Phantom Warriors: Bacchus

Bacchus found the car and followed the highway south, heading to the palm tree-lined area Carrie called home. Driving ended up being a bit more difficult than it first appeared from viewing Brady to it, but Bacchus eventually got the hang of it.

He learned to wave with one hand while honking and steering with the other, just like the drivers who passed him. Bacchus still didn’t quite understand why they’d put that red octagon-shaped sign on the side of the road. It now sat in his back seat, along with a couple of orange cones, the car’s bumper and a small pine tree. It shouldn’t have been planted so close to the sidewalk, anyway.

Bacchus arrived as darkness descended upon the neighborhood. Finding things in Los Angeles was difficult with its one-way streets here, no entrance areas there. He’d barely missed the man holding the 'slow traffic ahead' sign. If he hadn’t dove out of the way into a nearby pile of dirt, Bacchus would’ve flattened his feet. He could still hear the man’s curses ringing in his ears and see his raised fist punching the air. Luckily, Bacchus had made it and the car was still in two pieces.

He slipped out of Brady’s borrowed clothes, folding them neatly on the leather seat beside him before killing the engine. Bacchus sat in the car for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the night. His forked tongue darted out of his mouth so he could scent the air. The streets were relatively quiet, except for the constant hum of traffic on the freeways in the distance. Nearby dogs barked as underground sprinklers sprouted to life.

Bacchus could hear stereos thumping alien music, couples making love, murmuring television sets, yet no ocean. His ears strained as he searched for the gentle lapping of the distant waves. There it was, buried beneath the cacophony of existence. He stepped out of the vehicle, his feet falling silently on the pavement, and faded into the darkness.

Shrubs lined Carrie’s small yard, creating a green wall of privacy around her little white home. Fragrant flowers surrounded the windowsills, their red and yellow blooms adding a burst of color to the otherwise plain palette.

Neat and obviously well tended, the space was cozy and seemed to fit the personality Brady assigned to her. Curious, Bacchus allowed his image to solidify. He stood in the shadows, searching the windows for any sign of life.

Would she look like the woman Brady created in his mind? Would she have short brown hair and a pixie face?

Then Bacchus saw her. Like taking an Atlantean energy blast to the gut, the air rushed from his lungs in a whoosh. Carrie flicked the light switch on, illuminating her fair skin under the soft glow.

She’d changed her hair since Brady had last seen her. It was now shoulder length and blonde, without a trace of the brown that had been there before. Tiny boned but long of limb, she moved with the grace of a gazelle as she walked from room to room, lights twinkling on in her wake. She stopped in the main area, a rolled magazine grasped in her hand. Carrie brought the pages to her mouth and began to sing into it. She tossed her head back as she held a long note, while her hips swayed in time to the beat.

Bacchus stared, gaping, unable to look away. He'd expected tears and moping, not singing and dancing. Blood rushed from his head straight to his cock as she dropped the magazine and bent over to pick it up off the floor. She held it in her hand, carefully unfurling it, before placing it onto a side table. Bacchus knew without looking that his eyes glowed red to match the heat churning inside of him. He could feel the color as it surged through his body, demanding release.

The need to possess this woman was strong, but he fought his instincts. He couldn’t exactly march in and demand she mate with him. He didn’t even know if it were even possible.

Beyond that, Bacchus knew he would scare her to death in his current condition and that was the last thing he wanted. He needed Carrie to come to him willingly in order for the blood bond to work. This was going to take careful planning, not a direct assault. He hated the idea of deceiving her, but what choice did he have? The future of his people depended on his success with this species, this fragile woman.

Tiny lines bracketed her mouth as she pursed her lips into an ”o” and began to whistle. The sound tore through him, slicing into his flesh while imbedding in his soul. His gaze remained locked on her enticing lips as they puffed out in order for her to blow. Bacchus longed to cover her mouth and capture the sound, draw it deep into his body for safekeeping.

His three-inch fangs unfurled without warning. Sudden hunger beat at his brow. He brought his hands to his temples and rubbed as he followed the curve of her mouth down to her chin and over to her throat. Bacchus could hear her blood pumping just below the surface of her milky skin. It called to him, demanding that he taste her essence.

Bacchus swallowed hard, fighting the urge to mark her as his own. He needed to be sure Carrie and the other females like her were compatible with his people. The only way to do that was to get close, but not tonight.

Tonight was for observing. A breeze filtered over his skin. He watched her for another two hours. She sat on the couch, laughing at a television show he didn’t understand. The yellow cartoon characters appeared to be some kind of family with a particularly unruly son. Bacchus glared at the screen. If that boy were his child, he’d spend his time in the fields picking crystals until he learned how to behave and stop mistreating his sister, Lisa.

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