do it right, and I’ll give you something extra.

Heart Mate

Figuring Boss Hawg wouldn’t be leaving any time soon, Trail floated his awareness above the modest ranch house and decided not to use his pickup’s specialized features. He tuned into the local news station on the pickup’s standard radio, wondering how long it would take before the sheriff’s recorded call hit the air waves. If it did. Fear was a powerful tool, and a lot of people were terrified of Sheriff Colgan.

Why hadn’t he noticed the stench of terror before? But he knew why. His focus had been on protecting the portal from firestorms, and eluding his enemies. Not only that, the stench permeated the entire human world.

Touching open a hidden panel, he set the small screen to display email traffic in the area. People were more likely to spread the news that way instead of using their phones. Sure enough, emails flew back and forth, most of them expressing shocked outrage, then speculation about who the sheriff had targeted, Seneca being one of them.

A rapid fire discussion ensued about how the call had been sent through to all their phones. Of course, some wondered if it was an elaborate conspiracy to frame Sheriff Colgan. None of the people who had been victimized by him before, and there were plenty, objected if it was all a frame-up. Their personal stories soon became a flurry of cyber bits back and forth.

Closing in on town, Trail dipped his awareness inside the woman’s house and quickly retreated. Pork Belly’s grunts and glaring bare butt humping up and down held as much appeal as watching mold grow on grass. Truthfully, he told himself, he preferred mold.

Once in town, he slowly wove through the back streets, looking for the best place to park, where he could remain out of sight, yet close enough to the sheriff. The woman’s house was located at the far end of town, the half acre lot somewhat isolated from the surrounding houses and a gas-up convenience store.

Trail decided on Miranda’s empty driveway, pulling in. Miranda waited tables at an all-night truck stop thirty-five minutes from town and wouldn’t be home for several hours.

The stallion within reared furiously, anxious to use the sheriff’s mind as play for his hooves. Trail psi-spied out Sheriff Colgan’s personal SUV parked in the employee area of the convenience store, easy since bull horns decorated the front hood. He centered his mental watch on the house’s three doors, the side door being closest to the parking lot.

Trail plotted out a simple strategy, then let his horse self take over his mind. Recalling his savage attack as stallion, he spun his force to a heightened state, preparing for the moment the sheriff stepped outside. Not wanting to involve the woman, he psi-peeked inside. Pork Belly pulled up his pants and reached to strap on his gun belt.

You done it so good for the bull horn, honey, I’ll be back real soon.

Sure thing, Sheriff, you just let me know, so I can be waitin’ for ya.

Withdrawing his awareness, Trail scanned the immediate area with his gaze instead. He eased out of his pickup, carefully shoving the door shut. Stealthily, but casually, he moved through the long shadows of early evening toward the house.

In his mind’s eye he watched Pork Belly open the side door, furtively glance around like the criminal he was, then thrust through the screen door. Still a couple of blocks away from the house, Trail broke into a jog and began his psi-attack. First, he surfaced the memory of his stallion rampage, bringing it to the forefront of his enemy’s mind. Keeping track of his target’s progress, he increased the intensity of the remembrance until Sheriff Colgan halted, gazing all around himself.

Fear driving him, the town’s very own Boss Hawg withdrew his weapon.

Trail closed in, sighting the sheriff with his gaze between the house and the convenience store. He blasted a movie-like image of the stallion charging up from behind him. Pork Belly hauled his bulk like an athlete, sprinting for his SUV, his gun waving at his side.

Running now, Trail kept his distance and passed him. He positioned himself against the side of the store, keeping watch. The sheriff slammed his backside against his SUV door, whirled around and aimed his gun. Trail mind-created the stallion to rear and scream in front of him, yet far enough away that Pork Belly didn’t shoot.

“Stay away from me, you fucking son of a demon. I said stay away.” Sheriff Colgan’s hysterical yell boomed over the entire area, causing two people fueling their cars to throw glances his way.

In the sheriff’s mind, Trail circled the stallion around the SUV, as if the demon horse looked for the best way to attack him. Pork Belly followed with his weapon, cursing and hollering threats.

“Tim,” one of the customers shouted. “Get the hell out here with your pistol, the sheriff’s gone crazy.”

In the background, Trail heard them loudly discussing what to do. He halted the stallion in the empty field and had him lower his head, then bare his teeth. Concentrating on creating the stallion to look as real as possible, he made him charge.

Sheriff Colgan leveled his gun. “Good, good, come on, you shit ugly demon from hell. I’m gonna blow your fuckin’ brains out. Watch your blood spurt out. I’m gonna watch you die. Come on. That’s it. You’re gonna die.”

Boom! Boom! Boom! The sheriff unloaded his revolver. With adrenaline-fed speed, he opened his SUV door, snatching out a rifle. Trail launched forward, yelling, “Get help! Get help, he’s got a rifle.”

Pork Belly stumbled backwards, as if he snapped out of a hypnotic state. Seeing Trail race toward him, he jerked the rifle up, aiming. A split second later, Trail dived. Striking the rifle barrel with his forearm, he smashed his full body weight against the sheriff’s chest and gut, knocking the wind out of him.

Pork Belly grunted, the rifle clattering to the pavement. Trail stepped back just far enough to deliver a cruel blow to the sheriff’s testicles with one knee. Cursing like a mad man, Pork Belly grabbed for his nuts, his arms stretching over his prominent gut. Trail landed a vicious uppercut to his jaw. The sheriff rocked back with a crashing thud and collapsed against the SUV. The second he moved to lift a fist, Trail shot his fist into Sheriff Colgan’s solar plexus.

Pork Belly crumpled, sliding down the slick exterior of his SUV. Moving back, Trail watched him fall on the ground like a giant sack of grain.

“I’ve got him covered. You can step back.”

Slowly, Trail walked backwards several feet and pivoted. Tim aimed his pistol. Two other people aimed their cell phones, taking vid pictures.

“Trail, is that you?” Tim asked, keeping a steady eye and aim on the down-for-the-count coward.

“Yeah, I was walking by and heard the ruckus. Handled a few like him before. If you don’t mind, I don’t want nothin’ to do with the Fed cops.” He indicated the arrival of a sleek black limousine with a nod of his head. “Besides, I want to keep my new employer happy. I promised I’d pick up dinner on my way back.”

“No problem. We’ll handle it. Okay, guys?”

“Yeah, no problem with us. We’ll tell them we couldn’t tell who you were,” Kyle agreed.