The Undead Kama Sutra (18 page)

C
armen’s fangs sank into
my throat. The long teeth were like electric probes plugged directly into my spine, short-circuiting my nerves. I trembled in helpless pain. The moist ring of her open mouth worked against my neck, and her warm, wet tongue writhed across my skin.

One of her legs wrapped around my left hip and the other intertwined with my right leg. I tried to wrestle free but her grip on my wrists remained as hard as handcuffs.

Blood dribbled down my throat. Her fangs worked deeper into my flesh and it felt like burning sparks shot from her teeth deep into me. My
kundalini noir
thrashed in spastic jerks.

Her fangs withdrew. The relief was like a cool compress on a burn and left me in a dreamy state. My skin tingled all
over. This was the first time I’d been fanged since becoming a vampire. Vampires don’t feed from one another and the only time they fang like this is to coax
la petite mort
…or administer the death bite. But this was neither.

Carmen turned me onto my stomach and sat on my butt. “Felix, I’m tired of your bullshit. Any other vampire and I wouldn’t care. But not you. You’re too important to the undead. To me.”

She used her talons to slice away what remained of my shirt.

I started to sit up when she clasped the back of my neck and pinched the top of my spine. A warm sensation flowed down my backbone. Carmen squeezed harder and her touch became hot, like melted wax dripping on my skin.

She twisted her grip. The vertebrae in my neck cracked. A second wave of luxurious heat coursed through me and I sank against the cushions.

Carmen scooted down my legs. Her hands trekked along my back and kneaded my buttocks. She ran the knife-edge of her hand along the base of my spine. “I can feel how your aura swirls around like it’s tied in a knot. Your psychic force is jammed at the first chakra.”

“What’s this about?”

“Sex. But special sex from
The Undead Kama Sutra.
” Carmen reached under the sofa and slapped a thick manuscript on the coffee table.

Sex with Carmen? I’d always turned away her advances, thinking that she would screw like a machine. But she had sex with humans and they came back for more.

The truth about my reluctance to mix it up with Carmen? Blame my ego. What if Carmen did me and found me wanting, especially when compared to her human lovers? That humiliation would scar me to the bone.

“I’ve made progress with my research.” Carmen thumbed the pages of the manuscript. “If we do this right, I should be able to help you by manipulating our psychic states during sex. I read the color of our auras. Yellow indicates the next psychic plane. If our auras go from orange to yellow, then bingo. But that won’t happen unless,” Carmen whapped the center of my back, “whatever crap is in here goes away.”

“You make it sound like we need a plumber.”

“I’ll work you over with a plunger if I have to, Felix.”

“Let’s stick with your
Kama Sutra.
”

Carmen lifted from me and yanked off my trousers and briefs. She piled my clothes on the floor, followed by the rustle of her garments joining them. “But it will take more than a massage to heal you.”

Carmen pulled my hips from the sofa until I was on my hands and knees. “We’ll start with the pose on page 24, ‘Tending Limp Fruit.’”

When my fruit was no longer limp, we moved to “Lapping Frog with Two Backs.” From that to “Horse Pushing Plow.” Carmen recited the name of each new pose like she was a tour guide in the garden of sensual delights.

I didn’t feel any shift in my psychic balance. But Carmen’s demanding and precise touch, and the tug of her hands and the pressure of her ankles on my shoulders, stoked a growing fire within me.

The wound from her bite on my neck throbbed, reminding me of her fangs tapping my jugular.

I had thought sex with Carmen would’ve had the grace of a free-style wrestling match complete with folding chairs smashed over each other’s heads. Instead, the touch of her body was like being drawn into a sea of pleasure that we both shared. Carmen’s eyes fluttered in sublime release. Her aura undulated with waves of ecstasy.

We switched to “Flood of Apple Blossoms,” followed by an enthusiastic “Springtime Menagerie.”

The fire inside me grew brighter and hotter. The heat centered at the bottom of my spine, the first chakra, then percolated to my second chakra. The warmth in my lower abdomen shot rays of energy through my body.

Carmen flipped onto her back and clasped me with her legs. We held hands and she rocked her hips against mine. Our auras fused. Her mouth opened and exposed the tips of her fangs.

My
kundalini noir
relaxed and uncoiled. It seemed to straighten along my spinal column and anchor itself to my chakras.

Flecks of yellow dotted our auras.

Carmen squeezed my fingers. “Almost, Felix,” she gasped. “Almost.”

The energy rising through me sputtered inside my belly and hovered between the second and third chakras. Suddenly, my
kundalini noir
relaxed and coiled into a loose ball. Our auras faded and became solid orange.

Carmen let go of my hands and closed her eyes. Her com
plexion flushed, a first for a vampire. I sat on my heels and rested between her legs. The meaty aroma of fresh, hot sex scented the air between us.

Psychic energy circulated freely within me. I felt strong.

Powerful.

Dangerous.

This
Kama Sutra
was more than sexual calisthenics. I stroked her knee. “Wow. You’re on to something.”

Carmen shushed me and lay still.

“You okay?”

She gave a long, satisfied sigh. “That was fucking great.”

“We didn’t reach the third chakra.”

“Got close.” Carmen rubbed one foot against my belly. The familiar glint of lust returned to her eyes. “Reason enough to do more research.”

“You get off?”

Carmen brought her legs from around me. “I lost count. You?”

“Almost.” I sat next to her.

Carmen brushed hair from her face. The color receded from her cheeks. “We’ll have to fix that.” She slid off the sofa and knelt on the floor.

I asked, “What exotic position of your
Kama Sutra
is this?”

“One of my favorites.”

“What’s it called?”

Carmen pushed my knees apart. She ran the tip of her tongue across her lips to moisten them. “‘The All-American Blow Job.’”

C
armen left the office
to shower. I lay against the sofa and closed my eyes, and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

I dreamed of walking through the familiar hills of northern New Mexico, the air fragrant with sage and piñon. A sudden nervousness fell over me. My steps sped up into a jog, then a fast trot. The nervousness tightened into fear. The hills turned into the condos of Hilton Head and I found myself running desperately across the beach, terror-stricken, splashing into the surf, as giant, many-headed dogs chased me.

I awoke with a start. My talons clutched the shredded sofa upholstery where I had ripped it during my dream spasms. I sat upright, my sixth sense buzzing. My
kundalini noir
coiled inside me, tense as a rattlesnake.

I let my fangs and talons retract. After brushing tufts of
sofa lining from my body, I slipped my underwear and pants back on.

Carmen returned, wearing a short bathrobe. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and her face looked freshly scrubbed.

She surveyed the torn sofa and the bits of upholstery littering the floor. “What the hell happened? If you were in the mood for rough sex, you didn’t have to go at it solo.”

“Nightmare,” I muttered, embarrassed.

“How do you feel now?”

I tightened my fists and flexed my arms. An athletic energy pounded through me. “Better.” I wanted to run, to jump, to smash things. I wanted to fight.

One name came to mind. Goodman.
Your hours are numbered.

Carmen smiled. “Felix, your aura is so bright it could spark an explosion.”

I clasped her neck. “Speaking of explosions.”

She pulled away. “Don’t have the time. Remember that couple at the Markov PharmacoEconomic party?”

“Which couple? There were dozens.”

“Krandall and Peltier. You gave me their card.”

I nodded in recognition. That blonde Peltier had two nice big reasons why I couldn’t forget her.

Carmen undid the towel around her head and rubbed her scalp. “They called me just now. Want to get together.”

“Fun and games?” I knew the answer. A touch of jealousy brushed over me. Carmen and I had finally had sex and it was pretty damn good. But we vampires knew that sex was just
another language that existed between the undead. Undead friends with undead benefits. I could no more be jealous of Carmen screwing around than I could be of her talking or dining with others. We could get attached to humans, and hell, I still had a soft spot—in the place where my heart used to beat—for a forest sprite who had come and gone through my undead life like a breeze.

Carmen laid the towel around her shoulders. “More than fun and games. I’ll see what they know about Goodman, aliens, and the missing women.”

“Be careful.”

“With those two?” Carmen stifled a laugh. “They try anything funny and I’ll stuff their remains in mason jars.”

Carmen bent over to pick up her discarded jogging suit. She looked at me from between her legs. “Felix, if you get down, you can see right up my bathrobe. And that, in case you can’t tell, is an invitation for a quickie.”

I
t was my turn
to get cleaned up. I took a long, hot shower and shaved. As the water pounded my back and shoulders, I scolded myself for slipping into despair. How had I let Goodman do that to me?

Then I remembered floating in the Atlantic, my flesh torn and my will shattered. One’s psyche can be mangled as deeply as one’s tissue. In my arrogance, I had thought that as a vampire I was invincible. I kept forgetting that I was not.

The spider bite had disappeared. No blemish. No scar. Only bad memories.

When I got out of the shower, Carmen was gone. I went to the kitchen. The chalices had left coffee brewing and a carafe of their mixed blood. Hers was B-positive, his O-negative. A nice, complementary blend, but I wanted something fresh.

Jack and Leslie were out. A note on the refrigerator wipe board said they were tending their boat. I went to the morgue and gathered my things from the workbench.

The front door opened. Leslie’s footsteps approached and she appeared in the morgue door. “Good morning. Carmen tells me you’re feeling better.”

“I am. And thanks for your hospitality.”

Leslie walked over to the mortician’s table. “I noticed you didn’t touch the carafe we’d left for you.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Maybe not.” She gave a tempting smile that I was familiar with. My tan was gone but my sexual prowess was back, thanks to Carmen.

“You do look better,” Leslie said. “Could I ask a favor?”

“Depends, but I’ll probably say yes.”

“I’m glad you didn’t drink from the carafe.” Leslie undid her scarf. “I’d rather you snack from me.”

“I can do that.”

Leslie unbuttoned her blouse and hopped on the mortician’s table. She peeled loose her jeans and panties, and let them drop.

“Where’s Jack?” I asked.

“On the boat. He’ll be there all day.”

With her large breasts, thick thighs, and wide hips, there was nothing little about Leslie. I approached her, my smile matching hers, my fangs growing long. She pulled her bra up and let those big puppies out for air. She scooted back on the table and propped her head on the steel headrest.

Made sense that she wanted to screw here in the morgue, on the mortician’s table. For the same reason office workers sneaked into their cubicles and boinked at their workstations. I knew chalices who owned a ranch, and they liked to screw in the barn, surrounded by the smell of alfalfa and horse shit.

I am a vampire. I’ve had sex in a coffin—albeit with a skinny chalice—and in crypts. But always with the living. I’d no sooner screw a corpse than eat soup from a toilet bowl.

I undressed and climbed on top of her, excited to have my power back. Leslie’s arms and legs clamped around me. I eased into her, enjoying the sensation of her moist warmth. She smelled of lilac soap with traces of bilge water, creosote, and gasoline. Leslie was a hands-on woman.

My fangs found her jugular. Her warm blood spurted into my mouth, deliriously tasty and satisfying. I pumped my hips and reached climax. As a reward to her, I lapped a good dose of pleasure enzymes into the wound of her throat. Leslie gasped. She reached up and grasped the edge of the table. Her legs squeezed tight and her body trembled under mine.

Her eyes remaining closed, she relaxed. Sweat dotted her forehead and puddled in the hollow between her breasts. I got off her and lapped the drops of blood clinging to my fangs.

Leslie’s chest heaved. She brought her legs up and hugged them as if to prolong the afterglow.

Rather than settle my nerves, all this sex sharpened the knives within me. My arms flexed and I worked my fists.

I wanted Goodman.

Now.

Leslie got dressed, then helped me apply sunblock and makeup. I put my clothes back on and went to the front room to look outside. A bright Carolina sun bore upon us. For a second I felt the fear but relaxed, as I knew the sunblock protected me.

I knew what to do. Go back to the resort and tear it apart looking for Goodman. I called Carmen from the house phone and left a message: I’m going after Goodman. Meet me when you can.

I told Leslie I needed a ride to Hilton Head, and she dropped me off two blocks from the first guardhouse of the resort. Sneaking in proved easy. I levitated across a slough onto the resort property, zapped a couple of golfers, and left them inside a clump of palmettos while I took their cart.

I thought about all the pain Goodman was in for. I would enjoy interrogating him. As a human, he could keep no secrets from my hypnosis.

Considering that only days ago armed guards and a helicopter had chased me off this island, the resort seemed sanguine and inviting.

I followed the curving asphalt trail of the cart path, turned the corner, and spotted a man teeing off by himself. His build and stature looked familiar.

Goodman.

I stopped the cart and slipped my sunglasses down to read his aura. It was red and simmered with impatience and anxiety. Whatever bothered him was about to get worse.

He was alone. He was mine. This was too easy. It was about time the breaks fell my way in this case.

I adjusted my sunglasses, got out of the cart, and marched directly toward him.

Goodman stopped his club in mid-swing. He stared at me and relaxed.

When I was seventy-five yards away, he cocked his body in my direction, readied his club, and swung.

The ball cracked from the tee and zoomed right at my face, like he’d shot it from an antitank rifle.

I snatched the ball before it hit me between the eyes.

I kept walking toward Goodman. He lowered the club and waited. A straw fedora shaded his face. His gray eyes were the color of lead bullets. Both of his hands worked the grip of the club like he was trying to choke it. His mouth chewed these words: “You’re harder to kill than a fucking roach in a woodpile.”

Ten feet from him, I snapped my wrist and flung the golf ball too fast for him to react. The ball thwacked his forehead and bounced aside.

Goodman flinched in pain and sank to his knees. He rubbed his forehead and steadied himself by leaning on his club.

“You son of a bitch,” he said, standing. The ball left a red welt the size of a quarter.

I stepped toward him. “I’m just getting started. The next thing I’m going to do is shove that club up your ass.”

“Not so fast, you freakish fuck.”

“You and your mouth need some manners.” I got closer.

He held his hand up and dug into his pocket. He tossed something at me.

A cell phone. I caught it. The phone had a leopard skin cover, like Carmen’s.

My ears and fingertips tingled in alarm.

I opened the phone and recognized the photo on the screen—Carmen blowing herself a kiss.

It was Carmen’s phone. How did Goodman get it? The tingling turned into an electric shock.

“The last message in her voice mail was from you, Felix.” Goodman rubbed the knot on his forehead and winced. His frown changed into a smile. “Behave yourself, and you might see her again.”