Psychic Storm: Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

by Deanna Chase

  Francesca coos with delight, “Oh, I love welcome baskets. I can hardly wait to see what’s inside!”

  Tommy’s answering grin is a knowing one. He has first-hand experience with what’s in those baskets. We give out samples of all the new toys to the staff when a shipment comes in. It’s a great way to ensure their proficient use of the intimate items.

  I tune out the rest of the playful banter between the guests by lowering myself into a comfortable chair. I love this part of my job. The first feel our visitors get when they arrive can set the tone for their whole vacation.

  Not many vampires have the power to project real-life illusions, and of those who can, none are able to fool their fellow undead—except for the rare ones like me. I’m the only powerful manipulator left. The rest have been hunted down and killed by the Tribunal of Ancients to ensure no vampire can mind control another.

  Who would guess they were vacationing with one of the best enforcers our vampire tribunal has ever seen? My high kill rate was attributed to fighting skills, never my use of subtlety. Here, residing at a resort above the Arctic Circle, I hide to avoid the debilitating silver hood used to control my kind, while freely using my gift on the guests. The no-daylight setting, combined with my rare skill, guarantees everyone will have a good time, and my added proficiency in manipulating ensures I’m never suspected.

  I cross my legs, debating how far to go tonight. This group has a lot of dynamics I’m unaware of but I’d like to take a risk and push the envelope. Opening my mate bond to Rafe’s thoughts might help me decide.

  Reading my mind makes him smile. Go for it, Dria. But leave the employees be.

  I uncross my legs, allowing my thighs to squeeze together before I ease them flat onto the chair.

  I send out arousal, thick and cloying, into the lobby air. It slowly permeates each guest, seeping into their minds to become their own. Women cling to the person closest to them, while the men reach a hand to steady themselves on the front desk or a nearby piece of furniture. Thankfully, no one loses balance or falls. That’s always much harder to explain away.

  Standing, I walk to the front desk, waiting for our guests to assimilate what they’re feeling.

  All have intense expressions on their faces. The human companion, Olivia, has a dazed cast to her features. She touches her neck, associating the arousal with what she feels from a feeding. Before my eyes, the vamps ease closer to the humans in the lobby. I’m betting some major magic will happen upstairs in a few minutes.

  Damn, I’m good.

  Chapter Four

  I head away from the lobby, pleased I’ve had a chance to greet the guests by name and shake hands. I learned a lot in each little touch. The mated pair, Liam and Francesca, have been together a long time, about forty years. What she really wants is to rule him, but hasn’t had a chance to fulfill her inner fantasy. Liam, in turn, desires for her to be happy.

  Domination is a common fantasy we deal with, hence our two dungeon rooms. Both are outfitted with special silver restraints to hold vamps. It’s a big step in trust for most of our kind and I wonder if Liam has refused or if Francesca has not approached him with it.

  Liam will be the biggest obstacle; he likes to have power and has trouble letting go. I will take them on a tour of the rooms on the third floor tomorrow and see if I can pique their interest without my input. If not, I’ll give the couple a helpful nudge.

  The special rooms are a delight, in an evil I-want-sex-now kind of way. The west wing holds room eleven, which looks like a Moroccan desert lair. Suite twelve mirrors an old schoolroom. Thirteen’s fashioned after a gym. And room fourteen’s inspired by the classic baths of Rome.

  The north wing graduates to a bit naughtier; fifteen and sixteen are done up like dungeons; and seventeen sports the nickname the “orgy room.” Oh, the fun those rooms have seen!

  To the east, we have the public rooms. Eighteen is stylized after an English manor gentleman’s library, complete with dark wood, leather wing-back chairs and fireplace. Nineteen looks like an Irish pub, and twenty resembles a nightclub. Not all rooms are the same size but are big enough to accommodate a large group. Those last three rooms are located over the pool on the main level. They are not normally rented; these rooms are where the guests mingle and interact with each other.

  Rafe, love, what are you doing?

  Afraid I might be slacking off, your highness, and you’re cracking the whip?

  Um… no… I was hoping you could check with Tommy and see if we have anyone signed up for a tour of the fun floor tomorrow.

  Yeah, I’ll check. Learn anything interesting with the guests?

  Yes, I did, I’ll fill you in later. Going to see if there is any magic in the rooms yet.

  Sure. You’re a horny little devil with a voyeuristic streak.

  I smile at the thought his words conjure. Maybe.

  Gently closing the connection between us, I focus my thoughts on the guests. I bet I’m not the only one feeling like a horny little devil. Perhaps that’s the reason for Rafe’s uncharacteristic sharpness. Built-up testosterone can do strange things to some men’s normally sunny dispositions. Keeping them happy requires frequent releases.

  Antonio could be the type who thinks he “needs” lots of releases but doesn’t take the time to have quality ones. My touch during our handshake revealed he is new to this seethe, only five years. His greatest desire had my stomach flipping: to fall in love. Antonio has been without a mate his whole afterlife.

  The companion in this group, Olivia, craves him with every cell of her being. One touch was enough for me to see the depth of love she has for the sultry Italian vamp. A much more recent newcomer, she’s only been with the MacKellans a few months. Olivia set her sights to catching Antonio. From both their minds I saw he enjoys what she has to offer, taking her quite often. The bigger question is why has he not marked her?

  The last female vamp, Joanna, came here just to relax. She tagged along with the others out of friendship, having no hidden desires to fulfill on this trip. Joanna can’t wait to try the resort’s downhill and cross-country skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiles, ice-skating, and snow tubing. She plans to enjoy everything and rest by the indoor pool. I even saw she’s contemplating a spray tan while she’s here to surprise the rest of the seethe on her return.

  I head upstairs to the second floor, past rooms two, three, and four in the west wing, to see how Salvador’s party is doing. They came for a two-week extended trip. Sal and his wife, Theresa, visit every year, yet they still have a honeymooner-like quality to them.

  Their group indulges in the rooms on the third floor almost daily, even if only to mingle in the bar for a few hours. The time Rafe and I spend in the bar each night mixing with our guests helps us gauge who might need my particular brand of guidance. As on previous visits, Salvador’s group has not needed any help from me.

  The smell of fresh blood from John Pierre’s corpse has dissipated completely, thanks to our excellent filtration system. With luck, the new arrivals will think any remaining traces are deliberate, to whet their appetites.

  At the end of the landing, I enter one of the reading parlor areas overhanging the lobby. Opening a secret door only I, Rafe, and Jonathan know of, I slip into one of the observation rooms designed into each floor.

  We use them to listen and watch during feedings, and to see where I might need to whisper the thought of a hand, or a tongue, while projecting to our guests. In twenty years, we’ve had no violent incidents. True violence, not the love-hidden-in-jealousy type. It’s never come up and I don’t think it ever will. But someone must have felt some type of savagery or we wouldn’t have a dead John Pierre chilling in the shed, right?

  Too bad we never installed a recording system in the observation setup, which would have easily resolved the mystery of John Pierre. The observation room links a bunch of closed-circuit cameras on a single monitor screen with a mouse to toggle between rooms.

  The thought of recording gu
ests always rubs me as wrong—but not a little voyeurism. How else am I to know where I’m needed? Invading their minds to ensure my employees’ safety would be worse, not to mention quite taxing for me.

  I wake the system and click room two.

  No one there.

  Move to room three.

  Oh, lots going on there.

  All looks good. Is that an elbow? Everyone seems happy so I move on down the line. Room four… hmm… what is this? Looks like—yes, I think it’s Sheba. She’s one of Salvador's companions. She appears to be crying. I send out a wave of calm to her. Sheba takes a deep inhale then straightens. Not sure what’s going on there; I’ll need to check on her later. Could her tears be related to the murder?

  A few more clicks change the picture to room seven. Liam and Francesca seem to be getting it on in a big way. I knew the warm-up in the lobby would get some blood moving. I leave them to it and venture on to room eight. Lo and behold, I’ve struck pay dirt. I catch the end of the stunning Antonio stripping nude.

  Oh, he’s the reason these cameras are golden. My, my, my, he’s a long drink of water now, isn’t he? His body could pass for a carving of Adonis—all hard edges and sculpted muscles. Since he’s undead, he must have looked like this before his change. I see why his maker chose him; anyone would be hard pressed to ignore that kind of perfection.

  Staring at the glorious form of Antonio makes me think of Rafe. He’s never far from my thoughts, figuratively and literally.

  Rafe, honey, you ready for me?

  What do you think?

  I’ll be done soon and coming to get you…

  A growl of anticipation filters through our connection. Bring it on, I’m ready.

  He leaves me wondering where he might be. My husband’s talent at blocking me has improved over time and I couldn’t place exactly where he’s located. It could be because I’m distracted by Antonio’s flesh displayed on the monitor.

  Judging by the fastidious actions to fold his worn clothes, I bet he’s going to wash up from traveling. I relax, imagining his scent filling my nostrils: musky, sexy, and dark. Impulsively, I decide to project a waking dream to the unsuspecting Antonio.

  He is fully aroused in the span of a few heartbeats, thickening and rising from his groin right before my eyes. I send an illusion of a woman in front of him. The blond hair will remind him of Olivia, but I don’t add clear features so he can’t place the face.

  Antonio shakes his head as though in a daze but still reaches a hand out to guide the woman closer. I push the feel of a wet mouth meeting his own, triggering a loud groan of appreciation. Antonio appears lost in the kiss. I project Olivia’s name in his mind as the woman in front of him disappears. He turns to search the room. His body throbs with desire. He looks momentarily caught off guard, confusion clear on his visage.

  Sitting back, I watch to see what he’ll do.

  His chest muscles rise and fall as he labors to steady himself. Antonio’s head whips toward the door. He bolts into the bathroom with clothes in hand. A split second later, Joanna enters with her bags.

  Damn, that was a close one. I forgot they had three rooms between the five of them. I cease my meddling for the time being to go and check in on Sheba as I’d originally intended.

  By the time I trudge down the hallway, room four stands empty. No Sheba. Let’s hope she wandered off to talk to someone to get past the tears. I’ll check later to be sure.

  Having nothing to distract me any longer, I turn my thoughts to a hunt. My body craves to be filled. I close my eyes in the hall, allowing the whole hotel to come into sharp focus in my mind.

  Where would my husband be? I sniff the air, hoping to scent him. Wandering through the north wing, I try to pick up his trail from earlier. The smell takes me through the lobby, down a hall, which leads to an exit heading to the shed. My vamp senses are on high alert, enabling me to make it down the stairs and to the door without opening my eyes.

  Rafe senses my anticipation; I allow it to leak into our connection to get him in on my game.

  Run, baby, run. You know I love a good chase.

  His answering chuckle resounds in my head before he closes the mental door. The game begins. My body hums with life. In a few seconds, I realize he did not come through this back door any time today. The choices are to go out into the snow to pick up his trail or try another spot to detect when he came in.

  One glance at my heels and I opt for logic, retreating to another entrance.

  I pick up signs of Rafe in our private kitchen, no surprise there, but it seems stronger by a door leading to the hot tub grotto. Could my own desire be playing tricks on my mind? Only time will tell.

  Having to sort through all the leads he has left over the past few hours to find the freshest takes time, and requires a patience I don’t have right now. The strongest takes me down the hall into our bedroom. Trying to discern anything in here, where we have shared so many hours of passion, proves pointless.

  The files Tommy had delivered rest on a side table, but I have no time for them right now. Ten minutes into the hunt and if I had panties on, they’d be soaked. I pause again in the hall to let my senses flow past the walls, hoping to catch my prey.

  Where is he hiding? What space does he think is safe from me? He loves to be caught yet loves to outwit me. Desire sings through my veins, making my blood hot under my skin. Opening my mind to discover his location, I’m greeted by darkness.

  Trying to cheat, my dear? The bastard has the nerve to say it with a grin.

  It is not cheating, I answer. It’s called hunting. With an advantage.

  Sure, keep telling yourself that. But the longer you take, the more inclined I’m to start without you…

  Cheeky son of a bitch! Oh, we’re on all right. I concentrate and hear his zipper descend.

  Oh no, you don’t, that’s mine!

  In a flash, I pinpoint him. Racing down the hall, I wrench open the basement door and leap down the stairs. He’s hiding in the workroom. The lights are off, but I hear his ragged breathing. He’s as turned on as I am and loves that he can drive me this crazy.

  “What took you so long, liebling? Didn’t want to arrive after the party started, did you?” He wraps a hand around his erection.

  Words are beyond me. I see him in the dark, which makes his fully clothed, zipper-open position even sexier. He strokes himself, moaning his enjoyment when his fist reaches the tip. I slip off the sleeves of my dress, letting the garment puddle on the floor at my feet. Stepping out, I’m clad in a bra, thigh-high stockings, and heels.

  I stalk to his hiding spot up against a wall in the corner. Jumping up, I wrap my arms around his shoulders while placing my heels on the wall to either side of his waist. His cock rests in his hand, offering guidance to help me mount him.

  A harsh breath escapes him as I lower slowly onto his shaft while fastening my mouth to his neck. My sharp teeth gently break his delectable skin as I shout in his mind, MINE!

  The sweet taste of his blood flows into my mouth as he responds. Technically, it’s attached to me, but I’ll let you borrow it.

  The small puncture on his neck releases very little blood. The snarky rejoinder from him becomes a thing of the past with my first deep pull on the wound.

  Rafe grabs my hips and jerks himself forward in response. In two thrusts, he’s seated all the way in.

  “God, you feel like a fist wrapped around me.”

  “Mmm… ” I murmur against his neck, unwilling to let go yet.

  Never taking more than a mouthful or two, I savor every drop I ingest from his glorious body. His cock slowly slides out. The sheer size of him pulls the skin while forcing my body to stretch and accommodate. Never has any lover fit me this well; it’s like he was made a little bit bigger than I’d need. The teasing I’ve experienced all afternoon through my projections has left me moist and ready.

  Drawing more blood will only make him peak faster, so I stop, wanting to extend our enjoyment. Sometimes, re
ading my lover’s mind is not a bad thing.

  Not yet, not yet… got to hang on… God, she feels so wet… so damn tight… slow down…

  I know he doesn’t mean to project, but our tight bond permits most surface thoughts to leak through.

  His voice sounds rough when he speaks. “Stop, slow down, Dria. I don’t want to come yet. I’m so damn close.”

  He pushes in deep, holding my hips firmly against him. His strong hands lock me in place, making it impossible for me to pull back and ride him, no matter how much I’m aching to. I start to squirm, writhing on him, silently begging him to continue.

  I seal the small wound on his neck with a tiny lick, then draw away. Drinking from him pushes me closer to the edge as well. I try my best not to move, allowing him to catch hold of the sensations raging through his body, but my inner muscles start to convulse around him.

  “No!” he shouts. It will push me over. I’m not through with you yet!

  The twitching and spasms continue whether I want them to or not.

  I can’t hold back!

  Rafe pulls me from his cock.

  In one swift motion, he lifts my whole body to center my opening at his face. His hot lapping tongue zeroes in on my clit; soft lips lock onto my swollen ones. My head and arms are close to the ceiling, so I reach up to grab the rafters to steady myself.

  Rafe tightens his lips and sucks. It pushes me over the edge, with bright white light exploding behind my eyes.

  Throwing my head back, I shout my release to the room. It comes out a bit like a small scream, and causes me to lock my thighs around his head while riding out the waves of pleasure.

  When winding down from my orgasm, he snakes one hand from my hips, moistens a finger in my pussy, and pulls back to tickle my rear opening. The wetness helps him slide a thick digit in. Nice and slow.

  An electric shock shoots from my ass to my clit.

  I gasp, sucking in air, racing up the hill to my next peak. I let go of the rafters for Rafe to ease me down his body while he keeps the finger deep in place. My hard nipples press against the inside of my bra as I slide down, feeling the soft knit of his polo against my skin.