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ISBN 1-59201-007.5
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
http://www.booksunbound.com
Publication March, 2003
Cover Art by D. Lee
Vampire Seductress
Lance Panzer
Copyright 2000
All Rights Reserved
Prelude
Picture this.
You're dog-tired from work.
Traffic is strangling. Nothing
but hawkers on the radio. Nothing but Neanderthals on the freeway. You'd like
to lay on the horn and flip off these assholes, but you don't have the energy.
So you just sit there, getting older with every heartbeat.
Eons later you reach the
grocery store. You amble up and down the aisles, filling your cart on autopilot.
You finally get waited on at
the checkout lane. You wince as your wallet empties. You pack your own
groceries. You stumble out to your car. You wrestle the sacks into your trunk.
You turn the key and start the final leg home.
You heave up the garage door.
It's dark and you're alone.
God, those bags feel twice as
heavy as they did at the store.
Tough shit.
One more bag and you can veg on
the couch for the rest of the night. All two hours of it.
Slam.
You hear the groceries crash
against the cement, but you didn't drop them. Blue circles float across your
eyes.
You're pinned against the wall
by hands. Very cold hands.
Nasty hot sting in your neck.
The pain fades quickly, and
your head inflames, sweat beads up all across your face and scalp. You become
numb, unresponsive. Everything seems very far away. You try to ask what's
wrong, but nothing comes out.
You're going fast--somehow you
know it--but you're too weak to try--
Blackness.
That's what it's like to be
attacked by a vampire.
However, my story is a little
different.
Chapter 1
December 9, 1992
Total Lunar Eclipse
Ah, the company Christmas
party. When all the animals gather together at the stream of free booze. I
won't bore you with the particulars; the Christmas party itself, at the Astor
Hotel, is not where this drama unfolds.
But later on that night, around
10:30, when the cool people (relatively speaking) wanted to go someplace hot
(relative again)--that's where the drama is. Was. My name is Ross Sherman. At
this time, I was a proofreader at a downtown Milwaukee law firm, a thankless
job that is not worth discussing. But so is yours, right?
Okay. We went to the Nitro on
Water Street. Maybe twenty of us, I guess. The Nitro was Milwaukee's newest
night spot, and--according to ads on the radio--the
hottest.
I caught a ride over there with Jane Hampton, a legal secretary at my firm.
Jane was a close friend, a confidante, a frequent companion at firm functions.
She was also a slender, long-limbed brunette, and extremely alluring tonight in
a short, wrap-around navy dress and nude stockings. I was rebounding mightily
off my ex-girlfriend, Helen (who needs her?). I was 26 years old, passably
handsome, and a hapless romantic. And my sights were set on Jane.
The Nitro
was
wonderful: A sexy coat-check girl; a huge bar; exposed ventilation ducts;
stylish tubular-frame cocktail tables; a festive, well-dressed crowd; people
were dancing... and Jane smiled so appreciatively when I helped her take off
her coat.
We went to the bar.
"Merry Christmas!" we said--at
the same time--as we raised our glasses. We laughed. We drank. I kissed her on
the cheek. She kissed me back.
I proposed another toast: "And
here's to an adventurous New Year. Where
anything
can happen."
Jane smiled, inclining her head
intimately. "I like the sound of that."
We drank slowly. I looked at
her over the rim of my glass, at her hazel eyes and full, gently curving
eyebrows. She returned my gaze unblinkingly.
Dance tracks thumped
seductively. I asked her to dance. She accepted.
Jane and I... well, it was a
mating dance; we grinned, we pouted, we paraded. We made our wants and needs
known. Our intentions were unambiguous. Four songs later, we were back at the
bar. Wiping my upper lip with a cocktail napkin, my eyes roved the length of
the room.
And I saw her.
The sounds, the shapes around
me bled away. She was ethereal. She was beautiful. She wasn't even looking at
me, but she
caught
me, and I, poised at the far reach of her web, succumbed to her.
A bartender suddenly blocked my
view, eyebrows raised cynically as he awaited payment for the wine he had
served us.
Jane's voice, impatient, a
little shrill: "What's the matter, Ross? Are you out of money already?"
Jane's voice?
I suddenly didn't give a damn
about Jane. I mean, she was irrelevant.
Everything
was irrelevant.
I dimly recall Jane snapping
open her purse, grumbling something inaudible, but I was already turning away.
The room seemed to tilt--my
whole perception tilted--as I proceeded to meet this strange woman. In an
instant she had lured me away from a dear, trusted friend, someone from whom I
had very few secrets, someone I was falling in love with, and she with me. All
these precious bonds and bridges I carelessly burned, so irrevocably drawn I
was to the power of this stranger across the bar. But even more than this, I
was filled with an inexact anticipation that each footfall brought me closer to
some unknown gateway in my life..., that these moments were my eruption from
the cocoon.
The coworkers I passed, talking
and gesturing, some looking at me, or looking beyond me, to Jane, seemed so
trivial suddenly, so incapable of giving me what I needed, that I felt contempt
for them--then relief, as I left them behind.
I rounded the bar. My eyes
never strayed from the black-haired wonder who stood alone, poised, collected.
This woman was so unlike any other I had ever seen... it was as if she weren't
even human.
I slipped between backs and
shoulders, scowling, desperate to reach her, for she was turning to me now, her
hair glistening with the lights of the dance floor. My God, she was
beautiful....
I was there.
Her eyes were black, shining,
like onyx. Impenetrable.
"You're beautiful. Who are you?"
My words were slow and thick. I
stood there like a suit of clothes on a hanger; nothing but her gaze held me up.
With a superior air, she tilted
her chin. "Mmmm, how direct. How eloquent. You express yourself well,
mein lieber Herr.
"
"What?"
"Ha, that's cute." Her voice
was like velvet, rough and smooth at the same time. Her eyes scanned me,
quickly but thoroughly.
I wondered what she thought of
my boxy 1980s suit, my bright pink shirt and black tie. But I never got the
chance to ask. This living sculpture before me... she took my breath away. Her
hair enshrouded her like a dark hood. Her cheekbones, her jawline, were broad,
noble. Her chin was cut from marble. And her lips. Voluptuous. Red. Set into a
subtle smile. Confident. In control.
"You will know... soon enough,"
she added cryptically, revealing just a hint of her wet, pearl teeth.
A full-length black evening
coat was draped casually across her shoulders--cashmere, with satin lapels.
Beneath, a black satin slip-dress rippled sensuously down her body. My eyes
tripped over the deeply V'd bodice of black lace--like black snowflakes
sprinkled across her pale breasts, so full, beautifully flared--and achingly
soft, I imagined. The deep valley of her cleavage reflected the hues of the
neon lights.
A glass, filled to the rim, was
set on the bar before me. I automatically reached behind for my wallet, but a
slight raise of her hand stayed me.
"Do not think of it."
The bartender backed away,
looking puzzled, and withdrew some bills from his jar of tips.
"You no longer need money," she
said calmly--and with unquestionable authority.
I took a sip of the wine,
wanting to ask her what she meant exactly, when my eyes were drawn back to
where I had stood a few minutes before, where Jane Hampton now glared at me
like a gorgon.
"Seems your friend is upset
with you."
I looked back at Jane dumbly,
unable to relate to her in the slightest; all my emotions for her now seemed
like ghosts--insubstantial, elusive.
"No matter," she breathed
dismissively. She reached out, touched the cuff of my shirtsleeve. Her deep,
onyx eyes swung up into mine, and I stood paralyzed. "This is a portentous
night, you know," she began. "For the Moon, our lonely maiden above, fell into
the shadow of Earth, and her luminescence, her purity, was stained by the lusts
of our world. Mmmm. Like a taken virgin.
"So many colors poured across
her body.... I was awestruck from the first moment, as she rose in the
northeast, already falling prey, and her pain displayed in such lurid colors.
The frightful gray-black. The jaundiced yellow. The delicious red. Like a red
veil drawn across a woman's body. I stood transfixed for the entire time, until
at last she broke free, and rose high above, white and pure and alone once
more. I found it to be very beautiful, and moving."
"Who are you?" I asked again.
Her eyes blinked, and even
through the haze she had cast around my consciousness, I sensed anticipation
fluttering inside her.
"My name is Simone."
I swallowed as I watched the
exquisite movement of her lips forming her name.
"I'm Ross," I said after a few
seconds. I really stressed my name, too, as I said it, as if I'd been waiting a
long time for this meeting. Yes, the absurdity of such a conceit struck me, but
as soon as she began speaking again, her lips moving, her husky, sensuous voice
caressing me, I forgot it.
She said, "A total lunar
eclipse is, of course, always a profound experience. But tonight's colors were
so... evocative. So much like--" She smiled playfully. "--oh, the colors of my
life, you might say." Then her face settled into something like vulnerability.
"It caused me to weigh my existence, you see. Balance out the elements. For the
Moon and I, we are very much alike. Remote. Mysterious. Alone. The Moon has
been my companion for many years now. She watches over me, bears witness to my
deeds, and lights my way in the night. Even now, she sees us standing here
together." A new smile formed. "And I think she approves."
She shrugged off her coat
suddenly; it fell onto a stool behind her. She raised both hands up into her
hair, black hair so thick her white hands disappeared. She pushed it back
behind her shoulders, and her breasts rose sumptuously inside her lace bodice.
I imagined her nipples stirring at the friction.
"I wish to dance," she
declared, her brows arched. "Would you please accompany me,
mein lieber Herr?
"
I replied, asininely, but with
conviction, "You bet."
She blessed me with a throaty
laugh.
Her stockings were the
sheerest, faintest black--only a razor-thin umbra hovered around the edges of
her legs. I liked the way the hem of her satin dress swished as she walked. And
I liked watching her black leopard-print heels flash in and out of view with
every potent stride.
The frolicking, careless crowd
parted with Simone's first step onto the dance floor. It was as if she had
ordered them away, as one would command a dog to lie down. It felt cool to see
it.
I watched Simone dance for the
first time, an experience I will never forget. While I moved haphazardly, maybe
drunk, surely intoxicated with her beauty, Simone became an angel floating in
the atmosphere. She was so fluid, so serpentine in her movements, arms weaving
across her face, hips rolling sensuously, her whole body seemingly boneless as
she let the music push and pull her. I was entranced.
"Music can be so transcending,
don't you think?" But she didn't shout; it was more like a purr, or maybe a
distant voice on the wind. While the music blasted out from all around us, she
spoke softly, and I heard her perfectly.
"Your voice, it really cuts
through." I gestured to my ear. "That's incredible."
"You don't have to shout,
Ross," she replied, in that same seductive whisper. "In fact, you don't need to
speak at all--if you don't want to."
I laughed, but I wondered what
she meant, and then the thought disappeared.
Two songs later, the sweat
rolled down my temples, and my neck and arms ached from striving to keep up
with her. I gestured to the metal staircase that led to the second floor and
was about to suggest that we go upstairs and sit down.
Simone smiled and nodded. Still
shimmying her shoulders to the music, she took the lead and walked us through
the crowd--or rather, the crowd parted for her, and I merely followed.
Climbing the stairs, her supple
thighs quivered, and the ripe curves of her hips seemed the very definition of
Woman.
My seductress.
She paused, one foot on the
edge of a step, and looked back to me over her shoulder. I met her gaze
brazenly. She parted her lips, but it wasn't a smile; it was appetite. I felt
my vitals contract. The moment stretched out... and she merely nodded--but with
such wisdom and insight. She lent this simple gesture such magnitude--then she
turned and continued up the stairs.
I was hers.
Upstairs on the mezzanine,
there were some scattered couples watching the dancers below. I followed Simone
to a dark, lonely spot at the far end. Simone set her elbows on the tubular
steel railing. I followed her gaze downward, saw the people below, the tossing
hair, the pumping arms, but they didn't interest me. I looked to Simone. Raven
hair draped across one eye, she stared down fixedly.
A few seconds passed. "Look at
them,
mein lieber Herr.
" Her voice was... lustful. "Like geese in the field!"
I reached out, gently closed my
fingers upon that lock of hair across her eye. "I still don't know who you are,
really," I said, very seriously. "Or where you come from. But you are my dream,
Simone. All my life...."
She straightened up from the
railing and faced me, her breasts curving out to me, her black eyes sucking in
the light. "But I'm not a dream, Ross. I'm real. I'm here, right now." She took
my hand. Her skin was cool. She pressed my hand to her breast. It rose against
my palm as she inhaled. "This is real. This is your life. Tonight... is
forever."
I shifted my hand, felt the
weight of her flesh. I swayed toward her.
She stepped back, releasing my
hand. "We must find a place," she said ardently. "A place to be alone."
"Yes."
She led me to a row of
zebra-print booths along a wall of exposed brick. She stopped at one and
pointed. I eagerly--obediently--slid in, all the way to the back. She came in
after me, sat back erect, dark and shimmering, and stared at me with unreadable
eyes.
I stared back.
Finally, we exhaled.
She raised her hands and took
my face between her cool white palms. She pressed my cheek to hers. My eyes
were lost in the thick curtain of her hair. I reached around behind her, opened
my hands upon her back and I held her tightly to me. Her full breasts squeezed
against my chest.
I gasped, "Dear God, I love
you."
"And I, you."
I pulled a lock of her hair
between my lips. I kissed the cool skin of her neck. Her nails dragged down the
back of my suit coat. Her lips closed upon my earlobe, then slid down my
throat. I shivered. Her sighs, her sharp inhalations, were the most erotic
thing I'd ever heard. The Nitro, the world, disappeared. I bared my teeth
against her flesh, passionately bit down--
ah, God!
She was kissing my throat
hungrily, smackingly. I felt her tongue swell against my skin. She licked me.
Her tongue was rough, it was ticklish, it was exquisite. I loved it--I floated--
Piercing sting--my hands flung
open--so hot and sharp and deep--
goddammit that hurts!
"Be still."
That same seductive whisper.
I opened my mouth. Pathetic,
sick gurgling.
Distant, hollow ringing.
Where did that come from? Where was anything... oh, there it is again...
Orgasmic pain shivering down my
body. I was free. The pinpoints of heat had left my throat, and now I only felt
the ripples spreading out, lessening. Something touched the back of my head; it
was the booth's cushion. I breathed rapidly, through my mouth. My head lolled
side to side. There was a yawning in my ears, like a seashell sounds.
At last my eyes cracked open a
little. The tabletop yawed, then settled flat and smooth.
Someone standing there,
shaking. No--I was shaking--she was standing still. Long hair I recognized....
She spun into focus. Jane. Jane Hampton... I remember now.
She looked terrible. Mouth
contorted, face sort of thinner, moist around her eyes and nostrils. She was
saying something. I mean, her jaws were really snapping. She was
shouting
something.
With a terrific concussive
force, she hit the tabletop again.
"God
damn
you for ever making me think you were different!"
I frowned, blinked, tried to
catch her words, what she was talking about.
"That's all it ever comes down
to, isn't it? Better fucking body. Better clothes. Better fucking dancer.
Goddamn you, Ross, for hurting me!"
"What?" I whispered; it was the
best volume I could muster, and even at that, my throat screamed, and tears
beaded up.
She whipped a hand up to her
eye. "And goddamn me," she said, softer, "for letting you. I just really
thought...."
She crossed her arms over her
chest, head down, shoulders shaking.
"Jane--" I croaked, painfully.
Then I heard that sound.
Guttural. Primal. Pure jungle. Pure attack.
With some effort I rolled my
face to the side.
Jesus!
That... woman next to me...
Simone... lips drawn back like a dog... hideously long
teeth...
chin down but her eyes raised blazingly to Jane. Singular stare, vicious,
deadly.
I looked back to Jane's face.
Fear dimly lighting inside her, flickering, incredulous. She stepped back, arms
still crossed, tightening a little, protectively.
I jumped when Simone spit. The
blood burst from her mouth like a hydrant--arcing over the tabletop--
Blood, blood,
blood--
Sick splattering sound as the
crimson wave slammed into Jane's face, her eyes fluttering, her mouth stretched
with nausea. Jane gasped, then choked on the blood pouring over her--
Another heave beside me--the
goddamn cushions shook with it--and another crimson blast geysered out.
Jane stumbled back, lost her
balance, scrambled to stay on her feet.
Then I saw Simone out of the
booth, following Jane, stalking her, shoulders forward, hands raised, so agile,
like she was sliding across the floor.
Jane was going farther away...
toward the railing overlooking the dance floor--
"No!"
I bent over at the pain of
shouting--struggled to straighten up--
Simone's hand shot up like a
machine--punched Jane in the back--a victorious
"Ha!"
and--
Jane was gone, and I heard
something hit the dance floor below. It was a thud, like a heavy, soft object--
I retched horribly, my tongue
on the tabletop, acid rolling out, trying desperately to say Jane's name, as if
that would change something.
Oh God the smell--
Instinctively I reared up from
the table, turned my head to the side.
Hideous white hands--fingers
clawed--shot out at me, grabbed me under my arms. I was dragged out of the
booth headfirst.
"We're leaving now." Voice like
stone, inhuman, yet shot through with very human fury.
I heard screams, from
everywhere, it seemed. Men's voices proclaiming "Jesus Christ!" as if in
fervent prayer; women's girlish shrieks. And the lights. The lights were so
painfully bright. Blinding. The music cut out, and an eerie vacuum descended
over us. A rigid iron arm cut me under the ribs. I glanced down
--oh God--
it was Simone's arm around me, her hand closed possessively upon me.
I couldn't even stand; she--the
thing
--held me up.
Tears streamed down my face.
"Why?"
I moaned. "Why Jane--why me?"
That face--taut, white. Those
eyes--black, narrowed. That mouth--voluptuous, blood sliding around the
corners. My world was
her
.
"Why?"
Simone snarled, those inhuman pearl teeth glistening. "Why do you think?
Because she was in the way. Because you are mine now. Understand?
Mine!
This night is mine... and nothing shall avert my will!"
"No!" I whimpered pathetically.
"Please, God, please...."
I caught sight of two women
across the mezzanine, young, lean, wet hair, harsh makeup, crouched and
clinging to each other--and their eyes cried out to me.
I extended a hand--my arms were
pinioned--and I wailed, "PLEASE!"
I don't know if they responded;
my eyes squeezed in agony as my throat burned.
A new voice. "Let him go! Do
you hear me? The police are on their way--let him go,
now!
"
I squinted through one eye. The
two women were pointing cautiously in our direction. Two burly men in matching
white pullovers were walking slowly toward us. Bouncers? One held a wooden
club, the other, a walkie-talkie. I was too afraid to cry out to them, too
afraid of the pain in my throat. I just hung there in her arms and watched, my
lips dangling, drooling.
The arms were taken away.
The floor kicked into my
tailbone; I sprawled out like a rag doll. Fire raced up my spine, but something
made me struggle up to one elbow. I had to watch. I had to know what was
happening--I had to know every second--
Simone strode forward
arrogantly, maddeningly desirable in that slip dress, the satin fluttering
around her hips, and I noticed a run in her stocking--
God, you're sick.
I shook my head, disgusted at these thoughts.
The man with the club held it
out in front of him. "
Stop!
"
Simone didn't stop.
"Lady, I swear, I'll--"
The other man put the
walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Jesus, get us some back-up--"
I couldn't see Simone taking
the club, but I saw the bouncer's surprise, his jaw dropping, his resolution
suddenly flying away. Simone jabbed the club back into his chest. I heard the
crack of his bones. The man grunted, doubled over, hissing.
Then Simone pivoted and swung
the bat at the other man, smashing him in the face. His walkie-talkie
somersaulted away... along with his teeth. The club clattered to the floor. The
first man sank to his knees; the other toppled back against a pillar. She took
them both--one man in each hand--by their shirt fronts and dragged them toward
the tubular railing overlooking the dance floor. The effort didn't faze her. In
fact, a smile played at the corners of her crimson mouth.
She paused once she had them
slumped over the rail, moving her hands to their backsides, between their
thighs.
"Gute nacht,"
she crooned sweetly, and launched them both over the side.
Same awful hard-soft thud
against the floor below, followed by a new chorus of screams and sobs.
Simone stood upright, proudly,
and surveyed the scene beneath her. She flung out an arm, pointed generally to
the throng below. I imagined the frightened faces cowering behind bar stools
and cocktail tables. In a voice that boomed painfully off the walls, she
commanded, "EVERYBODY JUST STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. YOU'LL LIVE A LOT
LONGER."
She glanced around, nodded with
satisfaction, then turned back to me.
I shrank against the floor,
tried to push myself away from her, shook my head emphatically.
"Oh, yes,
mein lieber Herr,
" she said, like a prodding parent, "the night's just beginning for you."
As she stood over me, I saw the
straps of her dress were fallen from each shoulder; the lace bodice was
puckered around the tips of her breasts, her flesh splattered with blood. The
white hands swept down to me like the wings of a descending bird. I was lifted
up; her face swept into my view, frighteningly close. Then my head was bouncing
upside down, swinging over the mezzanine railing. She'd thrown me over her
shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Below I saw the crumpled bodies of the two
bouncers, and Jane. Jane Hampton lay dead down there. The woman I'd come here
with, the woman I was falling in love with, the woman I'd planned to make love
to tonight. Dead, broken, bleeding from her head.
Everything inside me
convulsed--I couldn't even breathe--and the vomit poured from my mouth and nose.
"Gott im Himmel--"
With an exasperated sigh,
Simone brought me down into her arms and held me against her chest as a
conqueror carries off his prized virgin. My limbs hung limply. Each gasp was
like fire down my throat. But I was grateful to be right side up again. The
retching subsided.
The metal staircase came into
view. All was silent. Simone had me locked in her arms, and she was leaving
with me.
One last obstacle at the
Nitro's glass front door. Another bouncer--I recognized his white shirt--big,
broad-shouldered, stood poised in our path, both hands on a fat revolver,
pointed straight at us. My last hope.
He didn't say a word; the gun
said enough.
Simone stopped, exhaled
heavily. I found myself looking up at her face rather than at the man who stood
ready to save me. She cocked her head to the side quizzically, condescendingly.
"And just what do you think you're doing?"
The man thrust his gun forward
a little.
My seductress, my monster, said
nothing, did nothing.
Or so I thought.
In a second, I saw the man's
expression convolute, become at war with itself. His jowls trembled. His hands
shook. Simone's brow furrowed. She nodded slightly. The bouncer's arms bent up
and away. He tilted his chin up, watched his moving hands with scared white
eyes. His hands sort of made a circle, then turned back on himself. Now he
shook uncontrollably. With a shudder I realized the gun's barrel was pointing
at his face. His sweat ran as the gun steadied its aim. I felt Simone's chest
move. "Uh-huh," she murmured. The man's mouth twisted; saliva dribbled out. The
gun in his hands moved closer. The hammer cocked back.
The gore-smeared door slammed
shut behind us. Simone carried me out onto the salt-stained walk triumphantly.
Winter's wind froze the moisture covering my body. Police sirens howled in the
distance. Directly overhead, a full Moon burned coldly, a beautiful sugary
white.
"Manuel!
Kommen sie hier! Jetzt!
"
I cringed at the sound of her
voice as she called out so imperiously. Up Water Street, two headlights flared
and swung out from the curb. I looked back to the Moon above, and I couldn't
help wondering if indeed it was watching over us now.
And approved.
I awoke--had I passed out?--in
a moving a car, turning sharply, sickeningly. I fought down the bile and rolled
myself onto my side. Sharp raking at my neck as my skin rubbed against the
upholstery. I clumsily felt around. Eventually I felt the two puncture wounds,
and I flinched at the twin streams of pain that erupted from them.
"Don't pick at it, you'll get
an infection."
Mocking laughter.
I opened my eyes and focused. I
lay on a long bench seat. Velvet. Opposite me she sat, legs crossed,
naked--save for her torn stockings and leopard-print heels--and looked at me
with harrowing self-assurance. In that husky voice I'd come to dread, she said,
"Incidentally, thanks for blowing it all over my dress. It was Italian, in case
you didn't know. I had to throw it out the window--I have
always
detested the stench of bile." Sigh of resignation. "No matter. I've got you
now; that's the important thing."
I groaned and closed my eyes
again. I knew conclusively that all hope had evaporated. The car, limousine,
whatever, picked up speed. We were probably on the interstate, racing to my
unimaginable death. What an awful sense of freedom it is to realize you
suddenly have no future.
|
This is a sample chapter from
Vampire Seductress
by
Lance Panzer
We at
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
www.booksunbound.com
hope you will enjoy the entire book!
Author's Biography
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Photo by Al Seffker
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I have always loved a good
story, something that rivets me, that sets my imagination afire, that lingers
long after I've turned the last page. I think we all carry bits of our
favorite books inside us... a character's wry comment, or a poetic depiction...
countless reams are scattered about our minds, and they give us solace.
Reading is truly the most exquisite of solitary pleasures.
Of all the emotions words can
evoke, fear is perhaps the most tantalizing. And behind fear lurks eroticism.
Fear and eroticism run together in delicate patterns, sometimes blatantly,
sometimes so subtly we can scarcely discern the difference. It is these two
inestimable emotions that fuel
Vampire Seductress.
It is my first novel.
My name is Lance Panzer. I
live in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I've been a voracious reader since I first
struggled to sound out, "Run, Spot! Run!" Within a few years, I felt the
burning desire to write my own stories, and I've been writing off and on ever
since, well over 20 years. I love a good scare. I love female beauty. I love
the power of the night, its fearsomeness, its allure. I love
discovery--curiosity is my greatest vice. I love white wine, and the Moon.
And romance.
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