Gabriella buzzed around Duncan like a gadfly. "Each time? How many times have you two done the nasty?"

"That's none of your business. And you need to have more respect for your mother!"

The smile vanished from Gabriella's face. "I have the ultimate respect for Mom. That's why I'm getting out of here as she told me to. I'm getting out of her way and letting her do her thing."

"Her delivery?"

"That's right. She's been doing this since she was eighteen."

Duncan did some mental mathematics. "Since you were a baby."

"Did she tell you how my father died?"

"No, she just said that he'd died before you were born."

"He was murdered by a vampire. He was a deliverer, as were my grandparents. Father was a few years older than Mom. He had moved here from Russia after the war, his parents were friends with my grandparents. They loved each other very much, and were going to be married in the Spring. But Father had one more assignment, a troublesome beast in Los Angeles who was attacking prostitutes. Poor Father, he was a mountain man, not used to big cities. He was ambushed by the vampire, he had no one to cover his back in the alleyways. So he died, alone and unaided, in a dirty back street. Mom and Grandpapa went down to recover his body. While they were there, Mom delivered her first kill, the vampire who destroyed my father."

"While she was pregnant with you?"

"The women in our family are tough broads."

"So why don't you do what your mother does?"

"Because no one can deliver the way Mom does. I have my pursuits, she has hers. She likes to walk the mountain trails, I prefer to ride them on horseback. Diana is Diana, Gabriella is Gabriella. Separate entities, different approaches to our work."

Gabriella walked down the stairs with Duncan. "Mom likes you, she thinks you have potential."

Duncan protested, "I don't think I could coldly kill someone!"

Gabriella shook her head, her long hair moving in sheets across her shoulders. "You may not have to. They need advance people, someone like you who can scout out the territory before the deliverers go in and clear out the pestilence. Besides, they don't always have to kill. They give them a chance to repent and ask for absolution. You'd be amazed how many werewolves were never baptized before they became werewolves. Think about it. You and Mom would make great partners."

Duncan told her he'd think about it and wished her a safe trip as she hurried out to her huge double-axle truck, a crimson monster she used to haul horses, hay, and all the tools of her trade. He watched from the front door as Diana bid her daughter farewell, running a hand through Gabriella's gleaming hair, then embracing her tightly before watching her drive off.

Diana walked slowly back to the house, hands in her pockets, her face set in stone as she locked the front door. She stalked into the living room past Duncan who was leaning against the staircase railing. Gabriella had left the bat they were using the day before on one of the couches. Diana picked it up, running her hand up and down the smooth surface, then taking a few swings at the empty air, her eyes fixed on a distant point through the patio door.

Duncan pushed off the staircase and sat on one of the couches. "You look like a pro with that thing. So does your daughter."

Diana sat down hard next to him, resting the bat in her lap. "Thanks. Pappa taught me and I taught Gabby. He loved baseball. He learned all about it from some American troops overseas. In fact, this bat was given to him by an Army captain when their units played some games together. We've been using it ever since. Pappa said it brought him good luck. He loved the precision of the game, the skill level of the players. He loved the sound of the bat striking a home run and the smell of the leather gloves. He used to pitch to me and Mamma would catch. She was always afraid she'd break a finger and wreck her painting career, but it never stopped her from getting out there in the back yard with me and Pappa." She smiled at the family memory.

"Gabriella said that your parents were both…well, whatever you call yourself." Duncan wrapped an arm around Diana's waist and she leaned her head upon his shoulder.

"Recovery and delivery specialists. Yes, they were. That's what occupied much of Mamma's time during the war."

"Instead of the Nazis?"

"In addition to the Nazis. It was bad enough our people were dying because of the war, they didn't need bloodsuckers coming around the desecrate the dying."

"Vampires on the battle front?"

"You'd better believe it. It was easy pickings for them. A lot of the soldiers were just too weak to fight back. They could cover their tracks well, the deaths could be blamed on battle injuries. They love wars. It's the vampire version of a free buffet."

"How would anyone know the difference between the wounds?"

"They were seen. The battlefield vampire, borne of the bloodshed and hate and fear. Other soldiers passed the word along about ghouls feeding on their comrades. You have to remember, this was nearly sixty years ago. The people weren't that far removed from the peasant legends, they knew what they were seeing. There is a poignant civilization even in the middle of war; it's acceptable for the living to take the lives of the living. The undead feeding off the soldiers-that was sacrilege, blasphemy. My mother was called in to put an end to the desecration."

"Your mother? Not your father?"

"No. My father was busy fighting one type of war. My mother fought another. That's how they met, though. She apprenticed under Pappa's father while Pappa was already at war with the Nazis. They were a natural team when they finally met. Pappa always said he fell in love with Mamma's amber eyes, and Mamma always said it was her shooting! I think it was a little of both."

"That's all it took to kill them, just to shoot them?"

"The battlefield vampires were fairly easy to kill. A silver bullet through the heart. Mamma was known to be a crack shot when she was at the university. Pappa's father recruited her and trained her."

"And she just believed in all this and went along with it? Communists, believing in religious solutions and legends?"

"Duncan, you know what they say about atheists and foxholes. The Communists leaned to believe once they saw for themselves what was happening. Trust me, there were a lot of crosses hidden away beneath the hammer and sickle. You can't kill off the believers that easily."

"So the art was just a cover?"

"Oh, no. Mamma painted, that was her profession. The delivery, that was a gift. Gabriella's father was going to take over for her so she could concentrate on her painting. Then he was murdered, so I took her place instead." Diana lapsed into silence, enjoying the sensation of Duncan's hands as he played with her breasts.

"Where do you go from here?"

"We wait. Without knowing in which direction he's headed, we have to wait until he strikes again. An unfortunate choice, but I have no other at this time. There are countless abandoned mines up in these mountains, caves, old cabins. Damon could be anywhere. But I doubt he'll go far from home. The vampire tends to stick pretty close to familiar surroundings, unless he is chased out of the area."

She looked at him with a questioning eye. "And you, where do you go from here?"

Duncan withdrew his exploring hands and intertwined them on his lap. "I don't know. This is all very intriguing, but I do have a job to do. My editor is expecting me to get over to Monterey and cover some events there. I'll see if I can hold him at bay for a few days."

Duncan went back to his room to call his editor, while Diana closeted herself in her study.

Duncan's editor was less than thrilled to hear that his writer hadn't made it to his next assignment, reminding him that he had a deadline for his articles. Duncan argued, to no avail. Without the ability to explain what was happening in the little town of Damon's Canyon, he had no excuse to stay. When his editor finally gave him an ultimatum of the articles or the loss of his job, Duncan had no choice but to deliver the bad news to Diana.

He knocked gently on the door to her study. She opened it, reading his apologetic expression.

"You're not staying."

"I can't. I'll lose my job if I stay." His face twisted in a grimace.

"I understand." She turned away from him. "You'd better go now, before it gets dark out. You don't want to be caught on these back roads at night, especially with that beast on the loose." Her voice was husky.

Duncan laid a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I had no choice…"

"Duncan, we all have choices to make in life. It's just a matter of which choice you make that affects the remainder of your life. I'll drive as far as to the main road with you so I can unlock the gate." Her tone was dismissive, and he took the hint, walking dejectedly back to the bedroom to pack.

It was late afternoon drifting into evening as he left, following Diana down what he now thought of as "the road from Hell" to the main highway. She pulled to the side and let him pass, then got out and unlocked the gate. His last view of her as he drove away was her figure outlined by the fading sun, hands on hips, standing at the gate.

As he passed through Damon's Canyon, the traffic was sparse. Word had already gotten around about the death of the Maston boys. The Mastons' art shop was closed up and shuttered, a "Closed Until Further Notice" sign on the door. Duncan headed out to the coast with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know when he would ever see Diana Lorraine again. He just knew that he would see her again. Destiny…that much he believed.



The next several days in Damon's Canyon were uneventful, save for a break-in at the men's shop on Sunday night. The chief's report showed the loss of several pairs of men's jeans, hiking boots, size ten, and a variety of shirts and slacks, and several packages of socks, along with two hundred dollars in cash. The owner was still checking his inventory lists on Wednesday to determine what else was missing.

On Monday afternoon, Seth Mulavey drove up to Diana's cabin, unlocking the padlock with his personal copy of her key. He offloaded three small cases of .40 caliber handgun rounds, letting her in on the break-in the night before.

On Tuesday night, Teresa Martinez' dog, Bubba, disappeared. Teresa was married to the great-great-grandson of Sarah Martinez, and they still owned the local grocery store. Bubba was a big, cantankerous Rottweiler who spent his nights hunkered down in the Martinez' backyard, keeping a watchful eye on their home. No one heard him bark that night. He had simply vanished. Teresa was heartbroken, and a little scared. What if the mountain lion that had killed those poor Maston boys had eaten her Bubba?

On Thursday night, a full week after the deaths of the Maston brothers, Sammy DeSoto became the main course for the hungry Phoenix after the appetizer of the tough Rottweiler two nights before. Sammy was an aging vagrant and local regular at the town jail on the weekends when he received his pension check and drank to celebrate its arrival. Old Sammy had fallen asleep down by the riverbank, lulled by the heat and a little too much cheap wine he'd swiped from the Martinez grocery. He woke up in the darkness to a rustling in the bushes, a rush of movement that just barely registered in his pickled mind before something bit him hard on the neck. "Fugging big mosquitoes down here," he thought before the light died in his unfocussed eyes. A couple of grammar school boys found his shriveled body wedged between the rocks in the river, bobbing gently in the low current. The medical examiner signed the death certificate listing suicide as the cause of death, citing the evidence that old Sammy must have slit his throat with a broken beer bottle, finally overcome by his drunkenness and loneliness.

The next week, the Bergovich Brothers cattle ranch reported that one of their prime breeding bulls had been slaughtered and demanded to know what the chief was going to do about it. They couldn't have poachers killing off their livelihood. Seth promised to investigate thoroughly, soothing the ranchers for the time being. He looked solemnly down upon the body of Big Bill, the brothers' favorite bull. The massive beast had been torn apart literally. "Poachers would be a helluva lot neater than this," Seth muttered. This was a rampage.

On Saturday night, Pam Calhoun stomped out of her house after a shouting match with her parents, just one more in an endless round of fights. She had run away several times in the past, wanting to escape their suffocating rules and curfews. She was sixteen, heavy-bosomed and wide in the hips. She wore too much makeup, her mother said, and her clothes were too tight for school. That was the latest issue in their war of words. Pam wanted to go shopping for the upcoming school year and her mother wasn't cutting loose with any money until Pam agreed to buy appropriate clothing.

Pam wandered down the hill from her house and found herself at the gazebo in the town park. She sat down on the bench and sniffled with self-pity. She knew she was lacking in the good looks and svelte figures of some of the popular girls. Why didn't her mom understand that she needed these clothes to look better?

"What's the matter, little one? Such a pretty thing should not cry." The voice was low, cultured, accented. Pam wiped her face and looked at the man who was standing on the steps to the gazebo.

"Who are you?" she demanded, a bit scared by his sudden appearance, but drawn to his handsome face, chiseled and angular, with full lips that made her hunger to kiss him. His hair was dark and a lock fell over one sympathetic brown eye. He was dressed in form-fitting jeans and a tee shirt.

"I could be your friend, if you need one. Tell me what you need," he said seductively, sitting next to her on the bench. He placed a hand on her chunky thigh. She could feel heat coursing through his fingers into her skin. It made the place between her thighs go damp and she wanted him to keep moving those fingers higher into her private cave.

The man put his arm around her shoulder, moving closer to her, and slowly trailed his hot fingers up her thigh. He ran his index finger up under the elastic of her underwear, up between her labia, and began to rub her gently. Pam moaned at his touch. He leaned forward and kissed her neck, the tips of his teeth sharp against her young skin. She reached a hand into his crotch and squeezed. Nothing. No erection, not even a stirring of one.

"Hey, what's the matter, can't you get it up?" Pam mocked him, pulling away from the man.

She barely had time to cry out as a growl erupted from deep within his chest and the man dug his mouth into her jugular. "Mommy! Mommy!" The words screamed in her brain and then Pam was dead.

The beast drained her warm, young blood. When he finished, he threw her effortlessly over his wide shoulders and ran up into the canyons above the town. He dug a hole, shoveling rapidly with his hands in the manner of a dog burying a bone. He dumped Pam's limp body inside, then hurriedly refilled the hole, reversing his digging process. He rolled a small boulder over the spot, a rock that would take three men of normal strength to move. But he, Damon Benyu, was no normal man. He was superior, a god among men.



When Seth Mulavey called Diana three days later, he filled her in on the missing Pam Calhoun. "She's run away before, and she had a fight with her mother. Usually, she calls within a day or so to let her mom know she's okay. Strange love-hate relationship there. But she hasn't called. And one of the local teenagers saw her sitting with a man in the park gazebo the night she disappeared. Could be our bird."

The next Thursday, Trevor David Blackstone had just checked into the Canyon Inn, which consisted of ten cottages built barely to code clustered around a main office building down near the river. Trevor David – he always used both names -- said he was an artiste from Los Angeles checking out the area for a possible art studio. The sun was just slipping down over the horizon and a warm pink glow still reflected off the water as he took a short walk along the path that ran along the river. Trevor David was deep in thought, meditating about that yummy new waiter at Philomena's Greek Restaurant over on Sunset. He felt a heavy blow hit him in the back and his first thought was that he couldn't believe he had come all the way up to the mountains just to get mugged. It was also his last thought, as the vampire tore his throat open and gorged himself.

The phone rang in Diana's study the next day. It was Seth again. She was starting to dread the sound of his voice.

"I have a body for you. Do you want a look?"

"You'd better believe it. Where is it?" She listened to his directions, then scrambled out the door, grabbing her digital camera as she left.

A couple of fishermen had found Trevor David submerged under some bushes that overhung the river. The victim was slim and slight, no match for his attacker. Diana took photos of the wounds to his neck, jagged, deep tears. She joined Seth on the path where he had found blood spatters.

"This is probably where he was attacked," the chief said. Pointing, he added, "We have footprints this time. "

"Hiking boots, size ten?" she asked, studying the imprints.

"Looks like. Guess we can figure out who broke into the men's store a few weeks ago."

"He's trying to blend in," Diana surmised. "That means he's coming out in the open. People wouldn't know what Damon Benyu looked like. He'll feel safe walking around town at night. He's going to get bolder."

"Maybe we should put out a bulletin," Seth suggested.

"And say what? "Vampire, Damon Benyu, dead for over a century, wanted for sucking people dry. If you see this man, brown hair, brown eyes, call your local chief. He only comes out a night.""

"But we have to let people know somehow to be on guard."

"Word of mouth works best around here. Let some of the old timers know. They have a way of getting the news around." Diana straightened up and looked down at Trevor's David's body with pity. Poor guy never knew what hit him, or so she hoped.

"What is your official stance on this, Seth? Another mountain lion attack?"

Seth shrugged. "That's the best we can do right now. He was out after dark, down in an isolated area. Maybe that's how we can protect our citizens, put them on alert that a wayward lion is stalking too close to town. It will keep a lot of them indoors at night. You saw the tears on his throat. Looks like a damned big set of teeth to me."

"Well, it's worth a try. I'm going back up to the cabin, got some work to do. Let me know what else you hear, Seth."

Diana drove home, her mind on the latest killing. As she drove past the road down to Damon's Canyon, she thought about the week after the Maston boys' murders, when she and Seth and blond Sherri from The Log Jam had gone to the erstwhile tomb of Damon Benyu. There they had burned the coffin and his native earth in which he had lain, scattering the ashes to the four corners of the wind. Old Jacob Carpenter had arranged for his grandson to join them with his bulldozer and the young man razed the stone walls of the crypt, running over the fallen gates with the dozer tread until they broke apart, the charred remains of the wooden doors breaking apart and mixing into the soil.

Diana parked in the garage and scanned her mail that she had retrieved from the post office next to The Log Jam. There was a postcard from Duncan Sloan from someplace in Arizona. "I'm sorry. I wish I could have stayed. Will send the books back soon. Duncan." She tacked it up on a bulletin board in her study, touching his hasty script with a finger. She closed her eyes and remembered the touch of his hands on her body. A liquid warmth effused between her thighs, and her panties grew damp.

The delicate calico jumped up on her lap and purred against her neck. Diana opened her eyes and wrapped the soft cat in her arms, rubbing her chin against the top of the feline's head. "Hey, Patches, we almost had him. I was so close I could almost taste him," she murmured.

Diana placed the calico on the top of her monitor where the cat stretched out and closed one eye. The little cat watched the movements on the screen with the open eye as Diana clicked on icons with rapid efficiency. She emailed her daughter a brief note, then sat back, her eyes wandering up to the postcard from Duncan. As she sent a detailed report to Josef, her German contact, she could feel a familiar pulsing deep in her pussy. So far, one victim a week, discounting the two brothers. She wondered if his pattern would remain the same or if he would escalate his feeding pattern. She squeezed her thighs together, typing faster to finish her email. She noted the number of dogs that had been disappearing over the past few weeks, the cattle mutilations. Several of the ranchers had their hired hands posted overnight to guard against cattle rustlers or mountain lions, whichever theory they believed was behind the attacks. People were starting to talk about Satanic cults, things they heard existed in the valley below. The Phoenix was flying one step ahead of her each time. She had to figure out a way to hunt this elusive target who had invaded her territory.

Diana pushed her chair back and lay on her back on the plush carpeting of her study, thinking of Duncan's warm hands, the feverish pounding of his cock inside her. "God, Duncan, I wish you were here. I need to taste you," she whispered as she closed her eyes and unfastened her jeans. She slipped three fingers into her slit and began to rub gently, circling the fingers around her clit. She could feel the tiny bud respond, awakening and swelling to the stimulation. Her fingers grew slick with her nectar and she rubbed harder, pushing her fingers deep into the canyon of her pussy. With her other hand, she played with her nipples, squeezing them, pulling on them, thinking of Duncan's face and hands and mouth. "Damn you, Duncan, come back. I need you," she groaned softly. Diana gyrated her hips into her hand, brushing her mons pubis against her fingers. She could feel the build-up in her abdomen and her thighs, the quivering and flowing that signaled the onset of a massive orgasm. It came, a tide of sensation that flowed through her pussy and down her legs. She panted and moaned as her fingers urged the climax to come out of its watery cave. Her hips collapsed on the carpet and she lay there, the nerves still jumping between her legs and her sticky sweetness dripping down her thighs and flowing downwards along her ass.

Diana lay on the floor for a long time, her eyes closed, breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. And as she lay there, her hunger for the cobalt-eyed Duncan grew and raged within her.



August sweltered, as it always does in the central valley. Tempers flared in the heat and so the amount of normal crime rose in Damon's Canyon: bar brawls, spousal abuse, squabbles over parking spaces, shoplifting of summer goods by the teenagers-a bikini, sunglasses, coolers. The runaway rate climbed, a fact which caught Diana's attention.

Five local teenagers had disappeared during the month, two in one week. One phoned her parents from Las Vegas, another was hauled in by authorities in a drug raid in Los Angeles, which left three unaccounted for. Beth Reyes, Cory Hempstead, and Angela Craig. All had taken off in the evening hours and hadn't been heard from since they walked out of their houses.

Beth had run away the first week of August, Cory the third week, and Angela the last week. That left two other weeks open for which Diana had no reports of deaths. Had Damon changed his pattern, or were there victims out there they didn't know about? Diana called Seth the weekend before Labor Day. "Hey, Seth, how's it going?"

"It could be better. The heat brings out the worst in everybody. I heard we have a cooling trend coming in. That'll be a blessing. Did you hear the Mastons are moving?"

"No, I hadn't heard that. Probably the best thing for them. I went to the funeral-they had the boys cremated and their ashes scattered in the hills. Ironic, don't you think?"

"Damned shame, I think. What a waste of life. Did you need something, little girl?"

"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. You know, I suspect those three kids that ran away were more victims. No one's heard from any of them, and you really couldn't put Cory Hempstead in with the regular runaways. He was an A-student, didn't have any problems with his family. Doesn't seem like a kid that would just take off and not call his folks to at least let them know he was safe."

"I know, Diana. That's what his parents keep saying. People are getting panicky around here. They know something's up, but they don't know what. Maybe now would be a good time to put up that flier about Damon. We could have one of the locals draw up a rendering based on the description in Crazy Constance's diary. It would warn the kids to keep away from him."

"I disagree, Seth. If he's in town and sees those posters, he'll spook and take off. Or what happens if someone decides to play hero and confront him? He's a seducer; he'll get to whatever victim he desires. Besides, how would you explain where you got the description?"

Seth grumbled but agreed to hold off on any fliers-yet.

Diana continued. "Do you have any reports of any missing adults? Any of our local transients missing or dead lately, people that might not make headlines or the obit column?"

"No, nothing like that. Trust me, I've been keeping my eyes peeled. I'll let you know, though, if we lose anybody. Gotta go, Diana. Another bar fight down at the Saw Tooth Lounge." Seth hung up.

Diana sat back in her chair, contemplating the virtual calendar displayed on the computer screen before her. It outlined each disappearance and death thus far, and she had linked it to photos of the crime scenes. She closed out that program and dialed online to chat with some of her sources. Diana requested any information about missing persons in a wider search area, then thought a moment, and included the national park system.

The requests made, she got out of her chair and did push-ups and abdominal crunches while she waited for a reply, her muscles flexing beneath her shorts and tee shirt. Mamma had always kept after her to stay in shape, keeping in mind the supernatural strength that many of their targets possessed. She could still do one-armed push-ups and could hike these mountains all day without tiring.

Diana was lying on her back, knees bent, when she heard a ding from her terminal. Answers, she hoped. She slid back into her chair and opened up the message. "We may have something. Two hikers missing during the past month from the national parks. Gerta Snobel, age 33, from Bonn, Germany. Was supposed to join up with some friends to hike up to the big redwoods the second week of August. Never showed. Kevin Davis, 25, from Chicago, Illinois. Came out on vacation to hike Yosemite and Mt. Whitney. Parents haven't heard from him since August 21. Hope this helps."

Diana sent a brief thank you and pulled up her calendar again. The two missing hikers would fill in the empty weeks. She called Seth and left a message with the deputy with the names and dates of disappearance of the two hikers, asking if he would check around town and see if anyone had seen them come through.

She was dozing on her bed, surrounded by all five cats, when Seth returned her call. "Sleeping on the job, little girl?"

She wiped the sleep wearily from her eyes. "Just a cat nap, Seth," she answered, glancing down at her furry friends who were still curled up in various feline positions of comfort. "What's up?"

"I did some checking this afternoon on those names you gave me. Got some photos over the wire and passed them around town. Seems like Gerta Snobel stopped in at several of the art studios along the highway. Said she was headed up to meet friends for a long hike through the wilderness. She was driving a rental car out of LAX. Teresa Martinez recognized the picture of Kevin Davis. Said he's stopped in the store to pick up some supplies and bottled water. She remembered him because she said he was "very handsome" and very polite. I did some checking with missing persons and they said he'd been driving a yellow Mustang that he'd restored. I'm going to check in with the park people and see if they have anything else to tell me."

Diana was wide awake. "They were in the area, then, and they fill in the rest of August. I wonder what September will bring."

She didn't have long to wonder.