Bite Me

Eugene the vampire stalked the nighttime streets of Talbot’s Peak in search of prey. That wasn’t as easy as it sounded. When he’d first rolled into town, he’d figured on easy pickings—isolated small town, minimal law enforcement, lots of healthy, full-blooded lambs ripe for the slaughter, no slayers. This far out in the boonies, he could probably drain the place dry and no one would notice until they failed to file their tax returns in April.

Nobody had told him this was a shifter town, or that the prey tended to bite back.

Look on the bright side, Eugene told himself. Shifters kept a low profile, so the odds against a missing person, or several, getting reported to the Feds ran heavily in his favor. Any hunter with a brain in his or her head would steer far clear of the place. That left Talbot’s Peak wide open, with Eugene the only game in town. Since when could the average fleabag wolf hold its own against a vampire anyway?

He still had a few kinks to work out in his new role as Talbot’s Peak’s Big Bad. “I need a better name,” he decided. “Ripper or something.” He scratched his neck, where the fleece collar of his sheepskin coat rubbed against his skin. “And a cooler outfit."

And someone to drink. Like, right now.

And lo and behold, there she was, like Fate had ordered her up just to keep him happy. A willowy blonde with an undulating walk and long legs tucked into snakeskin cowboy boots. Alone on the street. At night. They must grow even shifters stupid in the Rockies. Eugene slid into stalking mode and followed her.

The blonde went only a dozen steps before she stopped, turned, and looked him dead in the eye. “You following me?”

Momentarily taken aback, Eugene licked his lips and roughened his voice to a growl. He reminded himself this was probably a shifter. They didn’t react like human prey. “You’re taking a helluva risk, wandering around in the dark. A girl could get hurt.”

“You’re taking a bigger one tailing me. And I ain’t been a girl in a while.” Her tongue darted out like a snake’s, so quick Eugene almost missed the action. She made a sour face. “Shoot. You’re a vampire? Thought I left you dirt-nappers behind when I left the Panhandle.”

“I’m new here. Look. Do everybody a favor and don’t scream, or howl, or whatever it is you do. Okay?”

The blonde moved her arm so the bracelets on it rattled. “You wouldn’t like my blood, sugah. Too cold for your taste.”

“Eh. I can warm it up in the microwave.” Eugene lunged for her.

She didn’t run. She seemed to shrink in the blink of an eye. Expecting to grab warm, curvy flesh, Eugene found himself with a handful of blouse and denim. Her bracelets clattered on the sidewalk, next to the now-empty boots.

Eugene stared at the blouse in his hand. “What the hell?”

The blouse moved.

Before he could do the sensible thing and drop the garment, a snake’s head shot out of the folds. It sank its fangs deep into Eugene’s neck. He felt the poison rush into his system before he wrenched the rattler loose and flung the snake away.

The snake hit the pavement with no ill effects. It coiled, rose up, and became the blonde again. “You had that comin’, sugah,” she told him. “How you like being on the receiving end for a change?”

A snake shifter. In-friggin’-credible. “Waste of good juice, honey. I’m already dead.”

“And bloating up already,” she noted. “The dead ones always go quicker.”

Oh shit. She was right. His limbs were starting to swell. The poison raced through his withered veins like lava, burning from the inside out. Eugene tried to scream, but his throat had already closed up on him. If I needed to breathe, he thought distantly, I’d be in a helluva mess right now.

He also found it difficult to move. Neural paralysis, he guessed. He was unable to dodge the broken branch the blonde knifed into his chest. Eugene the vampire’s career as the new Big Bad ended in a puff of ash.

Rosa Terranova scowled down at the remains. “Shoot. Now I gotta get dressed again.”

“Or you could stay as is,” a voice said out of the dark. “I don’t think anyone will complain.”

She shot a dirty look in the direction of the voice. “Dammitall to hell and gone, Northridge. Why ain’t you gone yet?”

“I thought I’d hang around a bit. This place is … interesting.” Lee Northridge stepped into a streetlamp’s light and studied the ashy remains. “Not bad. You going into the slayer business now?”

“More like a minor annoyance. Thought Talbot’s Peak was shifters only.”

“There are some vampires. Dante knows who they are, and they know what he’ll do if they step out of line. This one must be a newbie.”

Rosa toed the pile of ash. “He ain’t gonna get any older. You hang around, neither will you. I told you, I ain’t got your brother’s money.”

“And I told you, I’m not here for the money.”

“I’m poison, Northridge. Get that through your skull. I ain’t all you got to worry about, either. Town like this, chock full of shifters, and you being—”

“Careful.” Lee smiled. “Dante doesn’t know what I am. Unless somebody’s squealed?”

Rosa snorted. “Don’t need to. I bite. You only get one warning, sugah, and you had yours already.” She deliberately scuffed her bare foot through the dusty remains of the vamp. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to a pretty boy like you.”

“I’m touched that you still care.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Road out’a town’s empty this time of night. Be a good time to take it.” Her exit was hampered somewhat by the need to gather up her clothes before she could slither away. He heard her swearing all the way up the street, juggling her clothes in her arms.

“So why are you still here?” he murmured to the sway of her retreating ass. “If not to kill vampires, then why?”

Can I Get An Amen

The Reverend Horton Kirkpatrick gazed upon tonight’s gathering in the tent revival meeting and found it good. Packed to the canvas walls, which would mean a hefty take at the passing of the plate. Best of all, this remote postage stamp of a Montana town had probably never heard the stories of Reverend Horndog or the folks who’d run him out of places bigger than this. He ought to rake in plenty of beer and blow before the rumors started.

The men were the usual scruffy sort he expected out here in God’s Armpit, but the women were fine as could be. Especially that lovely number in the front row with the ample attributes and the thick coils of hair the sandy brown color of a lonely desert at sundown. Her lengthy legs ended in a pair of snakeskin cowboys boots. She must have a rich sugar daddy who kept her in shoes. He’d be separating her from her allowance soon, and from Daddy too if he could swing it.

Already the crowd was getting antsy. They sounded, and smelled, like a petting zoo. Horton knew the stench from experience. This religious con was a much sweeter scam, and usually smelled a lot fresher.

He raised his hands. “Brothers and sisters. God bids you all welcome to His home.”

“God lives in a tent?” somebody said loudly. A titter of snarky laughter ran through the congregation.

“You’d think He’d live better when He’s on the road,” somebody else remarked. “A Winnebago or something.”

“God lives in our hearts,” Rev. Horton proclaimed, “but sometimes we shut the door and forget—”

“Which god?” the Winnebago booster asked. “We got a ton around here.”

“There is only one God, and he is—”

“Vishnu? The tigers outside of town worship him, and you should see the palace they live in. Maybe we should switch.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. We pray to Chaos, but that only makes things worse. More interesting, though.”

“There is only one God,” Horton boomed, “and He has sent me to bring you His word. Are you ready to receive the word of the Lord?”

“I’m ready to eat,” a man in the back called out. “Where’s the refreshments?”

Horton was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“The food.” The man waved one of the flyers Horton had tacked up around town this morning. “It says we get refreshments.”

“Yeah,” Winnebago chimed in. “Pastor Tim puts out meat and veggie trays. He lets us snack during the sermon.”

“I bring the refreshment of the Lord’s word and the blessings of the holy spirit. If you welcome the Lord into your life, He will bring you all the sustenance you require.”

“We’re not gonna get fed,” the man in the back translated. “Scat,” Winnebago said.

He was losing them. There went his full pockets. The woman in the snakeskin boots stretched out her glorious legs and made as if to rise. There went his full something else.

Time to pull out the big guns.

Horton usually saved the demonstration until later in the sermon, once he had the suckers all worked up and ready to believe, but desperate times, et cetera. He flung open the crate atop his makeshift altar and pulled out two writhing, thick-bodied serpents. They were only harmless black snakes, less threatening than a can of hairspray, but the yokels wouldn’t know that. Harry put up a half-hearted show of resistance. Sally, who hated the crate, hissed and squeezed his bicep.

Horton held the feisty Sally high for the benefit of his audience. “Behold the power of the Lord! Such is my faith that I may handle these venomous creatures without fear, for God will not allow those who believe in Him to—”

“Shoot,” the woman in the boots snorted. “They ain’t even poisonous. Where I come from, the preachers handle rattlers fresh caught off the desert. Not for too long, though. We lose more preachers that way.”

“Are they the refreshments?” the man in the back asked hopefully.

“Piss on this,” Winnebago announced. “Let’s go to Pizza Hut. They’re having a special on Meat Lovers’.”

Okay, then. Divine retribution time. “Turn not away from the word of God,” he threatened, “lest you suffer His fearsome wrath. For the Lord is a jealous god.”

As if on cue, the walls of the tent suddenly rippled, as if blasted by a high wind. A mighty thupping sound accompanied the wind, like helicopter rotors, or the crack of enormous wings.

In an instant the entire congregation went silent. Boot Woman stared about with a look of consternation on her face. She wasn’t the only one. Harry and Sally suddenly started twisting in Horton’s grip, in a desperate bid to escape.

“Damn,” Winnebago said. “He’s good.”

Oh shit, Horton thought. That better not be a tornado. He hadn’t even passed the plate yet.

He lifted his snakes high over his head. Sally’s tail whipped at his face, just barely missing his cheek. “Behold the power of God!”

A man knocked the flap aside and strode into the tent. “Where is the spokesman for God?” he demanded, in a voice that shook the walls even worse than the wind had.

 “I never touched your wife,” Horton bleated automatically.

The man stared at him. He must have been in a rush to attend the service, because all he had on was a loincloth. His body, bronze as an Aztec warrior’s, sported muscles Horton had only read about. Hair the color and sheen of an obsidian blade fell to his near-naked butt. “You are the priest of the Serpent God?”

“Uh … whuh?”

The man straightened. “I am Itzcoatl, son of the Feathered Serpent. I have seen your announcements in town.” He held up a flyer and pointed to the photo of Horton and his reptilian assistants. “You are a priest of the Serpent God. You will serve me in this capacity.”

Oh, right. The snakes. Easy for a nutcase to get the wrong idea. “Look, buddy, I’m trying to conduct a service here. We can talk after the meeting.”

“Of course. You may spread the word of my magnificence. You mammals! Heed the word of this my priest. You stand in the presence of the divine!”

The psycho lifted his arms. The wind sprang up again, deafening and pummeling within the confines of the tent. Harry and Sally were hissing like a pair of leaky tires on Truckasaurus. So was the woman in the boots.

Horton blinked. He would have rubbed his eyes if he weren’t holding the snakes. The man’s shadow, filling the wall of the tent behind him, resembled an enormous snake with feathered wings.

What the hell kind of freaky town had he stumbled into?

Ask and ye shall receive …

One minute Horton was standing before a tent full people and one crazy mofo. The next he was back in the petting zoo. At least, that’s what it looked and sounded like. The entire tent was crammed to the walls with barking, yelping animals. Wolves and coyotes mostly, but Horton’s reeling brain catalogued foxes, beavers, bobcats, rabbits, and a bull elk complete with a massive rack. The rack ripped a hole in the tent and the elk bounded through. The rest of the congregation plowed out the hole in its wake, leaving torn rags of clothing behind.

Somewhere in the middle of this he lost his grip on Harry and Sally. They whipped beneath the rear of the tent to freedom. The woman in the boots followed suit.

So also, with little thought and no regrets, did Horton.

In the field behind the tent sat his camper. Horton ducked behind it. The wind tore at his clothes and roared in his ears. The field was alive with fleeing beasts. They ran for the trees at full speed. Meanwhile, the tent—

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Horton moaned as the roof of the tent was torn asunder. A gigantic winged snake, black and glittering, flapped through the roof and took off in pursuit of its erstwhile worshippers. Or perhaps sacrifices, at this point.

Horton had enough experience to pick the exact right moment when to get the hell out of town. Now was that time.

He ripped open the camper’s door, climbed inside, and froze. The first thing he noticed was the cage where he kept the rats for his snakes. It was empty. The woman in the snakeskin boots sat at his mini kitchen table. Horton was just in time to watch a pink, hairless tail slide between her lips.

She smacked those lips and grinned at him. “Found the refreshments,” she said. “Plump and juicy. Just the way I like ‘em.”

Horton fell backward out the door. He’d barely hit the ground before he scrambled up and started running. Direction didn’t really matter, as long as it was Away.

So ended Horton Kirkpatrick’s tenure as a revivalist preacher and his association with God. He took from his experience the lessons that no one should ever go anywhere near Montana, and God was a son of a bitch.

# # #

Rosa waited for the ruckus to die down, and for her dinner to settle. Man wasn’t much of a Bible thumper, but he kept some damn tasty rats, she’d give him that. But dang it! Of all the places for an actual snake god to turn up. Her being an actual snake, she wasn’t too keen on anyone keeping close tabs on her whereabouts, let alone a damn god.

She opened the camper door and hopped down, and discovered her shitty day wasn’t quite over yet. The snake god stood before her. He beamed a smile full of white teeth at her. “Daughter.”

Rosa hissed in a breath. Don’t show fear. You do, you’ll get swallowed. “ No offense there, sugah, but you ain’t the real Quetzalcoatl.”

“No. I am his son, the Obsidian Serpent. I have risen to take control of this mammal-infested planet in my father’s name.”

“Well, you ain’t gonna be doing it with that ape as your priest. He done lit a shuck for parts unknown.” She looked Itzcoatl up and down. Shoot, that was one fine hunk of man-flesh, god or no. Might be worth the risk of getting swallowed. “If you’re a god, you must know what I am. Seeing as how we’re both serpents and all … ”

“I have already committed to my divine mate, and see no need for concubines. You may serve as a handmaiden. My wife deserves a staff.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of priestess, seeing as how the position just opened up.” Who knew, there might be some profit in this. Specifically, continued survival. That always topped out Rosa’s ledger. And wherever a god went, there were bound to be spoils. You just had to stay intact long enough to enjoy ‘em.

Rosa executed a limber bow. It even looked fairly genuine. “All hail the mighty Feathered Serpent.”

God and Man (for lack of a better word)

The room was noisy and dimly lit. It stank of liquor, mammals, and the desperation of mortality. In short, it mirrored the world Itzcoatl now found himself in. He’d awakened from centuries of slumber to become the ruler of this?

Why fight it? The state of the world, and this place in particular, suited his current mood perfectly.

He bellowed for more grog. The mammalian servant brought him a tankard and was wise enough to leave him in peace.

Itzcoatl scowled at the sweaty shifters spasming across the dance floor in time to the pounding music. He ought to rip a few hearts from their rib cages. Or swallow some raucous drinker whole. Perhaps that would cheer him.

What was the use, though? This world was overrun with the smelly little pests, like maggots on a corpse. If he chose to conquer it, what exactly would he be getting?

He downed half his drink at a gulp and glowered at the dancers on stage. One was a snake. Such a one should be preparing to serve as his priestess under the new regime – or priest, he amended, as his senses saw beyond the pink wig and padded dress. Instead he writhed for the amusement of drunken mammals in a bar. Perhaps, Itzcoatl mused, he ought to simply destroy this entire world now and be done with it.

The dance, and the loud, awful music, finally ended. The dancers hopped off-stage to mingle with the customers. The snake slithered in his direction.

Just shy of the table, he stopped. His eyes grew huge. The pink wig slipped askew, so quickly did he drop to his knees. “Dios mio!”

“I’m no one’s god,” Itzcoatl rumbled. “Not in this mammal-blighted world.” Still, the touch of proper worship – finally! – brightened his mood somewhat. He slapped the back of the chair beside him. “Come, sit.”

The snake scrambled onto the chair and desperately tugged his dress into a semblance of decorum. Its high-riding hemline made such an effort futile. “Excuse the outfit. We don’t get many gods in here. Hell, we don’t get any gods in here. You know I’m a guy, right?”

Itzcoatl nodded. “In ages past, your kind were revered as seers and prophets.”

“I’m not much in the seer department. That’s Gypsy’s thing. I just like to dress up. If I’d known you were coming I’d have set up an altar. I’ve got one at home, for Quetzalcoatl. Mice and everything.”

A faint smile, his first in hours, touched Itzcoatl’s lips. “You eat the mice yourself, I assume.”

“Well, the Feathered Serpent doesn’t seem to want them. Shame to let them go to waste.” The snake coiled his body more comfortably on the chair and patted his wig back into place. “At any rate, you’ve come to the right town. Talbot’s Peak is a magnet for the weird. There’s only one reason a god would come to Dante’s. You got woman problems.”

“The affairs of gods are none of your concern.”

The snake continued to watch him with his smug, unblinking stare. Itzcoatl glowered back. They stalemated. The Obsidian Serpent relented first. “She is my mate,” he growled. “She carries the blood of the Feathered Serpent. We are destined for each other. Yet when I tried to claim her, she refused me.”

“Claim her, as in … ?”

Itzcoatl’s glare chilled the ambient temperature by at least twenty degrees. The snake nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I take it you’ve been away from the world for a while.”

“Women long for a strong hand to master them. The world could not have gone so far awry in my brief time asleep.”

“Kicked you in the hidden assests, did she?” The snake grinned at Itzcoatl’s startled stare. “Thought so. Just because I don’t sleep with women doesn’t mean I don’t knoq them. Your intended’s a daughter of the Feathered Serpent, verdad? That makes her a goddess in her own right. No snake goddess worth her scales is going to go down without a fight. Would you really want one who did?”

This gave Itzcoatl pause. The notion had not occurred to him. Of course his Suzy was a warrior, as were all children of Quetzalcoatl. The urge to battle coursed through their veins. “I see now. It’s a fight she wants. It will make her ultimate surrender all the sweeter.”

“Whoa! Hold up there, my divine amigo. There’s fights, and then there’s fights. We’re not like the furries. We don’t need to resort to anything as gauche as brute force, do we?”

“No. We do not.” Slowly Itzcoatl smiled. The snake in the dress recoiled slightly. “You are wise for one so young. When this world is mine, I will set you high in my council.”

“Um, that’s really nice of you, but I’m happy where I am. Spying on the mammals,” he said in a conspirator’s whisper. “It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it.”

“Indeed. What is your name, little serpent?”

The snake hesitated, as if weighing lies, and finally answered, “Lamar.”

“Lamar, you have earned the gratitude of Itzcoatl, the Obsidian Serpent. Name your most desired boon and I shall grant it.”

“Thanks, but I’m good, really. How about if I down a mouse in your honor tonight?”

“That will be sufficient.” Itzcoatl rose abruptly. “This planet and its plague of mammals may continue, for the time being. My mate awaits.” He strode across the dance floor, shouldering patrons aside with arrogant abandon, and out of the bar. His exit sparked a lot of glares, but no one tried to stop him.

Lamar spotted the half-empty flagon on the table and drained it. Quzetzalcoatl’s feathered ass, that was too damn close. You never wanted a god indebted to you. Definitely not a snake god.

Gypsy hurried over to the table. “Lamar, are you all right? Something horrible was just in here. I’ve got this awful feeling – ”

“It’s okay, chica. It’s gone.” Itzcoatl’s departure had taken all memory of the god with him as well. Already the ambiance on the dance floor reflected immense relief, as if a bomb had been defused and removed. Lamar stared perplexedly at the empty flagon. “I don’t know why, but I’ve got this crazy impression I just saved the world.”

Suzy Q

Another day, another second grade. Suzanne Coates hefted carriers into her van in the elementary school's parking lot. No one, not even the school custodian, had volunteered to help her. "You make them nervous, babies," she cooed to her charges. "Don't let it bug you. The children think you're awesome."

Her charges weren't bugged in the least. But then, reptiles weren't normally given to huge shows of emotion. School students, college zoology majors, museum curators, it was all the same to them. Give them a rat every couple of days and they thought life was peachy. Suzy had a few nervous nellies back at the rescue center, but she never brought those on public outings. Only the non-biters got to go on field trips.

She'd just placed the last carrier in the van and was about to shut the door when she realized she was being watched.

Suzy froze. Her tongue flicked briefly over her lips in a lifelong automatic gesture. She'd checked the parking lot before she started loading up, and seen no one. Her hand crept toward her pocket and the pepper spray she carried at all times. Too many break-ins at the reptile rescue center by animal smugglers and activists had left her paranoid on her charges' behalf.

She wasn't the only nervous one. Richard the iguana circled his carrier, making high, thin noises she'd never heard from him before. Homer, the laziest snake on the planet, had coiled himself into a corner and peered through the carrier's mesh, more alert than Suzy could ever remember seeing him.

Chiquita, in contrast, slid languidly around her carrier, making low, whispery hisses. Her movements reminded Suzy of ... no. No way. Snakes weren't that complex. But damn, she'd swear the way the albino python slithered around looked almost ... seductive.

A sudden hiss that hadn't come from any of her reptiles made Suzy whirl around. The author of the hiss stepped forward. Suzy's tongue washed over her lips again.

Good God, the man was gorgeous. She thought at once of an ancient Aztec warrior, brought to vibrant life. Tall, well-muscled and slender as a snake, just the way she liked her men. Smooth-as-scales copper skin unmarred by scars or blemishes. No body hair. Suzy couldn't stand body hair; it was so ... bestial. Head hair, though, that she liked. His fell like an ebony waterfall past his shoulders. It moved as if stirred by an invisible breeze, or like the flutter of feathers. Each tiny movement sparked a cascade of rainbow colors through the black. Those colors were echoed in his wide, unblinking eyes. Were they gold? Were they green? Were those really slitted puplis? She teetered on the brink of falling into them.

The need to breathe, and the slitted pupil question, finally broke her fascination. Suzy slid a protective half-step closer to the van and shut the door. Nobody was getting his hands on her babies without one hell of a fight.

So far he'd said nothing. He stood utterly still and stared at her. Chiquita got like this when she had her eye on a rabbit. Suzy swallowed thickly. "Can I help you?"

At the sound of her voice the warrior sighed. A smile appeared, full of perfect white teeth. "Like birdsong," he said. He started toward her.

"Stop right there." Suzy took up a defensive stance and assessed her chances. She had her pepper spray and her self-defense training from the Y. A few narrow escapes from reptile thieves had sent her to the gym, where she discovered her own unexpected, sinewy strenght. If she struck fast and hard enough she could take him by surprise. He had no weapns on him that she could see.

He had no clothing on him either. Son of a snake, he was naked. How the hell had she missed that?

He froze at her warning. A scowl replaced the smile. His tongue darted out, imitation of her own habitual gesture. Her gaze instinctively dropped below the belt, or where a belt should be.

More than a belt was missing. Her menacing Aztec had no spear. A smooth expanse of skin stretched from sculpted thigh to sculpted thigh. Not so much as a hint of a dangler. Where was she supposed to aim her knee?

"This is sudden, I know," the warrior spoke, "but it was meant to be. You are a daughter of the mighty sky god, and I am -- "

"A woman?" Suzy blurted. "You're a woman?"

Nonplussed, he gawped at her. Slowly his stare followed hers down below. His dazzling smile reappeared. "Ah, of course. We are not mammals, to parade our shortcomings before all strangers' eyes. The scaly folk keep our deadliest weapon safely tucked away. You wish to see? Of course you do. All brides want to know if their husband will bring sufficient attributes to the marriage bed. Practical. I like that."

He set his muscled legs apart. The slit between them peeled back. A wedge-shaped head emerged, followed by a thick,coppery body. Suzy half expected to see a forked tongue poke out of it.

"This really isn't necessary," Suzy said hastily. "I don't need confirmation. You need some pants. That thing needs a leash. And I -- "

The anaconda between his legs reared up to study her out of its single blind eye. Suzy backed against her van, unable to look away. "Oh my god."

The Aztec beamed. "Precisely."

Where the hell were the cops when you needed them? Assuming the police would even bother booking someone over a minor infraction like indecent exposure. This was, after all, Talbot's Peak.

Nor was he indecent. Quite the knuckle-biting opposite.

Suzy made a choking noise. Her legs trembled. "What do you want from me?"

"What all men want from a beautiful woman. Your acceptance of my troth." He held out his hand. "Join with me, my bride. We are meant to be. It is destiny."

"Who the hell are you?"

A little indentation appeared between his brows. "I am Itzcoatl, the Obsidian Serpent. And you are -- " He peered at the logo on the side of her van. "Suzy the Snake Lady. Is this a description, or your sacred title? Are you a priestess of the Feathered Serpent?"

"Rick hired you to fuck with my head, didn't he?"

"I know of no 'Rick.' I know only that you are for me. We are meant to rule this wrold together, our coils entwined through eternity."

Great. A naked nutcase, coming on way too strong. However, he'd been nice enough to provide her knee with that hefty, unmissable target. Suzy struck like one of her snakes, with blinding speed and deadly accuracy.

So much for godhood.

With the "Obsidian Serpent" coiled upon himself in a well-muscled ball in the street, Suzy threw herself behind the wheel and sped off in a squeal of protesting rubber. The minute she got home, she would lock her door and alert the police. Then she'd phone Rick and give him the verbal version of what she'd just delivered to his flunky. Three months after a nasty breakup and he still couldn't just let it be? The nerve of some people.

# # #

The world Itzcoatl intended to rule gradually came back into focus. He picked himself gingerly up off the street. His nut-pouch throbbed in agony like a heart ripped from a sacrifice's chest. He'd forgotten these fleshly monkey-suits came with limitations.

Feathers of the sky god! He'd actually made a mistake. The divine essence of Quetzalcoatl coursed through his intended's veins. Of course she would be a warrior. That did not, he thought with gritted teeth, excuse such mistreatment of her lord. She deserved chastisement for her sin. Preferably delivered from a distance.

He levered himself upright and swayed on naked feet. His teeth flashed briefly, in spite of the pain. No serpent could have made a quicker strike. Or a more well-aimed one, he thought ruefully. The Snake Lady would prove a most able queen of creation, once he schooled her into showing proper deference.

He eased his abused spear-shaft back into its pocket and peered up the street. Her noxious chariot was long gone, but her taste remained on his tongue. He would find her again, and approach her again. More cautiously this time.

Shifting form from man to giant snake, Itzcoatl rose into the air. The encounter had taught him much, including the need for discretion. This was a new and possibly dangerous world, even to a god. His feathers shimmered to match the light around him, rendering him unseen. Now cloaked from mortal eyes, he soared in pursuit of his mate.