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

by Travis Luedke

  Something was missing – something vital. He walked around the room and absorbed everything, the blood on the table, cutlery on the floor and the broken chinaware. Without warning it struck him like a bolt of lightning.

  There were three places set at the table last night or early this morning. That’s it! They had a guest for dinner.

  Gerard stepped through the shattered French doors and out into the vast garden. He bent down and noticed shoe prints mixed with bare foot prints around the opening. Obviously they gained entry here. Something caught his eye.

  He saw a further set of prints made by a woman’s high-heeled shoes, perhaps fleeing the scene. He tracked the deep prints in the manicured lawn into the woods surrounding the property at the rear. There, he found a pair of high-heeled shoes in the undergrowth, and evidence of someone having been chased – broken branches and torn shreds of clothing clung to thorny branches. How exciting! The hunt was on. He felt the tingle on his skin for he had a witness but where had she fled?

  ~~~~

  Inspector Gerard puffed on his pipe and sipped his coffee at a table outside the quaint café in Douvrey. He appreciated this quiet moment to think but movement caught his eye. Jean Busson left the surgery and made a beeline for him, so much for a quiet coffee.

  Busson loomed over Gerard. “What the Devil is going on, Inspector? What’s all this nonsense of vampires in Douvrey?”

  Gerard sipped his coffee and heaved a weary sigh. He placed his cup on its saucer and gazed into Busson’s angry face. Just to annoy Busson, he picked up his pipe and sucked it repeatedly to ignite the embers.

  “That’s police business ... and none of yours, Busson.”

  “None of my business ... people are being slaughtered in their homes and you have the gall to sit there and do nothing about it?” Busson was red with anger. “Our taxes could be better spent.”

  “Who said vampires are at large?”

  “Madam Rousseau was told by Sabine, her neighbor, she was told by our postman who mentioned it to Doctor Colbert while he fixed my hand.”

  Gerard looked at the surgery. “And did Doctor Colbert confirm this outlandish theory?”

  Busson pointed an angry finger. “Well, not exactly ... but he did agree that the evidence supported the rumor.”

  Inspector Gerard puffed on his pipe and laughed out loud. “You are such a tease, Busson. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

  Gerard had already come to the conclusion – as he always had on these occasions, that a lunatic, or lunatics, from the asylum had perpetrated the atrocity. It would give him an excuse to annoy Doctor Henri Vernier with his questions. He finished his coffee, puffed on his pipe, left a small tip and walked across the square to his car.

  Busson stood stewing in his own juices.

  Chapter 22

  The Inspector drove the short distance to the Douvrey Institute with eager anticipation at the thought of riling Doctor Henri Vernier. He did not like the doctor after their big fight over the Dupont case. After all, it wasn’t the fault of the police if some fruitcake had escaped from the asylum and bloody well confessed to a double murder and then had the sheer audacity to blow his brains out in the name of Napoleon Bonaparte. Indeed, it wasn’t his fault but the fault of the good doctor for not taking better precautions at his nuthouse. And in any case, the madman had confessed and that was bloody that. Guilty! Case closed!

  Gerard pulled up in front of the institute and stepped out of the Citroen. He puffed on his pipe one more time before tapping out its contents on the back of his shoe. And as he had always done, he dropped his pipe into his coat pocket. He was a creature of habit and proud of it. He walked up to the massive oak doors and hammered the large brass knocker.

  He waited what seemed an interminably long time before the door opened, revealing Nurse Marteau in white hospital clothes.

  She frowned with a miserable glare. “What can I do for you, Inspector?”

  “And a good day to you too, Nurse Marteau.” Gerard gave her a courteous smile, belying his utter glee at her discomfort at seeing him. “I have urgent business with Doctor Vernier ... if you would be so kind as to fetch him? It is of some importance that I speak to him right away.”

  “I will see if he is free but he is a very busy man, you know.” With that, Nurse Marteau left the Inspector on the front steps, slamming the door in his face before he could enter.

  Inspector Gerard chuckled at the nurse’s displeasure. He certainly had a way with women, he thought with an amused smile. Good looks and charm wins them over every time.

  Doctor Vernier opened the door wearing his white hospital gown over his day clothes. He looked most put out. “What is it now, Inspector? Have you come to execute another innocent man?”

  “Certainly not, Doctor Vernier.” Gerard cleared his throat before getting to the heart of the matter. “I am here to ask if a woman has been brought here under unusual circumstances ... perhaps in a frightened state and possibly missing her shoes.”

  Gerard scrutinized the doctor’s face for telltale signs. You know something, don’t you, Vernier? Yes, Gerard recognized the look on Vernier’s face – he was thinking about this woman. Vernier averted his eyes for a second and in that brief moment Gerard had no doubt at all the doctor was treating the vital witness. Perhaps the good doctor had his reasons, she needed treatment of the mental kind before being questioned? No doubt the poor woman would be in a terrible state of shock.

  “Nothing of that sort has happened, I assure you,” Vernier said, clearing his throat.

  Gerard smirked. “I am only trying to get to the truth, Doctor Vernier ... which I am sure you would too, under the circumstances?” He waited for the response. Come on out with it man, I don’t have all day, he mused.

  “The truth ... and what truth might that be?”

  “I am looking for those responsible for the murders of Sebastian and Ellise Moreau and their servants.”

  Gerard was duly satisfied at the look of shock on Henri’s face. The doctor looked visibly shaken. He gripped the edge of the open door to steady himself.

  Inspector Gerard thought he might collapse and reached out to steady the doctor.

  Henri waved Gerard’s hand away, asking in a shaky voice, “Dear God ... when did this happen?”

  “Late last night ... or possibly early this morning ... it is hard to tell as the bodies were discovered cold.” Gerard now felt a twinge of guilt at the pleasure he took in upsetting the doctor. “If you do not have a woman of that description here ....” There’s that look again. “.... I would like your confirmation that all your patients can be accounted for.”

  “Damn it to bloody hell, Inspector, why is it you come knocking on my door whenever a crime is committed?” Vernier turned to leave.

  But Gerard said something that caused him to stop dead in his tracks. “The reason is this, Doctor Vernier ... the victims were almost completely drained of blood from punctures to their necks and wrists. Surely you can understand the nature of those I seek. They must be ... insane ... do you not agree?”

  The Inspector saw the look of horror on Henri’s face but no hint of recognition as to the motives he described. No hint as to a patient capable of such vile deeds.

  “Well, Inspector, I can assure you all my patients are where they should be.” Henri’s hands shook so badly he put them behind his back.

  Inspector Gerard nodded his head with gratification. “Very well, Doctor Vernier, I will take you at your word.” He removed his pipe and a pouch of tobacco from his coat pocket. He casually stuffed his pipe then lit it with a match, sucking heavily to ignite the tightly packed material.

  “A good day to you,” the Inspector said, tossing the match onto the gravel driveway and walked to his car. You don’t fool me for a second, Vernier. I will get what I want. I always do.

  Chapter 23

  Strong sunlight filtered through the blanketed window of the tiny room at the institute. Delicate Rose tossed and turned in the t
hroes of her never-ending memory dreams, mumbling the word Eternal while twisting her bed sheets around her sweat-soaked body. She trembled and allowed the stronger entity of Eternal to take control.

  Eternal smiled down at William Wallace, partaking of her fine essence, just enough to make him so fierce a warrior his enemies would be vanquished. The English were slaughtered in the thousands, forcing embarrassment to spread like the plague all the way to the crown upon which sat the hideously cruel Edward I, known by the Scots as Edward Longshanks.

  Sadly, William’s addiction worsened and had to resort to painting his face to function in the daylight but Eternal could see the writing on the wall and fled with her true love before William’s final moments arrived. Eternal hated to see her subjects perish. She escaped to England ruled by that sadistic monster now named The Hammer of the Scots. She discovered too late who the king really was, that he required her blood to replenish his vitality.

  Eternal and her true love ran through dark woods, screaming in terror from his pack of howling wolfhounds and a grotesque black horse with glowing red eyes. Upon the horse sat the evil Count in the guise of Edward I, his armor stained with blood. He leered down at her with demonic eyes and long fangs dripping blood. The wolfhounds circled them. There was no escape from The Count. Her true love attacked but was torn to pieces by the massive dogs.

  Eternal fainted with terror only to be aroused when The Count snatched her up and draped her across his horse with the promise she must make him young and virile again. The black beast galloped through dark woods while lightning split the gloom with silvery streaks.

  The horse changed into the car – His car, now speeding down narrow streets. Eternal was dragged by her feet, bound by the coiled whip, screaming and kicking. She was thrown into her worst nightmare, leaving her trapped within the attic room back in Paris. She backed into a corner. He approached her with his sword swishing the air and fangs gleaming.

  Delicate Rose awoke from her nightmare, shimmering with fearful sweat. She pulled her knees up to her chin and rocked back and forth.

  With a shaking hand she lifted the blanket covering the window only to be assaulted by the harsh rays of the sun. She swished the make-shift curtain shut with Eternal echoing within her tormented mind. I am Eternal. Who is Eternal? What am I? Where am I? These questions and more pierced her mind with red-hot needles, invading her reason with thoughts she could not understand.

  Delicate Rose wiped tears from her face. She gave a forlorn cry, realizing she was indeed trapped in this tiny room. “Eternal ... Eternal ... Eternal,” she chanted, over and over while rocking back and forth.

  Eternal resurfaced in the wake of Delicate Rose’s despair.

  The gentle squeak of the metal flap covering the peephole in the door caused her to jolt. She turned in that direction to see a curious eyeball scrutinizing her in the filtered daylight.

  The peephole cover slid across the viewing hole by unseen hands, possibly the hands of her savior, Edouard. She had an irresistible impulse to find him, he was so very close. Could the eye peering at her be her one true protector? Please let it be Edouard. Her fractured memory raced out of control.

  Eternal stared at the eye peering at her. The eye blinked while it spied on her but it was not that iridescent green she had come to love. Her heart almost broke in two with that realization. She cried more desperate tears.

  Eternal turned back to her vigil at the window but a mind-numbing pain of terror ripped all thoughts from her. She could sense something so evil, so powerful, so terrifying and close.

  The rush of black torment gripped her with such ferocity she screamed His name, “Lucien!” He was so close she thought he was in the room.

  Eternal curled up in her familiar position and continued to chant, “I am Eternal. I am Eternal.” She felt utterly alone and trapped. All she could do was wait for death, for it would come on a black horse and its name was Lucien Dupont.

  Chapter 24

  In the sun-drenched corridor, Doctor Henri Vernier slid the viewing cover back over the peephole of his new patient’s door with a grimace. A wave of grief tried to sweep him overboard, suppressing the urge to cry for his murdered friends. He nodded respectfully to Nurse Collette, ignoring her concerned look.

  He left the corridor and entered his private domain, making straight for the decanter of cognac waiting on his desk. With trembling hands, he poured a hefty shot into a crystal glass, downing the fiery amber liquid in one go. He savored the heat in his hollow stomach before putting the empty glass back on his desk.

  A removed his hospital gown, wrenched off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt before collapsing onto a comfortable brown leather couch, wrinkled with age. He closed his tearful eyes and relaxed. In seconds, Henri Vernier was asleep.

  And whenever he managed the luxury of sleep, to take his conscious mind away from the daily horrors of the mentally afflicted, he always dreamed of the terrors he witnessed during his time as a doctor at a field hospital during the latter years of the Great War.

  Amputated limbs piled up in trash bins, overflowing with gore. Incessant screaming of the injured tore at his soul. There was no hope for those he managed to save, only to be thrust back into the fighting without further delay.

  The worst day of his life! He dared insult a swaggering officer for declaring mentally sick men to be malingerers. Henri Vernier was removed from the hospital by two armed soldiers and taken to headquarters. He was summarily conscripted into the army as a Lieutenant second class and warned never to be insubordinate again or he would be shot.

  Henri returned to the hospital deflated and demoralized. The war took its toll on his idealistic beliefs. He begged the authorities that the shell-shocked soldiers required proper treatment. The enemy shells drew closer to the hospital. The screams of the dying mixed with the explosions. Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Henri Vernier awoke from his troubled sleep with those awful screams still echoing in his mind. For a dreadful moment he thought he was back in that field hospital. He could still hear the shells exploding close by. The fog of his dream lifted to the sound of knocking at his door.

  Henri sat up on the couch and mopped his brow with the back of his shaking hand. He walked over to his desk and poured another glass of cognac.

  The knock repeated at the door. Henri didn’t care and thought about listening to some Debussy on the gramophone. He turned to look out of the unbarred window, staring at the bright sunny gardens.

  He angrily muttered, “Interruptions. There are always interruptions! Can’t they leave me alone? Damn it!” He took a hefty gulp of cognac and glared at the door. “What is it?” He sighed with exasperation.

  The door opened and Edouard, now wearing a white hospital gown over his day clothes, entered Henri’s private enclave. He closed the door quietly after him.

  Henri cleared his throat. “Ah ... Edouard, please make yourself comfortable.” Henri pointed to the sofa.

  Edouard nodded and sat on the couch looking a little uneasy. He removed his white gown and draped it over the arm of the couch.

  “Forgive me but I’d completely forgotten about lunch. Would you care to join me ... it’s a fine cognac?” Henri raised the decanter enticingly.

  Edouard relaxed a little and took the glass with a hesitant look. “Thank you ... I would love a cognac.”

  Henri noted his unease and sniffed the cognac. “This is a particularly fine Armagnac ... nothing else will do after ....” Henri’s chin quivered. He fought back the tears, swirling his cognac around the large glass and breathed the rich aroma.

  “It should never be rushed.” Henri smiled weakly. “Sad to say but these days I have little time before a patient requires my attention.” He smiled to himself, thinking of his idealistic days before the Great War. “What do you think of the place?”

  Edouard coughed on the fiery cognac. “I’m impressed with the way you run the institute ... most efficient indeed. I must say it is a pleasure to work with another advocate o
f Pierre Janet.”

  Henri nodded with gratitude. “Thank you, Edouard.” He sipped his cognac with a furrowed brow. “Before I forget ....” He paused again to fight back the tears. “.... There’s a new patient I want you to look at.” Henri mulled over what the Inspector had told him. “Make her a priority. She should be quite a challenge and it would be a good opportunity to flex your therapeutic muscles.”

  Edouard’s eyes rounded with eager delight. “Of course, I’ll attend to her right away.”

  “Good man.” Henri paused giving a look of concern. “She seems to have no memory whatsoever. She was carried here on the back of a farmer’s cart in a distressed state. There was a considerable amount of blood on her dress ... possibly not all her own for her wounds were superficial.”

  Edouard looked thoughtful and frowned. “A horse-drawn cart passed me earlier this morning.” He shrugged. “Well ... it’s quite possible she witnessed a traumatic experience bringing on dissociative behavior ... excellent!”

  Henri smiled at his eager colleague. “Agreed! Her dress was most expensive, indicating wealth, but far more interesting is her continued monotonous chanting.”

  “Psychological automatism ... acts performed unconsciously and therefore, mechanically.”

  Henri gave Edouard an old-fashioned look.

  Edouard’s embarrassment at behaving like an overexcited teenager was clearly evident on his face. “Do forgive me but I must say I am eager to begin.”

  Henri topped up Edouard’s glass with more cognac, continuing, “And more perplexing to me is the context of her chanting ... she keeps saying the word eternal, over and over.”

  ~~~~

  Edouard gasped. “Eternal?” The shockwave of that word struck a glancing blow. He began to sweat. A cold shudder rippled his spine. Was she here? Was this his destiny?