SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits by Sheri Whitefeather, Maureen Child, Caridad Piñeiro, Erin Kellison, Erin Quinn, Lisa Kessler, Chris Marie Green, Mary Leo, Cassi Carver, Janet Wellington, Theresa Meyers, Elisabeth Staab Read Free Book Online Page B

rounded the wagon. Daddy got off another shot, but that was all. The four men fired with abandon and my scream lodged in my throat as Daddy’s body danced with the impact. They riddled him full of lead, moving forward as they fired like the mindless killers they were. The sloping foothills around me sucked up the sound and threw it back in resounding echoes that seemed to pierce me. I covered my ears and shut my eyes, but I couldn’t block out the sound or the tears squeezing through my tightly closed lids. I couldn’t erase the image of my father’s body jumping in a death jig of gunfire. Suddenly the shots stopped. I opened my eyes. Daddy lay still and broken on the ground, arms and legs askew in angles no arms or legs were ever meant to be. One of the outlaws raised his pistol and put a final shot in his head.
    I prayed as hard as I could that Johnny would remain behind his rock. But even as the sobbing plea lodged in my throat, I saw my baby brother emerge from his craggy hiding place, heard his scream, a tormented sound filled with more humiliation, anger, and agony than a child could ever endure.
    He charged across the clearing. The sound he made matched the anguish trapped inside my breast, but they didn’t stop what came next. The army of four turned like soldiers and opened fire.
    “No,” I cried. Yet the word came dry and silent, a fiery whisper that burned and crackled in my throat. “No,” I tried again, but it was too late. Now both my daddy and brother lay flat on the ground in a twist of blood and gore. The same filthy killer who’d put his gun to Daddy’s head now did the same to my brother. The vibration of the shot traveled through me like a quaking of the earth. Hot tears streamed down my face, but still, I couldn’t move.
    The man twirled his pistol like a gunslinger, grinned at his friends, and then joined them back at the fire. They ransacked the kitchen crates for plates and spoons, laughing as they scooped Momma’s stew onto their dishes. They sat in a circle as they fed themselves, ignoring the crumpled, bloody bodies of my daddy and brother.
    I scanned the craggy knolls around me, looking for Momma. Where was she? Hiding like me? Or didn’t she know? Maybe she was close to the river? There, she might not have heard the shots. How would I face her when she came back to find her husband and son murdered while I’d done nothing to help?
    And why was grandma’s wheelchair turned over?
    The horrible men glutted themselves on the stew for interminable minutes, and then one of them moved to the back of the wagon and urinated on Grandma’s wheelchair. This . . . this horrible act of disrespect finally loosened my numbed limbs. I stood without thinking, but then another man’s head whipped around, and I dropped to my belly with such force I knocked the breath from my lungs.
    Excited voices came and then the sound of horses. They’d seen me.
    On all fours I scrambled down the hill, trying at once to keep low and move fast. I looked behind and saw that the grass was flattened where I’d lain on it. In a full panic I stood straight, hiked up my skirts, and tore across the open land. Ahead were bushes and beyond a smattering of pine trees leading into the foothills. I made it to the first of them just as the men crested the hill behind me. My heart hammered against my ribs and my constricted lungs fought to bring in air. I crept back and back until I reached a tree with low branches. I crawled beneath the skirt of its boughs and then up two, three limbs. Overhead the branches grew tight as a cage. I could go no higher. I stayed as still as I could, making myself small as I peered through the pine needles. The wind teased around the trees, disguising my movements.
    The riders came down the hill, following the tracks I’d left until they reached the place where I’d stood and run. From that point they worked their way back and forth, bickering as they rode, one calling the other stupid, the