Authors: Camille Anthony
WEREWULF JOURNALS 4:
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Werewulf Journals 4: Sated Pleasures
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
Copyright © February 2008 by Camille Anthony
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Maryam Salim
Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter
Ellen and all the ladies of the Camille’s Communiqué group: You all keep me sane.
Maryam, my intrepid editor, you’ve been with me from the beginning and what a ride we’ve had! Thanks for making me look good! Kisses and hugs to you.
He kept losing focus. The hunger was growing stronger. He’d need to kill again soon.
“I should have waited to eat that monkey,” he mumbled, scrubbing his body free of every hint of the dead woman’s smell, giving special attention to his groin. “Pah! I couldn’t waste the flesh, could I?” What wulf could stand cold meat between his teeth?
Need to change.
His skin felt itchy, the wulf wanting out.
Need to hunt, to feed.
Though he’d recently fed, his stomach cramped with hunger.
Fangs shredding sweet, wet meat.
He hadn’t believed the others when they’d said it could be like that…the hunger growing out of control once the taste for human was in your mouth…an adrenaline rush without peer, an addiction without cure.
Tastes like chicken. He giggled, tickled by the thought of the macabre truism, which he now knew to be false. They tasted more like young wild boar meat, the tender flesh sweet and slightly salty.
Need more. Want more!
He giggled again, thinking about all those plump little monkeys sleeping in their rooms, had to fight off the urge to change and go rustle up a late night snack. He just barely managed to resist, reminding himself of the risks.
He hadn’t been patient enough, had indulged his new appetites too soon, so now he had to be very careful, wily. The pepper must have worked, or they’d have been howling for his blood by now, but he had to lay low. It irked him, having to hold off on the other kill he’d planned until this brouhaha over his last kill cooled.
2 Camille Anthony
Where did I put that last pair of clean pants? “Can’t keep burying my clothes,” Delin grumbled half under his breath. “I hate doing laundry.” Much as he’d tried to stay clean, he’d gotten blood on his favorite pair and had discarded them along with Alice’s jogging pants.
Bitch had managed to kick him in the teeth while he was gutting her. His DNA was all over them. “Oh well, a good meal deserves some effort, I suppose.”
Delin found the pair of pants on the floor, behind the bed. He pulled on his clothes, combed his hair, and patted his pocket, making sure he had his keys. On his way out the door, claws of steel ripped through his abdomen. He gritted his teeth against the pain of another cramping wave of need.
Oh Goddess, I’m hungry! They didn’t warn me I’d be so hungry all the time!
Hobbling back to the bathroom, he fumbled in the medicine cabinet for a bottle of contraband aspirin. Damned doctors wanted everyone to get their meds through them. Ha!
Nobody told him what to do. Grimacing, Delin tossed back half a bottle of pills, turned the faucet on, and guzzled water from the tap, drenching his parched mouth with the tasteless liquid, wanting something else, craving blood.
His thoughts whirled. His mind seemed to crack wide open as the bloodlust raged within, raking his belly with streaks of fire. He wanted to gorge himself on raw meat, fill his gut until it was heavy with human flesh. Nothing else would satisfy him now. Everything else tasted of ashes and bitter dregs.
Shaking, Delin let himself out of his room and pulled up short. The smell of prey hit his nostrils, slammed into him like a runaway rhino. He almost forgot himself; he started down the long corridor where the clients slumbered, unaware of the danger outside their doors.
One last time he caught himself and reversed his steps, hurrying down the hall. He had to get to that meeting. He might be losing it, but he retained enough functioning brain cells to know he had to find a way off this island. Escape would be difficult, but he’d do it even if he had to risk swimming to the mainland. He’d make his plans after the meeting, once he saw which way the wind was blowing.
If only his thoughts would stop drifting back down the hall.
If only he could stop envisioning that plump Alice as he’d seen her last…as a hunk of sweet, red meat dripping with hot blood!
Werewulf Journals 4: Sated Pleasures
Stumbling through a treacherous jungle, screaming…
Warm blood on her hands, hot, murderous rage roiling in her gut…
Tripping over a bloody body…discovering a loved one, lost…
Agony consuming her heart, destroying her…
Staring into a watery mirror, seeing a familiar face…knowing it was not her own…
Indigo came awake gasping, fighting the recurring dream. The relentlessly gory scene fought back, determined to force a place for itself within her mind. With sheer determination, she closed down the vision. Shut it off.
Heart pounding, hands gripping the arms of her airplane seat, Indigo breathed through her mouth, forcing down the terror that grew each time she experienced this particular waking nightmare.
Damn it, every time she relaxed or allowed her mind to drowse, her subconscious mind took over, forced her to confront those chilling events. Over and over, she’d resisted this particular vision, hating the surety of inevitability -- knowing she could do nothing to change the outcome of a precog seeing that impacted upon her own future. What frightened her most was the rarity of it. She could count on one hand with fingers left over the times she’d been shown an event that focused on her.
Scrubbing at the skin around her eyes, massaging the muscles twitching beneath her palms, she chanced a glance over to where Ari sat listening to the classical music piped through the ship’s intercom; his heavily lashed eyelids drooped over slumberous navy blue eyes.
4 Camille Anthony
Ari liked his music loud. A wry smile curved her full lips as she watched that well-shaped head nod in time to the spritely beat of a country gavotte by Bach. She thought it might be from Suite 6.
Thank goodness, the sight engendered nothing more than a normal woman’s
instinctive appreciation of male beauty because the Greek demigod, Kyrios Aricles -- with all those ink black curls tumbling over his broad, smooth, ivory-hued forehead -- was beyond gorgeous. He was also, as were all the men of the Non-Human Protectors, like a brother to her.
Not that it would have done her any good harboring stronger leanings that way. She’d seen Ari’s future mate in several precog visions and didn’t have a death wish. The demigod had no idea what was in store for him in the very near future. The female fated to be Ari’s one and only was fiercely passionate, more than strong enough to frighten any sane woman away from what she considered her territory.
The thought of Ari’s probable reaction to finally meeting his forever love was a momentary mood lightener. Indigo pressed a palm over her lips to muffle laughter. It was rich, watching him enjoy his music, oblivious to the chaotic future awaiting him, but that one moment of levity passed swiftly, abetted by her somber mood. Dread weighed down upon her. Inevitably, she’d have to share her concerns with him, but for now, she needed some time alone.
Body still shaking with the lingering residue of her fight-or-flight response, Indigo’s trembling fingers unbuckled her seatbelt. Freed, she paused a moment, commanded her weak leg muscles to firm up, then made her way to the small restroom at the rear of the plane.
In the small cubicle, she dashed a splash of cold water on her sweaty face and glanced up to stare glumly into the tiny mirror. She flinched. Instead of the usual deep indigo from which she drew her name, her irises were an icy, arctic blue. The exact hue belonging to the very dead man she’d seen in her vision. The sight terrified her.
“Damn it all to hell!” The gruff quality of her words had Indigo cringing. They’d emerged harsh and raspy from her dry throat. She hadn’t lost control like this since leaving childhood and for a good reason.
“Indigo, you may not go outside and mingle until you’ve learned control. It’s too dangerous with you morphing so indiscreetly.”
“Because the people on this planet kill what they fear.”
“I don’t understand, Meemaw.”
“I know, Indigo, and that is the danger. You must always remember that we are different. We only look like humans on the outside. And sometimes, for Earthlings, the superficial likeness makes their fear worse.”
Werewulf Journals 4: Sated Pleasures
Indigo averted her gaze from the mirrored reflection of her turbulent -- once again deep blue -- eyes. Her mother’s fate was a constant reminder of the necessity of being in control at all times. A few days after that lecture, her mother had proven the truth of her warning. She should have heeded her own advice.
Indigo slumped forward, forehead resting against the mirror, fighting to compose herself. Her parents’ deaths at the hands of humans had taught her that an unsteady shifter was a dead shifter. Getting her emotions under control proved difficult. She trembled with the effort to retain her human shape. As always, whenever she was disturbed or frightened, her body attempted to revert to the form she’d held for most of her childhood years -- that of a calico tabby.
Most days, she managed to keep the old memories at bay, refused to dwell on the personal tragedy of her past. That she did so now underscored just how deeply the vision had unsteadied her.
After a while, she pulled herself together. Drying her dripping face on the convenient hand towel, Indigo took one last look to check her appearance. Her now stoic eyes betrayed not a hint of the turmoil still taking place inside. No one but she needed to know how concerned she was.