Wendy sprawled her naked body across the cushions and hugged me. “Why don’t you direct some of that emotion in my direction and give me a good banging? Where’s this Latin machismo I’ve heard so much about? And you’re a vampire. My first. You should have me pinned to the floor already.”
She rubbed her neck against my face. The sensation of her blood surging through juicy veins only millimeters beneath her skin inflamed my desire. My fangs grew. I’d show her a vampire.
We rolled on the cushions to smooch and fumble until I was naked too.
“Fang me,” she groaned and arched her neck back.
I dragged the tips of my elongated incisors against the tender skin of her throat. I’d pierce her skin but not drink the blood.
Wendy’s aura flashed bright, like an alarm. Finally I had her libido on full burner. She would forget all about Moby Dick.
She pushed me off and sat up. The roses scattered from her hair. “Someone’s at the back door.”
Wooden steps creaked faintly. So it wasn’t my prowess that had set off her aura. Could it be vânätori de vampir?
Adrenaline pumped into my muscles and prepared me for a fight. I yanked my trousers on, stood, and went through the kitchen to the back door. Suddenly modest, Wendy pulled on her blouse and crept behind me.
The silhouette of a man darkened the curtain on the door. He raised an arm.
I pushed Wendy back. Our feet tangled, and we toppled over.
The window glass exploded. A clay jar on a kitchen shelf shattered and sprayed us with flour.
A gloved hand reached through the broken window and fumbled with the doorknob.
I rolled away from Wendy. She placed her hands and feet against the wall and climbed up. I sprang to the ceiling, attempting to cling and haul my body upward where I could surprise the attacker from above.
But my fingertips couldn’t hold and I dropped to the floor. This vampire power failed me again. Instead I crouched, my legs flexed and readied to propel me forward. My fangs jutted out. I’d strike at his face, blind him, and then rip open his throat. Gun or no gun, our attacker was about to die.
The door lock released. The door swung open.
CHAPTER 22
THE INSTANT I SAW the intruder block the open doorway, I zapped him with my vampire glare.
Dark wraparound sunglasses shielded his eyes.
Damn, I couldn’t hypnotize him.
I took a mental snapshot.
A red aura blazing like the fire from a rocket nozzle surrounded his hefty bulk. Tall, easily six-four. A big man who knew how to use his muscles. Black leather jacket. A head like a rectangular hunk of stone topped with short, wiry blond hair.
Was he the same gunman who had chased me into the ditch with an M16? And the guy who broke into my apartment and whacked me on the head? How did he know I was here? Was he stalking me? Who did he work for?
Wendy tucked herself next to the overhead cabinets above me, like a moth trying to hide.
He shifted his weight to one side. The afternoon sunlight burst around him and flooded the kitchen to scald my naked torso.
I stumbled backwards toward the counter and clutched the air in pain. Through tearing eyes, I glimpsed the long barrel of a silencer jerk toward me. A plastic bag covered the pistol, a professional killer’s trick to catch ejected casings.
I knocked over a row of bottles on the counter. Instinctively, I snatched one bottle and blindly hurled it at the gunman. He ducked when the glass bottle shattered against the doorframe by his head and splashed olive oil. His pistol fired. A bullet tore into the ceiling. Wendy flinched. Flakes of plaster rained down.
Fumbling with the next bottle, I threw it wildly and smashed it on the floor between his feet to make him dance as vinegar doused his legs.
I clutched the next bottle and knocked loose the glass stopper. The liquid splashed on my skin and burned like acid. The pungent odor of garlic oil stung my nose. I yelped and jumped back.
A bullet gouged the countertop inches from my hand.
Desperately, I grabbed another small round bottle and cocked my arm.
“Not that one,” Wendy shouted.
Too late. My arm whipped around and the bottle shot from my hand. The bottle struck above the door and sprayed the gunman with liquid that immediately turned into a white cloud of vapor.
The spikes of the gunman’s aura blunted and writhed, signaling his confusion. His pistol trembled. He teetered against the doorjamb, fired again and missed.
A fine mist from the vapor settled on my skin and soothed the burning pain. An intense sweet flowery smell overcame me. Dizzy, I leaned against the counter to keep from falling over.
Wendy groaned in disbelief and floated to the floor.
The sunglasses couldn’t hide the alarm in the gunman’s expression. The spikes of his aura became short and dense like fuzz. His posture relaxed. He smiled, a wide slash of big teeth.
The gunman walked toward me, holding his left hand up to reach for my face.
I wanted to shrink away from him but didn’t. From the depths of my confusion, I felt the swoon of anticipation.
His thick fingers clasped the back of my neck. He pulled me forward tenderly. Wrinkles and tiny pockmarks marred his complexion, yet I found him irresistible. His smile condensed as his lips pressed together. Our lips barely touched.
Droplets rained on my skin. Immediately my desire turned into mortification. The face which seconds ago seemed handsome now repulsed me. Both the gunman and I shoved each other away.
He squeezed his tongue between his teeth as if to scrape away any taste of me.
Likewise, I wiped my mouth in disgust. More droplets drizzled onto my skin. Wendy worked the trigger of a small brass spritzer to mist the gunman and me. As my skin absorbed the droplets, my revulsion intensified.
The gunman retched and staggered out of the kitchen doorway and onto the back porch. “Next time, Felix,” he yelled. “Next time.”
He lurched toward a wooden gate at the far end of the small yard. I lost my would-be assassin in the dazzle of the afternoon sun. A car door slammed in the alley. The sudden squeal of tires meant someone had been waiting for him.
Wendy set the spritzer on the counter and didn’t move until the sound of the car faded. She tiptoed over the broken glass on the floor, seemingly unaffected by the lingering vapor. She pushed the kitchen door closed and pulled the curtain tight over the window. The darkened room calmed and soothed me.
I slid against the counter cabinet until I rested on the floor. Spots danced across my vision. “What the hell happened?”
“You threw a bottle of love potion. That’s what saved you.” She raked her fingers through her tresses, now stringy and oily. “You can see what it does to my hair.”
“I’ll buy you shampoo.”
Wendy pointed to the spritzer. “I had to counteract the potion with a repulsion tonic. Not that I wasn’t tempted to watch you and our visitor go at it. But I have dibs on you. He can wait for his turn.”
“It’ll be a long wait.”
“I hope so. He wasn’t a vampire hunter, was he?” she asked.
“No. He wasn’t from the group who attacked me before. But I’m positive he was the guy who whacked me on the head. He’s come after me at least twice already.”
“Then who is he? And who sent him?”
“I’m guessing the same people behind the cover-up at Rocky Flats. I was warned my investigation into the nymphomania was more important than murder. I didn’t figure that might have meant my murder.”
I picked up a fragment of the bottle that had contained the love potion. “Maybe this was the cause of the outbreak.”
Wendy shook her head. “I doubt it. It’s love potion, not Spanish fly. Did any of the women mention falling for their…uh…conquests?”
“No. The outbreak was all about grinding genitals. Plus, their auras changed colors from red to yellow. The gunman’s didn’t.”