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

  “Many things, they change for you now. You have noticed you can hear all the petit noises, n’est pas? You can smell and taste everything, non? Your senses are very acute?”

  “Ahmm ... yeah, I guess.”

  “Listen and I will explain.” She sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Her gaze held his, never blinking once. Creepy.

  He finally had a chance to take a good close look at her. Michelle was far more attractive than he first thought. Her eyes held a vibrant shade of green he’d never seen before. Her round face was pleasingly symmetrical with a narrow, elegant neck sweeping up to her cheeks. Graceful, very patrician. She had creamy-white perfect skin, a light, pink blush to her cheeks. Too perfect. She could have been an airbrushed artist’s rendering, unnaturally beautiful. The smirk on her face led him to believe she knew exactly what he thought of her.

  “Is difficult, we are strangers. But you must believe what I say is the truth. Do you trust me, Aaron?”

  “I’m pretty sure you saved my life. I guess I should trust you.” he replied with false bravado. Who was she? Why did she bring him to her apartment? Her words started to freak him out.

  She nodded. “I did something I promised to never do. I gave you new life. Is like a special kind of virus. This allows for miraculous regeneration and healing. There are changes you will notice, you are very different now.” She sounded so sexy purring biological terminologies with her poetic accent. He didn’t have the first clue what she was saying, sounded like sci-fi mumbo jumbo.

  “Your body now needs regular infusions of fresh blood. Is the only nourishment you require. You will not consume food or drink, only fresh blood. You noticed the thirst is intense, oui?”

  He didn’t know what to make of her. He stared at her with a raised eyebrow. Are you for real? Are you properly medicated?

  She continued, “Arriver au point, you are now a vampire, and you must feed on fresh blood very soon.” Her cute accent now held the potential to become irritating. He shook his head no, an involuntary reaction to the overpowering denial resounding through his mind like a pounding drum beating out a steady rhythm of No! No! No! No! This was a sick joke. At any moment, people would fill the room with cameras and smiles yelling, “Hey dude, you’ve been punked!”

  She didn’t give him much time to react. “I can see you do not believe me. Donc, I will demonstrate!”

  With a flick of her hand she sliced her wicked nails across her left wrist and held it a couple inches from his face. The wondrous smell of sweet, delicious blood assaulted his senses. His mouth watered at the strong, savory aroma pulling him down to lick from her wrist. Like a shark drawn to blood in the water, he couldn’t resist its lure. His mind reeled in revulsion, but his thirst overwhelmed him. He latched onto her wrist with a snake-like chomp, sucking frantically. Awesome. He couldn’t resist, and he was sooo thirsty. He bit down hard into her open wound, his sharp little canines punctured through her flesh like biting into a juicy peach. Oh God, that’s wonderful, more, more, MORE! He devoured every drop of the succulent syrup. He had never tasted anything like it. He didn’t think he could ever stop. He wanted to drain her arm, wring it dry like a sponge.

  Michelle moaned. Her breathing quickened, she panted heavily like a dog and her legs squirmed. “Oui! Oui!” Small gasps of intense pleasure spilled from her lips. Suddenly she sat back and in a deep, resonating timbre of voice commanded, “Enough! Ça suffit!”

  Reacting instantly to her command, he released his lockjaw hold on her wrist. The truth hit him like a bucket of ice-water, drenching him with shock. He had just fed from her slashed wrist like a bloodthirsty animal. He reeled and pitched, losing equilibrium. He leaned back against the pillow of the bed as his head spun. He couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe. He tried to deny the delicious smell of blood in his nostrils and the gut-gnawing hunger for more. He tried to plug his nose, to think of anything other than the blood.

  He couldn’t deny what he’d just done. He had to face the irrefutable facts. He enjoyed her blood immensely. It was the most wonderful sensation, almost better than sex. He understood without a shadow of doubt that he needed blood. He’d do anything to get it, like a junkie craving a fix, like a fish needs water to breath. He had the blood smores, and he needed more. His burning, itchy, dry throat was bad, but to top it off he had a hunger, a potent need.

  Michelle twitched and made little groaning sounds, still pulsing with her response to his bite. She watched him with a half-lidded, lazy-eyed look, as though drugged. “Mmm ... oh la vache! Ooh ... I like that very much.” She paused to regain her composure. She retained a lazy Garfield-the-cat half-lidded smile.

  “There are details I must explain and then we will see to our needs properly.” She wiped a hand across her face. “When you were dying from the gunshot, I fed you the same way, from my blood. This has brought on the change. You are now like me, but also tied to me. We share a special connection. You are blood of my blood and you will answer to me when I command.”

  Michelle held his gaze with a look of apology in her eyes. “I am sorry you must live this way. Is the only way to save your life. Your injuries were too severe.” Her eyes seemed to beg his forgiveness for what she had done. “Now you must consume fresh blood every night and learn to control your thirst. I teach you how we live. Is relatively simple. There are many benefits and pleasures. The most obvious; you age very slowly, like dog years in reverse. Fifty years is like one year to you.” She smiled at him hopefully.

  Shocked by his ravenous consumption of her blood, the implications of her words seeped in slowly. He sat dazed and confused, wishing people would jump out of the closet and tell him this was all a ridiculous gag.

  Watching him, she licked her lips ... almost in anticipation. “You are now very strong, many times stronger than before. And you can move much faster. People around you move in slow motion, like turtles. Don’t believe the merde on television.” She tapped her fingers on his chest. “You are not immortal. You can die, but is very difficult. Your body is resilient and you recover quickly.”

  He was at a loss for words. He stared at her, then glanced at the closet, hoping.

  “You and I have a special bond that cannot be broken. You will know things about me. I can send to you. You are sending to me. Is like telepathy. Oui? You understand? Comprends?” He nodded in silent acquiescence.

  She went on. “I will teach you to close your mind. Is like a radio station to me. I hear the station all the time.” That got his attention.

  He popped up from his dazed stupor. “You mean you’re hearing my thoughts right now?”

  She smiled reassuringly. “Oui, reste calme, silly American. This is no problème. As I told you, we are connected. I will show you how to remain private in here.” She tapped on her head and smiled again.

  He returned her smile with embarrassment. He caught the distinct impression she approved of him. He had no cause for shame or concern. The truth of it staggered him. She’s in my head! Oh. My. God. She’s in my fuckin’ head!

  Her smile let him know that she understood. It was okay. But it wasn’t okay! Nothing would ever be okay again. This beautiful, callous, psychotic, foreign woman had invaded his mind, sending him messages and reading his thoughts. What a mindfuck! This is really happening.

  “You must remember I am your master. When I command, you obey. There is no choice. Also important, we live the nightlife, after dark. No sunlight. We are extremely sensitive to the sun. You will burn very badly in the sun. We sleep in the day.” She pointed to the windows covered in something solid black, and sturdier than a curtain––a board? Her bedroom window was completely sealed off.

  “No!” He grabbed his head. “No! This is too much. It’s too fast.” He shook his head trying to dislodge the insane thoughts pelting his mind. “This is too weird!”

  Lucky for him, she understood how he felt. “Don’t worry. I am not some evil creature. I will not abuse my authority over you. You must trust me. You have no c
hoice. C’est la vie!” She shrugged her shoulders in a flippant such is life manner.

  “As soon as you tell me where my clothes are, I’m gone. You got a great scam going, but I’m not buying it.” It was all some cruel joke––had to be.

  He looked around the room for any sign of his clothes. Michelle reached out to put her hand in his. Instantly it was there, that sense of rightness, a feeling everything would be okay, because she was there, she had it all figured out. He wondered if she was manipulating his emotions through this weird connection. Then he noticed her unblemished wrist. No marks at all from having been slashed open just minutes before. No cuts, no scabs.

  That was it.

  He had enough Twilight Zone horseshit for one night. “You’re screwing with my head! What kinda drugs did you give me?” He let go her hand and jabbed a finger of accusation at her flawlessly healed skin. “That is not right! I saw you cut yourself!”

  He was reaching the edge, staring into the abyss of madness, where reality and insanity blend together in an inseparable concoction that leaves men babbling in the street. He was about to lose it.

  “Oui. This is the way of things with our kind. One of the many benefits of this life.”

  Michelle stood up abruptly. “Put your clothes on. I will show you, our life is simple.” He blanched.

  He was naked beneath the covers. He must have been naked when she was doing whatever she did to him. She smiled and patted his hand in a motherly fashion.

  “You Americans are so silly with your modesty. Don’t worry. I have not done anything with your body. Not yet!” With that she walked out of the room smirking and closed the door behind her. He instantly knew there were clothes for him in the top drawer of the dresser. He knew like he had known her name without a single word spoken. She’s in my fucking head again! Oh. My. God!

  CHAPTER 4

  They began sitting cross-legged, face to face. Aaron couldn’t think of anything but Michelle. She wore a slip of a white dress, very short, nothing more than a nightie. As she sat there, legs splayed wide, he appreciated every detail and contour of her inner thighs and skimpy white underwear. Utterly impossible to concentrate on anything she said.

  “Please close your eyes!” she snapped at him with a knowing smirk on her face. “Picture me in your mind.”

  Easy.

  Sitting there, the curves of her breasts and thighs calling to him, her devious little smile promised sex––lots of sex. Gradually his mind’s eye view of her changed. Not that the picture was different, but now he sensed something more. This beautiful hundred pound kitten exuded a power, a force of personality like a massive lioness. He caught her amusement. Not mocking him, more the pleasure derived from watching a child walk for the first time.

  This test of their connectivity was the equivalent of baby steps. He hoped he didn’t botch it. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

  He concentrated further on the woman who was really a lioness in human skin, and delved into her psyche. He sensed her attraction to him, her desire to both fuck and bite him at the same time. In the middle of this desire was a vague memory of another time, a very far away time. Shadows of another man, but not exactly a man. The shadows mixed together in a blend of longing, desire, and hatred. There was a sense of violence, extreme violence, and sex.

  Suddenly his mind slammed into a blank wall. He could perceive no emotion, no thought, only the image of Michelle accompanied by her powerful predatory nature held tightly under her iron control. He wondered what would happen if she lost control.

  He heard her voice, but not with his ears. The sensation was so much more, replete with intent, an irresistible force of command. {{Imagine yourself, your mind, sealed within a steel box. Is like a vault. Picture your mind enclosed within a vault.}}

  He did as she instructed, and instantly recognized a closure, a blocked layer of protection closing his mind off from the world around him.

  {{Very good. Is easy for you.}} She spoke again directly in his mind, and he registered her approval and relief at his ability to do this the first time, without difficulty.

  It occurred to him that if he was blocked, how could he still hear her in his mind? Why wasn’t she blocked out? A sick feeling hit his gut as he began to suspect that maybe he could not attain any privacy. Would he be doomed to a life where his every thought, no matter how petty and disgusting, his every sin was laid bare for her perusal? Who could live like that? Could any man live every moment with perfect thoughts? He worked himself into a panic. In his distress, his neat little mental vault failed completely.

  “Michelle, how can I still hear you if I’m inside my vault?”

  “Aaron, ne t’inquiet pas, you were closed to me, your mind blocked.”

  He interrupted, “But ...”

  She spoke over the top of him. “But I can send to you. Don’t worry. Is always this way. I can send to you always. You can send to me always.” She sent him a calm feeling, letting him know she approved of him without reservation. He felt that same sense that everything was gonna be okay. It seemed to help. He relaxed and gradually grew embarrassed over his panic attack.

  She spoke again into his mind. {{Try to reach me and read my thoughts. You will see how it is when we are blocked. You cannot read me when I choose to be private. Is the same with you.}}

  He strained so hard, he found himself physically leaning towards her as he flowed down through their connection. He hit a solid blank wall where her mind should have been. Nothing. Not a damn thing. He couldn’t read one nuance of meaning from her apart from the fact she sat there smirking at him, pleased. He continued to hit her blank wall, and so he pushed harder, concentrating on reaching with all his intensity. His mind washed over and around Michelle, engulfing her, but not finding a way in. He kept reaching out until he sensed others in the surrounding residences. Aaron touched on an older man, someone in his sixties whose mind was hazy with alcohol from the six pack of Bud Light he drank while camped in front of the TV. The old man’s mind was filled with speculations of football statistics and possible outcomes for the game.

  As soon as Aaron noticed the man’s mind, he also became aware of the woman who slept in the bedroom of the same apartment a few yards away. Her mind was deeply shrouded in dreams, a cloudy world of images and feelings, something about her sister and her husband, the man watching football. She dreamt of the vague details of an illicit affair between her husband and her younger, more attractive, sister. Her emotions were in turmoil over the dream, a frenzied mix of anger, resentment, jealousy, and self-loathing for her inability to retain her husband’s attention and affections. She writhed in anxiety, fighting with her own sheets and blankets.

  Aaron had enough of this and reached out in other directions, seeking what else he might encounter. Completely absorbed in his psychic scanning, he had lost focus on Michelle and his internal privacy block.

  He touched on a teenage girl who chatted online with her boyfriend. She was typing frantically on her laptop, trying to justify her actions to her boyfriend. She had gone to a party with one of her girlfriends, drank too much, and ended up in the bedroom with another guy. She didn’t want her boyfriend to know how far things had actually gone.

  Michelle snatched his attention away from his psionic ramblings with a psychic push. Her mind shoved his mind, a very disorientating experience. He grabbed for something, reaching out with his hands to stabilize himself on the carpet. He felt off balance, dizzy, but she hadn’t touched him physically.

  In the moment of her psychic push, Michelle transmitted flashes of surprise, anger, and envy for a split second before slipping back behind the blank wall of her vault. He remembered himself and refocused on his own mental vault, reestablishing his privacy.

  She stood up abruptly. “You were reading their minds, oui?” She gave him a raised eyebrow, looking down on him. “You are better at this game than I thought. Enough practice for tonight.”

  He realized he had transmitted his encounters
with the neighbors directly to her. He would have to learn to multitask, to maintain his mental vault while scanning others nearby. Probably like trying to chew gum, pat your head, and rub your belly all at once. Not impossible, but tricky.

  “Why didn’t you tell me I could do that?”

  Her irritation leaked through their emotional ties, her eyes flashed in anger. “I did not ...”

  “You didn’t know?” He spoke over the top of her when he realized the truth. His ability was unique.

  “Non,” she snapped curtly.

  He swelled with pride, a childish feeling of superiority and wonder at this magnificent new existence. He speculated about what new experiences, as yet undiscovered, this life might hold for him.

  “I see the auras, but I cannot read minds ... apart from yours.” She flashed her eyes again, a demand for submission. He knew she was testing to see if he would take the bait and rise up, only to be slapped down. He wasn’t adversarial, proud, or foolish enough to take her challenge. He looked down and away from her in the universal sign of submission. He stayed seated while she stared him down, standing over him like a master ready to whip her slave for taking undue liberties.

  After a moment of glaring without catching a rise, Michelle softened. “You have the right to be intrigued. Pourquoi est-ce que je dois être celui avec le gamin spécial?”

  He barely understood her. She’d said something about getting stuck with the special boy. Special like the kids on the short bus.

  She reached out her hand to pull him up. “The aura shows me moods and personalities. I knew things from your aura the night we met. I knew those men were police corrompue, and they would create beaucoup de problèmes, but I did not know they would shoot you. I cannot read minds, or see the future.” She admitted this apologetically as he stood up to face her.

  “No more conflict.” With this she returned to the role of benevolent master she had assumed upon his awakening. Michelle placed her hands on his head, holding him straight, directing his eyes into her gaze. She restarted her instruction with the basics of mesmerizing people through direct eye contact and subtle commands.