Dark Possession by Christine Feehan

amazing distances in a single leap, and the jaguar people had cunning and strength beyond normal. He stood, breathing hard, watching for any signs of aggression as the cat faced him, sides heaving, a snarl on its face.
    “I know you are a man. You will die here if you continue. You cannot use my respect for the jaguar to defeat me. Why have you broken our unspoken treaty?” He deliberately pitched his voice soft, calming, a mesmerizing tone of notes to aid in soothing the cat’s temper.
    The jaguar bared teeth, but held his ground, the eyes never leaving Manolito’s face, as if he was just waiting for one moment of weakness that would give him an advantage. And Manolito was weak. He held the pain of his wounds at bay and ignored the raging hunger nearly consuming him. The scent of blood was heavy in the air. Both jaguars had been torn, and droplets showered bright spots of crimson over the leaves. Deliberately the jaguar licked at the blood drops, to remind Manolito that he had scored.
    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