Christine Feehan - Dark Possession

Manolito exploded into action, ice-cold fury washing over him at the insulting taunt. He leapt on the animal's back, knees digging tightly into the banded muscle, legs nearly crushing the animal as he locked his ankles under the belly. One arm snaked around the thick neck in a half nelson to drag the head up. He sank his teeth deep into the jugular and drank. The animal tensed with resistance, but the man inside the cat form forced stillness, realizing Manolito could-and would-rip out his throat.

The hot blood pumped into his starving body, soaking into tissue and cells, and rejuvenating muscles. For a moment he was flooded with euphoria, the adrenaline-laced blood too rich and addictive when he'd been so long without and so very closing to turning.

So good. Do not stop. Feel the rush. Do not stop. There is nothing like it in the world. Join us, brother. Be with us. Take it all. Every drop.

Manolito heard several voices whispering the temptation. The buzzing in his head grew louder until it was almost painful. It is forbidden to take a life.

A cat only. Nothing to one such as you. He attacked you. Why should you give him his life when he would have killed you?

The enticement was strong. Hot, rich blood. And he was starving. The cat had attacked him first. It would still kill him, given the chance, even now, when he had spared its life.

Although he felt the difference in his body, he felt sick again, as if his stomach was cramping, which didn't make sense. Insects buzzed in his ears, loud and obnoxious, but when he wished them away, the noise didn't abate. Around him the ground rolled, as if an earthquake had taken place deep beneath the soil. His gut rolled with it.

You need strength. The cat wounded you. You need blood to heal, and it is so good. Drink, brother. Drink it all. The persuasive whispers continued.

Beneath him, the cat began to shake. The man prowling within the animal shouted something unintelligible, something human.

Human. He could not kill while feeding.

Not human. A cat. Tear its throat out. Rejoice in the power. Feel it, brother, feel the absolute power of a life ebbing away beneath your hands. Be what you were always meant to be-what you are.

What was he? A killer? Yes. There was no doubt he had killed so many times he could no longer remember all the faces. Where was he? He looked around, and for a moment the rain forest was gone and he was surrounded by shadowy forms, the stretched and knotted fingers of the dead pointing accusingly. Branches clacked together like brittle white bones, sending a shiver down his spine.

He killed-yes. But not like this. It was wrong. Self-defense was one thing. And there was justice and honor in dispatching a fallen brother when he had given his soul over to evil, but murder while feeding was against everything he believed. No. Whatever, whoever, was trying to get him to kill was no friend.

It took discipline to take only what he needed to survive, only what he needed to push past the beast's barriers and lay open the mind of the man hidden inside. He swept his tongue across the punctures to seal them and dissolved into vapor, only to reappear a distance away, taking a careful look into the shadows around him. Were those faces in the shadows, peering through the leaves and coming up out of the ground? Were vampires lurking? He shifted onto the balls of his feet, ready for anything. The jaguar roared, drawing his attention back to the danger closest to him.

Manolito forced a careless smile. «You have the taste of my blood in your mouth. And I have the taste of yours. You have information I seek. You tried to kill me and I owe you no quarter.»

The cat remained motionless, not a muscle moving, eyes focused intently on Manolito.

The jaguar people were as elusive and secretive as the great cats, and like their animal part-or because of it –they preferred the dense rain forest near streams and riverbanks. They were rarely encountered and, most likely, were stealthy enough and too familiar with the rain forest to ever be seen unless they wished it. The men, like the animal, were heavily built and enormously strong. They had tremendous night vision and excellent hearing. They were good tree climbers and strong swimmers. Little was known of their society, although Manolito knew they had bad tempers when aroused.

Before he probed deep into the brain of the jaguar, the hunter took another slow, careful look around him, scanning as he did so. The voices hadn't completely abated, whispering in his ear, urging him to kill. The shadows his sight couldn't quite penetrate seemed to hold a thousand secrets. Something slithered across the ground, just under the surface, displacing dirt as it moved. His mouth went dry.

The jaguar shifted, crouching a little lower, muscles bunching, drawing Manolito's instant attention. Centuries of hunting in dangerous situations kept his face expressionless, his eyes flat and cold and his mouth a little cruel. «Dare to attack, cat-man, and I will have no mercy for you.» And he wouldn't. Not with the vampires closing in around him. He would have no time for mercy, not if he wanted to live.

The blood Manolito had taken from the jaguar-man enabled him to follow the brain pattern, push past the last of the shields to extract information. Hatred, deep and violent, toward Carpathians. The need to find and destroy them. A sense of betrayal and righteous anger. Puzzled, Manolito probed deeper. The two species had never been great friends, but neither had they been enemies. They held different values, but had always managed to respect each other's society.

There was a touch there in the memories. A dark stain. Something off. He examined it carefully. The spot was very dark in the center, but rings formed around it, lighter in color, stretching out to encompass the entire brain of the jaguar-man. The closer Manolito got to the spreading discoloration, the more agitated and disturbed the jaguar became.

The moment Manolito merged, as soft a touch as he used, he felt evil shift, become aware of him. Around him the shadows swelled and took form. Within the jaguar's brain the blemish stirred as if disturbed. He backed off, not wanting to rouse the ire of the cat any further. The animal was shaking, fur wet and dark as its sides heaved. The man was beginning to lose the battle for control of the beast.

«You have been touched by the vampire,» Manolito said, his voice low and carrying the ring of truth. «I can try to aid you to rid yourself of the poisonous influence, but it will fight to keep ahold of you.» And it would leave him vulnerable to attack, perhaps even from the jaguar. It was a risk, not even a good one, but Manolito felt compelled to help. The jaguar species, both man and beast, was losing the battle for existence just as the Carpathian species was. And Manolito very much feared that the De La Cruz brothers had unwittingly played a large part in the destruction of the jaguar people.

The man stayed quiet within the jaguar. Tied to him by blood, Manolito could feel his alarm. He was no young man, cocky and full of bravado; he was old enough to know the danger of the vampire, and he had been questioning what was happening among his kind for some time. The cat crouched low and nodded the broad head, the gaze shifting from Manolito to their surroundings, as mindful of the danger as the Carpathian.

In the canopy above them, the leaves rustled ominously. Clouds moved across the dark skies, bringing the promise of more rain. Already the air was heavy with moisture and the rivers and streams were swollen beyond the banks. Water poured over rocks and out of banks and made waterfalls where there had been none before. Most of the water was white and bubbling, but on the edges of the rocks, the water was stained with tannin and appeared a dull reddish brown.