Need, happiness, and sheer joy flooded every fiber of her being. This was what she’d been born for. Made for. Nothing in creation would ever match their union.
She threw back her head, let out a whoop of joy, and started moving. Gently at first, just a little rock of her hips and a shift of her legs, but as need and heat grew inside her, she moved faster. She pumped her body hard and Peter moved with her, holding her hips with his hands, keeping her with him as he rocked and drove up into her and she pressed down.
Seemed they moved together forever. Sweat streamed down her face and his hands grew damp against her skin. Pleasure peaked. She was climbing, reaching, soaring. Her mind snapped as if out of focus, and with a cry, she climaxed. Pleasure bursting in great cascades of sensation rolled over her mind and soaked her being with joy. Still he went on, driving hard until he gave a grunt and a gasp and came.
She was panting, her chest heaving, her breasts rising and falling, as her body’s wild ride eased and she felt him soften inside her.
“So,” she said as she let him slip out and snuggled beside him. “How does it feel to love a Pixie?”
“Magic,” he replied, pulling the covers over them. “Sheer magic.”
She so agreed. “You are, Peter.”
It was magic between them.
Outside, beyond the blackout curtains, the moon rose. Neither of them noticed.
Chapter 33
The moon was high and large in the sky. Time to be heading home but Gloria hesitated. Some instinct told her to linger in the woods and she’d long learned to trust her instincts. It was a glorious evening, unseasonably warm for September. Changing and running had settled the unease in her mind. And the only dog fox she’d encountered had backed away at her approach. So much for senseless worries.
Even the wild foxes fled at her Otherness.
Enough of that! She was alive, had a job, acceptance in the village community, and miles of open countryside to run in.
And now, she rested in the moonlight on the fringe of the woods, her head relaxed on her paws as she watched the activity of the nightshift in the camp.
They should be reported. Clusters of workers smoking on their break, each woman a small red glow in the night. And the slackness with opening doors as they came in and out. Didn’t they have blackout curtains? The village ARP wardens should have a look at this. And Brytewood got the bomb, not them. Mind you, better the vicarage, even if poor Mrs. Roundhill was still in hospital, than up here where the carnage would have been horrific.
Gloria shuddered down to her bushy tail at that prospect. But honestly, somehow she’d have to drop a word in Andrew Barron’s ear that he needed to tighten things up. Not sure how to do it, though. “When I was wandering in the woods last night in my fox skin…” might not be a good opener.
A movement to her right snapped her senses to full alert. Someone, something, was moving under cover of the trees. Something that moved at great speed and had every woodland creature silent and watching.
And anxious.
Human and fox senses mingled. Gloria caught the menace and evil emanating from the creature, but she couldn’t see it and her four-footed instincts demanded she stay concealed.
The human needed to know what it was and why it lurked in the woods. Watching.
A hunter?
It didn’t carry a gun. The scent of oil and wood was distinctive enough, even at this distance. She crawled, keeping her belly to the ground. Ignoring every instinct that told her to stay put and hidden, she eased her way toward the intruder. If he turned on her, she could run faster on four feet than any mortal on two.
It was a man, his silhouette a dark outline in the moonlight.
He circled the camp, keeping to the shadow of the trees, until he was facing the back of the camp. Then he stepped out of the shelter of the woods and approached the perimeter fence, moving faster than she expected. He almost skimmed the ground.
This was no human.
What was it?
Not a shifter. Not that she’d encountered many others, but this creature never turned furry, of that she was certain. She was equally convinced he was up to no good. Who in his right mind skulked around in the shadows?
He was crouching low and pausing every so often to place something on the ground. Gloria eased as close as she dared. Better be very careful—it would be just her luck to be seen by one of the guards at the front gate. As she watched he crept forward and a glint of moonlight caught what looked like metal in his hand.
He stood upright, and moving even faster than she could, raced around the fence toward the guards. They saw him, and a challenge rang out in the night.
She stared. Amazed. The dark shape, creature, whatever, covered the two guards and they fell to the ground.
Trouble.
Damn. What could she do? Shift and run naked toward the camp screaming? Would get attention, but not the sort she wanted.
Best stay furry. She threw back her head and let out a loud, piercing, vulpine distress call.
Someone had to hear.
The thing had. It reshaped and wavered in the air.
She backed into the woods, yowling for all she was worth. Then, wonder of wonders, a nearby vixen took up the cry and was fast echoed by several dog foxes. Seemed every fox for miles around took up the distress. And now there was activity at the camp: figures running in the dark and a cry as the two fallen guards were discovered. The intruder disappeared. Searchlights she never knew the camp possessed came on and beams lit up the woods and the open ground. She raced into the safety of the deep woods.
She’d alerted them, done her best.
Time to head home.
Alice heard the phone even in the deep sleep of sexual contentment. Peter still slept, lucky him. A phone call this hour of the night meant the doctor was needed. She shoved her feet into her slippers, took her dressing gown off the hook, and ran downstairs. No point in waking anyone else.
“Dr. Doyle?”
“Speaking. What’s the matter?”
“It’s Reg Dickens, I’m acting officer tonight up at the camp. There’s been an accident.”
“Did you call an ambulance?”
“Not yet. We’ve two guards just collapsed. Don’t seem bad or anything. They’re breathing but passed out and aren’t coming round. It’s been fifteen, twenty minutes and they’re still out cold. Would you come up and see them?”
“Of course. I’m on my way.”
“I’ll alert the new guards to let you in.”
“You might want to call Mr. Barron.”
“I already have.”
“Good. I’m on my way.”
Peter met her at the top of the stairs, wrapped in her lace bedspread. It wasn’t his style, aside from the fact he looked much nicer naked.
“An emergency?”
“Seems so.” She told him the little she knew. “I’d better pull on some clothes and get going.”
“Want me to come with you?”
Now there was a thought but…“No, love. By the time the milk’s delivered, it would be all over the village that you were sleeping up at The Gallop.”
“I hate the thought of you going out with that thing hanging around.”
She wasn’t too thrilled at the prospect but she had a job to do. “Peter, I don’t doubt it’s long back wherever it lurks by now. Besides, I’m the doctor. Two people need my care.”
He nodded, unhappy but accepting.
“Doubt this has anything to do with the war. Sounds as if they got bored and started drinking. Seems they passed out. I’d be willing to bet they were swigging something suspect. Probably some of Whorleigh’s under-the-counter whisky.”
“What can I do?”
Dear Peter. She wouldn’t want to be left sitting home alone either. “If I’m not back by the time Gran gets up, tell her what happened. I usually wake her when I have a night call, but might as well let her get her rest.”
“I will. But I need to leave early mys
elf.”
“Better wait until later. That way, if anyone sees you cycling down, they’ll think you came up for an early meeting.” This sneaking around was ridiculous, but necessary. Village gossip could shred both their reputations. “I’ve got to get dressed.”
She reached for her scattered underwear. Couldn’t find her bra anywhere so she grabbed a new one from her drawer. Pulled on a tweed skirt and sweater and long socks. “Go back to sleep if you can,” she said as she shoved her feet into her shoes.
“Oh, Peter!” She hugged him, reveling in his warmth and strength. “I love you.”
“Marry me and then we can stop all this slinking around.”
“Peter, I barely know you.”
“You know me, love. Anyone else you want to marry?”
“You know there isn’t!”
“Let’s go ring shopping the next day I have off.”
“We’ll talk about this later. When I get back.”
“I’ll be here.”
“I’ve no idea how long I’ll be. Aren’t you supposed to be giving first aid instruction to the WVS this morning?
“I’ll be here.”
He most likely would. Alice left. Did she care about the gossip? Yes, she’d seen what spiteful tongues could do. Maybe Peter was right—if they were engaged, all announced and formal, they would have more leeway in public eyes. On the other hand, darn the lot of them. If they didn’t like it, they could lump it. If it bothered them all that much, they could get the bus into Leatherhead and see the doctors there.
With that most un-Hippocratic thought, she cranked the car and jumped in.
Driving through the village she passed Andrew Barron’s billet. He’d already left, but she passed him a mile or so down the road. “Put your cycle in the back,” she said as she pulled alongside him. “I can get you up there faster.”
“Thanks,” he said as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Did you get an idea what happened?”
“Two men, the gate guards, are unconscious but breathing and otherwise alright.”
“If they’re drunk, I’m going to string them up! After I fire them.”
“If that were the case would they have called me in?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find out.”
Chapter 34
“Thanks for coming, Doctor.” Reg Dickens, the shift supervisor, greeted her with a worried smile. “Evening, sir,” he added to Andrew Barron. “Sorry to have to call you both out.”
“It’s my job,” Alice replied. “How are they?”
“One’s just coming round, the other’s still out for the count. We put them down in the clinic, seeing as how it’s all set up now.”
Alice wanted so much to look around her, to photograph in her mind an image of where Peter worked, but she had patients, mysteriously afflicted patients at that, to attend to.
One Jim Bryant, according to Andrew Barron, was slowly coming to, and looking none too well. In the glare of the un-shaded lights, his face had a grayish pallor.
“Let’s have a look at you then, Mr. Bryant,” she said, drawing a chair up to the narrow camp bed. His pulse was still weak and his pupils dilated, but there was no trace of alcohol on his breath. “Can you remember what happened?”
He nodded and struggled to sit up. He managed it with help, but was definitely wobbly. “Rog and me were on watch duty, like most nights. Not much going on up here, so we got to chatting a bit. Then, it happened all fast like. Something came up to us, and…” He broke off, leaned over the side of the bed, and upchucked.
When he stopped retching, he shook his head and wiped his mouth with the towel she handed him. “Sorry, Doctor, don’t know what came over me.”
“Shock,” she replied. “You need a warm drink.”
She sent one of the onlookers out for tea, and another to find a bucket of sand. “You’d better rest. Take it easy today. If you feel worse, come by the surgery. You know what day of the week it is?’
“Thursday, Doctor, or is it Friday by now?”
“It’s Friday. What’s your full name?”
“James Willoughby Arthur Bryant, named after me dad I was.”
“Your birthday?’
He gave a wan smile. “That’ll be telling, wouldn’t it, Doctor? It were May, May 10th.”
“Well, you seem none the worse for what happened. Still don’t remember much?”
He shuddered. “It were like getting sucked into the pit of hell.”
Clear enough but hardly helpful. If it weren’t for everything else going on in the past couple of weeks, she’d brush it off, but he’d been terrified enough to pass out, and he didn’t look the sort to make a habit of fainting.
“Drink your tea. If you feel like eating, have them get you some toast. Better not have too much. Do you live up here?”
“No, it’s mostly the girls live here. I get the bus up from Dorking.”
“I suggest you get the first one back and rest up all day.”
“I’m off tomorrow, thank God.”
Rog, or Roger Halifax, to give him the name on his identity card, was in much the same state. Weak, in shock, but otherwise, at least to appearances, unharmed.
“There is something else, Doctor,” Andrew Barron said as she stepped outside. “It’s odd, but it happened.”
Odd was becoming the watchword for her life these days. “What is it?”
“You’d best hear it from the three girls who found them and raised the alarm. They’re waiting in my office.”
“Girls” was the word. Maybe eighteen, nineteen. Wearing overalls and their hair tied up in muslin, they’d obviously just come off the assembly line. When she was their age, she’d been just starting at Barts, studying like mad and having a ball in her free time. Seemed so trivial and frivolous compared with filling shell cases or putting fuses in bombs or whatever exactly they did up here.
“Mr. Barron said you three found the guards.”
“Yes, we did.”
“Yeah.”
“Gave me a right turn it did.”
Obviously general agreement on that point. “How about one at a time?”
“Yes, Doctor. I will.” A tall, dark-haired girl seemed to appoint herself spokeswoman. The others nodded, encouraging Dawn to go ahead.
“We was on break like. So the three of us went out to have a fag and a bit of a natter.”
“You were smoking outside. At night?” Andrew Barron asked.
They looked at each other and Dawn shrugged. “We have ten minutes. Takes us five to get back to our hut. We get away from the factory, there’s a spot by the canteen we go to. We’d never get a break, sir, if we went back to our hut.”
Dawn had a point, but it was up to Andrew Barron to sort out blackout violations. “That’s not what I’m here about. What I want to know is how you found the guards, and what made you go that way?” The guards were a bit old for chatting up, but who knew?
“It were the noise, something awful. It was like a soul in the torments of hell.” Dawn had a bent for drama, it seemed.
“It were a fox,” one of the others interrupted. “I used to stay with my auntie in Sussex when I was little. I’ve heard foxes; it were a fox. A vixen most like.”
More likely than a soul in torment, and definitely a sound to get attention from a city dweller. “Get many of them round here?” Quite likely now that half the hunt was called up or doing war work somewhere.
“Just the odd one. But this was different.”
“How?” Alice hoped for something more specific than Dawn’s hyperbole.
The occasional Sussex dweller replied, “First, it was just the one. It were louder than usual, sort of like a warning. Then the others started up. There were umpteen of them all screeching and people started coming out of the huts and then we ran towards the gate to ask Rog what was going on and…”
“We found them both lying there like the dead,” the last one added, obviously wanting to get a word in.
“See anything
at the gate?” Andrew Barron asked. “Anyone near them?”
Three heads shook in denial.
“Not a thing, sir, Doctor,” Dawn said. “We saw they were down and Mary ran off to call Mr. Dickens.”
“We thought they was dead,” Mary said.
“They are alright, aren’t they?” Dawn asked.
“They’ll be fine. Just shaken up.” As far as Alice knew, it was the truth.
The trio left, obviously eager to skip out before they were reprimanded for blackout violations.
“Not much help there,” Andrew Barron said shaking his head. “Looks as though you were called out at night for nothing much.”
She didn’t think so. “They were unconscious and slow coming around. Anyone in their right mind would call a doctor. Seems they’ll be well, but I’ll be sure to mention to Peter Watson to keep and eye on them.
“He will. Seems a good chap.”
“I think so, too.” She managed not to smile too broadly.
“Something definitely happened,” Andrew went on.
She wouldn’t argue there. “I’ll be off then. Want a lift back down?”
“No. I’ll stay up here. Might as well. The minute it gets light, I’m sending crews out to see if they can find anything. This doesn’t make sense.”
Maybe not to him, or anyone else up here, but she bet Gran and Sergeant Pendragon would have an explanation or three.
And as for her, she was half asleep on her feet but the thought of crawling into bed and snuggling up to Peter kept her awake all the way home.
It was war, a personal declaration against all his mission. But dammit, how could these pathetic Inselaffen thwart him: a vampire with the power of the Third Reich behind him? It was insufferable, intolerable, and they would pay for their insolence. He would have them groveling for mercy at his feet. Once he found out who they damn well were.
And why the blasted wildlife had been alerted to his presence. He’d wandered the woods and open country often enough in the past week or so and nothing like that had ever happened before. Animals should cringe away at his approach. Maybe they had, but lurked nearby and set up that caterwauling as a warning to each other. They warned the stupid mortals, too.
Bloody Good Page 23