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

by Travis Luedke

  She left me alone that day. I stayed in my room, though it was difficult to look upon the place where he had loved me and turned me into a woman, a very distraught woman as it turned out.

  All I could think of was death. To lie quietly—beyond pain and heart ache. What could be better than that?

  I saw it as the only solution. It was my secret. I certainly did not intend to confide in Anna and be talked out of it. I was too adamant.

  Death was for me but how? Poison I reasoned would be painful, besides, Anna was always in the kitchen. Perhaps I’d cut my wrists or throat. That was not impossible for there were enough sharp objects around. I’d just wait to take something. How wonderful that would be, knowing I had the means to sleep forever, what a secret! I did manage to take a knife and hide it.

  Later when Anna saw me she asked if I felt better. “Yes, of course,” I lied. I even embellished the lie. “I am resigned now. It is best to know the truth. And I can say is I am happy for them.”

  How glad I was Anna was not discerning or particularly bright. She asked me if I would have some stew she cooked. She showed me the meat and vegetables the count had brought. “He has left much to eat for us. How thoughtful he is.”

  I smiled through my teeth. Thoughtful indeed, thoughtful in breaking Justine’s heart! The meal was difficult. And if that was so, swallowing was worse. At least she didn’t notice my discomfort. I was able to speak, and acted as if nothing was wrong.

  She told me about herself and where she grew up. I absorbed nothing but smiled when I felt I should and nodded occasionally. Finally she yawned. “It is late. Best turn in now.”

  We bid each other good night. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Yes, until then.”

  I waited until I heard her snoring. The knife was ready, it was under my bed covers, hidden in case Anna came in, but she did not.

  I picked it up as though it were a friend. “You will take me beyond my sorrow. You will let me sleep forever. I want a world where there is no pain.”

  Holding the knife to my wrist, I tried so hard to make a cut, but only succeeded in making scratches. Scratch after scratch I made until I realized the truth. I hadn’t even the courage to do the job right!

  I had no choice but to leave. It was late when I did. There I was, what a pathetic picture I must have made, wearing a table cloth for a shawl. I had no idea which way to go when I reached the road. But at least there was a full moon so I could see.

  And so I began my trek away from the cottage and safety but most importantly to me, I was moving away from Count Oriani who had taken my maidenhood and stolen my heart.

  CHAPTER 6

  I walked as far as I could. The wind chilled me, but I walked—almost unaware of my surroundings. My emotions were such that my senses were dulled. My head was full of nonsense—all the things Oriani had said the previous night. Declarations of love and desire. What did he think? Had he no regard for me at all? He couldn’t have had.

  When I could no longer walk, I decided to sleep for the night. The morning would be warmer I hoped if it was sunny. There was lush woodland not far from the road. And it wasn’t long before I found a place for myself. Then snapping off leafy branches with which to cover myself I knew I was set for the night.

  I’d have liked a fire, but beggars cannot be choosers as the saying goes and I was certainly a beggar at this point in time. I had no thoughts of the future, not even of survival. In fact, I knew I still wanted to die. There was nothing I wished for more than to be away from my suffering.

  Somehow, between one weary thought and another, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. It was a blessing. Birdsong woke me. How alien it sounded. I wished it would stop or I would grow deaf. I didn’t want to hear anything that sounded happy.

  It was sunny and for that I was glad, for the rays were warming. Get up and start walking, a voice in my head was urging me on, but why? Shouldn’t I be better off to look for a stream to drown in?

  Perhaps I thought it would be too cold. I might long for death but not the cold! Crazy, I know, and that can best describe my frame of mind then.

  I found the road and began walking still unsure of where I would wind up. I wasn’t walking too long when I heard the rumble of a wagon. It was a farmer’s wagon and it looked to be full of hay. Wherever he was bound for I wished to go, too.

  The driver stopped. “Paris bound young one?” he asked.

  “Yes that is right.” I’d have agreed to a ride anywhere. “Can you give me a ride?”

  He motioned for me to sit next to him. His face was brown from the sun and scrawny from scant food I imagined. The questions began at once. First he asked me about myself, my name and where I was from.

  “Paris, Monsieur.”

  He nodded. And told me he was from Caen. “I farm there. Well it used to be a farm now it is land with dead crops, with dead animals too. We’ve butchered and eaten what we could. I shouldn’t think it would last us through the coming winter. What do you do? To feed yourself?”

  His question startled me for a moment but only for a moment. “I do what I can. Sometimes I steal...”

  He slapped his thigh and laughed. He quite liked that. That was the first time in my life I realized a lie might work better than the truth and I laughed with him.

  When he felt he could trust me he told me his views and they were strong. “They will pay! France will make them pay the forfeit. We will have our day!”

  I thought of what Anna said and realized she was right. Rebellion was in the air. If I feared the worst for the queen and her family, I knew I best not show it.

  He asked me my name—as he introduced himself. “I am Jean Lamou,” he said. “And you are?”

  I thought a moment—and lied. “Marie Minot.” That was my mother’s name and it saddened me to say it.

  He nodded and went on with his dire news. “There are riots in the streets, young lady! Paris is seething. I should think when it begins there will be no turning back!”

  I agreed with everything he said. Yes, a person can do anything in fear. Whatever loyalties I had were already discarded, overtaken by my need to survive. I even added words of encouragement.

  When he began to speak of the king and queen I felt myself stiffen though. I would not say what I thought of them. Nor was I about to confess I had been employed in the palace.

  At last we got to the city gates. The soldiers eyed us suspiciously. The farmer was unfazed. “Greetings sirs. I am Lamou, the farmer. I pass this way often, as you can see.” He motioned toward his load. “There is hay for stables. I go to the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, to the stables. They usually give me soup if I beg long enough.”

  The soldiers looked satisfied, but were staring at me. “Who is she?”

  “My niece. She is helping, my wife is ill from bad bread.”

  The soldiers stiffened at that and I thought him foolish for saying such a thing. But they told him to go.

  “That was taking a chance, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  “So what?! I am glad I said it for it is true. She is very ill. Many have died.” Now he turned suspicious eyes on me. “Where have you been and how come you do not know this?”

  I shrugged. “I have my own problems. I let a man have his way with me and now I have to face the consequences.”

  That he understood. “That is sad. We all pay for our mistakes but some pay for others and some will pay heavily though they know it not!”

  Yet, another threat of rebellion.

  At last he let me out and we wished each other good fortune before we became absorbed in the great noisy rabble that was Paris.

  ****

  I was unkempt and dirty and fit in with everyone I saw. And because I slept out, I looked rough. No one looked at me twice—they looked too disgruntled and weary. There was little conversation, just movement—wagons and barrels being moved along.

  A coach was going up the street, quite a rich looking one at that. People just stopped what they w
ere doing to stare at it with sullen faces. They looked menacing and full of hatred. The driver looked keen to get away as quickly as possible. And when a wigged occupant called out to someone in the street to show him a ware they were hawking, he received no answer.

  “I’m speaking to you!” he cried.

  The crowd said nothing while a few began to move toward the coach. As they did the wigged head vanished and the driver whipped the horses. “Faster, faster!” he cried.

  I thought of what the farmer had said and I knew he was right. If this was summer, it was going to be very hot indeed. It was going to be as hot as the people of Paris wished it to be.

  An old woman gave me bread. It was stale and moldy but she meant well. “It is all I have,” she said. “But you look as though you need it.”

  I thanked her, shoving it into my mouth. It was good and I was grateful. I cried my thanks. Still I ate it so quickly, I nearly choked. I had no idea where I was going. Still I walked. Where I would sleep I knew not, perhaps in an alley.

  There were mobs of homeless and they were all about. They were in alleys and side streets. When the sky darkened, I looked for a place to rest. One alley was as good as another I thought. My need for sleep exceeded my caution. I lay down amongst a crowd of homeless. But when I was touched by two different men while I slept, I knew it was not safe. I shouted at them and they laughed.

  “Go to the palace then if you’re too good for us,” one of them cried.

  I didn’t answer, instead I stumbled along, sleepily only wishing to rest. I chose the first place I came upon, an abandoned shop stinking of the sourness of filth and decay. There were rats and mice and heaven knew what else, but there were no people to bother me. I would rest.

  Sleep came quickly—but so did the attack. Something bit the back of my neck. The pain was excruciating. My first thought was I was being attacked by a dog. I tried to defend myself. That’s when I heard the hissing.

  I was frightened and in too much pain to think—all I wanted to do was run from the beast. Somehow, I managed to pull away—but then I was attacked again, this time from every direction.

  I fought hard but knew I was failing. It was a pack that was attacking me, killing me. I felt myself growing weaker by the second. I could just see the beasts’ outlines in the dim moonlight. Why didn’t they look like dogs?

  Death was at hand. I felt it and I welcomed it. The pain was passing as my life was. I am dying I thought. Then just before everything grew black, I saw its eyes. This was the one that had been the most voracious of all. The eyes were yellow, like a wolf’s. With that last thought, I died.

  CHAPTER 7

  The blackness turned to shadows and from within those shadows I saw figures. I think they might have been my parents. I called out to them but then felt myself drifting away, slowly at first then more quickly. There were shouts and cries of the damned I was certain. Was I bound for hell? I don’t think I cared. And then I heard a voice, quite distinct it was too. Someone was calling me forth, “Rise!”

  It was a man’s voice, rich and deep sounding. At first I thought it was the count... I might have even called out Oriani’s name. There was no answer though, just words spoken that sounded strange. “Enter the darkness and live again!”

  There was soft murmuring. Muffled voices and whispers, voices saying things I could not understand.

  “Drink!”

  I thought it was water and I obeyed. But then I smelled it and turned away. “Please no!”

  Was it wine? If it was it smelled awful.

  “You must drink...”

  I looked to see someone’s wrist. There was blood pouring from it. I gasped as it was held over my mouth. The blood was splashing down on me and still I would not open my mouth.

  “She is sinking fast...”

  “Open your mouth and drink!”

  I obeyed because a man was pleading with me. He looked so sad and impassioned. “It is the only thing that will bring you back!”

  I opened my mouth to receive his blood and become what he wished me to be. What it was my destiny to become—a vampire, a blood imbibing creature of the night, a cursed being condemned to feed like the vampire bat. I would call shadows home along with night. Sun would become my enemy.

  There were many about me. I had visions of people I neither knew nor recognized. They weren’t my memories, of that I was certain.

  “The things you are seeing are from my living life for it is my blood you drink.”

  I tried to understand but it was so difficult. Something struck me. It felt like a hard stinging slap, but I did not cry out. I heard the sound of another slap and the cry of a woman following it. There was scuffling too, accompanied by a warning, “Leave her alone or I will tear you apart.”

  I had regained my senses. As I looked about, I saw I was in a dark cavernous room—it was dimly lit—the light within came from flickering candles. There were shadows and I was frightened. There was too, the smell of damp and dust. It was almost overpowering.

  I saw her then, a woman with disheveled hair glared at me before rushing away. I was certain she was the one that had slapped me.

  I tried to lunge at her! As weak as I still was, I tried, for I was filled with rage and loathing. The man held me down. “Let me look into your eyes.”

  He nodded sadly after he did. “I don’t know how you were before, but now you are the devil’s own. Some return different with hell’s taint upon them. I fear you are one of those...”

  I had passed into the blood. The being that was Justine Bodeau had ceased to exist. In her place was a raging vampire. Wantonness and hatred replaced my soul. Whatever I had been I would be no more.

  They say I slept for days, not sleep as I had known it but the deep nearly fathomless sleep of the vampire. When I woke I was alone but for a man sitting near me. As he had his back to me, I could not see his face. He turned suddenly, as if he knew I was looking at him. He was the man whose blood I had drunk. “I am Gascoyne,” he said. “I am called the Vampire Prince of Paris.”

  When I made no reply he asked me my name. “I am called Justine,” was my reply.

  ****

  I don’t recall how the fight began but I do remember trying to claw at him and scream at him.

  He pinned my arms to my side. “You are strong now for you have the vampire’s strength but I am stronger still.”

  I tried to bite him but he only laughed at me. “Your teeth are just beginning to change. By tomorrow they will be a trifle longer and sharper. It is the sharpness that will enable you to feed. I hasten to add.” He grinned. “You will be under control before I let you feed on me again.”

  “What have you done to me?” I shouted.

  He ordered me to lie down but I did not. Instead I fought him as much as I could before I wearied and gave up. “You might as well stop fighting it ... I will not let you destroy yourself.”

  I wondered how he could stop me. As if he could read my thoughts, he said, “You will get used to it in time. The first year in a vampire’s existence is the most difficult. In time you will eventually grow accustomed to it. All beings can adjust themselves. I did. I was just like you...well nearly like you.” He said this without the rage. “I have sent Carmen away. She will not return for a while.”

  Good I thought, for I knew I would tear her apart.

  It was then that I began to notice him. He was quite handsome. His features were fine. His hair black and his dark gray eyes large and luminous, his mouth was beautifully shaped. I watched his lips as he began to tell me about himself. He told me he was born in the Pyrenees region of France, the area that bordered Spain.

  “I was born in 1675, at the time of the poisons in France when high-born ladies would consult a certain woman known as La Voisin for that which would kill an errant lover or his mistress. My father was a farmer and my mother died giving birth to the youngest of her nine children.” He told me how he had missed her. “I kept thinking of how she would be rotting along with he
r infant. The child had never even drawn one breath.”

  His father was devastated and took to drinking heavily. The children were not cared for, and Gascoyne being the eldest did assume the role of father or at least he tried to.

  But then illness struck and one by one each of his siblings died. In the 12th winter of Gascoigne’s existence, his father hanged himself.

  “I found him and took him down. No priest would bury him for he had taken his own life. I grew to despise the church for that. There was a priest though who came forward. He was young and had the face of a zealot.”

  “There are beliefs that take long to change. I know how much agony you must be in, where is your father now?”

  I said I had taken him to the woods. “He is in a shallow grave—I have done the most I could...but he has entered the earth without proper prayers.”

  He reburied him and prayed over him. “I absolve him of all sins. I do this in the name of God and of his son, Jesus Christ. I do it because mercy and God are one. There is too much punishment in the world.”

  I thanked him and told him I would never forget him. And I did not, not even after my death.

  His face was so grim when he said that. “We all remember our living lives. Such memories never die but continue to haunt us in everything we do. Those who cannot bear it, destroy themselves while others try to become accustomed. Others become wild and vicious.”

  The point was not lost on me. I knew I fit in that category. I understood and told him I did. He told me of his creation then.

  “I was a young boy, with little or no experience in life, no trade. I had worked in the fields, done seasonal labor, helping with harvests and so on. Now, alone I had to make my way in the world.” He smiled. “No, I didn’t really have hope ... I knew too well what a peasant’s life was like. It was hard work with hunger and illness. If a person was lucky, they might live to see thirty. People died all the time, from infants to children.” He nodded. “If you think the times are bad now it seems they were never good.”

  He told me of his travels and of being robbed and beaten, robbed of only a few sous. Penniless, he began to beg but was driven out of most places. The only people that were kind to him were thieves.