WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Selena Kitt
Bathory’s Kiss © December 2010 Isabelle Rose
eXcessica publishing
A Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved
Bathory’s Kiss
By Isabelle Rose
Prologue
All night she dreamt of blood. The crackle and crunch of bones made her uneasy.
* * * *
Morgan gasped and kicked the sheets off her body until she forced herself awake. Her head throbbed. She smelled like sweat and fear, and there was something stuck between her teeth. She pried at it unsuccessfully with her fingernails. Frustrated, she ran into the bathroom. She grabbed a bit of dental floss. The thin piece of white string slid back and forth. Morgan let out a sigh of relief when she felt whatever it was come loose.
Probably a piece of chicken from yesterday’s lunch, she thought.
She felt a large piece of skin between her thumb and index finger. Only it had…ridges. She frowned.
That’s strange.
She went to the living room and put on her glasses. They blurred her vision.
“What the?” she muttered out loud as she took them off. She stared at her glasses as though she were looking at them for the first time in her life. That was when she realized that she had made it to the bathroom without them. She also noticed that she hadn’t turned on a single light in the house. It was completely dark, yet she could see everything in her house as though all of the light bulbs in the house had been switched on.
She studied the item she had had lodged in her mouth. Skin. Human skin. She could tell because there was a fingerprint.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
A little bit of bile ran up her throat. She made it to the bathroom in time for her to vomit. She mumbled a prayer as she reached for the knob to flush the toilet. Then she noticed something floating on the water. It was a mix between pink and blue-grey. With a trembling hand, she reached in and picked it up.
“Jesus Christ!” she shrieked.
She tossed it. It flew half way across the bathroom. It bounced across the floor. She pushed herself away from it until her back touched the wall. It was a finger… a quarter of a woman’s pinky finger.
Then…she thought about what happened to her two weeks ago.
* * * *
Morgan arrived at the police station. She got out of her black BMW and slammed the door shut. She pushed the LOCK button on her keychain as she walked towards the building she worked in. She wore a crisp white blouse, a pair of loose jeans and her favorite black Doc Marten boots. Her gun was in a holster around her waist, slightly covered by the black leather jacket she threw on just to hide her breasts. It was the one part of her body she was self-conscious about. She always thought they were too small.
She grabbed a Styrofoam cup and filled it to the brim with coffee. Even though it burned her tongue and sizzled down her throat, she drank it all in one gulp. She crushed the cup with one hand and tossed it into the wastebasket.
“You all right, Jack?” one of the officers asked.
“I’m fucking exhausted, Dave,” Jack replied.
“Long night?”
“Fucking bitch, Carbone wouldn’t let anyone go home unless all of the paperwork was finished. I didn’t get home until five in the morning,” Jack complained.
“That sucks man. Where you even supposed to stay that late?” Dave said.
“Fuck, no. I got my ass chewed by my wife. I’ll never hear the fucking end of it,” Jack said.
“Evening,” Morgan said.
Both men immediately straightened their backs and nodded to Morgan, who was their superior.
“Good evening, Detective,” both men said almost in unison.
She tried not to smile when she saw Jack turn pale and a little green. Morgan had a reputation for being a ball buster. But she didn’t have time for that right now, she walked past them and went into her office. The walls were painted ivory and the only decoration she had in the room that was personal to her was a black and white poster of James Dean. On the wall opposite to it were her diplomas and awards. She sat on the black leather chair and opened her desk drawer. She took out the hand disinfectant and a large manila envelope. She placed both items neatly in front of her.
She squeezed the tube and poured a dime-size portion of the gel-like alcohol into the palm of her hand. She rubbed them together until they were dry. She opened the envelope and extracted its contents. She fanned the photos on top of her desk.
More dead bodies, she thought. Dead women. Young girls, none of them old enough to drink.
Morgan stood up and left her office. She walked down the halls, giving short waves and tight smiles to a few people. She stopped in front of a large metal door. She didn’t want to deal with the man behind it. She didn’t like him at all, in fact, she was pretty sure she hated the man. Something about him was just wrong. She punched in her code and waited for the soft beep that let her know she could pass. She tied her black hair into a tight ponytail. She took a deep breath and walked inside.
At the end of the gray room sat a tall, thin man with one hand cuffed to the table that was bolted to the floor. He gave her a smirk. Morgan, in turn, gave him a blank stare.
“Detective Carbone, how nice of you to come and see me. Always a pleasure, naturally,” he said.
David McAllister. Sociopath. Serial Killer. Charmer. He had long blond hair. Cornflower blue eyes. Chiseled chin and a wicked smile. But Morgan remembered the body he left under the bridge. A young girl torn to shreds. Her intestines spread out across her abdomen and half eaten.
Morgan closed her eyes and tried to think about something other than the gruesome photographs. But try as she might, she couldn’t erase the image that would haunt her every day for as long as she lived. The girl, Maggie Fletcher, was nineteen years old. She had been on her way to her mother’s house. One image in particular refused to leave Morgan's thoughts. Maggie, staring at the sky, her mouth agape as though trapped in an eternal scream. Her bright blue eyes filled with horror. Morgan wondered why no one had the decency to at least close her eyelids before snapping the photograph.
“How were the strawberries you had for breakfast this morning?” he asked.
Morgan frowned. There’s no way he could’ve known that.
“And how was your lover last night?” he asked.
She felt her cheeks getting warmer. She couldn’t help it. She knew what he was referring to.
“I get to ask the questions around here. Not you.”
“His musk is still all over you. He wears cheap cologne and smokes cigarettes. You deserve better than that. I don’t think you enjoyed it. I can tell,” David said.
She couldn’t help but admit to herself that he was correct. Sex with her boyfriend had become more of a routine with every passing day. It didn’t change the fact that he was a good guy. But she wanted…more from him. She shook her head.
Whatever, I have work to do.
“Oh really?” she asked as she pulled out some documents from a manila envelope. She glanced up at him and arched her eyebrow.
“Yes. You’re wearing the same pair of jeans you wore yesterday. There’s a hint of latex, but none of your cum on them, not a trace,” he said.
She took a deep breath and exhaled it as calmly as she could. She reminded herself that she was a cop. She couldn’t let him get her all riled up.
“Do you know anything about these missing girls?” She neatly spread black and white photos of pretty young women on top of the table.
David licked his lips.
“You know…. if you were my woman, we’d fuck every day.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “Mmm, I get hard just thinking about it.” He growled as he grabbed his crotch with his free hand and moaned.
Morgan pinched the bridge of her nose. She wished she could just empty her gun into his face. She could already imagine all of her bullets piercing his skin, breaking his face apart until it was unrecognizable.
“Where are these girls?” she asked.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said as he licked his lips.
“If they’re dead, at least tell me where they are so we can give them proper burials.”
“You’ll never find them.”
Morgan glanced at the giant mirror on the wall. She knew her partner Jason was checking up on her. She blinked twice. That was their signal. In a few moments, he would come into the room and switch places with her.
She turned her gaze back to the suspect.
Morgan's eyes widened in disbelief, as she watched David break free of his handcuff. Morgan pulled out her gun. In a split second, David leapt over the table. He opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into her hand.
Morgan dropped her gun and screamed in pain as her blood gushed out of the corners of David’s mouth.
She grabbed a fistful of his hair and kicked him several times in the stomach, but he wouldn’t release his grip on her. She might as well have tried breaking down an iron wall with a sack full of feathers.
“Somebody get this motherfucker off me!” she shouted.
David released her the moment the doorknob turned. He pushed her down onto the floor and kissed her cheek, leaving a bloody smudge on her skin. Morgan panted through clenched teeth. She heard the steel door open, and half a dozen officers ran into the room, some with guns drawn.
“I’ll see you soon, beautiful,” he whispered.
He pushed all of the guards out of the way. Once he was in the hallway, he jumped out an open window, falling silently into the arms of the dark night.
Morgan ran after him and looked out the window he just leapt through. Nothing. Just cars driving down the street. She looked up once more…nothing. She stared at the midnight-colored sky and wondered, What the fuck just happened?
“Detective, are you okay?” one of the officers asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “Send everyone out to find that son of a bitch. I want pictures posted everywhere,” she barked.
“Do you want to go to a hospital?” Jason, her partner, asked as soon as he walked into the interrogation room.
She shook her head and said, “No doctors, no hospitals.” Morgan always hated the smell of hospitals.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I’ll be in my office.
She went into her office and studied her wound. Chills went down her spine. It didn’t look like a normal bite mark. She had holes in her hand, as though she had been bitten by a large dog.
“What the hell?”
She grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured its contents all over her hand. She hissed when she felt the light sting. She bandaged her hand and drove all night trying to find David.
* * * *
She tried to remember details of her nightmare. Pain. Hunting. Chasing the woman. The smell of sweat. Fear. That was what made her pounce. She remembered the look of surprise on the woman’s face. The young woman’s big brown eyes became wide, and a scream escaped her lips. It quickly became a loud gurgle as Morgan dug her fangs into her prey’s ivory throat. The blood tasted sweet going down her throat. The warm, liquid life force trickled out of the corners of her mouth, slithering like a crimson snake down her neck. She howled at the moon with delight after she feasted on her prey.
“Oh my god. What have I done?” she whispered.
She removed the bandage from her right hand. The wound had completely healed. There wasn’t a scar. No proof to show that she had been wounded. Her skin was perfectly smooth.
“This is impossible,” she whispered as she covered her lips.
She got on the internet and spent most of the afternoon researching werewolves.
* * * *
A drop of sweat fell on her wrist. Her hands began to tremble. Little bits of dark fur sprouted on her knuckles.
Morgan looked out the window. It was night. The sky was a velvety blue, and the stars shimmered behind drifting silver clouds. The moon was full. Her eyes became completely black and glassy. Her blood burned, pulsating through her veins.
“Oh god.” She moaned.
She gasped as she ripped off her clothing. Her skin was covered with goose bumps. Her mind went blank. She forgot everything she'd read about werewolves and the guilt she felt about the woman from the night before. She smiled as she basked in the moonlight. She stood and twirled on the tips of her toes as she felt her body change.
She threw her head back and howled a mournful song to the moon.
* * * *
The black wolf leapt off the balcony. She snuck out of her neighborhood. She didn’t want to be seen. When she reached the park, she stopped. She sniffed the air and smelled water. There was a lake nearby. She would go there and stretch her limbs.
The bright neon light hurt her eyes.
Too much light and noise, she thought. Need to get away.
Morgan ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She was amazed that she wasn’t out of breath when she reached her destination. She lowered her mouth at the edge of the river and gulped wholeheartedly. She sat and enjoyed a moment of peace and quiet. She could hear crickets, the hooting owls, and the soft rustle of a deer’s footfalls.
This is what it’s like to be free.
The scent of saliva and wet fur reached her nostrils. Her throat rumbled. She didn't want to give herself away, but as the odor became stronger, the rumbling became a full growl.
She pulled her lips back and bared her fangs. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She spun around and saw a white wolf behind her. His eyes were bright blue. He was lithe, thin and had long legs.
David.
He snapped his jaw several times, almost as though he were trying to laugh at her. Then he took off running. Morgan growled and flashed her fangs at him. Saliva fell from the corners of her lips at the thought of ripping him to shreds. She chased after him. She was amazed at how fast he was. All she could see was a white blur speeding away from her in a zigzag pattern.
She stopped when she reached a clearing. His scent was everywhere, but she couldn’t see him. Her ears quivered with anticipation as she waited to hear movement. The moment Morgan moved a padded foot forward, David leapt through a bush and landed on top of her. She strained her neck to try to bite him, but he wriggled away from her snapping jaws.
He opened his mouth wide and gripped the scruff of the neck. She let out a high-pitched yelp. She could feel his fangs digging into her skin. She could smell her own blood. Her heart quickened when she felt his erection. She fought even more when she realized what he wanted to do. She twisted and kicked her hind legs until she managed to get herself free.
Hurt him. Make him bleed. Kill.
David licked his lips. His long tongue grazed his nose. He let out a huff of air and dashed off into the woods. Morgan chased after him. How wonderful it would be to turn his pale hair into the color of liquid garnets. She searched for him until her lungs gave out. By dawn she had lost his scent. He was gone.
* * * *
Morgan awoke in the middle of the playground a mile away from her neighborhood…naked. She smacked her lips as she stretched. She ran her tongue over her lips and tasted dried blood on the corners of her mouth. The sky was still dark, but she could already see light blue and orange streaks staining the clouds.
* * * *
She checked her answering machine. There were twelve messages from her partner, Jason. Each message was a different version of, ‘Where the hell are you?’
Morgan pressed a red button.
The automatic voice from the machine said, “All messages have been deleted.”
She got in the tub and turned the shower on. As the scalding hot water ran across her skin, she replayed everything that happened the night before.
She got out of the shower dripping wet. She didn’t bother with a towel. She slipped on a pair of jeans, picked up the first blouse she saw, and put it on without buttoning it. Her black hair dripped water across her chest.
Hungry.
She searched for food in the refrigerator. Milk? No. Salad? No. She growled in frustration. What she craved wasn’t there.
Meat. I want meat.
Morgan got in the car and drove to the supermarket. She walked to the back where the deli was and ordered two pounds of steak. No one noticed that half of her chest was exposed and that she was also barefoot.
She went through the self-checkout machine and paid for her meal. When she got into the car, she pulled the steak out of the bag. With one hand on the steering wheel, she kept the other one busy feeding herself.
Delicious.
After her belly was full, she had to get to work.
Time for me to practice.
* * * *
Morgan hadn’t slept in weeks. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the face of the woman she'd killed. She forced herself to quit her job. She could smell every single person in the building. She couldn’t concentrate on her cases. She didn’t see the point of going anymore. She already knew how David killed the girls and was almost sure that he had eaten their corpses. Probably burnt the bones or buried them somewhere. She would never find them, even if she wanted to. Besides, she had other things on her mind. She was working on changing parts of her body at will.
There was a sharp knock on the door. She pulled her lips back and bared her teeth as her throat rumbled. She sniffed as she walked to the front of her house. She knew who it was before she even turned the knob. It was Roger, her boyfriend.
She hadn’t returned any of his phone calls. It was only a matter of time before he showed up. She opened the door. Her heart jumped when she saw his face. He had closely cropped blonde hair. His bright green eyes reminded her of leaves during spring. She couldn’t believe that in one month she had forgotten how handsome he was.
“Morgan? Where the hell have you been?” he asked. “Why haven’t you returned any of my phone calls?”
“Most people start by saying ‘Hello’,” she replied.
“You look terrible,” he said when he noticed the dark circles underneath her eyes.
“Not sleeping well,” she admitted.
“I heard you quit your job.”
“It’s none of your business what I do with my life. You need to go home and forget me.” She wanted to save him from the monster she had become. She couldn’t guarantee that she would be able to control herself around him.
He frowned. “Morgan, can I come in? Can we talk?”
“Leave.” She closed the door.
He put his foot by the frame and stopped it from closing all the way.
Morgan saw red for a split second. The wolf inside of her pushed itself inside her mind.
How dare he? This is my home. Enemy. Kill.
Her body trembled as she tried to regain control of her mind.
No. Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t know. He’s just a foolish man. Just make him go away.
“Morgan, please…talk to me,” he begged.
“If you value your life, you will leave right now.” Her voice cracked several times as she continued to suppress her animalistic urges.
“I’m not leaving until you explain what is happening here,” he said.
“Fine,” she snapped.
She opened the door, grabbed him, and pulled him inside her house. He clumsily stumbled into the living room.
“Did I ever tell you about David McAllister?” she asked.
“The serial killer you were questioning?”
She nodded.
“What about him?”
“He bit me.”
“What?”
“He. Bit. Me.”
“So, what… did he do? Give you rabies?” he asked as he arched his eyebrow.
“He claimed to be a werewolf,” she said.
“Oh, come on.” He laughed. “You don’t really believe that, do you? Is that why you quit your job?”
“It’s true.”
“Ha, ha, ha, really funny,” he said dryly.
“I’m not joking,” she growled. “David was right. You do smell like cheap cologne and cigarettes. I never noticed until now.” She wrinkled her nose.
“My god, Morgan…your eyes,” he whispered.
She felt the darkness take over as her eyes turned black. Her nails slowly extended into claws. She inched her way toward him with a grin on her face. She knew exactly what she wanted from Roger. She pressed herself against him. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest. Her breathing quickened at the thought of tearing off his clothes. Without hesitating, she used her claws and ripped off his grey t-shirt, revealing a smooth, rock hard chest.
Morgan lifted her face and leisurely licked his lips.
Stop. You know how this is going to end.
Shut up. Keep going.
This isn’t who you really are. You’re becoming a monster. Do the right thing, let him go.
The right thing never got us anywhere. You were nothing but a goody two shoes and a clean freak. That got you nowhere.
Morgan fought with two different sides of her mind. She pushed Roger against the wall. She licked his neck. Her teeth were barely an inch away from his skin. She could smell the fear and cold sweat that glistened over his skin. The salty flavor seeped into her tongue. The temptation to bite him was far too great. She stifled a cry and pulled herself away from him. She slid to the floor and crawled to the corner of the living room. She pressed the palms of her hands against her temples as she continued to fight the battle inside her mind.
“Why didn’t you leave like I told you to?” she shouted.
He approached her.
“Stay away from me,” she said as she dug her nails into his arm. Roger cried out with pain as blood trickled down his arm. Morgan smiled. She took her index finger and swiped a sample, leaving a smudge of blood over his skin. She closed her eyes and tasted. She inhaled and exhaled.
“You taste…good,” she whispered.
“Oh, god,” he whispered.
She tilted her head to the side.
The champagne walls and the mocha carpet in the living room were dark red by the time she finished with him.
* * * *
It was two o’clock in the morning. The full moon wouldn’t appear for another week. But Morgan didn’t think that was going to be a problem. She studied her living room. She looked at the mess she made. She found Roger’s body sprawled on the couch, his half-eaten intestines gathered between his thighs. Poor Roger. She tried to warn him.
She made her way outside. She stepped on Roger’s severed thumb. She picked it up and popped it in her mouth. She chewed on it a few times and then frowned. She didn’t like that it was cold. She spat it out when she walked out to her backyard.
She studied the sky while she waited for David. She knew he would come tonight. She could catch hints of his scent here and there when the wind was in her favor. The heavens were the color of tar, the same shade her eyes turned into when she Changed. A few shimmering stars were found, but the only thing that made Morgan’s heart sing was the waxing moon. She took a deep breath. Morgan had the scent of the evening trapped inside her lungs. Ozone, wood, grass, pine needles, dried up blood, and sweat. She could already smell him.
“Hello, Beautiful,” David said as he emerged from the shadows.
She yawned in response. She stretched her jaw until it popped. She twisted her neck until she heard a few cracks.
“I see you’ve grown accustomed to your Change. Not many women survive becoming a wolf. But I knew you would.”
Morgan threw her head back and laughed. She couldn’t wait to kill him. It was the only way to shut him up permanently.
“What are you doing?” he asked as she got on all fours.
Morgan growled at him. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing but darkness.
She knew his plan. He had wanted to destroy her spirit by biting her. He wanted to own her. David thought that changing a woman into a werewolf would guarantee him a partner…not a cold-blooded enemy.
She grinned when she saw the horrified look on his face. When she did, she flashed her bright white fangs.
“Fucker,” she growled as she stood.
She wasn’t just a wolf. She had become something in between. She was taller. Her arms were covered in dark fur. Her nails were razor sharp. The tips of her ears were pointy and pressed against her skull. She chuckled. Then she pounced on him and threw him on the ground. She sat on his chest and howled at the moon.
He struggled, but all he could do was scratch her with his half grown claws. Her wounds healed within moments.
In response, Morgan brought her mouth down and ripped off a large piece of his neck. Blood gushed and spilled onto the dark brown soil. She swallowed his raw flesh whole. She rested beside him and gnawed on his exposed cervical spine. Every time she nibbled, his legs twitched. She found that greatly amusing. She continued to do that until his body grew cold. Her throat rumbled as she ran her tongue against his bloodied bones. She felt the lumps and the bumps of his spine, and tasted the metallic bittersweet crimson that oozed out of his body.
She stared at his pale skull. His eyes and mouth were open wide. His final facial expression. She felt no pity for him. For a moment, she thought about all of the women he killed. She picked up his head between her jaws and threw it up in the air. She whooped with delight as his head spun above her. Blood sprinkled lightly upon her face. She never felt so free in her life.
* * * *
Morgan carried David’s body and threw it into the lake. She picked her teeth with the nail on her pinky finger. With her tongue, she played with a piece of skin. She spat it out and watched as it hit one of the blades of grass. It slid down slowly, leaving behind a trail of her saliva.
“Hello, David,” she said as she held his face in front of hers.
She placed her thumb over his bottom lip and moved it up and down. She giggled.
“I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” she said, mimicking his voice.
“You should be,” she replied.
“Did I at least taste good?” She continued to play with his pale lips.
“You were too salty,” she admitted.
She tossed his skull into the lake and with a light splash, all of his remains were gone.
I need to get his taste out of my mouth.
She turned her gaze up to the sky and sang a haunting tune to the moon.
The night is still young.
Chapter One
The sound of dogs barking echoed in her ears as she sped through the woods. They were getting closer. She was getting tired. The trees were speeding past her. The trees were nothing but a dark green blur. She was actually panting. It had been a while since she remembered what being out of breath was like. They had been chasing after her for days. She didn’t even know who they were. All she knew was that she couldn’t let them catch her. There were too many of them for her to fight. She didn’t want to get caught. She loved her freedom too much. She refused to be confined to the world the way she was before.
Kiss my ass.
She willed her legs to run faster even though her thighs burned and ached, begging for rest. She enjoyed feeling the soil beneath her feet. The air running through her knotted hair. The way the wind caressed her naked body as she ran. Then the smell of the river hit her. She knew that once she reached it, the dogs would lose her scent.
Almost free.
She heard a soft pop and hiss. Something pinched the side of her neck. She gasped as she arched her back. She stumbled gracelessly onto the ground. Morgan reached behind and pulled the dart out of her neck and tossed it aside. She felt the drug inside the dart take effect. Her legs began to feel numb. She wanted to cry when she realized she lost sensation of her feet. She had no choice but to fall to the ground. Morgan dug her fingers into the moist soil and tried to drag her body toward the river.
Leave me alone.
She felt someone run next to her. She looked up. He would’ve been a handsome man had he not had that scowl on his face. She couldn’t tell what the color of his eyes was because of the dark night. He had short blonde hair and smelled like beer and sweat.
“Stupid bitch!” he shouted as he kicked her stomach.
The air escaped her lungs. She took a ragged breath; her chest burned as she inhaled. Morgan would have held her abdomen, but she had enough energy for one thing. She opened her mouth. Her sharp white fangs glinted under the silver moonlight; she bit his ankle. He shouted in surprise as he felt her teeth plunge into his skin. He hadn’t expected this.
“Get this crazy bitch off me!”
More darts were fired. The taste of blood and skin was still in her mouth. The silver moon and a cool breeze upon her face – those were the last things Morgan remembered as she fell into the darkness.
* * * *
Morgan struggled to open her eyes. Someone had tossed her carelessly on the bed. She took a deep breath and struggled to breathe properly as she peeled her mouth from the pillow she breathed into. Her eyelids were heavy, as though she had been asleep for days. She yawned and stretched her whole body. She opened her ice blue eyes and took in her surroundings.
Where am I? she thought.
She sat up and checked her body for any wounds. Her neck and shoulders ached from sleeping at an odd angle.
Naked again, surprise, surprise. She sniffed under her armpits. Someone went through the trouble of bathing her. At least they had the decency of using unscented soap.
She laid on a four poster bed, with satin sheets the color of bleached bone. Persian rugs covered the floor. Priceless works of art from artists like Monet, Picasso, and Van Gogh covered the walls.
Her head started to throb. She rubbed her temples as she gazed out the window. The sky was a perfect shade of blue. A single white cloud slowly drifted from one end to the other. She frowned. Another cloud, similar to the last one passed by.
It’s on a loop.
She sighed.
“I guess it’s gonna be one of those days,” she mumbled as she threw the sheets aside. She climbed off the bed and walked toward the door.
“Hello?”
She tried turning the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open.
“Hello?!” she called out as she pounded her fist against the maple door.
“Ah…you’re awake,” a male voice spoke to her from the speaker box in the corner of the room. His voice was deep, rich and heavy with an Italian accent.
“Who the fuck are you? Where am I?” she asked.
The man ignored her questions and said, “You are one incredibly difficult woman to find, Detective Morgan Carbone.”
Morgan didn’t like the sound of his voice; he sounded far too calm for her taste. He seemed like one of those men that no matter how much you lost your temper, he wouldn’t raise his voice.
“Screw you. I’m getting out of here,” Morgan mumbled.
She willed her hands to morph. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the change she was forcing upon her body. She felt as her bones popped and stretched; she enjoyed the way her nails became thicker, longer, sharper, and darker. She shuddered with delight as the transformation came to an end. Morgan plunged her newly morphed hand through the maple wood. She sliced through the door. She ripped the door out of its hinges without breaking a sweat, only to find a steel wall in the way of her freedom. She pounded her balled up fists against the wall, leaving several dents on it.
Her throat rumbled when she heard him chuckle.
“You leave…when I say you can leave,” he said.
“What do you want?” she growled.
“I need someone with your background for my operation,” he explained.
“What kind of operation?”
“Undercover work. Like you used to do when you were a detective,” he said.
“I don’t do that anymore,” she whispered.
Morgan hated to be reminded of her old life. Sometimes she missed seeing familiar faces, but moments like that didn’t last too long. She enjoyed her new life. She was addicted to the freedom. Not having to answer to anyone was intoxicating.
“Why me?” she paced from one end of the room to the other, trying to find a way out. She ran her hands against the wall, leaving four rough looking horizontal lines. The room made her feel like a caged animal. All she needed were people pressing their sweaty faces against the glass.
“Like I said, I need someone with your area of expertise,” he said.
“Let’s not start this day with a lie, shall we? Now tell me again, why me?”
She grabbed the bottom end of a royal blue silk curtain and pulled. She brought the hooks and the curtain rod down to the floor. She tore it to shreds. Morgan relished the rip sound that came from the fabric.
“You’re the only female werewolf that can change at will,” he explained.
“Then get some other female to do your dirty work. I won’t do it,” Morgan said.
“That’s practically impossible,” he explained.
Morgan then noticed a large wooden chair. It was upholstered in white and blue fabric with French curse words in cursive writing. Morgan was intrigued by the intricate details. But all she wanted was to get out. She grunted as she picked up the heavy chair and threw it at the window. The glass shattered and revealed another steel wall. She screamed in frustration.
“Only one out of one thousand women survive the change, and the ones that do don’t live too long,” he explained.
“Why is that?”
“Because most of the males kill their partners while they mate.”
“Only the strong survive,” she said as she stepped away from the broken glass.
“We are violent by nature,” he explained.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she mumbled.
“We can force you to do this if we have to. I would hate to do that,” he warned.
Morgan laughed. It was a deep throaty laugh. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to regain her breath. Her black hair danced and swayed, cascading down her shoulders, barely covering her exposed breasts.
“I would like to see you try,” she said as her throat rumbled.
Morgan hoped that he was strong. Someone who would actually put up a fight. A man that could last days upon days fighting her, a worthy opponent. Someone she had yet to find. The thought of ripping through flesh and seeing liquid crimson ooze from the wounds she helped create made her eyes darken with wanting.
“Just look at the envelope that’s on the desk, maybe that’ll change your mind,” he suggested.
“No,” she replied.
“I’m sure that if you see what’s inside, you’ll help us,” he said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Morgan said as she tore the bed apart, sending foam and spring halfway across the room. “I have an idea,” she said sweetly while she ripped a pillow in half. “Why don’t you come in here and make me?”