Carnal Appetite

Chapter Three

Could he risk telling her the truth? That the monsters of the world’s nightmares actually existed in a shadowy, secret society? She wouldn’t believe him. No one did until it was too late to listen to the warnings. He’d never worried about people heeding him before, but he found he wanted her to believe him--not just think he was some psycho.

Had he not been attacked, all those years ago, he himself would still be ignorant and deny their existence.

He could warn her, tell her what had happened to him ... and what Danior had done to her. But that wouldn’t mean she would listen.

Clara waited in the foyer, watching him expectantly with her soft, hazel eyes. She perceived too much. There was a vibrancy about her spirit that was difficult to resist ... or deny. That, and she was too damn beautiful by half, a woman built for loving. Being so close to her incited him to a raging lust he was hard pressed to control. Small wonder that Danior wanted her for his own.

“Follow me,” he said finally, resigned, leading her into the living area that opened off the front entryway. A two story cathedral ceiling stretched above them, the hewn wood warm and inviting in the soft yellow light of a central chandelier. Here was as good a place as any to divulge his secrets.

He picked up a remote and hit a button. Instant fire roared to life in the fireplace.

Sitting near the blaze in an overstuffed chair, he stretched out his legs and bade her sit across from him. He stared at the fire, waiting until she was settled before beginning.

“Seven years ago, I was on the force, heading up the case of the Necro-ripper.”

“I remember when that happened. I was in college, we were all terrified.”

He nodded. “We thought we had him tracked down to the swamp. Had every available officer out there scouring the area, set up a perimeter and road blocks, the works. He wasn’t getting out. He’d taken another girl, you see....”

He turned his gaze to her, watching her reaction. “My partner, Jim, and I had discovered some tracks. I never got to radio the finding in. Something fell from a cypress, slashed into my back. My left arm was nearly severed in the struggle. The last thing I remember was seeing Jim’s head floating next to me in the water, and then blackness.”

Clara looked about to speak, but Raoul held his hand up, stopping her. “I woke up in the hospital a week later. They’d found the Necro-ripper. Put about three dozen bullets in him. But the damage had already been done to me. I ... changed the first full moon....”

She looked confused, unsure of what to say. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, wringing the bottom edge of her blouse. “I ... I don’t understand.”

Watching her steadily, he held her rapt with his gaze so that she couldn’t look away. “I was infected, chere. By a very rare virus. So rare, it’s become nothing but a myth, or a tale to scare children.... Lycanthropy ... a werewolf.”

* * * *

Clara laughed. What he’d said wasn’t the least bit humorous, but the horror he described, the conviction in his voice.... Her body hurt as though she’d lived through it, and her gut reaction was to bleed off the fright in the only way she knew how. She was disturbed to hear her hysteria so plainly, but she couldn’t help herself. After only a moment, she went quiet, confronted by his dead seriousness, his silence.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, ashamed at her lack of control. It had been a hell of a night. She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, covering her face with her palms, unable to bear meeting the condemnation she knew he bore her. What she’d done was unforgivable. She’d been brought up better than that. But how could she have suspected he would tell her something so ... so outrageous and impossible to believe? She expected any minute some cameraman would jump out and surprise her with the knowledge she was on Scare Tactics.

“It’s understandable, chere.”

That only made her feel worse. Worse still, her gut told her he wasn’t lying. She couldn’t believe that he would lie about something so horrendous--not when his voice held the pain of truth. Not when confronted with the evidence of his extensive scarring. There had to be some explanation for it, but at the moment, she couldn’t fathom what it could be.

“This is crazy,” she said finally, her voice muffled by her hands, still cowardly trying to hide her shame.

“Don’t make me show you, Clara. I don’t want you to fear me.”

Dropping her hands to her lap, she looked at him, struck by his tone and words. He was just as beautifully masculine to her now as when she’d first seen him. Hearing his admission, however crazy it sounded, hadn’t changed her desire for him, her desire to know him. It was insane to have such strong feelings when she didn’t know him, but he provoked a powerful response in her that she’d never encountered before.

“I would never fear you,” she said with conviction, feeling it to be true. Obviously he was attuned to action, but as a foil for violence, not an aggressor. He’d been a police officer before. It that was true, it would explain much.

“You can’t know the future.” He looked into the fire, his jaw hard.

No, she couldn’t, but she knew her feelings of the moment. She wanted to go to him, to soothe his torments, but she dared not right now. He seemed ... distant, troubled. So she did nothing but sit there, watching him. He excited her, but he didn’t scare her, intense as he was. Still, there was one inconsistency she hadn’t considered. “If you’re a ... lycanthrope, how can you wear that?” She indicated the ring in his right nipple. “Isn’t it silver?”

He smiled darkly. “I like a little pain mixed with my pleasure.”

The low timbre of his voice vibrated along her nerves like an electric current. Heat flooded her, pooling between her legs. She shook herself mentally, trying to get a grip on her emotions. It was frightening how easily he could play them. Maybe he was more dangerous than she realized ... just by sheer potent sexuality....

“I know you don’t believe me. You needn’t worry. I will still protect you from Danior.”

She felt better moving on to a different subject. It allowed her to gain control of her libido--before her brain was fried. Better not to dwell too long on his disease ... or her reaction to him. “Who is he?

He watched her a long moment before finally saying, “He is a vampire.”

Clara shivered, unexpectedly chilled by this admission. She should have known better than to ask. She was reminded of that eerie wind that hadn’t touched him, how he’d seemingly vanished. No, it just couldn’t be. Still, Raoul’s contempt made her curious. “You say that like you hate ... them.”

“I do, as do all of my kind.”

She couldn’t fully believe him--it was just too far past the realm of believability--but suddenly she was fascinated. The paranormal had always captured her imagination. She’d spent more hours than she cared to remember reading horror books through the night. “Why?”

“They seek to control, to drain us. Our blood is like a drug to them, addictive, potent, rare. I have never met a natural born shape-shifter, but even those who were once human are scarce. Men rarely survive their attacks--women, almost never.”

From a scientific standpoint, it made sense, just based on old legends and stories. Lycanthropes were like superhumans. It stood to reason that their blood would be more powerful, and highly prized by a vampires, who subsisted on blood. And also that it would be difficult and painful for a human to survive such vicious attacks, which would account for the rarity of such a race, to the point of lack of evidence to support their existence in modern society. She supposed most who were attacked were ... eaten. Clara swallowed hard, ill at that possibility.

Still.... “Then I’m not the target. He’d want you, if what you say is true.” It seemed like sound reasoning, based on the information he’d provided and her own deductions. And if they were enemies, it was only natural to fight it out. They were men, after all, even if all the paranormal mumbo jumbo could be believed. Oozing testosterone and highly territorial.

The look on his face told her something entirely different. His brows drew down as he frowned at her. “You felt dizzy in the alley when he was near? Like you would faint?”

What did that have to do with anything? And how could he know? She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yes. Yes, there was this horrible buzzing--”

“You have two marks on your body, do you not?”

She nodded slowly. How could he know about that? A chill ran up her spine, forcing goose bumps to rise on her skin. Despite wanting to believe the contrary, she was beginning to doubt conventional reasoning.

“He has given you the first two marks of what is called the triad: the mind, body, and lastly, soul. Anyone with the knowledge can invoke the spirit in three hallowed areas of the body and bind it to their own ... for a time.... It can weaken or strengthen, depending on the match.

Danior has been preparing you for his new ... companion. Surely you’ve heard the old legends: on the third night of blood-letting, a human dies. And the next night, they are reborn a vampire.”

Clara raised a tentative hand to her neck, feeling the small wound, and the new one beside it. It couldn’t all be true ... this was just ... too much to believe. The memory loss, the fatigue--was it possible? She felt like she’d entered the twilight zone, and Inferno had been the gate into hell.

“I can’t remember what happened two days ago, not yesterday either....”

“He rolled your mind to make you forget. Easy enough to do once the mind mark has been invoked.”

“I feel ... tainted somehow. Dirty.” She shuddered, rubbing her arms rapidly for warmth. The thought of someone invading her mind and making her forget horrified her. She hated losing control.

Raoul stood and offered her his hand. “It’s late. I’ll show you to your room.”

She took his proffered hand and rose, but shook her head at his suggestion. “No, I’m not ready to sleep. I ... I need to get warm. To feel clean again.”

“The bathroom is up those stairs, to the right. You’ll find everything you need in there.”

A tense moment passed between them while he held her hand, and she thought he would kiss her rather than let her go, but finally he released her. Walking away from him, it took effort not to turn around, but her neck prickled and she knew he watched her go.

She was thankful he didn’t follow, but disappointed too. She needed time to think about what he said, about the implications, and yet she also craved comfort and security. The kind she could only have in a man’s arms ... in Raoul’s arms.

Finding the bathroom just as he described, she entered the cavernous space. A whirlpool, cast in black marble, encompassed one entire corner of the luxury bathroom. In another, a huge shower stood that could easily have accommodated half a dozen people. Shower heads dotted the glossy marble walls. Plush black towels hung within easy reach on silver bars just outside the glass doors of the shower.

Clara stripped off her clothing, dropping it in a pile on the floor. She was reluctant to wash the comforting smell of him off her skin, but needed to cleanse her body and spirit of the taint holding her mind. That man had enthralled her. She couldn’t deny it, no matter how much she wanted to. She didn’t understand how it was possible, but she did know Raoul had saved her.

Stepping into the shower, she closed the door behind her then turned on the water, running it until heated. It took her a few minutes to figure out exactly how to use the shower, but after several tries, she finally managed to turn on just the overhead faucet.

The water was almost too hot as it rained down on her, but the heat banished the chill that had settled in her marrow. She stood there several minutes, just soaking up the heat and wetting down her body.

Grabbing a nylon loofah, she squirted bodywash on it and began lathering her arms. There was a soft click, and cool air flooded the space as the steam was sucked out. She turned slightly and glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see the shower door open ... and Raoul standing inside it.