Killer Attraction Read online

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  Whispers Publishing

  www.whispershome.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Mikala Ash

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Killer Attraction

  Mikala Ash

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. This material is meant for mature audiences!

  Killer Attraction

  A Whispers Publishing Publication

  September 2007

  Copyright ©2007 Mikala Ash

  Cover illustration copyright © 2007 Rene Walden

  ISBN Not Assigned

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Published by: Whispers Publishing, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

  Previous Works By Mikala Ash

  The Christmas Kiss (December 2007 release)

  Lupus Populus 2: The Body Politic

  Lupus Populus 1: A Political Animal

  Raincatcher 1: Rauni's Mistress

  Chains of Passion 1: Slave to Lust

  Eden's Reprise

  Darke Secrets (October 2007 release)

  Internal Reflections (January 2008 release)

  Dedication

  To Joan and Vince for showing me the joys of reading.

  Chapter One

  I'm chasing a werewolf. He's beautiful, swift and sleek. I love him so much I'd do anything for him, even kill.

  I think it must be some kind of grand cosmic joke, to gift us something as beautiful as love; yet cause us so much pain when we let it into our hearts.

  The moon is full and shimmering in the crystal darkness. It is midnight and my libido is effervescent with the quickening; the irresistible tide of lust a wolfen either endures or enjoys at the rise of the moon.

  I endure it, barely.

  When the quickening takes hold, like an omnipotent dominatrix, we have to release the carnal tension lest it drive us mad. We shape shifters are an inventive lot and get our jollies in different ways. Some go to pick up joints and grab a hunk and fuck his brains out. Others find a fellow wolfen and hole up somewhere and fuck each other's brains out. The cautious, not wishing to be on the loose with their fangs and claws itching to slice and dice unsuspecting—and usually unbelieving—humans, shut themselves up in the cellar.

  I'm not like other wolfen, neither promiscuous nor cautious. Call me a prude, but I just don't like one-night stands. To be honest, since Ricardo, I don't like getting too close to humans at all. They are too fragile and die much too easily. Though, perversely and against my better judgment, I do crave sexual contact with them. I hadn't yet met a werewolf I wanted to fuck, and a year's celibacy—enduring a dozen quickenings—is a cruel torture indeed. I am, despite my need, resolved to never get involved with a human again. Involved as in having sex, because I have too often mistaken lust for love. I must keep men at arm's length and not let them inside me or my heart.

  So I improvise to scratch the insane itch of desire which consumes my soul. I was trying something new tonight, a sort of tag and release for the conservationists. I've become my own bait by dressing in some seriously sexy gear; no bra, see through silk top, tiny gold shorts, black seam stockings and lace up stilettos. The plan was to troll a nightclub, hook some handsome young stockbroker, and indulge in some hot and heavy petting: everything bar penetration. Then after I've climaxed from his touch, I'll say a quick goodnight, race home and get myself off again with my trusty gel-vibe. I'll round the evening off with a long bubble bath, a glass of wine and a good book.

  It sounded like a good idea at the time, though in hindsight it's a bizarre notion, as if anything short of penetration is not sex. I laugh at my presidential delusion now, but at the time it was an idea which had occupied my mind for weeks, caressing my dreams and stroking my crazed libido. The anticipation had been quite exquisite.

  So, why am I out in the park chasing a werewolf instead of teasing some poor rich kid to an inch of his premature orgasm?

  Love.

  He'd phoned just as I'd climbed into a cab with a fresh faced foreign exchange dealer I'd caught inside The Office, the swank new club for the rich and the want to be famous.

  "Just?"

  It's short for Justine. He's called me ‘Just’ ever since I can remember.

  "Sim?” Which is short for Simon, the name I've used for him since childhood.

  There was something wrong with his voice. It was deep and husky as if he was fighting the change, struggling to stay in human form.

  "Just, help me."

  I hadn't seen him for over a year. He'd moved to Perth, a long way away from Sydney. “Sure, what's up?"

  "It's me. I'm him."

  My rich kid was nuzzling my neck and fondling my breasts. I pushed him away. “What are you talking about? Where are you?"

  "The Botanic Gardens. Help me."

  "The Botanic Gardens?"

  "Here in Sydney,” he said.

  "What are you doing here? Why didn't you come see me?"

  Undaunted, my ardent stockbroker slid his palm along my thigh and into my crotch. He'd lowered his face into my cleavage and tried to undo the buttons with his teeth.

  "Listen, Just. Help me. I want to stop."

  "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

  "It's me."

  "What do you mean, ‘me'?"

  "The Full Moon Murderer."

  A hollow chill formed in my belly and spread to my heart. I'd suspected the vicious killer stalking Sydney's Royal Botanical Gardens for the last three months was a werewolf. I hadn't dreamed it could be Sim, though. He'd been out west for over a year studying dingoes, the wild dogs of Australia.

  My would-be lover was pressing his fingers into my pussy. I slapped his hand away. “Don't do anything. Tell me where you are."

  "I'm in the Gardens. She's so pretty. I don't want to do it, Just. This fucking moon is making me do it, but I don't want to!"

  "Don't do anything. I'm on my way. Where in the Gardens are you?"

  "She's leaving, Just. Gotta go."

  "Don't hang up!"

  An iceberg had settled in my stomach and the tip was piercing my heart. “Stop the cab!” I yelled to the driver. When he'd brought it to a squealing halt I opened the cab's door and, using my wolfen strength, flung my tumescent beau out onto the pavement.

  I ordered the driver to get me to the nearest entrance to the Gardens, telling him there was an extra fifty in it for him if he stepped on it. It was a hair-raising ride through the late night traffic but I couldn't have cared less. I had to get to Simon before he killed again.

  The Full Moon Murders had captured the imagination of the press in much the same way as Jack the Ripper had ensnared the prurient minds of Victorian England. I shivered at the descriptions
of the bodies I'd read in the more lurid broadsheets. The women had suffered deep lacerations to the hands, arms, chest, face and thighs. The police spoke of a frenzied attack, an out of control madman bent on mutilating his victims. As always, details were missing: I suspected the bit about parts of the bodies having been eaten weren't being divulged. They'd be keeping those gory details secret for the good of public order and to check the accuracy of any confessions.

  The police said they were following some promising leads, and I feared modern forensic technology would, somehow, identify Simon.

  I wondered what the humans would do once they had actual proof of our existence. There'd be no bloody constraint, as Shakespeare would say, just blood. They would destroy us in a frenzy of fear, raking for us no matter where we hid.

  Oh, Sim. What have you brought down upon us?

  The impressive wrought iron gates and sandstone walls of the Gardens shone pale in the pearly moonlight. “I wouldn't go in there,” the cab driver warned. “Not at this time of night."

  "I'll be fine. Thanks for your concern."

  "I mean, a pretty girl like you. There are bad people in there. I wouldn't go in."

  I flashed him a confident smile. “I'll be okay. I can handle myself."

  He gave my petite frame a once over, lingering on my deep cleavage and shrugged. “You know best."

  "I wouldn't go that far,” I muttered as I strode into the darkened park. Streetlights competed with the moon to illuminate the dark caverns of the night. Tall trees waved in the light breeze, casting spidery shadows on the monochrome lawns. Even the most unimaginative soul would have found this a cold and haunted place.

  I sniffed the air.

  I'm chasing a werewolf after all.

  Of course, in human form my nose is not as good as in my wolfen guise, but still good enough to pick up Simon's familiar scent. He was upwind of me. I also detected a couple of drunks beneath a Moreton Bay Fig tree, the alcohol carried by the breeze stabbing at my nostrils.

  A perfume I recognized from discount store counters was carried in the same air as Simon's. He was closing in on her.

  I ran into the darkness, forgoing the pavement and blundering across the grass. My heels stuck in the rain-softened lawn and I went head over turkey. Swearing colorfully, I pulled off my shoes and carried on in my stockings.

  A gut-wrenching scream pierced the darkness. I changed course a little and headed for a small copse of trees. The shadows were near impenetrable even to my enhanced eyesight. I wished I was in wolfen form, then I'd be able to see clearly, but I needed to be able to speak to Simon when I found him. I couldn't talk him down if I was a wolf.

  I slowed down. There was a drunk close by, sitting against a tree, and I stepped around him. I'd cleared his snoring form when out of the darkness a hand clamped over my mouth. Though he reeked of alcohol, this was no drunk. The movement had been too swift and graceful. He had surprised me, and I cursed myself for being careless.

  Something happened then. As I struggled against his grip, I found myself molding in to his body. He was a big man, holding me close to his hard chest, and his body heat enveloped me like a satin sheet. I could feel the firm musculature beneath his wine soaked shirt and the beating of his powerful heart almost made me swoon.

  I could taste the sweat in his palm, hot and salty. My tongue buzzed and involuntarily I licked his skin to taste him. My body came alive at the strong masculine pheromones dissolved in the sweat.

  Through the miasma of alcohol fumes, he whispered in my ear. His hot breath was sweet and fresh. His clothes, I realized, had been dowsed in wine. His voice was unexpectedly cultured. “I'm a policeman. Just be calm and you'll be all right. I'm letting go now."

  A dogberry! “What the fuck!” I yelled at him.

  "Sssh. Didn't you hear me?"

  "I won't sssh!” I yelled, hoping the ruckus would bring Simon out of his moon-induced lust. I had to make sure the dogberry was distracted enough to allow Simon to escape. “Let me go!"

  "Quiet!"

  He'd gripped my arm with a large firm hand. There was another scream, nearby this time. Shit! Simon was too far gone to control himself and he was killing some poor girl. I couldn't let it happen. I elbowed the cop in the gut, making him grunt and loosen his hold. His abs were rock solid, and my arm jarred with the impact.

  I broke away and ran towards the scream.

  "Stop!” the cop called behind me.

  I was, naturally, faster than he was and I sprinted into the darkness. The scene I blundered into was as horrific as I expected. Simon, in beast form, was clearly visible in a shaft of silver moonlight. He was standing over a woman. She was lying so still, her white flesh covered by patches of blackness—her blood. The intoxicating smell of her gore was thick in the air. I breathed it in and fought the desire to join my brother and lap at her essence. Her heart was beating so fast I could, with my enhanced senses, hear the pumping of her blood.

  I stopped a few meters away. “Get away from her!” I screamed.

  Simon glared at me; his wolfen eyes glowed yellow in the moonlight. His lips curled back in a vicious snarl. I didn't move. I stared and waited for him to recognize me through the lusty haze of the quickening. Finally, after a moment, he dipped his head before scampering off into the darkness.

  I knelt by the woman. She was young, scantily dressed, possibly a hooker. She was barely breathing, each breath a short, sharp rasp.

  The cop arrived and knelt down opposite me. My body chimed with anticipation. I don't know what it was but no human, nor werewolf, had affected me like this before.

  "She needs an ambulance,” I said, ensuring her airway was clear and rolling her onto her side as the first aid books recommended. She was losing a lot of blood and, resisting my more basic impulses, I pressed my fingers into the most serious neck wound to staunch the flow. It took all my resolve to quell the desire to drink.

  "Officer down, repeat officer down. Paramedics required immediately. I'm in sector F, the small copse of trees. All units seal off the Gardens."

  I took a long, deep breath. I could relax. There was a good chance Simon could get away now; his preternatural abilities would allow him to avoid any clumsy human dogberries. I just hoped he wouldn't hurt anyone while he made his escape.

  I couldn't relax though. Other emotions were overwhelming my senses. Lust, for one, mingled with hatred for the one who threatened Simon with capture.

  The cop watched me closely as I pressed the victim's neck, stemming the flow of blood. So, she was a policewoman and this charade an elaborate trap to capture the Full Moon Murderer. My blundering about in the dark may just have saved Simon from their clutches, and saved some policeman's life into the bargain. When cornered, werewolves can be fearsome things.

  In the harsh light of his torch the dogberry's face had a jagged look about it; deep set eyes, bushy eyebrows and well formed lips. It was a face with character, I thought, and my libido went into overdrive. Despite the threat he posed, or maybe because of it, my nipples had hardened inside my blouse and the heat in my pussy went up a few degrees. He was fit and strong, his pheromones potent, and I wanted him like none other.

  "Do you mind telling me who the hell you are?"

  "Justine Price."

  "And what the hell are you doing in here?"

  "Hopefully saving this woman's life."

  "I mean in the park."

  "Research,” I said off the top of my head. I hadn't considered a cover story.

  "What the hell?"

  "I'm a freelance journalist,” I lied. “I'm writing an article about the murders."

  "Jesus Christ. You could have been killed."

  "Sorry if I mucked up your trap. I didn't realize you were a dogberry."

  He reacted to the disguised insult, which surprised me. Not many cops would recognize the name of a Shakespearian fool if they fell over him. “This is not ‘Much Ado About Nothing',” he said through clenched teeth. “Three women have died. If we're l
ucky, Officer Meyer will pull through. She may have gotten a good look at him."

  I stilled my reaction to his rebuke. He was right, this was serious, though I doubted Officer Meyer would have anything useful to contribute. She'd have an impossible story of being attacked by a wolf.

  On closer inspection, her wounds were superficial it seemed to me. Simon hadn't a chance to do any real damage. He'd swiped her across the face, knocking her unconscious. She'd have some deep scars, which was a pity. From what I could see in the torchlight, Meyer had been pretty.

  I took a deep breath. My body was vibrating with desire like a violin string. Panic stirred in my belly. I had to get away from this dogberry before I betrayed myself. “Well, I've had enough excitement for one night,” I said. “I'm off home."

  "Not so fast. Did you see anything?"

  "Not really. Just shadows."

  "I distinctly heard you yell, ‘Get away from her'. Who were you talking to?"

  "Just a shadow. He was crouching over her and scrambled away, so I didn't see anything at all."

  "Scrambled?” His voice was surprised as I hoped he would be. “He didn't stand up? You don't know how tall he was?"

  I shrugged. “No, sorry. If I didn't know any better, and I know it sounds crazy, I would have said it was a dog."

  "A dog?"

  I'd said it as doubtfully as I could, planting a seed. “Listen, I just saw shadows, okay?"

  His features contorted into a frown. “Her wounds do look like scratches, don't they?"

  "It couldn't be a dog?” I asked innocently. “Could it?"

  The paramedics arrived and shoved us unceremoniously out of the way.

  The cop took me aside, his hand gripping me by the elbow, and led me up the path towards the gates and the waiting police cars. I let him guide me though I had to restrain myself. Despite my lust for him, I don't like being pushed around by humans. Few wolfen do.

  He asked me a few more perfunctory questions. I tried to calm my buzzing heart so I could concentrate. It was like a curtain had smothered my conscious mind, and out of the slumbering brain my beast was clawing its way out. A wave of vertigo swept through me. I was afraid of losing control. I closed my eyes and counted till the dizziness passed.