Animal Attraction

© copyright January 2016, Tracy St. John

Cover art by Erin Dameron-Hill, © copyright
January 2016

This is a work of fiction. All characters,
events, and places are of the author’s

imagination and not to be confused with fact.
Any resemblance to living persons or

events is merely coincidence.

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Smashwords Edition

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

For an instant, it was like being in heaven.
I soared like an angel through the moonlit night, the world silvery
beneath me. It reminded me of the dreams I’d had when I lived. It
felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if I’d been born
to this ability to fly. I lifted light as a feather, leaving
earthbound cares far below, the freest I’d ever felt. If not for
America’s omnipresent soundtrack of distant traffic, I could
believe myself beyond the grasp of reality. I’d been liberated from
the grind of the mundane.

But only for an instant. When the first
moment of elation passed, I felt the tug of gravity. I fought it,
and it got worse. And then the ground rushed at me; furrowed dirt
littered with the broken remains of cornstalks and husks loomed
ever larger. At least this time I remembered to keep my mouth shut
as I dove with bone-breaking force into the long-plowed field.
Nothing says defeat like the grit of dirt between your teeth for
hours on end.

The painful snaps of facial bones and my left
collarbone giving way would have stolen my breath had I still been
among the living. All it did was make me mad however. No sooner had
the body I inhabited slammed to the ground, when I jumped up with a
scream. My howl of frustration, streaming between broken teeth and
sounding comically nasal – well, comical to anyone but me –
startled the few birds who chose to call on this cold February
night. No doubt it curled the hair of anyone who chanced to hear it
echoing over the wide, fallow fields that served as my practice
area.

Like magic, a huge brown hand appeared by my
face. Liberally sprinkled with tiny ebony hairs, it held a
gracefully shaped black bottle. Burgundy letters proclaiming it to
be
Blood Potion No. 9
blazed across its gold-trimmed label.
Had I been in the mood to continue reading, the fancy calligraphy
would assure me that it was the purest elixir next to what one
could drink straight from a vein.

My name is Brandilynn Payson. I was murdered
less than a year ago, my soul left to wander as a ghost. I am not a
vampire. I had the bad fortune to get sucked into the body of one
when its owner’s soul was eaten by a creature known as the lamia.
But that’s another story. Let’s stick with this one.

I’d been guzzling bottles of BP9 almost
nonstop since I’d risen from the grave at sundown. I was saturated
with the foul stuff. Despite its certified status, Blood Potion
tasted nowhere as good as fresh. Boy, how I craved real living
blood. That desire only made me angrier. It gave credence to those
who argued with me that I’m an actual bloodsucker.

I’m not, darn it. I can prove it too. My own
corpse is respectably buried in the cemetery, not stalking the
earth and shaking down the living for a hot drink. This is not my
body. I am not a vampire.

Case in point: vampires fly. So far I am a
dismal failure in that realm. This had been my third attempt and
third crash in the 15 minutes I’d been out here. As for previous
tries in the last few weeks, I’d lost count.

I felt my bones knitting back together, the
regeneration fed by all the BP9 I’d consumed. I shoved Gerald’s
hand with its offering away. “I’m fine,” I said, glaring at the
werepanther.

Green kitty-cat eyes gazed at me with dubious
regard. Despite my frustration, I found it hard to remain angry
looking at Gerald Clark. For one thing, he’s one of the few real
friends I have left. For another, he’s good to look at. Plain and
simple, he’s a yummy man-beast.

I’m not kidding about the ‘beast’ part of
that description. He is one of those unlucky people who contracted
Zoo Flu, a virus that kills more often than it transforms its
victims. There is no consensus on which fate is worse. Zoo Flu is
awfully contagious, jumping from animal to human easily. Those who
survive it are often shoved to the fringes of society. Despite para
rights making gains in the last couple of decades, shifters still
make up the majority of the homeless and discriminated against.

Gerald’s particular flavor of shifter is
Florida panther. Both animal and werecreature are nearly extinct,
so he’s a rare one. In fact, he’s the only one of his kind that
I’ve ever seen. As far as shifters go, he’s gorgeous. Soft
triangular ears split the long cornrows braided in his hair. Those
green eyes seem to glow against his mocha skin with its subtle
black markings. I knew from seeing him naked that the markings
enhance his muscular physique. At over six feet tall, Gerald looks
like the hired muscle he is. But this is no dumb, insensitive
brute. He’s as true blue as people come, and he’s in charge of
keeping me sane while I adjust to being – I mean, inhabiting – a
vampire.

One thing I have learned control over is the
glamour that takes my borrowed body from red-eyed, fanged fiend to
the appearance of something a little more human. I concentrated on
doing that. I tried on a smile that I wasn’t even close to feeling.
“I said I’m fine. Just give me a moment to finish healing, okay big
guy?”

His ears twitched forward from their
near-laid back position. They tended to flatten when Gerald sensed
danger. He smiled back, his sculpted and slightly feline features
devastatingly handsome with the warm expression. Pride beamed from
that dark face at the control I exercised. He lowered the bottle.
“Sure, Brandilynn. Let me know if you change your mind.”

I held back a sigh. I had no illusions that I
would be guzzling another bottle of BP9 in the very near future.
Probably within minutes. I’d nearly polished off a case
already.

At least I wasn’t chewing on a warm body yet.
Gerald and I are not sweeties, but he’s been my live blood donor
more times than I care to count. I don’t like doing that to him,
though he heals as fast as I do and he never complains.

Another point to consider when it comes to
whether or not I’m a real vampire. In most cases, vamps who can get
to the real live stuff eschew bottled blood. There really is no
comparison between the two.

I watched Gerald as he paced back and forth,
admiring the strong body that stalked rather than walked. His
breath plumed from his nearly triangular nose. Even southeast
Georgia gets frigid in February, with temps sometimes reaching
freezing. Not that it matters in a vampire body. I’m always cold in
this form, except when I lose control and feed on Gerald.

I didn’t have to breathe. I inhaled anyway,
catching my companion’s warm, musky scent. Man, Gerald smelled
good. For once I ignored the throb of want for his blood, focusing
on the man himself. Gerald had it tough dealing with me.

I was trying to learn to fly, not because I
want to be more like other vampires, but because it’s a darned
useful skill. It had been left to the poor werepanther to coach me.
He was not a good instructor because ... hello! He’s landlocked.
However none of the local vampire clutch wanted anything to do with
me. Especially their leader, Tristan Keith.

I shied away from thinking about Tristan.
Pain too easily turned to depression which shifted too easily to
anger. Anger leads to bloodlust. I was determined to get through
one night without jumping Gerald ... because taking blood from
another person wasn’t the worst thing that happened when I lost
control and fed.

Needing to distract myself from bad thoughts,
I focused on what needed to be done. I threw back my shoulders and
lifted my chin. Steeled my spine. Gathered my courage. Pretended
things would work out some sweet day.

Right.

I called to Gerald, “Okay. I’m going to try
this again.”

He stopped his stalking to grace me with a
smile, flashing white teeth and impressive fangs. Unlike me, Gerald
can’t glamour his appearance. “Good. Now stop trying to power your
way through this. The others told me they just think about it and
it happens. They don’t force it, sort of like how you walk from
place to place without really trying. Get it?”

It was good advice. Too bad it never seemed
to work. I twitched a wry smile. “Our first steps took effort too,
Gerald. We don’t remember that. All right. Here I go.”

I closed my eyes. I tried to think about
leaving the ground calmly. Serenely floating. Every vampire – that
is, every vampire body – could do it. Patricia did it as easily as
the rest when the body that now cloaked me had belonged to her. I
had all of Patricia’s other abilities: glamour, healing, quickness,
amazing strength. I had this ability too. There was no reason I
couldn’t fly.

I felt the pressure of the ground fade from
beneath my feet. This was good. Simple levitation was easy. I had
this. No problem.

I opened my eyes to discover I’d gone a few
feet up. I’d drifted out of Gerald’s reach even if he’d stretched
that big body up to grab me. Yep, no stress, no mess. Now the time
had come to move.

“Just a little,” I coaxed the temperamental
powers that I wanted to wield. I began to coast forward, slowly at
first. I willed myself to ignore the pull of gravity that made my
movements jerky.

“Float, float, float,” I chanted. I was so
busy trying to stay aloft, watching the ground below me, that I
didn’t notice I trucked right for the magnolia at the edge of the
field until Gerald’s shout warned me.

My slow pace had quickened too. The tree
loomed a few feet away and came at me in a rush. I yelled and
panicked, jerking to one side and gaining speed as I did so.

I tried to slow as the tree spun from my
view, but I was still turning. All was confusion in an instant. The
earth and sky traded places several times as I cartwheeled through
the air, a squalling, out-of-control Brandilynn.

I went down hard. Because I was already
rolling, much of the impact lessened that time. I didn’t even break
anything. It didn’t matter. I’d fallen once again, barely doing
better than the first time I’d tried to fly. When my body stopped
spinning like a tumbleweed, I yelled and pounded the hard earth
with my fists. Frustration bloomed bold and furious.

Red hazed my vision. Anger dripped acid in my
brain, melting any sanity that lived there. Hatred for my condition
exploded from my non-beating heart until every fiber of my body
quaked with it. I tore clods of soil from the ground, wanting to
claw the world apart.

I saw movement at the corner of my eye. I
sensed warmth, smelled life. Without thought, I launched myself at
it, mouth gaping wide open.

Shifters are fast. Vampires are faster.
Gerald had no time to reverse course or put up a defense.

I had him by the throat in less than a
breath. My mouth filled with heat, the only heat I could feel in
this body. The thick fluid spilling from the rent I’d torn in the
werepanther’s flesh fairly sang against my tongue. All conscience
fled as I drew on the man I’d toppled to the ground.

What does it feel like to feed on real live
blood? The best way I could describe it would be the elation of
Christmas morning, graduation, and your wedding day all rolled into
one. It’s joy so incredible that it can’t be contained.

My whole being warmed as I filled with that
sweet elixir. My stolen heart thumped once, twice, and then pounded
against my sternum. I drew breaths between swallows. I was alive
again. Alive! And more alive than when I’d lived in my own body. I
felt hyperaware of everything, particularly the man lying beneath
me.