The Germans must’ve felt the presence behind them, because they spun around, their jaws dropping. Before either could scream, massive furry arms grabbed each by the neck and lifted them off the ground.
The werewolf snarled, pulling his lips back to reveal long canines. His eyes burned golden, iridescent in their hatred. His arms flexed and strained, choking the two men.
The soldier with the knife stabbed at the creature’s arm, hoping to inflict enough injuries to be released. He stabbed the arm, sliced the arm and even sawed at it like it was a tree branch. The werewolf seemed to take no notice as blood poured from it’s arm.
The unarmed German tried using both hands to break the grasp, but the clawed hand around his neck didn’t budge. The full power of his two arms could not move just two of the werewolf’s fingers. He kicked his legs, flailing around with all his might.
The werewolf sharply twisted his wrist and the German went slack, his neck at an unnatural angle. He dropped onto the ground with a thud. His tongue rolled out of his mouth, like a fish from the deep sea brought up to the surface too fast.
The werewolf turned his attention back to the knife wielding German. He tilted his head and brought the German closer to him. His hand still clamped around the bastard’s throat, slowly choking him.
The German stabbed the werewolf in the chest, neck, and face. The knife would plunge in and out, erupting in blood each time. The werewolf either didn’t feel pain or didn’t care. A dozen fatal blows did not so much as make it flinch. The German’s hand dropped the knife, and the last spasm of his legs indicated he was dead.
The werewolf dropped him with contempt.
Then those golden eyes turned to me. His huge claws reached down. My eyelids slammed shut and I lost consciousness.
My eyes fluttered open. A single candleflame illuminated a cramped space of damp bricks on all sides. The British soldier sat next to me, reading a book. He glanced down at me, those blue eyes comforting and sincere.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m still alive,” I said. I sat up and realized my dislocated shoulder was popped back into place. My arm hung in a sling. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said. “But you are guilty of an unforgivable crime.” His eyes never left the pages of his book.
“What did I do?” I asked. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could tell we were in a tunnel underground.
“You never told me your name,” he said. “It’s unforgiveably rude, but I could overlook your trespass just this once.” He put down his book and looked at me, extending his hand. “Quentin Yardborough, First Sergeant of the Boyd Highlanders.”
“My name is Joan. Ms. Joan Epri,” I said, taking his warm hand in mine. It felt good to touch someone again in a friendly way.
“I’m sorry about back there,” he said, his eyes falling away. “About what you had to see.”
“What…” I said, not knowing how to finish my question politely.
He smiled and turned around, grabbing something from a pack on the ground. He turned back to me with a small paper covered package. He peeled the paper back, revealing the crackers inside. He offered them to me. “Eat, you must be starving.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” I lied. My stomach roar in protest, a noise that was impossible to hide. It practically echoed down the dank tunnel.
“Please, I don’t want your stomach giving our position away,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the crackers. I bit into one, closing my eyes to savor the crispiness and buttery flavor. “This tastes so good.”
“I believe you were about to ask what I am? To be honest, I’m not totally sure. There are myths about werewolves. Wolfmen. Some of it is true, lots of it isn’t,” he said.
“Are there more of you?” I said.
“Yes, and things much worse,” he said.
“Worse than you?” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I shoved another cracker into my mouth, happy he couldn’t see the color of my face in the gloom.
He chuckled. “It’s quite alright. And yes, there are things worse than me. Most are men, but there are other fiends as well.”
I ate the last cracker, leaning back against the exposed brick. “Where are we?”
“An old sewer access tunnel under the library,” he said. “I’ve been here a few days, ever since we got word of the French Fifth Army pulling back. We knew the city was going to fall.”
“You knew?” I said. “You didn’t tell anyone?”
“I told you: I have my mission. Telling people wouldn’t have made a difference: the city was going to fall no matter what,” he said.
“You keep mentioning your mission,” I said. “What is it about your mission that is so vital?”
“Forget I mentioned it. The important part is that we’re going to have to stay down here tonight. Before dawn, I’ll leave to complete my mission. You’ll go that way,” he said, pointing one way down the tunnel. “After a few hundred meters, you’ll come to a fork in the tunnel. Go left and after another few hundred meters you’ll find a ladder going up.”
“Where will that take me?” I said.
“A culvert at the edge of a vineyard. If you are mindful of your surroundings, you should be able to get out into the wilderness, then cross over to France,” he said.
“What about you? After your mission?” I said. “Will you catch up to me?”
He smiled. “Would you like some chocolate?” He produced a small cloth bundle and untied the string. Small dark bricks of chocolate lay there. It had been weeks since I’d had real chocolate.
“Those look wonderful,” I said. “But I couldn’t. You’ve been so generous already.”
“You Belgian girls are so shy,” he said. He picked up a piece of chocolate and brought it to my lips.
The rich smell made my mouth water, and I opened my mouth to accept it. I held it on my tongue, enjoying the rich sweet taste. I could tell he was watching me, his interest going beyond survival. It was having an effect on me, my skin growing hot from the rush of blood.
I plucked a piece of chocolate and brought it to his lips. His lips parted and I pushed the chocolate in. His lips clamped down on my finger, sucking gently.
I sat in his lap, his strong thighs flexing beneath me. My arm went behind his head and I pressed my lips to his, kissing him fully. His arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly. I broke the kiss. “Did you say I was shy?”
He grunted, kissing me again. His hands wandered all over my body, groping me and grabbing me. His need was hot and greedy. His manhood stirred under my bum, straining against his trousers.
His hand grabbed my breast, squeezing my full mound. Overflowing in his hand, he tweaked my nipple, pulling it taught inside my blouse. His other hand grabbed my hip and pulled me even closer to him.
I buried my face in his neck. He smelled of musk and sweat. My mouth opened and I kissed the nape of his throat, his stubble scratching my lips wonderfully. “I need your help taking this off,” I said, standing.
He expertly took my shirt off, leaving me in my shift and skirt. He pulled me back down into his lap, his mouth going for my neck. He pulled the shoulder straps of my shift down and it fluttered to my waist. He kissed and scratched his way down my chest, taking a nipple into his mouth.
I craned my head back, enjoying the stud’s suckling. This life affirming connection to another human being, it was beautiful. It was a brief respite of sanity amongst the chaos of the day. In this, we could let our guards down and come together in most primal union. No words were needed or even warranted. My pussy was wet, soaking through my thin panties.
I heard a rumble emanate from his chest, his nostrils flaring as he smelled my womanhood in bloom. He released my nipple and stood me up in front of him. He pulled downward on my skirt roughly, my panties coming down as well.
My wet bush glistened in the candlelight, exposed to the cool air of the dark tunnel. A
drop of dew stood on my lips, and he bent forward. His tongue flicked out, snatching it and savoring it. He closed his eyes, focused on my secret flavor. He pressed his mouth against my mound, his tongue flicking my aching nub.
He opened his eyes and looked up at me. They were glowing gold. Inhuman. The last time I’d seen those eyes, I’d witnessed his terrible power. I needed that power now, that bestial simplicity. Just towards a different end.
My good hand grabbed the back of his head roughly as I ground my pussy against his mouth. His tongue dutifully licked at me like a dog lapping up water. Each time his tongue caressed my clit, a tiny shudder shot through me, building on each prior one.
He brought one of my knees up and over his shoulder, splaying me out fully for his appetites. His tongue dove between my folds, searching for my hidden center. His relentless assault on my pussy drove me over the edge. I came, filling his mouth with my juices.
I got lightheaded and lost my balance, falling sideways. I saw the hard brick coming up to meet me quickly, but my shaking legs were still recovering from the orgasm. I was helpless to stop it.
But I never landed. Quentin’s strong arms were under me, lifting me easily to lay me down on his sleeping quilt. The wool blanket was rough but thick, shielding me from the cold damp bricks below. He straightened up, on his knees next to me.
My hand pulled at his belt, and soon his pants were off. His cock swung between his legs, thick and long. As he hardened, his sheath retracted. The head resembled a small apple, bulbous and red. I could see it shimmer and shine in the candlelight, evidence of his eagerness. His need to mate.
My hand went to his big dick, and I pulled it to my face. Opening my mouth, I took the head in, sucking it clean of his seed. Mixing with the aftertaste of the chocolate, his essence was mindblowing. Such virility, such masculinity. I sucked his prick, stroking his shaft to entice more seed to flow.
He groaned, his head going back as he was serviced. His hand was between my thighs, a finger exploring my folds. It thrust into me roughly, lingering inside my tunnel before pulling back out. He added a second finger, stretching my tight sex to accomodate him.
I moaned around his cock, not sure how he was going to fit all this inside me. But I didn’t care. With his big dick in my mouth and his fingers in my pussy, I was both sated and needing more of him. More of his seed leaked into my mouth and I swallowed it, happy to have a belly full if his balls were so inclined. I cradled his balls in my hand, feeling their heaviness like two stones in a sock.
He pulled out of my mouth and looked down at me, panting. His golden eyes yearned for relief, yearned to mount me and empty his sagging balls. Like a beast in the forest, he needed to take me, to make me his. Only by claiming me in the most primal way would his fire be extinguished.
I sat up and turned over, my bare ass and pussy in the air. I pushed myself up on one arm and realized that I couldn’t use both arms to support myself.
None of this mattered to Quentin. He pounced on top of me instantly, his massive cock pressing wildly between my legs. His hands grabbed my hips, his fingernails digging into me savagely. He thrust forward, his cock slipping between my thighs and jabbing into my navel. It left a smear of cum everywhere it jabbed, like a paintbrush of lust.
When he pulled back to thrust forward again, I angled my hips down to position my pussy in the right spot. As he drove home, I felt an overwhelming pressure build at my entrance. He was too big for me! I heard a growl above me and he pushed my neck down, pinning it to the blanket.
With his female in a fully submissive position, he pushed forward, straining to fill me with his manhood. For several wonderful, scary seconds, he made no progress. But then my lips stretched, accomodating this alpha male.
My body was eager to mate, especially with a prime male specimen like this. My pussy lips stretched, making way for his prick. He stretching me to my fullest, pressing forward as my face was pinned against the scratchy wool blanket.
He began thrusting, fucking my madly. Not like a man takes a lover, but like a dog takes a bitch. His cock hammered into me, my pussy rubbed raw as he ploughed my field. He slid in and out, his balls slamming forward against my clit. I could feel my juices flowing, running down his shaft and coating his balls.
The wet slapping noises echoed down the tunnel, two wild animals in heat. His breath sped up, his thrusts got quicker. Then he thrust all the way into me, his body pressing down fully onto me. Crushing me under him, his balls emptied into my hungry womb. His teeth bit down onto the back of my neck, his final act of domination as he came inside his bitch. My pussy spasmed in climax, milking him for all he had, every precious drop of seed.
I felt it fill me up, hot and creamy. His cock kept throbbing, spilling weeks worth of pent up lust into my body. Eventually the throbs stopped, and I felt his cock get softer. He fell out of me as he collapsed to my side.
He looked down at me, his eyes blue in the candlelight. He pulled me close to him, his body spooning me in the dark tunnel. The blanket wrapped around us, he stroked my hair and planted small kisses behind my ear.
—-
Stirring nearby made me open my eyes. It could’ve been a few minutes later or a few days later. The tunnel was still as dark. The candle still burned, so I guessed it was a few hours later.
Quentin was standing in the tunnel getting dressed. I watched him, smartly putting his uniform on. Several holes in the chest had been sewn up. He unfolded a long length of leather and pulled out a wickedly long knife. Closer to a sword in size, it had strange symbols etched into it. The symbols glowed blue in the candlelight.
His eyes found mine and I caught a measure of sadness in that look. It was vulnerable, unshielded. He didn’t expect to see me again.
“Quentin, what are you about to do?” I said.
“Joan, you need to go down the tunnel. Remember, go left at the fork, then up the ladder. Run across the vineyards until you reach France,” he said.
“Quentin, answer my question,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I’m here to kill General Klausen. That’s my mission, Joan.” He fingered the long blade.
“I don’t understand. I think you can take out an old officer sleeping in a tent,” I said.
“He’s a vampire, Joan. That’s why I’m here,” he said, solemnly. He slid the long blade into a sheath on his back. “I’m the only one who can do it. He’s in the library above us. I knew he’d make a base out of the most magnificent building in the city.”
“But you’ll succeed, right? You’ll catch up to me?” I said, my eyes watering. I stood up, suddenly feeling the coldness of the tunnel.
He held me, his strong arms encompassing my body. I lay my head on his shoulder, smelling his scent. My arm wrapped around his neck, not letting him go. “Please,” I said.
“You’re strong Joan,” he said. “Never give up. You’ll get through this.” He pressed his lips against mine in a kiss I didn’t want to end.
He released me, and gently unwound my arm from his neck. His hand stroked my face, and he smiled. “How lucky I was to have met you.”
With that, he stepped away from me and walked down the tunnel. I stood there, listening to his footfalls grow more and more distant. I recomposed myself, putting my clothes back on. Once I was ready, I walked down the tunnel in the direction he told me to go. After a time I came to the fork and went left. Stumbling around, I eventually reached the ladder.
Freedom and safety waited above me. A chance to escape. A chance to survive.
But I didn’t want to just survive. I wanted to live. I ran back down the tunnel, ready and eager to face a dangerous future at Quentin’s side.
“I’m still alive,” I said.
TAKING THE BABYSITTER TITLE PAGE
Taking The Babysitter
by
Becca Fanning
TAKING THE BABYSITTER
“Ms. Kennet, Robbie took my goat,” Diana said, looking up at me with tears streaming down
her little cheeks. The snot engine was revving up, and I could see a tiny stream of goo begin to fall down to her lip. Her little hands were bunched up, holding her blanket in a death grip.
This was my life. My poor little booger leaker and her tyrannical four year old brother. Diana was a good girl, but she could go from 0 to disaster in record time. I knew I just had a few seconds to intercede and prevent a full fledged scream snotty explosion.
“Diana, it’s ok. See, you have your blanket. You can’t play with two things at the same time. Robbie can play with your goat, he won’t hurt it,” I said, patting her flat hair. I smiled down at her, confident I’d solved the problem.
“But it’s no faaaaair!” she said, howling and thrashing around. She’d gone nuclear, her face turning fire engine red. She began doing this adorable little stomp thing with her feet, wanting to hurt the ground with her rage. She spun around and ran with maximum drama out of the kitchen.
Matthew (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 1) Page 67
