Animal Attraction

by Tracy St. John

  Netherworld IV:

  ANIMAL ATTRACTION

  Tracy St. John

  © copyright January 2016, Tracy St. John

  Cover art by Erin Dameron-Hill, © copyright January 2016

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s

  imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or

  events is merely coincidence.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Smashwords Edition

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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 1

  For an instant, it was like being in heaven. I soared like an angel through the moonlit night, the world silvery beneath me. It reminded me of the dreams I’d had when I lived. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if I’d been born to this ability to fly. I lifted light as a feather, leaving earthbound cares far below, the freest I’d ever felt. If not for America’s omnipresent soundtrack of distant traffic, I could believe myself beyond the grasp of reality. I’d been liberated from the grind of the mundane.

  But only for an instant. When the first moment of elation passed, I felt the tug of gravity. I fought it, and it got worse. And then the ground rushed at me; furrowed dirt littered with the broken remains of cornstalks and husks loomed ever larger. At least this time I remembered to keep my mouth shut as I dove with bone-breaking force into the long-plowed field. Nothing says defeat like the grit of dirt between your teeth for hours on end.

  The painful snaps of facial bones and my left collarbone giving way would have stolen my breath had I still been among the living. All it did was make me mad however. No sooner had the body I inhabited slammed to the ground, when I jumped up with a scream. My howl of frustration, streaming between broken teeth and sounding comically nasal – well, comical to anyone but me – startled the few birds who chose to call on this cold February night. No doubt it curled the hair of anyone who chanced to hear it echoing over the wide, fallow fields that served as my practice area.

  Like magic, a huge brown hand appeared by my face. Liberally sprinkled with tiny ebony hairs, it held a gracefully shaped black bottle. Burgundy letters proclaiming it to be Blood Potion No. 9 blazed across its gold-trimmed label. Had I been in the mood to continue reading, the fancy calligraphy would assure me that it was the purest elixir next to what one could drink straight from a vein.

  My name is Brandilynn Payson. I was murdered less than a year ago, my soul left to wander as a ghost. I am not a vampire. I had the bad fortune to get sucked into the body of one when its owner’s soul was eaten by a creature known as the lamia. But that’s another story. Let’s stick with this one.

  I’d been guzzling bottles of BP9 almost nonstop since I’d risen from the grave at sundown. I was saturated with the foul stuff. Despite its certified status, Blood Potion tasted nowhere as good as fresh. Boy, how I craved real living blood. That desire only made me angrier. It gave credence to those who argued with me that I’m an actual bloodsucker.

  I’m not, darn it. I can prove it too. My own corpse is respectably buried in the cemetery, not stalking the earth and shaking down the living for a hot drink. This is not my body. I am not a vampire.

  Case in point: vampires fly. So far I am a dismal failure in that realm. This had been my third attempt and third crash in the 15 minutes I’d been out here. As for previous tries in the last few weeks, I’d lost count.

  I felt my bones knitting back together, the regeneration fed by all the BP9 I’d consumed. I shoved Gerald’s hand with its offering away. “I’m fine,” I said, glaring at the werepanther.

  Green kitty-cat eyes gazed at me with dubious regard. Despite my frustration, I found it hard to remain angry looking at Gerald Clark. For one thing, he’s one of the few real friends I have left. For another, he’s good to look at. Plain and simple, he’s a yummy man-beast.

  I’m not kidding about the ‘beast’ part of that description. He is one of those unlucky people who contracted Zoo Flu, a virus that kills more often than it transforms its victims. There is no consensus on which fate is worse. Zoo Flu is awfully contagious, jumping from animal to human easily. Those who survive it are often shoved to the fringes of society. Despite para rights making gains in the last couple of decades, shifters still make up the majority of the homeless and discriminated against.

  Gerald’s particular flavor of shifter is Florida panther. Both animal and werecreature are nearly extinct, so he’s a rare one. In fact, he’s the only one of his kind that I’ve ever seen. As far as shifters go, he’s gorgeous. Soft triangular ears split the long cornrows braided in his hair. Those green eyes seem to glow against his mocha skin with its subtle black markings. I knew from seeing him naked that the markings enhance his muscular physique. At over six feet tall, Gerald looks like the hired muscle he is. But this is no dumb, insensitive brute. He’s as true blue as people come, and he’s in charge of keeping me sane while I adjust to being – I mean, inhabiting – a vampire.

  One thing I have learned control over is the glamour that takes my borrowed body from red-eyed, fanged fiend to the appearance of something a little more human. I concentrated on doing that. I tried on a smile that I wasn’t even close to feeling. “I said I’m fine. Just give me a moment to finish healing, okay big guy?”

  His ears twitched forward from their near-laid back position. They tended to flatten when Gerald sensed danger. He smiled back, his sculpted and slightly feline features devastatingly handsome with the warm expression. Pride beamed from that dark face at the control I exercised. He lowered the bottle. “Sure, Brandilynn. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  I held back a sigh. I had no illusions that I would be guzzling another bottle of BP9 in the very near future. Probably within minutes. I’d nearly polished off a case already.

  At least I wasn’t chewing on a warm body yet. Gerald and I are not sweeties, but he’s been my live blood donor more times than I care to count. I don’t like doing that to him, though he heals as fast as I do and he never complains.

  Another point to consider when it comes to whether or not I’m a real vampire. In most cases, vamps who can get to the real live stuff eschew bottled blood. There really is no comparison between the two.

  I watched Gerald as he paced back and forth, admiring the strong body that stalked rather than walked. His breath plumed from his nearly triangular nose. Even southeast Georgia gets frigid in February, with temps sometimes reaching freezing. Not that it matters in a vampire body. I’m always cold in this form, except when I lose control and feed on Gerald.

  I didn’t have to breathe. I inhaled anyway, catching my companion’s warm, musky scent. Man, Gerald smelled good. For once I ignored the throb of want for his blood, focusing on the man himself. Gerald had it tough dealing with me.

  I was trying to learn to fly, not because I want to be more like other vampires, but because it’s a darned useful skill. It had been left to the poor werepanther to coach me. He was not a good instructor because ... hello! He’s landlocked. However no
ne of the local vampire clutch wanted anything to do with me. Especially their leader, Tristan Keith.

  I shied away from thinking about Tristan. Pain too easily turned to depression which shifted too easily to anger. Anger leads to bloodlust. I was determined to get through one night without jumping Gerald ... because taking blood from another person wasn’t the worst thing that happened when I lost control and fed.

  Needing to distract myself from bad thoughts, I focused on what needed to be done. I threw back my shoulders and lifted my chin. Steeled my spine. Gathered my courage. Pretended things would work out some sweet day.

  Right.

  I called to Gerald, “Okay. I’m going to try this again.”

  He stopped his stalking to grace me with a smile, flashing white teeth and impressive fangs. Unlike me, Gerald can’t glamour his appearance. “Good. Now stop trying to power your way through this. The others told me they just think about it and it happens. They don’t force it, sort of like how you walk from place to place without really trying. Get it?”

  It was good advice. Too bad it never seemed to work. I twitched a wry smile. “Our first steps took effort too, Gerald. We don’t remember that. All right. Here I go.”

  I closed my eyes. I tried to think about leaving the ground calmly. Serenely floating. Every vampire – that is, every vampire body – could do it. Patricia did it as easily as the rest when the body that now cloaked me had belonged to her. I had all of Patricia’s other abilities: glamour, healing, quickness, amazing strength. I had this ability too. There was no reason I couldn’t fly.

  I felt the pressure of the ground fade from beneath my feet. This was good. Simple levitation was easy. I had this. No problem.

  I opened my eyes to discover I’d gone a few feet up. I’d drifted out of Gerald’s reach even if he’d stretched that big body up to grab me. Yep, no stress, no mess. Now the time had come to move.

  “Just a little,” I coaxed the temperamental powers that I wanted to wield. I began to coast forward, slowly at first. I willed myself to ignore the pull of gravity that made my movements jerky.

  “Float, float, float,” I chanted. I was so busy trying to stay aloft, watching the ground below me, that I didn’t notice I trucked right for the magnolia at the edge of the field until Gerald’s shout warned me.

  My slow pace had quickened too. The tree loomed a few feet away and came at me in a rush. I yelled and panicked, jerking to one side and gaining speed as I did so.

  I tried to slow as the tree spun from my view, but I was still turning. All was confusion in an instant. The earth and sky traded places several times as I cartwheeled through the air, a squalling, out-of-control Brandilynn.

  I went down hard. Because I was already rolling, much of the impact lessened that time. I didn’t even break anything. It didn’t matter. I’d fallen once again, barely doing better than the first time I’d tried to fly. When my body stopped spinning like a tumbleweed, I yelled and pounded the hard earth with my fists. Frustration bloomed bold and furious.

  Red hazed my vision. Anger dripped acid in my brain, melting any sanity that lived there. Hatred for my condition exploded from my non-beating heart until every fiber of my body quaked with it. I tore clods of soil from the ground, wanting to claw the world apart.

  I saw movement at the corner of my eye. I sensed warmth, smelled life. Without thought, I launched myself at it, mouth gaping wide open.

  Shifters are fast. Vampires are faster. Gerald had no time to reverse course or put up a defense.

  I had him by the throat in less than a breath. My mouth filled with heat, the only heat I could feel in this body. The thick fluid spilling from the rent I’d torn in the werepanther’s flesh fairly sang against my tongue. All conscience fled as I drew on the man I’d toppled to the ground.

  What does it feel like to feed on real live blood? The best way I could describe it would be the elation of Christmas morning, graduation, and your wedding day all rolled into one. It’s joy so incredible that it can’t be contained.

  My whole being warmed as I filled with that sweet elixir. My stolen heart thumped once, twice, and then pounded against my sternum. I drew breaths between swallows. I was alive again. Alive! And more alive than when I’d lived in my own body. I felt hyperaware of everything, particularly the man lying beneath me.

  Patricia had been a long, lithe gal, elegantly slender without veering into skinny territory. With her body I draped lightly over the behemoth werepanther giving me a small taste of animation. My breasts, lovely teacup mounds, mashed against the concrete swells of Gerald’s heaving chest. The tops of my thighs cradled within his hips.

  My pussy throbbed to life, as it always did when I attacked Gerald. Live blood made my entire being want to celebrate every possible sensation of warmth ... especially that of sex.

  As I continued to suck hungrily at Gerald’s throat, I tore at his fly. He helped, shoving his jeans down as soon as he was able. His cock matched the rest of him: big and swollen.

  He was eager as always. Sometimes I thought he didn’t put up much of a fight on purpose. Not because he knew he’d lose, but because he wanted to lose. Gerald had suffered an unrequited love for Patricia when she was still with us. With no hope of winning her, he contented himself with being her bodyguard and protector. The man definitely had a knight-in-shining-armor complex when it came to his former charge.

  Having sex with me in Patricia’s body was the closest he could come to being with his lost love. Plus sex with a feeding vampire was supposed to be as good for the victim as it is for the bloodsucker. At any rate, Gerald showed no hesitation when I ripped open the slacks and panties I wore and plunged down on his avid cock. His hips bucked upward, spearing deep into me.

  My senses rioting, I came on the spot. My pussy clenched hard around the thickness within, pulling as hard on the flesh as my mouth did on Gerald’s throat. Now all was elation, 4th of July fireworks, and a New Year’s Eve celebration.

  I rutted clumsily, trying to screw and feed all at once, unable to get enough of either. Gerald heaved beneath me. He flipped us over so that I lay on the hard ground with him on top. None of that bothered me, not so long as my brief flirtation of life was affirmed to the utmost.

  I reveled in being between the concrete-like field and the hard muscled man. When it comes to sex, I’m naturally submissive. Patricia’s body is that of a predator, but when it feasts it doesn’t mind being on the bottom. The real Brandilynn gets her goodies.

  Shifters were stronger than humans. Gerald told me he had to be careful with the occasional lady brave enough to chance deadly Zoo Flu in exchange for beastly sex. There were people who had that kink. I guess the danger upped the excitement for them. I loved sex too, but I didn’t think I’d put my life on the line for it. My current body couldn’t catch Zoo Flu, thank goodness.

  Gerald didn’t have to hold back with me. Vampires could take real punishment, and he delivered a rutting that would have broken the pelvis of any human gal. Jackhammers had nothing on a werepanther for a good pounding.

  His groin thudded against mine, a deep, steady thump-thump-thump. His cock was thick and long, hitting all the good spots that made my toes curl. A staccato moan rose from my throat between swallows of his precious blood.

  My legs curled around his butt, pulling him in as deep as he could go with every gorgeous thrust. I’d come with the first invasion, but I primed fast for another. Thick, warm blood brightened every cell of my body. I could feel him with the very hairs on my head. Lust churned in a delicious roil deep in my belly, seeping to fill me. I clawed at Gerald’s wide, muscled back. Keening with pleasure and want, I arched to rub my clit against the rough curls coating his pelvis.

  Brighter and brighter, I lit within. My body gathered itself, feeding on the ultimate pleasure of devouring life and lust. Gerald’s gasps and low growls added to the delight. The light that grew inside me grew more brilliant. Then came the dazzling blast, an explosion as intense as it was silent and uns
een.

  My mouth yawned wide, screaming with ecstasy. My back bent the wrong way as a convulsion of elation shattered me. My pussy seized on the interloper, coaxing it, demanding it be fed my lover’s seed even as he’d fed my need for living blood.

  The shriek that poured from Gerald’s throat was all animal. Through lust-hazed eyes I saw glossy fur running out of his face and arms. His nose extended to a muzzle. Long whiskers erupted from his upper lip. He held onto his human form otherwise, but there was no denying the beast teetered a mere instant from appearing. He even smelled like animal, of trees and dirt and fresh air.

  And power. We both crackled with it, pretend vampire and near-beast creatures, sizzling the atmosphere as we drove against each other. We embodied lust and fury, two violent beings striving for brutal release.

  I exploded again. Filled with life, the 100-year-old body responded to pleasure’s call. It conceded to lust’s demands as living blood ripped it from its undead existence.

  Vampires couldn’t take blood from a living being without having sex or expending all that energy in some violent form. As far as the sex was concerned it made sense. The most ardent expression of life was the drive to create it. No, Patricia’s body could not bear children ... no matter how it felt for this too-short time, it was still dead. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t try its darnedest to grasp what it could.

  Even when Gerald finished spilling and my pussy’s seizures had ebbed to minor convulsions, we kept moving against each other. Each of us tried to hold onto the glory, to sip every last drop from it we could. Even the tiniest surge was an affirmation for me. I loved feeling alive.

  At last we were still, gasping in each other’s ear. My heart beat and my lungs breathed for this brief time when the blood filled me. How I missed being alive! Bittersweet remembering hit, a counterpoint to the exalted flush of vitality.