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jackie ivie's forsaking
July 9, 2015




Jackie Ivie's all others
The Vampire Assassin League #27
by Jackie Ivie
September 9, 2015

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Tessa Queen is supermodel stunning. Tall. Slender. Sexy. Confident. Undead. She has a trademark. Her assignments are clean. Untraceable. Accidental. It’s her signature. And her style. Until one evening, when she has to sidetrack to a safe house…and finds everything unsafe and dangerous.


Cameron Preston’s mature. In excellent health. Self-motivated. He competes in endurance contests for the same reason he’s a parapsychologist. He likes a challenge. But he firmly believes in ghosts. He’s had experiences. He wants to find out more. He doesn’t really like the living. He avoids them.


Despite his misgivings, Cam accepts an emergency job. The pay is good. The site is encouraging. A deserted, decaying mansion in New Orleans with a murder in its history. Sounded good…until he meets the rest of the Beethan Paranormal Research Group. He doesn’t know what these guys are hunting, but it isn’t ghosts…



He’d had some strange dreams in his life. This one took the grand prize. It looked like Halloween Central. But then sound started in. Waves of noise assaulted both ears. It was a cacophonic blend of insects buzzing and chirping, birds calling, frogs croaking, the trickling of water, and he didn’t know what else. All of it came at a decibel level that should cause temporary blindness. Or mental incapacitation. Cameron howled and smacked both hands to his ears. And the enclosure addressed him.

“Cameron Preston?”


This dream had a narrator? Excellent. But even weirder, he recognized the voice. It was the hot, supermodel woman from the cellar; the one who’d grabbed him to her and flown into the wild beyond – without using any propulsion method. All while he’d been dying from an arrow wound. Cameron blinked several times. Took a few deep breaths. The bands about his chest expanded and retracted. Felt like...arms. He tipped his head down. Yep. She had her arms wrapped about him. And that meant the pillows at his back were...

Pretty damn nice.


If he had to die, this wasn’t half bad.

“I know you can hear me, Cameron Preston.”

She had a voice that sent pleasure. All kinds of it. His ears got it first with a touch of breath, and then a tremor raced went down his back. It reached the backs of both thighs. Backed up to get a really good grip on his butt. All of it highly enjoyable. He considered the sensation for a moment before answering.

“I only get called that when I’m in academic circles. Impressing people. Or if I’m in trouble.”

“Isn’t that your name?”

“I believe I’ll go with trouble this time.”


“Cam. You can call me Cam. All right?”

He swiveled onto his back. Her arms stayed about him. That was damn fine. And damn weird. And hell. She was even more stunning than he remembered. Or maybe that was because she wasn’t being viewed through night goggles that colored everything Martian-green. She was on her side, clinging to him, one of her gorgeous legs bent and atop him...approximately at his knees. Her head was at his shoulders. And she had some really fine, firm breasts hugged at his ribcage level. Cam didn’t dare glance down to verify anything. He was actually afraid he’d blush. He’d had women before. But none of his prior experiences remotely resembled this woman. He didn’t know why. He was afraid to delve into it, although his data sensors were going crazy. He hoped that was what sent a continuum of shivers up and down his frame. All highly enjoyable. All distinctly weird.

He kept his eyes on hers. She had really dark eyes. Fathoms deep. Intensely fascinating.

“Cam,” she finally replied.

His body lurched. The space they occupied shuddered. All kinds of things rustled. Now why - when it really mattered – did his body have to act like something from his teen years? He licked his lips. More weirdness. His upper teeth felt really strange. He’d check later. When his body quit acting like a fifteen-year-old moron with a men’s mag, a coating of baby oil on his palm, and a locked bathroom door.

He shivered again. And then groaned. He dragged his eyes from hers, and dropped his head. Regarded the morass of moss above him. It was covered with little flowers. All colors. All shapes. The bower of color coated the ceiling of their enclosure. Lots of it. This had to be a horticulturist’s dreamscape.

“You all right, Cam?”

He turned his head back to her.

“You know. It’s a damn shame this is a dream.”

She smiled. And then shook her head. Strands of hair slid across his cheek.

“It’s not a dream? Darn. I was hoping this wasn’t death. Because I’m way too young. And you’re way too gorgeous. And it’s mostly my fault. I accompanied those BPRG guys. I knew they weren’t stable.”

“We are...not dead, Cam.”

“Yeah. Right.” He ran a hand along his chest. Rubbed along a lot of crust-covered material. Stuck a finger through the arrow hole and lifted his shirt with it. “I was shot, lady. This is an arrow hole. I’m also covered in a lot of dried blood. And yet, I feel fine. Better than fine. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.”

Data gathered. Evaluated. Facts assigned. No action required.

“I am so glad.”

“So. Facts being universal and all that, if I’m not dreaming, then this must be death. Otherwise, I would still have an arrow in my chest. And, I have to tell you, lady. That wouldn’t feel remotely this nice.”

“My name is Tessa.”

Another spurt of pleasure shot through him. This one did worse things than before. It sent some signals to his dick. Cameron tensed his thigh muscles to stop it. Then his lower abs. Butt muscles. This was just not happening. Not remotely possible. Not with a stranger. Not in a weird-ass environment. And especially, not when he was dead.





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