THE HUNGER
It began with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she hadn’t eaten for days. Matt noticed her look of distress and sat on the bed next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her head against his neck.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked.
She turned her bloodshot, tortured eyes to his and sobbed. “I don’t know, Matt. It feels like I’m starving to death, and I have the most terrible urge to . . .” Unable to say the words, she just swallowed and buried her face against his shoulder again.
He pulled her face up and stared into her pain-filled eyes. “You need to feed, don’t you?” he asked, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
She nodded, shame suffusing her face.
“Do we have time to go to the blood bank at the medical center and get you some plasma?”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t think so, Matt. It’s like my entire body is on fire and I can hardly breathe.”
Matt laid his palm on her face. She was burning up with a fever and her cheeks were flushed. He smiled and nodded. “Okay. That’s easily fixed,” he said.
“But, how . . . ?” she asked.
He stood up and removed his shirt. “We’ll just have to give you a little snack to tide you over.”
He bent and jerked the covers back on the bed and lay down, opening his arms to her, offering himself up to her hunger.
She turned and tried to fight the urge, but it was too strong and the Hunger began to take control of her body. Against her will, she moved toward him, as if in a dream.
She lay next to him, and when he put his arms around her and drew her face down to his neck, she moaned deep in her throat and opened her mouth, newly-grown fangs glistening in the light from the bedside lamp.
IMMORTAL BLOOD
James M. Thompson
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
THE HUNGER
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Epilogue
AUTHOR’S NOTE
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2003 by James M. Thompson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
Lyrical Underground and the L logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: March 2017
ISBN: 978-1-5161-0408-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0413-0
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0413-7
To Terri, my wife, who has somehow managed to
stay sane while living with an author—no mean
accomplishment! And to Ed Slonaker and his company,
El Pilon Productions, for his wonderful work on my Web
site, www.jamesmthompson.com. And last, but certainly
not least, to two other wonderful women in my life,
my mom, Winnie Thompson, and my sister,
Bobbie Jean Walker, for always being there for me.
“Blood is not only thicker than water, it tastes better, too!”
Partial quote from prologue to his journal,
My Life as a Vampyre, by Elijah Pike,
reprinted with permission of the author
Prologue
Michael Morpheus stood looking down at his mate on the bed, watching as she suffered incredible agony. Her naked body was covered with sweat and her lips were cracked and dry. She was shivering and had her arms crossed around her body against the muscle cramps and terrible pain of the Rite of Transformation.
He shook his head, feeling sorry for her. She was still fighting the inevitable, as if becoming a member of a superior race was something to fear instead of something to celebrate. He’d never understood the Normals and how they clung to their humanness with such fierce determination. You’d think they would be more than happy to give up their weaknesses, their mayfly lives that lasted less than a hundred years, and that they would embrace the abilities of the Vampyre race he was offering, but such was rarely the case.
“Sam, you’ve got to feed,” he said gently, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “It will ease the pain and make you feel much better.”
Samantha Scott moved away from him, scrambling sideways on the bed like a frightened crab, staring over her shoulder at him as if he were a monster. “No,” she croaked, her voice sounding as if her throat were filled with razor blades. “Not again. I’d rather die first.”
Morpheus sighed and laid his hand on her shoulder, wincing when she flinched away as if his very touch defiled her. Her skin was hot and wet with her sweat even though she was shivering with pain. “You won’t die, Sam, you will merely suffer needlessly. And, you will still become as I am, one of the Vampyri, whether you feed again or not.”
A loud crashing came from the living room, followed by a shriek of anger and pain.
Morpheus jumped off the bed and ran into the other room. He slowed, taking in the scene before him: A snarling creature was standing before Sarah, holding a long Japanese sword in her hands with the blade piercing Sarah’s chest and extending out her back; off to the right, two growling Vampyri rolled on the floor, their fangs rending and tearing at each other, each trying for a killing hold on the other’s throat.
With an instinct instilled in him over several hundred years, Michael began his own transformation as he spied another long sword on the floor next to the two wrestling Vampyres. His hands were already turning into claws as he vaulted fifteen feet in one jump and bent to pick the sword up off the floor.
Baring his teeth, which were rapidly elongating into fangs dripping with red-tinged drool, he howled a challenge and raised th
e sword high above his head in a two-handed killing grip. He would slaughter these interlopers for daring to intrude on the sanctity of his lair.
As he began the killing stroke, a sharp, burning pain erupted in his back as if someone had stuck a hot poker through his spine. Intense pain spread like wildfire from his back to his brain, almost causing him to black out.
He dropped the sword and whirled around, his claws scrabbling at his back trying to pull the knife from between his shoulder blades as he stared in disbelief at his mate. Samantha Scott stood there, naked and covered with sweat, her flashing eyes filled with a burning hatred as they bored into his.
He wagged his head violently back and forth, still trying to reach the knife as scarlet tears coursed down his cheeks at the pain in his back and his mate’s betrayal.
He turned his head to the side as a high-pitched scream echoed from across the room. Once again Morpheus howled as the female creature put her foot on Sarah’s chest and jerked the sword loose from her breastbone. Sarah’s eyes closed and she staggered a few steps, her own claws crossed on her chest as if she could somehow stop the stream of scarlet blood pumping from her wound. Whirling and swinging the sword like a baseball bat, the creature beheaded Sarah with one long stroke.
Morpheus gasped at the gruesome sight, his eyes following Sarah’s head as it bounced and rolled on the floor, her eyes now open and staring the long stare into eternity. He gave up his quest for the knife still sticking out of his back and began to back away as the female Vampyre turned her attention and began to run toward him, sword held high above her head, misshapen lips curled back from red-rimmed fangs as she growled and shrieked her hatred of him.
Morpheus spun, backhanding Sam with a ferocious blow and knocking her unconscious as he frantically looked for some way to escape from the madwoman who was coming for him. The setting sun glared off the sliding glass doors to the balcony, making him squint against the orange light. That was his only chance, he realized, and he sprinted as fast as he could toward the glass doors. Without slowing, he crashed headfirst through the glass and took a running dive over the balcony railing and into the bayou waters twenty feet below.
The cold waters of the Louisiana bayou made the pain in his back even worse as he clawed his way to the surface and looked back to see if the she-creature had followed him. She hadn’t, but was standing on the balcony, her fangs bared in a savage grimace of frustration as she slammed the handle of the long sword on the wooden balcony railing.
He snarled his contempt at her and turned away, swimming toward the far bank, scarlet ribbons of his precious blood swirling in his wake.
He slowed and had begun to tread water when he saw several alligators sunning themselves on the shore catch the scent of his blood and ease into the water toward him.
Ungrateful bastards, he thought, remembering these same animals rending and tearing and consuming the bodies of his victims, thrown to them after he’d drained their blood. After all the meals he’d given them in the past they were now going to try to eat him. He had the irrational thought that it just wasn’t fair.
As they neared, their yellow reptilian eyes glaring at him hungrily as their jaws gaped open, he dove beneath the surface, swimming frantically toward the bottom of the sluggish, green water.
He seemed to remember being told that alligators couldn’t attack under water. Jesus, he thought, praying to a deity he’d long since abandoned, I hope that’s true!
A large bull gator ahead of him slowly submerged, like a submarine doing a crash dive, and angled toward him, his jaws open and his teeth glinting in reflected sunlight beneath the surface.
Morpheus whirled underwater and stuck his left arm out in front of him, trying to ward off the hungry alligator.
With a sudden shake of its head and a snap of massive three-foot-long jaws, the gator grabbed Morpheus’s arm in a viselike grip and chewed, the sound of Morpheus’s bones cracking was audible even underwater.
With a supreme effort, Morpheus ignored the agony in his arm, reached up behind him with his right hand, and finally managed to grasp the handle of the butcher knife protruding from his back.
He jerked it out and stuck it in the gator’s neck, just under the massive jaws still clamped on his arm.
He slashed and tore and ripped the alligator open from jaw to belly, sending dark clouds of gator blood out into the water to mingle with his own.
The alligator released his grip on Morpheus’s arm and rolled over onto his back, writhing and twisting in its own death throes.
Morpheus swam away just as the other alligators began a frenzied feeding on the bull he’d killed, ignoring Morpheus for the moment as they devoured the much larger prize.
Within moments, Morpheus managed to swim to the shore and crawl out into the thick underbrush, his ruined left arm dangling from shreds of tissue at his side.
He rolled onto his back and took deep breaths, trying to block out the agonizing pain in his arm and back as he willed his Vampyre body to heal itself of the terrible wounds.
Slowly the tissues knit together and the worst of the bleeding stopped, but the pain remained like a living thing, burrowing ratlike through his body and into his brain.
Raising his head, he peered back through the bushes at his house and made a vow that those who’d attacked him would live to rue the day they dared enter his life. The thoughts of revenge and how he’d make them suffer gave him the strength to get up and stumble through the woods toward the nearby road, leaving a faint trail of blood in the underbrush.
* * *
In the cabin, TJ O’Reilly turned from the balcony railing when she saw Morpheus dive into the bayou. She moved back into the room and rushed to Sam, who was lying unconscious on the wooden floor. She quickly checked Sam’s pulse. It was thready but regular. Picking Sam up in her arms, she carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed.
Turning, she went toward the kitchen to get a wet cloth with which to try to wake her. As she passed through the living room, she saw her companion, Albert Nachtman, bending over the dead body of the Vampyre they’d called The Ripper, Jacques Chatdenuit. He had his fangs deep in the ruined throat of his foe and was drinking deeply of his blood as it pumped from the severed neck.
The strong, coppery scent of the blood assaulted TJ’s nostrils, causing her to become immediately aroused as her own Hunger began to surface.
Albert glanced up from his victim and saw TJ’s fur-covered breasts swell, the nipples springing erect. His nostrils dilated at the scent of her sex becoming wet with desire. He raised his head and gestured toward the body beneath him, offering to share his feast with the woman he’d converted to be his mate.
TJ hesitated, her human side warring with her Vampyre instincts as she tried to resist, but the smell of the blood was arousing an almost irresistible desire to feed and mate.
As was usual, the desire for food and sex overrode her human inhibitions and she moved toward the body as if in a dream, her eyes glassy, her breasts throbbing, her nipples hard and her sex moistening.
She squatted next to Albert and buried her face in the warm flow of blood from The Ripper’s neck, drinking deeply and swallowing as fast as she could. As the sweet nectar flowed into her, Albert nuzzled her throat and began to run his hands over her breasts, moaning deep in his throat as his own lust built.
While she drank, she put her hand on his penis and slowly stroked and massaged it, bringing him to full arousal.
Finally, neither of them could wait another moment. Casting the body aside, she turned to him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close against her.
He pushed her gently down onto her back, moved between her legs and entered her slowly, causing her to moan in delight. He lowered his head to her breast and sank his teeth into her tender flesh, drinking her blood as he pumped and thrust deep inside her.
She grasped his head in her claws and pulled him tighter against her breast as she matched him stroke for stroke, deliriou
s with the lust they shared.
One
Dr. Matt Carter, Associate Professor of Emergency Medicine at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston, bent down and examined the hand laceration. James Smith, senior medical student doing his final rotation in the emergency room of Ben Taub Hospital, had done a good job of repairing the wound.
“Nice work, Jimmy,” Matt said. “You’ve got the tendons approximated pretty well, but you’re still making the skin sutures a bit too tight. Remember, the wound edges are gonna swell over the next couple of days and when they do, the sutures will be pulled and will bury themselves under the skin. Whoever has to remove them in seven days will not be happy if they have to dig them out.”
Smith’s face fell. “Yes, sir, Doctor Carter.”
Matt straightened up and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jimmy,” he said, not wanting to discourage the young man too much. He had good hands and would someday make a fine surgeon. “You’ll get the hang of it with a little more practice.”
While Smith dressed the wound, Matt stretched and sighed, moving his head around in small circles to ease the aching muscles of his neck. Feeling strangely let down by his work in the ER this night, he stepped up to the big double doors at the ambulance entrance, punched the plate on the wall that would open them, and moved out onto the concrete apron of the receiving deck.
He took a deep breath of the humid night air of Houston, thinking to himself that it was like trying to breathe through a wet blanket. As he stood there, he wondered briefly if he would ever regain the sense of adventure and excitement that ER work and teaching med students used to hold for him. Lately, he’d begun to doubt it. After all, hunting monsters and engaging in life or death struggles with them over the past couple of years had made everything else seem tame by comparison. He shook his head in frustration and reentered the hospital.
Immortal Blood Page 1