I watched an olive-skinned, dark-haired man in green clothing and helmet. He fired his weapon and ran back behind the corner. He tossed a few grenades and backed up some more, repeatedly called out to his troop, “Retreat!”
It was too late.
The Others were caught in the pincer of the two attacking German forces. The man evaded the battle, but his entire troop died in the crossfire. The man escaped, alone.
I watched and waited. Four German soldiers entered the building under my feet, looking for more to kill. Always killing, taking what is not theirs, they do not belong here. I went down to meet them.
After killing this small group, I walked out into the night to find more. They milled together, smoking cigarettes stolen from the dead, barking and yapping at each other. I walked right up to them. They gestured, inviting me over. One man took off his jacket and snickered to his comrades as he approached me.
He died first.
In a blur of furious claws and teeth I slaughtered the rest of them. Eight soldiers lay screaming, twitching and dying.
I feasted.
It began to rain, washing away the filth and blood from my face and hands. In the summer heat the rain brought a cool, cleansing feeling, a lifting of my spirits. I thought to find the olive-skinned man. He was not from this place, but he fought the Germans I hated so much. Very interesting.
I found him an hour later, hiding behind a three foot wall of brick and mortar. I watched him from the rooftop as he lay there, unaware he’d been found. There were no other scents on the wind, no guns, no troops, just this one hiding. I slipped off the side of the building and landed ten feet from him.
“Holy shit! Get down! What are you doing?” He shuffled back, startled, dragging his rifle with him.
I advanced, his fear held a powerful attraction. They always tasted sweeter with fear. Then I heard the sound of a rifle shot behind me, and tried to dodge. Something slammed into the side of my head and all faded to black.
* * * *
I smelled the musty scents of concrete walls and packed earth, a basement. He sat next to me in the dark, wiping the blood from my head. I watched him and knew he couldn’t see my eyes had opened.
He wiped my head and neck with a wet washcloth. “Fuckin’ snipers. You gotta watch for ‘em. They hide out up in the buildings and wait. You just never know. Couldn’t you see I was keepin’ down? They’re nasty buggers.”
Jabbering on in his foreign language, he seemed to be talking more to himself than me. I didn’t understand a word of it.
“What the hell are you doing, Aldocino? Whole damn troop’s dead, what are you doing? Should be out there.”
He rinsed out the cloth in a basin of water and continued gently washing my face and neck. My head pounded, but the pain was receding, the wound sealing, healing. It must have been a close shave.
This man fascinated me. His strong, warm hands washed me with such care as he talked to himself. He smelled different, he sounded different, and like me, he was alone in this world.
“Damn Krauts. What the hell do they want with France anyway? What the hell am I doing here? If Pops could see me now, Corporal Joseph Aldocino, hiding in a basement with a sweet little Frenchy who’s probably gonna die on me.”
His fingers brushed across the wound on the side of my head. “You are one lucky girl.” He shook his head. “This place ain’t nothin’ but death.”
His warm hands moved lower to clean the blood from my chest and breasts, lingering there with a soft touch. He made me hungry, yearning for more.
“Holy shit!” He started as I grabbed his hand. “Damn! I thought you was dying for sure.”
He peered through the darkness, trying to see me better. I wrapped around him, pulling him tight into an embrace as I bit down and tasted his warm blood. He didn’t fight.
He held on, whispering assurances, as if I was the one who should be afraid. “It’s gonna be alright, honey. Don’t you worry none.”
He soothed me with his hands on my back and shoulders, and his smooth voice. I liked this man, he was nice. I had not known many nice men. I decided to keep him.
He quickly succumbed to my bite, and I fed deeply, but not enough to hurt him. I remembered my nights with the bloodslaves, the control I had acquired.
“Damn girl! Darlin’, I don’t know what you done, but it sure felt good.”
He had a lazy, drugged smile, his hand rubbed his crotch. I recognized the smile of a bloodslave. I had claimed him for my own, permanently.
“Don’t suppose you speak any English? Eeenglish?”
I smiled and licked his blood off my lips.
“I ain’t lucky ‘nough to find me a Frenchy I can talk to.” He shook his head.
I shook my head.
“Get all that blood off your face and you sure are a pretty little thing.” He wiped the tip of my nose with his washcloth. I wanted his hands on me again, to touch me softly, with kindness.
“Here. Let’s get some rest. Them Krauts ain’t gonna find us down here.”
He pulled me close and wrapped his arms tightly around me. It was a loving, protective embrace. I loved my new pet, so warm, so kind. I loved his smile, his scent, and his aura. I knew he was a good man, and I would never let him go.
I watched him sleep, and stroked his olive-skinned face, his dark eyebrows. I loved the strange scent of his skin, and the taste of his blood, a slightly foreign flavor. I stayed in his arms, watching him sleep, until I slept with the rising sun.
* * * *
I awoke alone. His scent lingered on my arms, and I followed it up the stairs and into the house. The grinding clank of a tank drifted through the broken window. More Germans. My pet had gone out to meet them.
I tracked him.
Through the streets and alleys, through broken buildings half-standing, and into the scene of the battle, I tracked him. I scaled to the roof of a three-story building to survey the battle.
The Germans had arrayed themselves on both sides of the street. Their tank rolled down the center, blasting away at the Others farther down the street. They fell in behind the tank, using its advance to cover their own. And then a small grenade flew out the window of a nearby building and landed in the center of the men. The explosion blasted them all away from the tank. Several Germans went down, but more survived and fired on the window with their rifles.
I felt him then, his anxiety. He ran away. My crafty pet. Across the rooftops, I tracked him out the other side of the building, and down the street.
I heard the explosions and yells of battle. And then I smelled them on the wind. The Others had swarmed over the Germans who ran in retreat.
I continued stalking my pet, but then the Germans fled in the same direction on foot. Leaping and bounding, I raced across the roof as fast as possible to overtake him, my Joseph. He could not see me, or the trap that lay in wait.
From on high I saw the filthy Boche scattered across both sides of the road, a classic ambush. My pet would be cut down in moments. I tensed, ready to pounce, but he sensed something wrong and ducked down low next to a pile of broken rubble. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. My clever pet. I heard his racing heart beat as he realized his predicament.
I paced across the rooftops, watching as the retreating Germans unwittingly advanced on my pet. He would be discovered at any moment. I watched as they moved in, and those farther down the street crept forward, both groups positioned to converge on my pet. My olive-skinned man checked his rifle cartridge and his pistol, and then checked his bayonet.
He was preparing to fight.
I leapt up high into the air, spinning and twisting for proper alignment. Like an angel of death fallen from the heavens, I descended upon them, slicing through all that juicy flesh and organs. Deadly silent, I cut through two of them as I touched down. Across, back and forth, up-down and at all angles, I slashed, cut, rent, and tore their feeble flesh to shreds. Sprays of blood and viscera flew in my wake while their screams echoed off
the barren streets as I danced my pirouette of death.
The Germans farther down stood up in plain view, no longer hidden behind their barricades. They stared in horror and fascination, barking exclamations and curses, fingers pointing at me.
“Valkyrie! Valkyrie!” Some of them called to one another in fear. Some were brave enough to shoot.
They raised their guns to fire, and I knew I would have to run, there were too many. A bellow of rage cut through the night and my pet flew from his hiding spot and charged into the center of ten men. His rifle never stopped firing, and he never stopped moving until he ran straight through a German officer’s chest with his bayonet.
My courageous pet.
In a flash I fought beside him, slicing through all within reach to keep my pet safe. Spinning, slashing, I tried to carve a path to safety through German flesh. Bullets whizzed past my head, firing from all sides. One burned across my shoulder, just a slight tear. Screaming in rage, I cut through more of them.
My pet fought with one of them, wrestling to take the rifle from his hands. I snatched the man’s throat out in my razor grip, only to be shot in the back by another filthy Boche while distracted. Staggering in agony, I turned to attack, but my pet had already shot him in the head.
My wonderful pet.
I set aside the pain and focused all four years of my hatred on the enemy. We killed them all, together, side by side. The last one tried to run, screaming “Valkyrie” at the top of his lungs. I caught up to him quickly and put an end to his screams.
My pet walked up to stand at my side. His aura swirled with apprehension, awe, fear, and respect. He nodded his head in acknowledgement for saving his life.
“Woman … you’re some kinda wicked.” Breathing heavily, he rubbed a shaking hand over his stubbly jaw. “But I’ll take the devil I know over them damn Krauts any day of the week.”
I embraced him, smelling the wonderful scent of his tanned flesh. He held me, two lost souls comforting each other in a world of death. He picked me up into his warm arms, and I wrapped my legs around him. I wanted him, as a pet, and as a man. He held onto my thighs and carried me in his arms as he walked.
“Got some good ole American boys over there. They ain’t gonna believe this shit. No siree, Frenchy, ain’t gonna believe a word of it.”
I saw it then, at a fourth floor window at the end of the block. The moonlight gleamed off the shiny black barrel of a sniper rifle. I pulled down hard and fast, trying to get out of the way. The shot echoed down the street as the bullet cut through my right side and straight into the chest of my brave pet.
We both fell to the ground. I lay on him, gritting my teeth and growling through the agony of my gunshot wounds. I lay there in his arms, mewling in pain as I listened to his heartbeat falter.
“I’m sorry, baby …” His heart stopped.
Burying my head in his chest, I wailed and howled in pain and grief. So unfair. I had no one in this world, no one to love me, no one to be kind and smile and stroke me with his warm hands. I looked over my shoulder to see the bastard Boche still there, his rifle perched on the window sill.
Grief transmuted to rage, and I launched up. Though it hurt to breathe, to even move, I ran. My rage overcame the pain. I ran to the end of the street in a growling blur to leap high into the air and land at his window sill. In two pain-filled seconds I scrabbled over the lip of the sill and tore through his jugular vein, emptying his body of every last ounce he could give.
A life for a life.
The only form of justice I knew.
* * * *
Chapter 16
I wandered through the village and out into the countryside, a ship adrift at sea without sail or rudder. I stumbled through the night, in pain, exhausted. My grief and injuries made me careless. I barely noticed when I wandered into the midst of four wolves.
Their presence startled me. Le Loup. France hunted them to extinction years ago, yet here they stood, an entire pack. Their pelts black as a moonless night, their amber yellow eyes fixed on me. They stood higher than my waist, fully-grown adult wolves. By the time I understood my situation, they had flanked me from all sides. Teeth bared in menace, they slinked in a step at a time, growling. I sensed their hunger. They smelled blood.
For a moment my grieving heart considered resigning myself to this fate, allow the wolves their feast, give up the good fight. This life was too painful, too unfair, too lonely. Why fight? This was my one chance to die. I surely wouldn’t survive their appetites.
At the last second my feral predatory mind asserted firmly. You will not die. A killer instinct to survive filled me with the resolve to fight to the bitter end.
I hissed, claws splayed out wide at the ready, jaw unhinged displaying a mouthful of teeth. They attacked with impeccable timing, coordinated far better than any army of men, biting and gnashing in concert. I spun, twirled, slashed, bit, raked and clawed, a whirlwind of death lacerating anything within reach. It was over in minutes, three wolves downed and the remaining bitch limped off out of striking distance, yelping in pain. I had bone-deep cuts and gashes. Blood streamed down my arms and legs where they had done their worst.
But I was still standing.
I staggered into a nearby stream, swollen by the July rains. Slugging forward through the water, the bottom of the stream suddenly dropped out. The strong grip of the current pulled me down into the black water.
* * * *
I woke to the sound of a man whistling lightly. My heart skipped a beat. Julian? Maitre? I lifted my head cautiously. I was bundled in blood-soaked linen under a coarse woolen blanket. I lay on a cot, inside what seemed to be a cave of sorts, an earthen dugout about thirty feet long. A gas lamp hissed nearby, its flame dancing in the slight breeze that wafted past the entrance to the cave.
I found the whistler just the other side of the bushes, leaned over an open fire, cooking. The shirtless man was a mountain, shoulders at least three foot wide. When he stood up he towered well over seven feet. I smelled the fish he cooked, but even more, this huge man with a heart as big as my head and a massive body full of blood. He had to weigh over three hundred pounds, all solid muscle.
Standing in the cool night air, my nipples hardened. I had found my perfect pet. Surely he could withstand regular feedings, he was so big. I stepped out from the cave completely nude. He must have removed my shredded dress.
I walked right up to him and slid my hand over his warm blood-filled shoulder. I loved the feel of all that meaty muscle flexing under my fingers. I almost sunk a bite into him right there, but he spoke first.
“My name is Arnaud Vasilis. And you?” I didn’t make a sound. “Well, have you nothing to say for yourself?”
He waited for my answer. “Are you hungry?” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, seemingly embarrassed by my nudity.
“Oui.” I was very hungry, but not for fish.
He tried to move away as I moved in, but I grabbed his big meaty hand. He turned to look at me, really look at me. I saw the surprise in his eyes. He had recognized me for something more than a simple woman. “Tu êtes un phénomène.” You are a freak.
I answered by sliding up to his chest and running my fingers over his bulging pecs. His nipples contracted under my fingers.
He ran his hands over my shoulders and arms, in awe of my smooth, unmarred skin. No sign or evidence of my numerous injuries. “You were a right mess, girl. I cannot believe you are standing here. Looked like somebody tried to have you for dinner.” He had a strange accent.
Fascinated with his big, meaty muscles, I licked his breast, and watched his nipple form a tight little pebble. Nice and salty.
He groaned as his erection pressed against my belly. “You are asking for something you may not be ready for.”
I smiled, a mouthful of sharp teeth. I was ready.
He backed away, a look of alarm on his face. I grabbed onto his chest, wrapping my arms and legs around this trunk of warm meat. I couldn’t wait anot
her second. Climbing up his torso, I bit down on his massive neck, and loved it. He was so healthy. His strong heart flooded my mouth with glorious flavor.
“Hey!”
He reacted instantly, tossing me right off him. I tumbled into the bushes and rolled across the ground to come up in an attack crouch, growling low. This mountain of a man knew fear. I watched it dart through his aura. He knew I was dangerous. He turned to run. Silly man.
I launched at him, tackling him low. I lifted his three hundred plus pounds off his feet, twisted mid-air, and slammed him down onto his back. Lying on his chest, I snapped my teeth in his face, enjoying the flare of fear in his nostrils, the scent of his adrenaline.
He shoved me off hard with both his hands and feet. Airborne, I flipped around to land on all fours, hissing my challenge.
“Dieu me sauver.” He started praying to God.
I took him down again. This time I didn’t hesitate. I latched onto him with all my strength and sunk into his meaty neck. I didn’t let go till he was bellowing with his release, his erection straining through his pants. I stroked his lovely muscles and spread my legs to rub my wet center across the top of his cock.
The man was very large, in all ways. I had to see it for myself.
I freed his mammoth cock from his pants and held it in hand. My fingers could barely touch around it.
“Oh Lord, you will surely be the death of me.” He watched with trepidation as I held his manhood in my razor grip.
I leaned down and licked him once to taste the salty flavor at the tip. He started. “It’s been too long, girl. If you start this business I won’t be able to stop.”
Though he was very large, I wanted all that warmth inside me. I stood over him, legs spread wide, and sat down onto the biggest cock I had ever seen. Grunting and grinding down, stretching to accommodate him, barely half of it fit in me. And then he moved, and I moved with him.
The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series) Page 10
