Urban Vampire: The bookset 1-3
Page 1
URBAN VAMPIRE
Book set 1-3
Pepper Pace
URBAN VAMPIRE
The Turning
Creature of the Night
The Return of Alexis
Editor: The Turning, Creature of the Night
J.J’s and Amy’s Editing Service,
http://www.johnjeffreymurray.com/id63.html
Editor: The Return of Alexis
L.S. Lange
Cover Art: Kim Chambers © 2014
This story is for adult readers only. It contains graphic sex and language.
This story is completely a work of fiction. Characters – including their names, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are otherwise used fictitiously. Any similarity from this book to events occurring in real life – including locations, or persons living or dead is wholly coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Pepper Pace.
Urban Vampire Book set. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except for short excerpts appearing in book reviews. For reprint or excerpt permission inquiries, please contact the author by e-mail at pepperpace.author@yahoo.com.
The Turning and Creature of the Night first published and distributed in the United States of America in 2009. Copyright © 2009 Pepper Pace.
©Pepper Pace Publications
Author’s Note
I owe thanks to a number of people for their assistance in completing this book set. First, I would like to thank my Beta Readers Leslie and Phyllis. In addition my editor L.S. Lange worked long hours to help me develop and polish the third book in this series. Special thanks go to J.J’s and Amy’s Editing Service because when I was in a crunch they not only came through for me but they did it with finesse!
Dear Reader, I began this series back when Buffy the Vampire Slayer was still being televised. There have been free versions of book one and two hosted on several websites. If you have an older version of The Turning or Creature of the Night, please note that a number of changes have been made to the original story and the version that you are currently reading has never been previously published. Due to this I am making the first two books in the series free by offering the book set for the price of a single book. I appreciate you, dear Reader, for supporting the efforts of independent authors by purchasing their work.
BTW…be on the look out for book four of this continuing series.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Author’s Note
THE TURNING
Book I
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CREATURE OF THE NIGHT
Book II
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
Epilogue
THE RETURN OF ALEXIS
Book III
~Prologue~
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
Chapter 19
PEPPER PACE BOOKS
About the Author
Awards
THE TURNING
Book I
CHAPTER 1
When I woke up I was dead.
I didn’t immediately realize this. I thought I just had a bad case of food poisoning. But no, I was a creature of the night—and I’m not talking Ebonics.
I was a vampire.
I know how this sounds. Who knew that vampires actually existed? I’ve watched the campy movies and TV shows just like everyone else. And for that reason alone, I could not have dreamed that vampirism is based on truth.
Let’s face it. I don’t meet the profile of the typical girl turned vampire or girl turned vampire killer. Bella is too tragic, Buffy is a cheerleader, and I’m a black girl from the ‘hood. I work nine to five at a local cable company. Drop-dead gorgeous men are not stalking me, and my rounded body does not fit neatly into a size two.
So when I awoke that night sicker than I had ever been in my life, hugging the porcelain god, and puking my guts up, I just attributed it to that damned buffet at Club Midnight. It would be a while before I realized that I had already taken my dying breath. As I lay there on the cool tiled floor—not even caring that I had failed to mop it in over two months—I swore to myself that I’d never eat at another free buffet on ladies night. And then I probably wished for death … which, unfortunately, had already been granted to me.
My best friend Arnitra and I had gone to a new club where the music was supposed to be more than just rap and with DJ’s who knew how to mix dance, hip hop, and techno. Happy hour included a free buffet that at the time I thought was banging. But somewhere between the sesame chicken wings and lasagna, the shit they called food must have gone rank.
I sat up quickly and spewed into the toilet bowl. Just thinking about food was making me weak, and I started feeling light-headed again. I’m not saying that I have many blackouts because of drinking, but I wasn’t worried about it. I certainly didn’t equate it to being dead.
The next time that I opened my eyes I had a hellafied hangover. My ears were ringing, and everything looked strange and bright. I flushed the toilet before I got sick again and took a long hot shower. I was planning to crawl into my bed with a bottle of aspirin, but first I was going to call Arnitra and find out if she had gotten sick, too.
I’m not saying that Arnitra and I are hoochie mamas, but we had gotten into the habit of hitting the hot clubs on ladies nights for the cheap drinks and good music more than to meet guys. I don’t make a great deal of money, and ladies night is a free meal. Besides, I’d heard a lot about Club Midnight, but it was the next county over from Cincinnati and no one likes to drink, dance, and spend two hours getting back home in the late hours of the morning.
Now I wish I’d never gone ...
I picked up the phone and climbed into bed dialing Arnitra’s number.
”Hello?” Came my friend’s slightly cooler than normal voice.
”Arnitra?”
”Oh, is this my friend, the ho? Why haven’t you been answering your cell phone, ho? And how are you going to diss me and leave the club with that funky looking Rasta Man?”
”What?” I sat up alarmed. “What do you mean I left the club with a Rasta?”
My friend’s voice softened. “Kim, are you okay?”
”Y ... Yeah. Let me call you back.” I hung up the phone because I remembered. How the hell had I forgotten in the first place?
This guy had come up to me when I was on my way to the restro
om. I didn’t really like his approach because he touched my elbow to get my attention, but his eyes were the strangest, most intriguing eyes I’d ever seen. He wasn’t all that much to look at, but something about him drew me. Running down the small of his back were dreads that had definitely seen better things. And he was wearing a shirt and pants combination that hadn’t been fashionable in ten years. I mean, in a room full of fine-ass men, you certainly wouldn’t pick him out of the crowd.
”Pritty laty,” he said in heavily accented English while lightly gripping my elbow.
I pulled away from his touch and looked into his eyes. For a split second I felt amused, but then his eyes ... drew me.
After that everything was a blur. Oh my God! He slipped me a roofie! I reached down and felt between my thighs but because I was sore all over and feeling miserable I could not tell if something had happened without my knowledge. I began to shake with rage at the idea that someone might have drugged and done something disgusting to me.
And that’s when something strange happened. My mouth got wet with saliva, and my gums began to tingle. I could feel my teeth becoming pointy and sharp.
”What the hell?” I jumped up to look into my mirror when my phone rang. Damn ... I must be sick because I was standing in front of my mirror a split second after I thought about my mirror.
Ignoring the phone, I stared at my teeth and considered how quickly I had moved.
The ringing of the phone captured my attention though I distracted by my new set of teeth, my quick movements, and the Rasta-rapist.
”Uh … hello?
”Kim,” Arnitra said. “Can I ask you a question? Why the hell did you just hang up on me? Is that Rasta still there?”
”Arnitra, something is definitely not right,” I muttered past my new teeth. “What exactly happened at the club last night?”
”That jacked up Rasta bogarted all of your time. At first I thought you were just being funny and that we were going to talk about him after he left. Then the next thing I knew you were walking out the door with him. You don’t remember this? I ran after you and you just said that ... what was his name? ... Tige! That Tige was going to take you home and you’d call me later. You don’t remember any of this?”
I lied. I had to—at least until I could get everything that was happening to me straight in my head. “Yeah, I remember that part. Sorry, I was totally ... but I’m fine. Look, let me call you back, okay?” I disconnected and went back to the mirror to examine my teeth. They were still there—long and pointy and dangerously sharp. I tried to push them back up into my gums. No luck.
I started noticing other changes. I don’t know how I had initially missed them. My only excuse is that, well, I was either suffering the after-effects of some date rape drug, or ... I was newly undead. Should I be scared? Yes, but strangely I wasn’t. I backed up and studied myself in the mirror.
Recently I had made a decision to improve myself both body and soul, and I have been making a conscious effort to eat better and exercise more. I joined a gym, which I have faithfully attended.
However, the changes I was seeing weren’t a result of working out at the gym. My face had taken on a glow that looked as if I had gone to a salon and been expertly made-up. I touched my cheeks knowing that I didn’t have any makeup on. I had scrubbed my face in the shower. And if anything I should have been looking like hell after being as sick as I was.
I touched my hair where golden highlights had sprouted and ran my hands down my body--my much thinner body. I wasn’t wearing a bra under my T-shirt so I could feel that my breasts had perked up considerably. My waist had narrowed, and when I felt my stomach it was tight and muscular.
”Oh ... shit.” I gripped my ass, fearful that my ghetto-booty would have disappeared. I was relieved to find it still present and even more booty-licious since I now had an hourglass figure. I’m not saying I was a size two, but I was freaking hot!
I paced back and forth cursing and admiring my new looks. Again I tried to determine if I was afraid—I should have been, but I wasn’t. I looked too damned good, and I wasn’t even going to pretend. I tried to piece together the exact events of what happened once I left Club Midnight with what’s-his-name. Tige. If he wasn’t a rapist, then did we … do it?
It was fuzzy. We’d driven to his place, I think. I remember a sparsely furnished apartment. He’d been talking and had kissed my neck in a way that made me feel weak afterwards. Other than that, the only thing I remember was him thanking me for a lovely time. He hadn’t even touched me in a sexual way, but I felt as if I was in the afterglow of the best sex of my life. He was driving me home, and I remember an explosion of light!
A car hit ours, on my side. I remembered! We had been in an accident, and I had been thrown out onto the street. Bits and pieces of my memory began returning. The Rasta had been standing over me, and then I was being carried, a sensation as if I were flying. The next thing I remember was him and me at my home. He had made me invite him in, repeating it over and over again until I could speak the words.
The memory of last night made my legs weak. I sat, my mouth going dry. I couldn’t bring up any more memories.
After inviting him in, there was nothing.
CHAPTER 2
As much as I wanted to sit on my couch curled into a ball of sorrow, I knew that I had to find some answers.
I had the vampire teeth and unnatural otherworldly beauty. I had amazing speed, but what about strength?
I looked for something to move or pick up. The stove. I had dropped a slice of carrot on the side of the stove a week ago and had meant to move it so that I could sweep it out.
I opened the oven door enough to slip my hand inside for a good grip. It took absolutely no effort to lift! My stove felt as if it was made of foam. I dropped it with a thud.
”Shit!” I shook my hands as if a spider had crawled across my fingers. “Okay, I’m a vampire. Shit, I’m a vampire.” Saying it out loud helped to calm me. “Vampires drink blood. Do I want to drink blood?”
The idea of blood did not seem appealing at all. Okay, no desire for blood. I grabbed a can of soda from the fridge. I guzzled down half of it before it came right back up. Now Of course that could just be because I was queasy. I decided that test was inconclusive.
What about garlic? Was I now repelled by garlic? That would be a shame since I don’t think you can make a decent meal without lots of garlic.
I searched the fridge for a jar of minced garlic. I didn’t have any. But I knew I had some garlic powder. I picked it up from the spice rack. Cool, almost a full container. I twisted off the top and sniffed. Nothing. I sprinkled a bit onto my finger. Nothing. There was no burning sensation or whatever is supposed to happen when a vampire comes into contact with garlic. One vampire myth blown. I’m not sure if garlic powder is really garlic, so maybe that test is only semi-conclusive.
What about crosses and religious artifacts? I had a cross on a necklace in my jewelry box. I hurried back to my bedroom and opened my jewelry box. I reached inside and felt a jolt of fire. The sensation was like being electrocuted and it was both immediate and incredibly painful. It knocked me on my ass. After I had got my wits back and could investigate, I discovered that it hadn’t been the cross that had burned me but my silver loop earrings. Oh, hell no! No no no no no! I couldn’t wear silver anymore? I had spent serious money on my jewelry, and I couldn’t wear half of it?
After sucking on my burning fingers to reduce the pain, I was too scared to think about touching the cross. Silver hurt too much. What about sunlight? It was dark out, just after nine at night. I decided to test that in the morning.
I never got into the whole vampire craze, so all my knowledge of vampire came from my collection of Blaxploitation movies—in particular Blacula and Scream, Blacula, Scream. I remembered how that African vampire had howled and screamed when he was reduced to ashes after being exposed to the sun.
I wasn’t all that anxious to recreate the experience. I’ve
been ashy, but I don’t want to be ashes.
I could see my own reflection, but could I shape-shift? Didn’t vampires turn into bats or mist or something? I concentrated until I felt like a serious dumbass because it was evident that I was not even close to changing into something else.
Was ... was I dead? How could I test that? I didn’t want to consider it. If I could walk around and think then I was alive, and I was not going to get all caught up in labels—death, vampire, undead.
To get real answers, I needed to return to Club Midnight. Somebody had turned me, leaving me with no answers, no instructions, nothing. That just wasn’t right!
I got ready to go out. Although I was a vampire, it didn’t mean that I was going to walk up in the club looking jacked up. I dressed in a black silk shirt without a bra to show off my newly perky boobs. I dug through the back of my closet for a pair of black pants that a day earlier I would have been bursting out of. Now they hugged my curves and looked the way I had wanted them to look on me when I first purchased them—before I had tossed them into the back of the closet when I couldn’t squeeze my big thighs into the legs. Next I pulled on my low-heeled boots instead of spiked heels in case I needed to do some running.
I didn’t need any makeup, but I put on some lipstick and styled my highlighted natural. Let’s be real. When a sister goes natural, we have these images of flowing locks and twirls. My hair persisted in being a giant-ass Afro puff that I couldn’t comb. I was pleased that I now had a natural that spiraled without the use of rods or Dark and Lovely hairdressing.
I studied myself in my mirror, truly happy that I could see my reflection because I really looked hot! Using an emery board, I fished a black choker made of strips of leather and polished black wood from my jewelry box. I spritzed myself with So Sexy perfume. I looked good and everything, but I couldn’t get those freaking teeth to go back in. I guess I would have to do the Mona Lisa smile. I practiced it for a few seconds before leaving for the club.