stared through the wall of windows that separated the office from the fabrication shop. Jake McCann stood near a large metal table that held the skeleton of what would soon be the next custom chopper to roll through the doors of the motorcycle shop. Unlike most of the bikes they’d been doing, this one wasn’t headed for a specific individual. Rather, it was a spec model being sent up north to advertise Skull Creek Choppers to the rest of the country. Jake took a few measurements before walking back over to another table that held a sheet of metal that would soon be the gas tank. He reached for a special tool and started tracing out the measurements.
Like most every other man in the small Texas town, Jake wore cowboy boots, jeans, a faded Resistol and an easygoing grin. But unlikemost every other man in town, Jakewas the real deal.Abona fide cowboy who’d been turned back in the eighteen hundreds. He’d spent his human life and a good chunk of his afterlife riding andworking horses for a living. In the past decade or so, he’d traded in his horse for a hog. He was now one of the best cut-and-design guys in the chopper business. Hewas also deeply in love with Nikki Braxton, owner of the town’s most popular beauty salon. Nikkiwas nice and beautiful and still very human. And she was staying that way as far as Jake was concerned.
As long as therewas hope of finding and destroying Garret’s sire.
Dillon’s gaze shifted to the second man clad in jeans, a white T-shirt with a skull and cross bones on the front, and biker boots. He stood in the far corner near a large welding unit. He had a red, white and blue bandana tied around his head, a worn straw Resistol perched on top, and a pair of goggles secured over his eyes. Gloved hands reached for a long strip of metal. He powered on the ARC Unit and worked at the piece, firing and shaping until it started to resemble a rear fender.
Despite the hat, Garret wasn’t anywhere close to a real cowboy. When he’d been turned back in the seventeen hundreds, he’d been a Texas patriot. A bona fide hero, and one of the founding fathers of Skull Creek. Not that anyone in town knew his identity. No, they thought he was just another leather-clad biker who’d invaded their small town to set up a manufacturing shop for his business. He liked fast motorcycles and even faster women, and he’d become somewhat of a role model for Dillon. The older vampire had been teaching him about his new vampness, showing him the ropes and outlining the vampire equivalent of the Ten Commandments.
Number one? No entering a home unless invited by the host. Public buildings were fair game, from the PigglyWiggly to the local VFW Hall, but no personal dwellings unless specifically asked.
Number two—no direct sunlight.
Number three—no sharp objects, including knives, stakes and giant toothpicks like the ones used over at the Pig in the Poke Barbecue Joint.
Number four—no Italian restaurants. The old legend about garlic warding off vampires had turned out to be true. While it couldn’t kill one of Dillon’s kind, it could cause a lot of pain.
Number five—no solid food.
Number six—no changing eye colors. A vampire tended to reflect his emotions with his eyes and so they changed color frequently depending on his mood. Most vampires could control this. Since Dillon was young (in vamp years), he wasn’t able to leash his feelings as easily as his older vamp buddies, but hewas learning.
Number seven—no changing into a bat. Such a change took its toll and made the vampire weak and vulnerable. Which meant it was usually avoided.
Number eight—no indulging in blood and sex at the same time. Unless he wanted to tie himself to one woman for the rest of eternity. Talk about a snowball’s chance in hell. Dillon had waited too long to unleash the wildness inside. Hewasn’t screwing things up by landing himself in a permanent relationship.
Number nine—no spending more than one night with any one woman. The more sex a vampire had with a woman, the more she wanted him. The last thing any vampire needed was a Fatal Attraction chasing him all over town.
Which led to number ten—keeping a low profile. A vampire’s survival hinged on blending in with mainstream society, laying low and playing it cool.
Hence Garret’s cowboy hat. The vamp was now living in a small Texas town, and When in Rome, as the saying went.
While Garret taught the importance of blending and urged Dillon to accept what he’d become, the vampire didn’t seem all that content in his own skin.
Rather, he seemed restless.
Anxious.
Hungry.
But not for sex and blood. No, Garret wanted what Jake wanted—his humanity.
Dillon turned his attention back to the computer and clicked on his Internet Explorer. A few seconds later, he logged in at MeetVamps.com and scrolled down the screen to the first comment posted on his page yesterday.
Lovrgrlvamp: Hey, there, Skull Creek. I’m not wearing any panties and it’s soooo hot. I’m here waiting for u, baby.
O-kay. It wasn’t exactly what he had had in mind when he’d signed up and started blogging a few weeks ago—to get some sort of lead on the Ancient One—but at least he had visitors. Not that he really thought the father of all vamps would be chatting online, but it was all he’d been able to think of to track down the vampire who’d sired Garret.
The same vampire who held the key to humanity for all three of them.
Destroying the source would reverse the curse for Garret and anyone that he’d turned, which meant Jake and Dillon would be free, as well.
As much as Dillon liked being a vampire, he knew he couldn’t stay that way. He’d caused his parents enough grief, which was why he’d yet to break the news about his new fanged status. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to. The blogging had given him a few leads so far—a couple of names and locations that he was busy following up on. With any luck, he would gather even more information and, eventually, hit the jackpot. Once he located the Ancient One, Dillon would help the other two vamps destroy him. Then he would embrace his humanity once again and go back to playing the town geek.
The notion sent a wave of anxiety through him and made him all the more eager to break Bobby’s record. Because he knew that this was it. His one chance to prove the truth to himself and build enough memories to last him through all the long, lonely human nights that lay ahead.
It was now or never.
He tensed, raking stiff fingers through his hair. His groin throbbed and he shifted in the leather seat. He was wound tight. Hungry. Starving even.
You should have gone for round two with Miss Hot Chick.
That’s what he usually did. What he’d been doing since he’d come to understand what he’d become and learned the all-important fact that sex was as crucial a sustenance as blood. More so because feeding off sexual energy curbed the need for blood. Sure, he still had to feed in the traditional sense, but not nearly as often.
All the more reason he should have gone for an all-nighter.
He’d meant to, but when he’dwalked back into the motel room after Meg and her proposition, he hadn’t been able to push either out of his head.And while he’d turned into an oversexed, greedy vampire, he wasn’t a two-timing, oversexed greedy vampire.
He hadn’t been able to make himself get busy with
