Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance Read online

  The pain came seconds later, delayed. Pain hit him in an all-consuming, overpowering rush. Nothing existed beyond the searing agony of his chest torn to shreds by the wicked projectile. He wasn’t brave or manly or noble like bullet wounds in Hollywood films. He screamed and howled in pain, and promptly blacked out.

  * * * *

  SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. A cool, soft palm hit Aaron’s face three times. He opened his eyes to an angel, a halo of light shimmered around her tousled, golden curls like the corona encircling the sun. She had the most succulent puffy lips and a benevolent shine of concern and compassion.

  “Are you an angel?” His beautiful seraph began swearing up a storm in melodic French.

  “Le réalité’ et toi vous ne vous entendez pas, n’est-ce pas?” She remarked on his disconnect with reality.

  He didn’t know what to say. How do you greet the angel of death?

  “C’est vraiment des conneries!” The words seeped in slowly, sparking a memory from French class––this is bullshit. Do angels curse?

  A heavy weight of exhaustion settled in with a cold numbness. Is this what it feels like to die? He drifted back into unconsciousness, content in the belief that heavenly hosts carried him off to a better place.

  CHAPTER 2

  She couldn’t stay on the street any longer. The detectives were rousing even now, and the noisy gunshot would probably bring more attention to the situation. The unfortunate boy who foolishly tried to intervene was bleeding to death in her hands. A decision had to be made. His death would be her fault. If she’d paid closer attention she’d have easily disarmed the fat, idiot cop.

  “Je suis ici pour toi. I am here for you.” She tried to comfort the young man in his pain and delirium. Living most of her life in Paris, she tended to backslide into her native tongue in moments of high stress.

  “Je vais le regretter.” Knowing she’d surely regret it, she made the snap decision to take responsibility for him. She scooped him up in her arms, cradling him like a child. He weighed about 165, nothing for her preternaturally strong physique. She easily lifted several times her own body weight.

  She sped down the street, away from the restaurant and the blood-splattered sidewalk. She opted for the dark alleys, keeping out of sight as she ran flat out with the young man in her arms and her Prada heels hanging by the straps in her teeth. It was simply impossible to run in high heels.

  She reached her fourth floor apartment via the fire escape catwalk and took stock of the dying man. He’d lost too much blood already and was losing more every second. She had to stop the bleeding, now. He smelled delicious––wonderful red syrup stained his shirt, and the raw meat scent of his wound tempted her. She could barely stand to be near him without feeding. Her sharp teeth came out full length, ready to sink into all that juicy flesh. She swallowed down her urges and forced herself to lean in close and tear open his shirt. Her mouth filled with venom like a dog salivating over a meal under its nose. Might be helpful. The boy needed the healing and pain-killing properties of her venom.

  Forcing herself not to bite, she licked away the blood and gore to reveal his lean, well-toned chest. He had long striated musculature from work––no iron-pumped, steroid-induced, weightlifter bulges. Not an ounce of fat on his young, sleek torso. His high cheek bones and angular features lent him a sharp, elfin look. He had light skin with dark hair and eyes, reminiscent of a Spaniard or Italian. Il est très bea. Oui, he is very fine. The gaping wound does spoil it.

  The boy’s bleeding slowed, but didn’t stop entirely. Somehow he managed to gain consciousness for a few moments. His lazy eyes looked up at her, glazed and drugged. Her venom had worked its chemical magic of pain-killer-endorphin-dump. But not enough. He needed a more drastic remedy. His aura was changing and she smelled his impending death from shock and trauma. Her first aid could only delay the inevitable and perhaps make his demise painless.

  The only way to reverse his fate was to give him her tainted blood. To make him as she was. She hated to do it, had purposely avoided it for many years. If he survived the change, it would create an unbreakable psychic bond, bending his will to hers. She would be his master, and he enslaved––not a convenient arrangement for either party.

  She knew how it felt to be enthralled and enslaved to a master. She’d hated every minute of it. The irresistible imprint had forced her to submit to her former master’s every command, her body and mind acting according to his will.

  She vowed years ago to never subject another person to the humiliation of enslavement that she’d endured. Granted, she wasn’t sadistic or intentionally malicious––not like him. Until now, she’d never been willing to try this with anyone. But never without his consent. That’s how it had been with her, forced, with no knowledge of what was happening at the time. He deserved a the choice.

  She stroked the side of his face to catch his eyes. “What is your name?” He smiled up at her as she licked his blood from her lips.

  “Aaron.” A huge stupid grin slid across his face. Obviously infatuated with her, yet dying in her lap, a sense of serendipity overcame her. It was the righteous thing to do, helping this beautiful boy.

  “Aaron, you must listen carefully. I cannot stop the bleeding. Your wound is very serious. Is something I can do for you. But you must understand first. If I do this, you will be bound to me always. If I give you this lifesaving gift you must serve me in all things. Your life will belong to me. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah.” The strong pain-killer of her venom had obviously done its job. That goofy grin of his just wouldn’t quit. “You must be an angel. Keep talking, I love the sound of your voice.”

  “I do this, it cannot be reversed. Is very important you understand.”

  He licked his dry lips. “I need a drink. I’m so thirsty.”

  “Oui, in a moment, but do you comprehend?”

  “Yes, it’s okay. Do what you have to, but I’d like a drink now.” His eyes rolled shut. He was slipping away.

  A quick flick of her nails across her wrist opened a lifeline for him. With his permission, she gave him a drink. He almost gagged at his first taste as she rubbed her bloody wrist over his lips, but this urge was quickly overcome as he continued to lick at her. Soon his lips sucked from her skin with a will of their own, like an infant’s involuntary reaction to a mother’s nipple in his mouth.

  Greedy for more, he grabbed her arm and gripped her tight, sucking harder. After a moment, she decided he’d had enough. She couldn’t afford for him to weaken her too much. She pried her arm from his two-handed grip with a yank and a wet sound as she broke his suction from her wrist.

  It was done and could not be undone.

  * * * *

  Drifting through a hazy swirl of pain and drugged happiness, his body began to tingle all over. The slight tickle-tingling sensation gradually changed intensity to an ache. The ache began to throb, coming on in waves, and then became a constant pain. The pain morphed to a burning sensation, an all-consuming inferno raging through his body. He kicked and thrashed. He cried out in agony as flaming trails of molten fire blazed across his flesh.

  He fainted repeatedly from the intense scorching pain, only to awake to more agony in his thrashings. He welcomed the periods of unconsciousness, the pain receding as he sank into oblivion. Exhaustion finally dragged him down into its hold of fitful sleep.

  In the midst of his delirium of pain he dreamt. He dreamed of Delia. She smiled invitingly, slipping her hands over his arms and chest with soft little strokes. A Delia far nicer and sweeter than she’d ever been before. Then her features changed to a vicious scowl, mocking him with words of rejection and taunts. Her cute little half smile alternated back and forth to a sneer. At one point she even swung at him, cursing him for leaving her behind as he moved on to somewhere else ... somewhere different where she couldn’t follow. These nightmarish dreams played repeatedly. Over and over, more of the same, Delia invited him in with seductive attentions, and then turned on him vi
ciously as they became intimate.

  On occasion his mother appeared asking what are you doing? Are you ever planning on going to college? Strange to see her. She rarely ever called and virtually never stopped by his apartment, so why should she visit his dreams? The one person he needed most never showed up. Aaron stopped dreaming of his father years ago.

  Then the dream sequence changed. He became angry, violent. He seized ahold of Delia with great strength and shook her bodily like a rag doll. She laughed as though it was nothing.

  Finally, his guardian angel arrived. The blond angel’s smile radiated a sense of calm. He stilled under her loving touch, all concerns erased by her charisma. She soothed him, taking away the aggression, and removing Delia from his nightmares.

  The tenor of his dreams shifted. It turned into a tour, a ride through a video game. He became a passenger in someone else’s world. A strangely exhilarating experience in a strange city where everyone spoke in foreign languages. He dreamed of racing through the dark streets of the night at unbelievable speeds. It was like living in someone else’s body while he ran at magnificent velocity, with nothing but his own two feet to propel him.

  His guardian angel came and went repeatedly. She helped cool his burning fever with a wet washcloth, but her eyes and her touch brought the most comfort. She fed him warm broth from a cup. It tasted wonderful. He wanted more to quench his thirst. It seemed he could never get enough of her broth. She shushed him and assured that all is well in her sensual French accent, but she denied him more drink––not too much, mon cher. His angel held him cradled in her arms like a baby. At times the fever and pain, so intense, he knew he’d died and gone to Hell, burning lake of fire. She held him even when he felt so hot his skin would surely scorch her from the incredible heat.

  Always the visions of Delia returned, laughing, mocking him, until his angel arrived to chase her away. He’d been banished to a special level of Hell, tormented endlessly by demonic versions of Delia.

  Sometime later, maybe days, or perhaps even weeks, the Delia attacks ceased. His life had been claimed by the angel. She fought off his demons and took a permanent position as his guardian. Delia no longer held sway. But the dreams became more disturbing, visions of stalking through dark alleys at night with a great thirst. He moved swift and sure, attacking his prey ferociously. He fed from their necks, drinking their warm, delicious blood by the gallons––from hundreds of faces of men and women in all parts of the world, all colors and races. No matter how much blood he drank it could never be enough. His horrible thirst could never be sated.

  CHAPTER 3

  Michelle had never done this before. She wasn’t certain it would work. Her own transformation hadn’t included an instruction manual. Many aspects of her life had been learned the hard way, through painful mistakes and experimentation. Her former master hadn’t explained anything––bastard had no regard for her or anyone else.

  She watched Aaron as he convulsed and squirmed, tossing the covers from his feverish body. Seeing this trim, fit, well-endowed young man in her bed inspired a mess of conflicting emotions. A flush of arousal warmed her as she slid her hand over him, feeling his hot feverish skin. His face pinched in anguish, and she wished there was more she could do beyond a soothing word and a cool, wet cloth. Her touch seemed to calm him. He kept complaining of thirst, so she fed him a little more blood, but not too much. She beefed up her own feeding schedule to accommodate Aaron’s demands.

  As time stretched into the third night, and his fever hadn’t subsided, she began to think that perhaps he wouldn’t make it. What a shame, such a lovely boy. She considered it might be more humane to kill him now, put him out of his pain and misery. She wasn’t sure how long the process should take, it seemed like it should be a couple days, but who knew? Perhaps it was different with each person.

  She kicked herself for doing it. Surely a mistake. She should have let him die. What would she do with him if he survived? She had lived alone for decades. She hadn’t planned to share her life with anyone. What a foolish, impetuous thing to do. She should end it now, save both of them from years of complications.

  She put her hands around his neck. It would be so easy, one flick of her wrist, spinal column severed. He opened his eyes delirious with fever. For a moment he looked at her, recognized her, and his expression morphed to relief. He mumbled something about my angel. The fool was hallucinating. He smiled at her with adoration and undisguised worship. That did it. She couldn’t go through with the dirty deed. It wasn’t in her to be so cruel. It would have to wait until he provoked her. Then she could get past his damnable boyish charm.

  What would it be like to share her life with someone? It had been decades since she’d let anyone in, close and personal. She’d tried to have relationships with men before––what a disaster. A painful lesson she learned repeatedly––she didn’t mix well with people, at least not for any length of time. Those experiments always ended in death. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, men always died. They were so frail, their bodies so easily broken, withered by time and sickness, by her need for blood. A sure recipe for heartache.

  But this would be different. This man would answer her command. He wouldn’t be able to beat and abuse her like her master did. The kid better watch himself. If he became a problem, she knew how to handle it.

  She reached back through the years to remember her life long ago with a male vampire. Those memories were too dark, filled with ferocious violence and malice. Her former master had been an extreme sadist. But there were passionate moments filled with wicked pleasure. She remembered how they molded together in savage sexual adventures. He dominated her like no other, so strong, vicious, and she’d enjoyed it. And the synchronous bites! Those wonderful sensations of blood, sex and venom––an insane, chaotic blend. There was nothing like it.

  Aaron would have his chance. She’d be gentle with him at first. He was definitely an innocent. This time she would dominate, the boy would answer to her in all things. But if he began to exhibit the signs, if he became anything like her former master, she’d snap his neck without a moment’s hesitation.

  * * * *

  Aaron awoke to a bone dry thirst and a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. He heard a myriad of sounds ranging from snores and grunts to dishwashing and several televisions blasting over one another. He breathed in crisp, strong smells of linen, cotton, vinyl, paint, a woman’s perfume, carpet freshener, sweaty bodies and lemon furniture polish. Each scent had a distinct signature. He differentiated them all with amazing clarity.

  “Where the hell am I?”

  Bemichis. He had just left work, then the blonde and cops. And the gunshot! He reached up to feel his chest.

  “Holy shit!”

  Nothing, not a mark on him. The gunshot wound was gone as if it had never happened, although he felt some residual soreness. That’s when he noticed he was completely naked under the bed covers. Though the bedroom was dark, he could see clearly. It seemed the room had light, but from where?

  Definitely not his room or his apartment. This place had a feminine touch, the bedspreads, furniture, candles. A woman’s home. The perfume scent evoked something vaguely familiar––cloudy, dream-like memories of being soothed and comforted by an angel with a heavenly smile and golden hair.

  Nothing made sense. He should be dead, or in the hospital. Yet he felt great.

  He listened to noises coming from outside this room, but not just from the other room. Were those sounds from the neighboring apartments? The walls must be ultra-thin. The sounds came to him as though people stood in the room beside his bed.

  Something waited at the edge of his perceptions, a sense of another person, a woman in the other room. She was coming to him, coming towards the door to the room. He felt an indefinable attraction to her. She opened the bedroom door, her golden halo of hair illuminated from behind by the living room light spilling through the darkness. His guardian angel.

  He recalled how
she held him, wiped his brow, tenderly ministered to him. She had somehow healed him, brought him out of the bowels of Hell.

  He recognized the magnetic pull effect he felt was to her, like an invisible line connected them. Michelle. Her name was Michelle, but he couldn’t recall how he knew it. She had come for him, and she had many things to explain. How did he know that?

  * * * *

  Michelle studied him for a second, taking in the small details, the nuances of change. Aaron’s aura held an animal magnetism that had not existed prior to his change. Much more attractive, somehow manlier. She wanted to sink her fangs into him and experience sex with one of her own kind again.

  She had grown so accustomed to these fragile, delicate human men. Like a carnivore forced to subsist on a vegetarian diet, she hungered for meat. She needed a real man, a strong, virile vampire.

  She restrained her carnal urges for the moment. Plenty of time for fun later. And she didn’t want to scare her new companion. He should be brought into the fold gently. Though he had come through the change, his aura still displayed an innocent soul. She sighed. She expected that the inner beast, the vampire’s true nature, would rear its ugly head soon enough. Until then, she’d handle him with kid gloves.

  * * * *

  “Bonjour, how does it feel to be reborn?” She smiled slyly.

  “I could down a gallon of water right now. Beyond that, I’m good, all things considered.” He tried for nonchalant, but felt childish and unsophisticated in her presence. He suspected she wasn’t an angel after all. He caught a sense, a feeling, that she was quite mischievous and not necessarily benign. He recalled a vague memory of extreme burning pain, but it seemed like a weird dream. How could he have been in so much pain and yet in this bed, in good health, not a mark on him? His mind raced as she advanced slowly, staring intently. Confused, clueless, he remained silent.