Carpathian 18 - Dark Possesion

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.