"I want to fuck you."
"Yes. Yes. And what else?"
"I want to taste you."
"Where?"
"Your breasts. Your nipples. Your cunt. I want to kiss you and taste you there and everywhere."
"And do you want to be inside me?"
"Yes. Oh, yes."
"Tell me."
"I want to be inside you. Deep inside. All the way."
"And do you want me to take it in my mouth?"
"Yes."
"And roll my tongue around it and kiss it and suck the sweet drops from it?"
"Oh, God, Marcia, yes!"
All rational thought was driven from Roy's mind by his pounding desire. With every fiber of his being he wanted to possess this black-haired, smooth-limbed woman. He wanted her sexually, carnally, totally. Nothing else was real. At that moment, had it been necessary, Roy Beatty would have killed to get her.
Marcia slipped out of his grasp and stood up. She undid the remaining buttons of her blouse, stripped it from her shoulders, and tossed it away, paying no attention to where it fell. She moved back in front of Roy and leaned down to put a hand on each of his knees. As he sat looking up at her, she spread his legs and stepped between them. She moved her hands then to the back of his neck. Clasping her fingers there, she pulled his face forward into the soft, warm valley of her breasts.
Roy inhaled the mingled musk and sandalwood. He tasted the salt of her flesh and the metal of the amulet she wore. He bit down on the soft chain and it snapped. The amulet fell softly to the carpet.
Marcia backed away from him again, and Roy stood up, fumbling with his clothes. His erection thrust forward like a lance.
Quickly Marcia unzipped the pants she wore and slipped them down her long legs and off. She stood before him smoothly naked, proud of her body. Roy moved toward her, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. Watching his face, she let her free hand dip down between them. The fingers curled around his penis.
"You are ready for me, my man," she said. "Aren't you?"
"I'm ready," he whispered.
She released him, turned her back, and dropped suddenly to her hands and knees. "Then ride me, my lover. Ride me!"
With the blood roaring in his head, Roy went to his knees behind her. She raised her buttocks to him. He thrust forward and penetrated. At once he started to withdraw.
"No," she commanded. "Leave it there. Give it to me there."
With his hands planted on Marcia's ivory-smooth cheeks, Roy drove into her a centimeter at a time. She let her head sink to the floor, the side of her face pressed against the carpet. To meet each of his thrusts she pushed back with her hips. From deep in her throat came a soft growling moan.
With a final painful shove Roy buried the full length of his organ in her. There he was held fast, as though gripped by burning fingers. He knew that at any second he would climax up there.
"No," she said. The single syllable held him like a physical barrier.
They froze in position. The excruciating sensuality made him want to cry out, but he knew any movement would bring on the explosion. Marcia raised her head and turned to look at him. Her eyes blazed green.
"We aren't through with each other yet, are we, my lover?"
Fraction by slow tight fraction he withdrew. Half a dozen times he was an eye blink from climax, but each time Marcia's phenomenal control of her muscles stopped him, held him in check, until at last he was out of her.
During the timeless span that followed, Marcia Lura led Roy along paths of physical joy he had never traveled. With unfailing instinct she did exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment. By turns she submitted to him wholly, then took the lead and became the aggressor. Sexual fantasies locked in Roy's mind since childhood sprang to vivid life. Time and again he would be at the brink of orgasm, and each time Marcia would stop him just short of total release and bring him back.
The shadows of evening moved into the valley and darkened the windows of Marcia's small apartment, but the people within had no sense of time. For Roy Beatty the universe consisted of the hills and hollows, the knowing hands, and the wet, clinging orifices of the wild black-haired woman.
When at last she brought him to the finish he was in a kneeling position. She lay on her back with her head away from him, her elbows propped on the floor, her legs scissored behind his back. Their movement, in and out, together and apart, was not more than an inch. Marcia's eyes never left his face.
"Now!" she said suddenly. And again, "Nowwwwww!" drawing it out in a husky growl.
Roy let go, and the explosion pulled him inside out. It was like being born, and it was like dying. Every good sensation of his life was jammed into the heaving, sweating climax. He spurted hot and hard and emptied himself into her. They cried out together, and their cry became a scream, and at last it was finished.
Roy fell back, and for long, long minutes he lay motionless on the soft carpet. It was as though all the nerves of his body had been severed. He had not enough strength to make a fist.
Marcia slid up to lie beside him. He did not open his eyes, but he could smell her, smell the sex of her and their mingled sweat, and still the gentle sandalwood. He wanted to cry. Then he felt the tears slide down his face and he knew he was crying.
"Marcia…"
"Hush." She stopped his lips with her fingers.
"But I want to tell you — "
"No, there is nothing more to be said. It is time now for you to go." She moved away from him.
Slowly Roy sat up. He felt drained. Empty. Across the room Marcia lit a candle, and for the first time he realized night had come.
She walked around gathering up his clothes and brought them to him. He dressed silently and methodically while she sat in the shadows watching him. When he was finished dressing he crossed to the back door. There he hesitated and turned, wanting to say something to her. She shook her head no, and he went out and closed the door behind him.
* * *
Walking home along the path through the woods, Roy fought against the still-fresh memory of what had happened to him this night. He knew he must not think about it now. Maybe not ever. Not if he was to live a normal life again.
To keep his mind busy he tried concentrating on the problems of his work. No good. His work was too far away, and the feel of Marcia's body was still on his skin. But he must not think of her. He recited the Greek alphabet aloud. Forward first, then backward.
"Omega, psi, chi, phi, upsilon…" He stopped. He was being followed.
The sound was a soft, rhythmic thud as of something trotting after him on padded paws. Roy peered back along the path where moonlight filtered down through the trees to make bright patches on the trail. As he watched, a lean shadow moved swiftly through one of the pools of moonlight.
As the shadow loped through the next patch of light Roy saw what it was. A wolf. But more than a wolf. A long-bodied black creature moving toward him with power and assurance. Its mouth was drawn back in a grotesque animal grin. And the eyes. The eyes knew him.
Before Roy could react the beast pushed off with powerful hind legs and hit him full in the chest. He staggered back under the blow and instinctively wrapped his arms around the animal. The strength of the beast was unnatural. He could feel the play of its muscles under the thick fur. The wolf's hind feet dug into the dirt and it forced Roy steadily backward.
The face of the wolf was only an inch from his own. Its breath, hot and damp, hissed in his ear. The glistening teeth, as long as two of his finger joints, snapped at the air and moved closer to his throat.
Inexorably, a step at a time, Roy was forced back by the superior strength of the wolf. He clutched at the thick neck fur, but could not pull the thing's face away from his. As he was pushed back off the path, Roy's foot caught in a tangle of fern and he crashed to the ground on his back.
With the beast astride him now, Roy flailed at it with his fists, but his blows had no more effect than those of a bab
y. The thin black lips of the wolf stretched in a snarl of triumph.
While Roy still struggled to free himself, the wolf's head dipped and the cruel teeth bit effortlessly through his shirt and the flesh of his shoulder. Through the explosion of pain Roy could hear the teeth grating on bone. His right arm went dead, and his will to resist died with it.
In his last moment of consciousness Roy looked into the face of the wolf. The muzzle was smeared now with bright fresh blood. And again the eyes. He knew the eyes. And he knew he was lost. Roy arched his neck, baring his throat to the killer teeth.
Chapter Nineteen
Roy lay with his eyes closed, waiting for the final burst of agony that would come when the teeth of the wolf ripped away his throat. Incredibly, nothing happened. He forced his eyes open and saw the beast, bloody-mouthed, watching him. The cruel mouth stretched again in a triumphant snarl. Then the beast backed off, turned to the forest, and slipped away into the night.
Minutes went by and there was only the darkness and the sounds of the small forest creatures. Roy tried to rise, but the pain in his shoulder was like a hot iron. His mind would not work. Thoughts crumbled into fragments of visions, making no sense, forming no pattern. With his body operating on instinct alone, he began to crawl through the brush. He crawled until finally he was back on the path. With a wrenching effort he raised himself to his feet. With his right arm dangling he stumbled along the path toward his house. Again and again he fell heavily to the ground, but each time he rose again to stagger on.
* * *
Something jolted Karyn Beatty out of her sleep. She looked around, disoriented for a moment. She was in the living room of the little house. In the rocking chair by the window. She must have dozed off. What was she doing out here? Waiting for Roy, that was it. She remembered then, sitting here through the afternoon, waiting while he did not return. She had opened a can of soup for her dinner, then sat down again. Then she must have fallen asleep.
The gray luminescence of the window through the curtain told her it was dawn. She had slept here through the night, and Roy was still not home.
What had awakened her? A noise outside the house. Something out there. She hurried to the closet where the shotgun was kept and brought it back into the living room. Cautiously she unlocked the front door and opened it just enough to look out. The sky was lightening, but the forest was still dark and secret beyond the clearing. There seemed to be nothing… then she looked down. There at her feet, his body twisted into an awkward position, lay her husband.
Quickly Karyn put the gun down inside the house and knelt beside Roy. His clothes and his hair were covered with pine needles, twigs, and dirt. He was alive, but flushed and feverish. His breathing was shallow, his face damp with perspiration.
"Roy, my God, what's happened to you?"
There was no reply.
Karyn cradled Roy's head in her lap. His eyes fluttered open. For an instant they had a look of unspeakable terror and she felt his entire body go rigid. Then his expression clouded and he relaxed. His eyes were still open, but he seemed to see nothing.
"Roy, what is it? What happened to you? Oh, please answer me!"
His eyes closed again, then opened with the same blank expression. With her hands under his arms Karyn managed to heave him to his feet and steer him into the house. She got him into the bedroom and eased him into a sitting position on the bed. When she pushed him gently back he lay down without resistance. She took off his shoes and loosened his belt. His shirt was badly torn at the shoulder and stained with what looked like blood, but there was no wound underneath.
Karyn covered him with a blanket, pulling it high around his shoulders.
"Roy… Roy, I'm going for the doctor. Can you hear me?"
He groaned deep in his chest — a sound that might or might not have been an answer.
"You stay here and keep warm. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Karyn ran out of the house. The sun was visible now through a gap in the mountains, slanting down through the trees, warming the shadowed places.
For one of the few times in her life Karyn truly regretted that she had never learned to drive. There in the clearing sat the Ford — so accessible, so ready, so useless to her. She considered for a moment taking it anyway and trying somehow to drive it as far as Drago. She had sat next to Roy often enough to know the procedures. But no, it would be foolish now to risk smashing up the car on top of the other urgent problems. She began to run down the narrow lane toward the village.
She ran until she was out of breath, then walked, then ran again. Soon she reached the blacktopped road and turned toward Drago. No one was out in the early morning. She had the town to herself.
The street where Dr. Volkmann lived was still in shadow. The window blinds in the house were drawn. The doctor's dusty old Buick stood in the driveway. Karyn ran up the wooden steps to the porch and rang the bell. She waited a minute, then rang again. This time she heard someone moving inside.
Dr. Volkmann opened the door and blinked down at her. He wore a faded blue bathrobe and slippers with no backs. His thin gray hair was in disarray.
"Why, Karyn, what is it?"
"Something's happened to Roy, Doctor. Can you come and see him?"
"Happened? What's happened?"
"I don't know. He went into town yesterday afternoon. I fell asleep in a chair waiting for him. A little while ago a noise woke me up and I went to the door. Roy was just outside lying on the ground."
As she finished speaking Karyn began to sob, the pent-up emotion breaking through.
"I'll be right with you," said the doctor. He reached into his worn bag on the hall table and took out a bottle. He shook two pills into his hand and gave them to Karyn. "In the meantime you'd better take these. They'll calm your nerves. You can take them with a glass of water from the kitchen while I'm getting dressed."
Karyn walked down the musty hallway to a large, old-fashioned kitchen. She found a drinking glass in one of the cupboards and ran it full of water. She looked down at the pills and hesitated. No more of these, she reminded herself. She dropped the pills down the sink drain and poured the water after them. She walked back into the front hall in time to meet the doctor coming down the stairs. He wore a sweater and pants and shoes hastily pulled on over his bare feet.
"Let's go," he said.
Volkmann snatched up the medical bag and he and Karyn hurried out to the old Buick. It started at once, and Volkmann gunned the engine up the street to the road that turned off toward the Beattys' house.
"What were Roy's symptoms when you found him?" the doctor asked.
"He was only semi-conscious. His face was all red and he felt as though he had a fever. He opened his eyes, but they didn't seem to focus on anything."
"And when you left?"
"I put him in the bed. He seemed to be sleeping, but his breathing was uneven and his body seemed tense."
"Any marks or injuries?"
"That's a curious thing. His shirt looked as though it was stained with blood, but there was no wound that could have bled like that. Only scratches on his hands and face that could have come from the brush. There might be something else. I didn't undress him."
Volkmann pulled the Buick in behind Roy's Ford, and he and Karyn went into the house. Roy was still in the bed where Karyn had left him. His eyes were closed. His head rolled fitfully on the pillow.
"Help me get his clothes off," said Volkmann, "and we'll give him a going-over for injuries."
Roy made feeble sounds of protest as Karyn and Dr. Volkmann pulled off his clothes, but he did not wake up. The doctor examined him thoroughly from head to foot, then rolled him onto his stomach and checked his back. He probed delicately through the blond hair on Roy's head, and finally looked up at Karyn.
"No apparent injuries anywhere. His symptoms are similar to those of a concussion, and that might be the case even though there is no sign of a blow on the head."
Together they rolled Roy over on
his back again, and Karyn covered him with the blanket. As she did so, he opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Karyn," he said thickly. "What time is it?" Then his expression became more alert. He raised his head. "Dr. Volkmann, why are you here? What happened?"
"We were hoping you could tell us," said the doctor.
Karyn took Roy's hand and pressed it against her cheek. "Darling, are you all right?"
"I–I think so. I feel a little shaky. Confused. What's going on?"
"You went into Drago yesterday afternoon and didn't return," Volkmann said. "This morning your wife found you lying outside the door. She came to get me."
Roy frowned with the effort of trying to remember. "Let's see… I was working here in the afternoon — was that yesterday? — when Karyn came home. We talked about… Damn, I can't remember what we talked about. An argument, I think. I don't know." He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips before going on. "That's it. After that I fade out. The next thing I remember is looking up and seeing the two of you standing over me just now."
"You don't remember anything about last night?" Karyn prompted.
Roy shook his head. "There was sort of a dream." His eyes looked far away for a moment, then he went on. "I remember something about an animal. And eyes. Eyes that I knew, yet didn't know. Doesn't make much sense, does it?" He turned to Volkmann. "What's the matter with me, Doctor?"
"As far as I can determine you have no serious injuries. Still, I'd like you to come into town for an examination when you're feeling up to it."
"If you think it's necessary. Actually I feel pretty good now. Just awfully tired and a little fuzzy in the head."
"I think you should sleep now. Perhaps when you awaken your memory will return."
"I hope so," Roy said. His speech was beginning to slur as his eyes lost their focus.
Karyn stayed behind for a moment as the doctor went out to the living room. She drew the curtain across the window, then came back and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed.
"I'll be right in the next room if you need me," she said.
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