Drawing Blood (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Abigail

She smiled as she greeted Phillipe Moreau at the front door. He shut it behind him, blocking out the darkness, smiling back at her just as eagerly.  “Have you heard what’s happening?”

She nodded, eagerly adding on. “The invasions? It’s true?”

He nodded, laughing along with her. “It’s true. The Allies have attacked. It’s just a matter of time!” He wrapped her up in his arms and spun her around, making her squeal.

She hugged him for all she was worth. It was almost too much to believe.

“This is fantastic,” she whispered. Phillipe put her down, his eyes twinkling as he looked down at her. His scruff of beard was getting longer, and his hair was growing out, starting to curl around his ears. It suited him much better than the shaved head.

“It is,
cherie
,” he agreed, cupping her face in his hands. “It is a most amazing time.”

His fingers were caressing her neck, his thumb running up and down her cheek. She could smell cigarette smoke and sea air on him, as well as the leather of his coat. Underneath was something else, something she hadn’t smelled in a long time.

The smell of a man; warmth and strength.

Her eyes dipped to his mouth. His upper lip was full and curved; very nearly like a woman’s. The bottom one was meatier, made for kissing .

Phillipe took a deep breath, pushing hands further into her hair, holding her in place. He tilted his head, pressing his lips to hers softly at first, almost brushing them across hers. She kissed back, and now he brought his hands down her back, pulling her hips against his, still touching lips to her with almost painstaking tenderness. She felt heat grow in her cheeks, blazing down her neck across her chest.  She pressed against him, running hands around the back of his neck and forcing his mouth against hers tighter.

His tongue darted out, brushing on the underside of her upper lip. It did strange things to her body, sending a jolt down the centre of her core. She met his tongue, tasting his mouth and lips. Phillipe moaned and lifted her up off her feet, holding her aloft as he kissed her deeply, passionately.

He carried her back through the dining room, through the open doorway to where her parent’s bed remained. He put her down in front of the stripped mattress then shrugged out of his jacket. She helped push it off his shoulders then helped him with the buttons of his shirt.

His bare chest was smooth and hard, all lean plains of muscle and pale skin. She lowered her head to kiss the skin at the centre of that smooth perfection, and he held her head in place, running hands through her hair and sighing as her lips moved up to press kisses along his collarbone. Her hands were tracing down his ribs to the waistband of his wool trousers. She undid the top snap before he lifted her chin again.

“
Cherie
,” he whispered, voice hoarse with urgency. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“There’s finally a reason to be happy,” she replied, voice also husky. “Please. Put your hands on me. Remind me I’m not one of the walking dead.”

He didn’t hesitate, he bundled her against his bare chest, mouth seeking hers roughly and capturing her lips with his teeth and tongue.

She clung to those warm shoulders as he ran his hands down her sides, along her hips.  He gathered up the bottom of her skirt, pulling it up until he could reach around to caress her bottom, moaning.

Right,
she thought.
Enough of this. We’re both adults.

She reached down in to his trousers, seeking out warmth and … there it was. He wanted her, terribly. At contact with her hand he groaned louder, leaning her backwards. She fell to sit on the mattress, pulling his zipper down and shoving the trousers to his ankles. She wanted to take him in her mouth, to hear him make that noise again, but he knelt in front of her suddenly, reaching under her skirt again and finding the edges of her underwear. He pulled and she helped wiggle out of them. He returned his lips to hers, his hand pushing between her thighs and touching her where she was warm and aching. She gave a groan herself, and he rose up over her once again, leaning her backwards to the mattress. He settled between her legs, most of his weight on one arm as he opened her dress by unbuttoning the front, starting at the top. He followed the progress with urgent and wet kisses on the skin he uncovered. Her hands ran through his hair, thrilling at the thickness of it. When he had her dress open she was all but naked, the only thing restrained her arms, still in the sleeves. He pulled her knees upwards and slid back to the floor, pulling her by her hips to the edge of the bed. She half-sat up, but his mouth was already lower, pressing between her legs, his tongue doing terrible, terrible things that had her crying out immediately .

Abigail writhed against him, but his hands held her tightly in place as he ruthlessly worked at her with lips and tongue. She was a shuddering, panting mess as the orgasm broke through, arching her back and making her cry out his name.

Abigail’s nerves were trying to adjust as she felt the mattress give way. Phillipe was crawling up over her body, and she made sure he had room to lower his hips. Something blunt was pressing against her, and she pushed her hips lower, encouraging. He seized her waist and thrust forward. She cried out again, her body welcoming him smoothly. He withdrew and re-entered, desperately, quickly, roughly.

Her nails found his shoulders, arms. She clung to him, and she rolled her head back to look up at his face. Her eyes opened, a smile on her face as he thrust again, finding that perfect place without any help. “Oh, Phillipe,” she whispered, focusing on that lovely face.

Then her blood ran cold. She pushed at those pale shoulders, no longer quite so taken. But Hauptmann Bossong was stronger, and he had no problem staying put and continuing on that same push and drag rhythm. To her horror she realized it still felt … fantastic .

“
Abigail, fühlen Sie sich wie im Himmel.
”

She tried to push at him as he thrust in to her again, taking her that much closer to the golden edge. “Please stop,” she was panting.

Even as she said it she buried her nails in to his forearms. One more push and she was clawing at him and convulsing in pleasure, crying out Hauptmann like any other “whore of the Germans” that took a soldier to her bed for food and protection … but she wasn’t faking.

He collapsed on to her, panting himself, slick with sweat. He took her head between his hands, making her look at him.

“Abigail,” he breathed, “that was perfection.”

Then, as she watched, blood started to pool in the centre of his forehead before running down his face.

“No!” she screamed, sitting up. “No!” she repeated in to the darkness, clutching both hands to the centre of her nightgown .

It was black as pitch and silent as the grave, save for her panicked breathing.

Thank Christ. She closed her eyes and fell back to her pillow. Just a dream. Another horrifying and more than disturbing dream. She still felt warm and flushed, and she could swear she could feel … well, it wasn’t real. It was another nightmare. They were becoming more frequent. It didn’t always end with Bossong, just … most of the time.

Abigail found Phillipe attractive, of course. She’d have to be dead not to notice how handsome he was. These dreams were making it awkward to be around him in her waking hours, and she knew he didn’t see her that way. She forced herself to ignore the fact that Bossong entered in to it at all. Her biggest concern should be the fact that she no longer dreamed of James … ever.

She sat up on the edge of her bed, stretching her arms overhead. Surely it was time to get up.

She walked in darkness to the light switch and tried it. The power was still out, three days following the explosion. She found the steps and doorway without any problems, and pushed the door open. Pale light came down to the cellar around the door to the kitchen. She closed the secret door, rubbing her eyes as she entered the kitchen. The sun was trying to peek through but the cloud cover was thick. Nevertheless the kitchen still looked cozy.

Abigail went up to her room to get dressed then returned to start tea.  A knock sounded at the front door.

Abigail frowned. Pinched herself. She was awake; it was safe to answer it.

Or maybe it wasn’t. She opened the door to find Phillipe there, smiling. He pushed past her, but as he did she pinched herself again. Still awake. That was good.

“What are you doing here?” She looked across her front yard, as far as she could see. Nothing moved out there, but … “It’s daylight, Phillipe.”

“
Cherie,
this is
fantastique
.” He took papers from his pocket, flattening them on the table. It was all in French. “The Allies have made great strides. They are behind schedule, yes. But it’s amazing. They won’t give up. The first day they secured the bridges of Seulles River. And it’s the Canadians who made it further than any other force on June 5th, did you know that?” He looked up at her, eyes shining.

She just shook her head. She was ignoring the images from her dream and failing at it.

“There’s a violent battle going on for Caen,” he continued, boyish enthusiasm almost unbearable in her present state. “The Canadians and the British have lost quite a few men there. The old city had the, what do you say, shit bombed out of it? It makes battles difficult. The tanks can’t get it to the streets.” He looked back at her. “That’s not in here, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“I see.” She tried to sound casual.

“It’s a matter of time,
cherie
. We sit tight and eventually … we are free.”

She smiled back at him, and without warning he swooped her in to his arms and hugged her tightly. “And as soon as they are out of Europe,
cherie
, your sweet husband will be coming back to you. Isn’t that good news?”

She was smiling, but at the mention of James she felt tears in her eyes. She pressed her face into his shoulder, and let out a soft sob.

“
Cherie?
” He rubbed her back in circles. “Have I offended?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

He pulled back, peering down at her with his most sheepish grin. “
Cherie
, don’t cry. This is good news, yes?”

She nodded. “It is; you’re right.”

He wiped a tear from her left cheek with his thumb. The he lowered his head again as she tried to avoid his gaze.  “
Cherie?
”

The ticking of the grandfather clock was interrupted by a vehicle pulling up outside, tires crunching on gravel. They both jerked in surprise, heads swivelling to the sound off the kitchen door.

“Get upstairs,” she whispered, “and don’t move.”

He grabbed his papers again and slipped up the steps quietly, disappearing in to her parents’ bedroom. He let the door close, but not tightly. She knew he’d be silent as death.

Abigail let herself calm down, wiping away tears, before making for the side door. Before she could reach for the knob it was kicked open roughly.

People were really taking liberties with her doors lately.

She jumped, and before she could recover Hauptmann Bossong was grabbing her arms, pushing her up the stairs to the kitchen before slapping her across the cheek.

She stumbled and fell to her knee awkwardly, too stunned to make any more noise. Another slap caught her in the same spot and she cried out, raising her arms to protect herself.

“
Verdammt Englisch Schlampe!
” He said in that cold, oddly calm voice that sounded for all the world like he hadn’t just struck her twice in her own home.

“What ... what’s happened?”

He stalked around the kitchen exclaiming things in German she couldn’t keep up with. Abigail shrunk in to a ball, watching him in complete confusion.

Something really has happened, she realized. Phillipe was right. They aren’t just rumours. This is real. Her face was burning and she was sure he’d split her lip open, but she felt that old sensation of hope rise again.

Bossong whirled on her, and she shrunk back down, back to the cupboard doors, as though curling up tighter might make her disappear.

“It was the damned Resistance,” he snarled, throwing his cap to her table. “They caused that explosion. They almost killed my brother.”

She pressed one hand to her cheek. It was going to swell; she could feel the heat and pressure already.

“But the most interesting part is this: we found tracks. And the tracks lead from that tower to a building on your property. And in that building we found more supplies and even more explosives. So tell me my dear Abigail: what am I supposed to think?”

Her stomach seized up. Actually, her entire ribcage went in to a sudden seizure. She couldn’t breathe. This was what her father had warned her of, and she hadn’t listened. She should have told the Resistance no. She shouldn’t have let anyone get close, even if they were supposed to be the good guys.

The captain dropped to his knees in front of her, shoved his hand to her throat, pushing her head back against the cupboards. Then he squeezed.