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

by Travis Luedke

  He read her as she unwittingly confessed to her betrayal that led to the Ramada Inn massacre and his and Michelle’s near-death-experiences. Delia had just condemned herself. The judge, jury, and executioner stood right behind her, silently reading all that Aaron discovered through their intimate psychic bond. Michelle had slipped into the room silently after them, and stood directly behind Delia the entire time. He transmitted all of Delia’s thoughts to Michelle.

  Sensing something was seriously wrong, Delia began blabbering nervously, “I have done a lot of thinking lately, and I realize I was wrong about splitting up. You know we belong together.” She smiled warmly with an air of correctness and expectation, no hint of innocence or apology.

  Aaron walked toward Delia as though he would embrace her again, but kept on going right past her. As she turned to grab him, he walked into Michelle’s embrace and kissed her lovingly.

  Michelle broke off and patted him gently on the shoulder. “Delia and I have something to discuss. Give us a moment, please.”

  He nodded and quickly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

  * * * *

  Delia tried to follow Aaron out, moving past Michelle towards the door. Michelle snatched her up off her feet one-handed, spun her around and pinned her back to the door, face to face. She had Delia by the throat, pressed securely against the door with her feet dangling in the air. Delia squirmed frantically, trying to somehow free herself from the iron claws that dug into her throat like a bear trap.

  Michelle’s mouth opened inhumanly wide, a python preparing to swallow its prey whole. She hissed in Delia’s face, bearing her fangs. Delia froze, immobilized by terror at the predatory beast inches away from her. Michelle leaned forward and bit, her razor sharp fangs pierced through shirt and bra and sank into the soft fatty tissue of Delia’s right breast. Delia’s terror peaked and her bowels released. Urine ran down her legs to pool on the floor beneath her. She gagged, but couldn’t vomit as her esophagus was constricted by Michelle’s wicked hold on her throat. She swallowed it back down to breathe.

  Michelle released Delia’s breast, licked the blood off her lips, and held Delia’s terrified gaze with murderous intensity. Delia was deathly pale and shaking with a mewling sound––the only noise that could escape her constricted wind pipe.

  Time to stop playing around and get serious. Michelle reached her free hand up Delia’s skirt and tore off her cotton underwear. Delia squealed at the brush of Michelle’s sharp claws across her intimate folds.

  Michelle licked her finger tips suggestively, as Delia shook her head back and forth whining, “No, no, nooooooo.” She stuck her hand all the way up between her legs, squeezing into Delia’s tender flesh, forcing the girl to accommodate her whole fist. Delia grunted hard as her entire body was pushed upward with the strength of Michelle’s thrust. When her hand squeezed all the way in reaching the limit, Michelle tweaked her claws into the flesh around Delia’s cervix drawing blood.

  Delia’s aura flared with a new plateau of pain, terror and humiliation as she realized the horrid mutilation of her body that was about to occur. She cried and bawled like a child.

  Michelle looked at her sideways, debating whether she should just do it, or give the girl a chance. She opted for the latter. “I will cut out your uterus and ovaries. Then I will feed them to you. If you still live, I will drain every drop of your blood. Do you doubt me?”

  With tears streaming down her face, Delia whimpered, “No.” Michelle eased back the tension on Delia’s throat to better hear her speak. After several gasping breaths, she begged for her life, sobbing, “I don’t wanna die. Please don’t kill me. I’ll leave New York. I’ll never come back. You’ll never see me again, I promise. Please have mercy. I don’t wanna die like this. I’ll do anything you want. Anything!”

  Michelle pulled her hand partway out of Delia’s bruised flesh and stroked her sensitive clit intimately with her thumb. Delia bucked and squealed as Michelle tweaked and caressed her buttons in a playful mix of pleasure and pain.

  She continued begging for her life and freedom. “Please ... Oh God ... Please ... anything you want ... just please, let me go ...”

  Michelle spoke low and cold, barely above a whisper, “You leave the state. I let you have your life and your body––intact. Remember this well. Remember every day of your miserable life that you live by my mercy. You can still bear children by my mercy.” Michelle paused, Delia nodded frantically in agreement.

  “If I see you, hear of you, or find you have returned, I will hunt you down. There is no place you can hide. And I will make good on my threats.” Michelle tweaked her clit once more, a reminder. “Entendez-moi? Understand? You need another demonstration?”

  Delia shook her head vigorously. “No. Please, no more. I’ll leave tonight. Now! You’ll never see me again, I swear! Please, please let me go!” She sobbed and groveled with the spark of hope that she could survive this night without being mutilated and scarred for life. Michelle released her and Delia collapsed to the floor lying in her own urine. Delia bawled in relief, her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

  * * * *

  Aaron and Michelle said their goodbyes to everyone. Heading towards the door, Kyle caught Aaron and pulled him aside, “Hey, do you have to take off so soon? Delia’s gone already. She was real upset. I don’t think she’ll be back tonight.”

  Aaron smiled warmly. “I don’t think Delia will return, but we’ve gotta get going. Michelle and I have some other plans.”

  Kyle nodded in reluctant acceptance, “Hey, did you hear what happened to those two cops that were looking for you?” Aaron shook his head.

  “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ crazy. They were found dead at a hotel. One guy shoved off the balcony and the other one was torn apart like hamburger. It’s been all over the news. You haven’t heard?”

  Aaron grinned. “Yeah, there are some real animals out there. It’s pretty dangerous to be a cop these days.” Aaron pegged Kyle with a direct stare. Kyle stared back apprehensively.

  Aaron read his mind as Kyle briefly entertained the idea that the unfortunate fate of the detectives had something to do with Aaron and Michelle. Kyle couldn’t envision either of them as vicious murderers. They were fun, attractive, and charming. No way they could have been involved in such a massacre. No way possible.

  Kyle dismissed the thought and clapped Aaron on the back, snickering in a tone of mutual conspiracy. “Well I guess the good news is you don’t have to worry about those assholes bothering you anymore.”

  Aaron and Michelle gave him identical, gleaming white, predatory smiles as they departed, slipping out the door into the New York nightlife.

  * * * *

  Two days later:

  “I think we have worn out our welcome in New York. I don’t like the problème with the police. Is a very high profile investigation. Good time to travel. Since you have nothing to hold you here, I think we should go.” Michelle paused in consideration, “Have you ever been to Europe? Paris, London, Rome?”

  He shrugged, and then thought of something. “No, I haven’t really been anywhere. You know what Kyle and I had planned? We were gonna do a vacation in Vegas. Never made it there. I’d still like to go.”

  Michelle kissed him. “Ooohhh ... I love Las Vegas, the city that never sleeps. Is perfect for vampires, don’t you think?”

  The End

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  Travis Luedke is a husband, father, and author of Urban Fantasy Thriller, Paranormal Romance, Contemporary Fantasy, Young Adult Ficti
on, and Sci-fi. He is currently catching a third degree sunburn in San Antonio, Texas, and loving every minute of it.

  As the author of the Nightlife Series novels, Travis lives very vicariously through his writings. He invites you to enjoy his macabre flights of fancy, but be warned: The Nightlife Series is violent, sexy, and occasionally violently sexy.

  Website http://www.twluedke.com/

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  Blood Of The Eternal Moon

  By

  Simon Oneill

  Chapter 1

  The blood rose slowly withered and died,

  And her beauty did shiver and cried.

  Her life bathed in sanguineous delight,

  Taken by the specter of the night.

  5th June 1925

  Her trembling hands clamped her mouth to stifle a scream. The faintest churning of her stomach must surely alert the intruders. The coldness of her fear tightened her skin. Oh how much she wanted to cry out but terror held her tongue, a terror so intense she knew not where she was or even who she was.

  A shattering roar echoed within her like thunder in a cave. Her nostrils wrinkled with the stench of something bitter and metallic. Blurred images came into focus. Ribbons of grey smoke swirled from the bloody hole in a man’s chest. The scent of his blood teased her hunger.

  His scream of darkness so vile and stomach-churning penetrated her thoughts like a skewer through raw meat. A black storm of hate penetrated her quivering soul.

  She touched the rough wood of a dining table she now cowered under. Solid, ridged, hard, the feeling reassured her of reality.

  Frantic movement caught her attention. The metallic screeching of swordplay sent shivers down her back. She jumped when a heavy thud rocked the table.

  Something was familiar about the long black coat covering the black leather trousers worn by Him and yet she could not remember His name. Her mind tuned into His terrible thoughts of murder and hatred. She crawled on hands and knees to get away from those legs. Her instincts told her she must never again be captured.

  The sound of splintering wood! His sword sliced through the table, stopping less than an inch from her eye. The sword was removed. Gore dripped from the gash in the table and ran down her face. The awful screams subsided to mere whimpers.

  The room fell ominously silent amplifying those dreadful sucking, gurgling sounds of insatiable appetites. The thought of those carnal sounds consuming her flesh brought a new level of terror.

  A faint rustling sound diverted her attention when scrambling on all fours to the opposite edge of the table. She dared to look back. To her utter horror, a pale hand with black fingernails lifted the tablecloth. A leering white face, smeared with gore took her breath away. Her heart almost stopped. It was Him! The mouth grinned, revealing oversized canine teeth stained red.

  “There you are!” The mouth laughed.

  She scurried from beneath the table and rushed through the shattered French doors. Her trembling legs carried her across a vast lawn to the surrounding dark impenetrable woods.

  Dawn’s cold rain slashed across her tearful face. Lightning crackled from brooding clouds, followed by a thunderous reply. She kicked off her elegant shoes and raced barefoot through the undergrowth. Branches whipped her face and legs, slicing thin scratches. The all-consuming blackness of His evil pursued her ever closer. Don’t stop!

  She sensed His wicked thoughts hunting her. He was so close she could almost hear his blood pumping through his festering heart. The sounds of Him stumbling and cursing spurred her on into the encroaching light of dawn.

  “You won’t get far, my Delicate Rose.” His cruel laughter tormented her.

  Was Delicate Rose her name? Clambering down a steep embankment of wet grass, she slipped and fell into a filthy, water-logged ditch. Crawling from the muck, she heard a strange sound, like a growling dog. She paused half out of the ditch, listening to the sound growing louder. It was an approaching car – His car. She slipped back under the water but her terror did not remind her to take a deep breath.

  Through the filthy water she caught a glimpse of a hideous creature, smoking black with glowing red eyes like hot coals. The demonic figure removed something from its black cloak. It was Him and his precious blade of death. The deadly steel plunged repeatedly, slicing her skin but she dared not move.

  She waited until her lungs were about to collapse before risking a gulp of air. Surfacing, a large rat crawled over face. Her scream was filled with stagnant water. Coughing the filth from her lungs, she dragged her shivering body from the ditch, her convulsing stomach forcing her to her knees, coughing up more muddy water.

  She looked down the narrow country lane to see nothing. The car’s growling menace diminished in the distance. All was silent. She got up and stumbled away in the opposite direction trying to remember who or where she was. What was her name? She knew nothing except Delicate Rose.

  She shuffled with bare feet, torn and bleeding, down a leafy lane pocked with deep puddles. A sudden noise behind her rooted her to the ground. She recognized that familiar snorting of His demon steed. Her lungs stopped their intake of air and her eyes closed in anticipation of Him. A crack of his cruel whip was followed by intense pain biting into her flesh. She turned to see nothing.

  She glanced around hearing an approaching horse but all she saw was the moon, not yet full, but close, oh so tantalizingly close, saying farewell to the rising run. Its ancient allure captured her soul. A sense of pleasure brought a quivering smile to her lips. The moon was an important cycle but she could not recall why.

  The heat of the sun! Why was she so frightened of the sun? The vacuum of desperation quickened her blood.

  A frighteningly real image of rose petals fell from her shaking hands to be covered by her rich, dark essence spilling from her body. The trees moaned to her with dry creaking voices. Their darkly twisted bark transformed into angry wooden faces, mangled branches bore long, bony arms stretching over the lane. The wooden faces moaned lustfully, tentacle-like roots screaming from their open mouths to dip into the pools of blood and suck with unearthly pleasure. The early morning mist was tinged pink with blood spray and the puddles at her feet pooled black in congealing gore.

  She screamed, shaking her head to clear the dark visions. “This cannot be happening!” Her body shivered uncontrollably at the sound of His horse, so close she feared the inevitable.

  Chapter 2

  Jean Busson, a middle-aged, robust farmer steered his cart down the lane. He wore his usual rough corduroy jacket and trousers tattered to fine strands, hanging limply around his muddy boots. His old black cap was heavily stained with sweat. Papillon, his black and white sheepdog, sat next to him on his regular milk run.

  Every morning at precisely five thirty, he filled four churns with the milk eagerly relinquished by his small herd of Friesians. The work often reminded him of Lisette Rousseau’s overly large breasts flowing beneath his eager hands.

  Six long years passed since his beloved wife had been so cruelly taken from him by the influenza epidemic. He had been left alone to tend to his adolescent daughter, Annette, for far too long. A smile creased his weathered face at the thought of making an honest woman of Madame Rousseau one day soon.

  Papillon erupted into a cacophony of raucous barks, returning Busson’s attention to the leafy lane just in time. He pulled on the reins to stop his horse from trampling a young woman, spilling some milk from the churns with an audible sloshing.

  “Stupid bloody cow!” He shook his head in irritation, staring down at the woman almost nose to nose with his horse, now snorting in frustration.

  Papillon leapt from his seat and harried the poor woman, barking and yelping excitedly.

  Busson frowned, weighing up the situation. She had a look of blank terror on her deathly-pale face. Dark mascara ran in long black streaks down her alabaster cheeks like tears of oil. Her face looked like it had been through a thresher with crisscrossed scrat
ches, the blood blending with mascara to create a grisly countenance. Long red hair lay in a shambles about her shoulders, covered with a profusion of leaves, twigs and dripping with mud. What was left of her bloody dress was obviously damp, making it transparent. It clung to her lithe body by a single remaining strap.

  Busson stared into that look of pure terror emanating from almond-shaped brown eyes and a shiver went down his spine. An unnamed fear gripped him.

  She backed away from Papillon and seemed unsure what to do for a brief moment before continuing on her way, oblivious.

  Busson recognized that familiar look of shellshock, it brought back fleeting memories of the war. For a moment he heard those terrible screams of death once more.

  “Whoa, girl!” He pulled up on the reins when his horse tried to proceed. Papillon forced the woman to falter.

  Busson eyed this macabre vision of loveliness wavering below him. She was the most enticing female he had ever seen in his thirty-seven years and three months. His fixated gaze followed the woman who continued down the lane. He exhaled, lifted his cap and mopped his brow with the back of his hand.

  “Hold on, miss.”

  The woman continued on her way.

  He replaced his cap and whistled Papillon back onto the cart. The farmer patted the dog’s head then urged his horse to turn the cart around. He drew alongside the distressed woman and slowed to her pace but she continued as if unaware of his presence.

  She started to chant in a monotone, listless voice. “Eternal ... I am Eternal ... he mustn’t find me.” She looked up, her terrified gaze slicing into Busson’s soul. “Please ... don’t let him take me.” She screamed in terror, “No! Don’t take my blood!” She fainted.

  “Damn it to bloody hell!” He released the reins once more and turned to Papillon. “Stay boy!”

  Papillon whined pathetically, wagging his tail.