The Moonlight Mistress (22 page)

“Now you’ve surprised me,” Noel said. “I’d have thought you’d go for a nice sturdy woodcutter, or perhaps a fireman.”

“I am ignoring your fatuous remarks,” Tanneken said. “Do you wish me to continue, or not?”

“Go on, please.”

“At the time, the marriage seemed eminently sensible. He had a smell of wolf, but never spoke of it, so she thought he did not know of his ancestry. She would try, she decided, to get herself with child, and then perhaps be unfaithful to him so that he would divorce her, and she would have her child for companion, as her mother had done. She would settle money on her husband, so he would be satisfied. That was the chief reason he’d married her anyway. It was expensive to keep one’s self in fine horses and cavalry gear suitable for display in a foreign country. She might not even have to divorce him and be rid of him—his duties often took him abroad, and she had the time to herself which she required.”

To Noel, it sounded a sad excuse for a marriage, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it was better than being alone.

“At first, she felt she’d made a good bargain. Edel was a superior lover, with whom she enjoyed many stimulating conflicts. She did not love him, but she did love what they did with each other in the bedroom and elsewhere. A year passed, then another. She did not become pregnant, despite a great deal of effort devoted to that end. And Edel wished to return to Germany, bringing her with him. They had plenty of money. They could buy a fine house, and entertain. It would help his career. She could hire managers for her estate.”

“You didn’t do it, did you?”

“I—Tanneken refused. This was her ancestral land. If Edel did not like living in a foreign land, then she would like it even less. She had never lived anywhere other than the countryside of Belgium. She would not go. If he wished to go, he could go alone.”

“There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

“She did not yet know that he’d discovered her secret.”

“Fucking hell.”

Tanneken paused, then went on. “She did not learn until too late that he had known her secret all along, had sought her out for that very reason, had been attached to the embassy in Bruges solely to create a liaison with her. She did not know it until he convinced her to visit his family in a remote hamlet in Germany.”

“How?”

“She did not want to go. By then, she was growing disenchanted with his pronouncements of what she should do and what he would do. He at last persuaded her by saying that perhaps a vacation would be beneficial to his efforts at impregnating her—she had told him by now of her desire for a child. She left her home behind in the care of agents, and traveled to Germany, and there Edel handed her into the care of Herr Doktor Professor Kauz and a squad of soldiers, who promptly dragged Edel outside and shot him. No one was to know of the true experiments to happen here.” She paused. “That is all. You know the rest.”

“You escaped? You must have escaped. How did you do it?”

“There was an opportunity when Kauz was not at the laboratory for several days. I was a wolf, and I attacked a guard.”

Noel sucked in his breath, and promptly doubled over with pain, which bumped his arm against his belly and sent another explosion of pain from his head to his toes. His stomach roiled with nausea; the only thing that kept him from retching was knowing exactly how badly it would hurt.

“Look at me!”

Noel hissed through his teeth. Tanneken’s fingers didn’t let go of his chin.

She said, “You must change.”

That would hurt even worse than retching. True, he would heal much more quickly, but then Kauz would see it happen. He couldn’t speak. Grimly, he closed his eyes and tried a small shake of his head.

“You have no choice. He is clever. He knows how long we can bear it.”

She had borne it.

“I changed. I changed every time. You must change. He is enjoying watching your suffering.”

“Fuck,” he said.

She leaned close and murmured into his ear, “If you are injured so badly, there is no escape. Tell me, and I will end it for you.” She softly caressed his cheek with her lips.

“Fucking hell.”

“Idiot! I should leave you behind.”

“Not so much an idiot as that,” he whispered, and changed. It was worse than he’d imagined; if he’d imagined this much pain, he would not have dared. He bit his tongue, then gave up and screamed, to see if that would help. He smelled Tanneken near to him, and focused on her through the most terrible, ripping agony he’d ever experienced.

His scream distorted to a yowl, more like a cat than a wolf, when he aligned in a new shape, his bones returning to their normal state. He sighed in relief as his head flopped to the floor. He thumped his tail, once. The pain receded, leaving him stiff and sore.

Tanneken laid her hand on his side and burrowed her fingers deeply into his pelage. Noel closed his eyes. He lacked the strength to thump his tail again, but she would understand. She shifted position, lying down on her side and resting her
cheek on his shoulder, still digging her fingers through his pelage, tender comfort she would not give him in words. Noel sighed deeply and let himself sleep. When he awoke, perhaps they could play for time, lead Kauz to believe he might succeed in his demands.

Near dawn, the guards arrived and flooded the cell with anesthetic gas. He woke just enough to feel Tanneken being dragged from him; she struggled and yipped, but she was already losing consciousness. His own body wouldn’t obey him, his growls and snaps existing only in his mind, his claws scrabbling helplessly on the concrete floor. He couldn’t even force his body into a change, to shout his protests.

When he awoke again, he was alone. He threw his head back and howled.

PARIS WAS THRONGED WITH SOLDIERS, MOST OF them in French blue or British khaki, but Crispin saw Russians, as well, and even a group of French colonials, tall black men in red caps who came from Senegal, a country that to him was only a place on a map, but to these men was home. The Africans did not look happy with the gray sky and the damp chill in the air; some were so swathed in layers of scarves that their faces could hardly be distinguished. Crispin was grateful for the wool lining of his trench coat, and the woolen scarf Hailey had given him, but he would have been happy with none of it, he was so glad to be out of the trenches, and so glad that Meyer walked beside him. Meyer looked elegant in his wool overcoat until one noticed that the tip of his nose had gone scarlet with cold. He would need to be warmed up. Crispin would be happy to take on the task, if only he could find their hotel. They’d been walking uphill, so he knew it had to be near.

Meyer stopped outside a little café. “Let’s have some coffee,” he suggested. Obviously, he suspected Crispin was lost.

Luckily, at that moment Crispin spied a familiar facade halfway down the block. “Let’s drop off our kit first,” he said, daring to touch Meyer’s elbow before he pointed to the Hotel Lutetia. He had stayed here once on a trip with his choir while at university, when they’d gone to sing at the British embassy.

The concierge did not look twice at them, nor did he read their scrawled signatures. The hotel had suffered in recent months; perhaps staff had been lost to the army. The lift was broken. Crispin and Meyer climbed two flights of stairs while a boy took their rucksacks and bag of food before bounding up the staircase like a goat, peppering them with questions about the front, the battles in which they’d taken part, and a whole series of gory inquiries that Crispin ignored but Meyer answered patiently. At the door to their room, Meyer gave the boy a coin and sent him on his way while Crispin fumbled with the key.

Meyer’s gloved hand closed over his. “Gently,” he suggested, and of course the doorknob turned. Meyer let go of his hand and went in. From within the small room, he said, sounding relieved, “Steam heat. It’s warm. Come in quick and close the door.”

Meyer quickly shed his scarf and coat, hanging them in the wardrobe. He tossed his hat onto the top shelf. Crispin stood in the doorway, unable to move yet.

Surely Meyer was aware of Crispin’s intentions, even though he hadn’t stated them explicitly. Trembling, Crispin fingered the tin of salve in his pocket, discreetly wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He slipped through the door. The room was indeed warm, enough so that he shivered, his toes prickling with returning feeling. He dared to tug down his scarf and sighed deeply as the warmth began to soak in. He didn’t have to say anything just yet.

The lodgings weren’t luxurious, but they were private and clean. He couldn’t look away from the double-size bed and its inviting goose-down coverlets and pillows. Meyer sat on the only chair, rummaging in his rucksack, emerging with a hoot of triumph. He held a bottle aloft. “Brandy,” he said. “Just the thing for a cup of tea.”

Crispin took a deep breath. “I’d like a bath first, really.”

“Hell, yes,” Meyer said, grinning. “It’s worth coming to Paris just for a bath and to have someone else take care of the laundry.”

“I remember there was a tub and a shower bath both,” Crispin said.

“Even better.” Meyer paused, looked down at his hands, then up at Crispin again. “Hailey told me that you…were fond of me.”

He couldn’t breathe, but he had to, because he’d decided he was not going to lie, even by omission. “Yes, I am.”

“I thought I’d done something to shock you.”

At first, Crispin wasn’t sure what he meant, then he began to laugh. “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

Meyer let out his breath in a whoosh. “That’s all right, then. Let’s have our baths, then we’ll see what’s to be done with the evening. If that’s what you had in mind?”

Crispin sagged back against the door. “That’s all? You’re not shocked? Horrified? Planning to turn me in?”

Meyer stood, shoving his spectacles up his nose from where they’d slid. “No.”

“You haven’t read the regulations, then.”

“Does it matter what the regulations say, or what we do in this room, where no one else can see, and where only we will know?”

Crispin shook his head slowly. “I’ve been defying the law all my life. But I didn’t expect
you
would just—”

“I’ve done it before,” Meyer admitted softly.

“Gabriel,” Crispin said, then almost stopped, he was so surprised the familiar name had come out of his mouth. “What we did, back in that shell hole—that’s not what I—”

“Noel Ashby and I were lovers.”

Crispin could have been knocked over with a wisp of straw. “How did you manage that?” He felt, oddly, betrayed.

Gabriel grinned. “Not recently. We were boys. It all stopped when I went off to conservatory, but until then, we tried everything we could think of. And I…I like women, but I wasn’t averse to any of that, either.”

So Gabriel probably had more experience with making love to a man than Crispin did. It wasn’t fair.

When he didn’t answer, Gabriel said, “I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier. I shouldn’t have just run off and left you worrying. I was stupid not to say anything.”

“I trusted you not to tell,” Crispin said. “I thought I’d upset you. God knows it’s happened before.” He felt heat rise in his cheeks, and he hurriedly looked at the worn blue carpet.

“It was still wrong of me.”

Crispin looked up then. “You were scared. So was I. Let’s leave it there.”

Meyer got up and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You have the kindest heart I’ve ever met, Crispin.”

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, but I’m not afraid to admit when I’m scared.”

“And now?”

Crispin grinned shakily. “I’m only scared that you’ll refuse me.”

Meyer came closer. “I would have told you at once, not come all this way.” He drew his hands from his pockets and unbuttoned Crispin’s coat. He pulled it open only far enough to insinuate his arms beneath and wrap them around Crispin’s waist.

Crispin couldn’t get his breath again. He returned the embrace, tentatively at first, then held on more tightly when Gabriel relaxed against him. He bent his head, rubbing his nose against Gabriel’s neck, which smelled of his familiar shaving lotion.

“Mmm,” said Gabriel.

Crispin felt, for a few moments, as if time had stopped. He closed his eyes and shifted even closer. His feet were still cold, and he desperately wanted to wash off the filth of weeks, but he never wanted to let go of Gabriel, who was giving him the one thing he needed most in the world. He let go and stepped away. He said, “We can do that again, without all these damn clothes.”

Gabriel pushed his specs up his nose and grinned. “I like the way you think.”

Perhaps Gabriel wouldn’t like what Crispin had in mind. He was prepared for disappointment, of course. He would take whatever Gabriel offered, but he couldn’t quite shake the desire to have Gabriel inside him, closer than he could be in any other way.

Crispin shed his scarf and coat. “We can wash and then soak.”

“Sounds lovely.”

It was the single most painful shower he’d ever had. He was lucky he didn’t bring himself off with his hand without even trying. One day, Crispin reflected, he would like to have Gabriel in his own house, in his own bathroom, not a hotel bathroom with other people’s rooms on either side. He’d be
able to watch every shift of his muscles as he bent to wash himself, his long toes curling against tile, his back arching in the way that it might arch over Crispin’s. They’d be able to share a tub, and fondle each other beneath the water and above its surface. For now, he admired the hairy calf that dangled over the tub’s edge while he squeezed water from his curls. “We could go out,” he said. “Have some supper.”

“Or we could have bread and cheese and wine later this evening. Do you want some wine, first?”

Crispin shook his head and met Gabriel’s eyes. “No.”

Back in their room, Crispin stripped off his towel as soon as the door was closed, yanked down the coverlet and turned on the lamp. The corridor had been icy, but now that he was warm, he couldn’t bear to hide himself anymore. He was already erect, his cock nearly reaching his belly. Gabriel dropped his towel, as well, and met him halfway in a close, warm embrace that made him shiver with lust more than he had from cold. Crispin traced his hands up and down Gabriel’s back, entranced by the softness of his skin over the powerful muscles in his shoulders, and by the individual bumps of his spine. Gabriel stroked him in return, his touch tentative at first, then he bent his head to Crispin’s throat and gently bit.

Crispin laughed, even as he arched his neck into Gabriel’s mouth, rubbing his skin against the bristles of his mustache, the smooth hardness of his teeth. “Oh, right there,” he said, grinning when Gabriel scraped his teeth down the length of a tendon. He buried his fingers in Gabriel’s thick golden hair, not so much to direct him as to simply hold on.

Gabriel worked his way down Crispin’s chest, nipping at his pectorals through the curls on his chest, moving inexorably downward. Crispin said between gasps, “What do you like?”

“This,” Gabriel said, gently closing his teeth on a nipple and sucking, hard.

“Fuck,” Crispin said, his fingers working against Gabriel’s scalp.

“Yes,” Gabriel murmured. “I like it when someone’s at my mercy.” Abruptly, he lifted his head, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Crispin grinned. “It’s not bad when someone wants to be at your mercy.” He dragged Gabriel’s head to him and kissed him, openmouthed and rough, then pressed their bodies close together. “Let me tell you what I want. I’ve had lots of time to think about it. I want our clothes off, and the lamp lit, and you looking at me and me looking at you.” He leaned back, just enough to thoroughly study Gabriel’s face, and his shoulders, and his chest, and his belly, and his circumcised cock in its astonishing veined smoothness. Later, he wanted Gabriel’s cock over his tongue and jammed against his palate. He put his hand to Gabriel’s cheek and rubbed with his thumb, then kissed him slowly, humming in his throat when Gabriel kissed him back. He pulled away and said, “I want you to fuck me, and I want it to be all right that I want to be fucked.” He paused. “Is it?”

Gabriel’s throat moved as he swallowed. “Yes. If it’s what you want.”

Crispin nodded sharply. “Yes. I want to be fucked by you, and I want us to remember, later, that it happened. And tomorrow, I want to do it all again.”

“It doesn’t sound like much,” Gabriel said in a slow and thoughtful tone. “You already have most of it, and we’ll get to the rest shortly.”

“Exactly,” Crispin said. “Except this is the first time I—not like that—but in the light. Do you know what I mean?”

Gabriel flushed. “I don’t know, I haven’t always done the right thing by you—”

“When it counts, you have,” Crispin said. “You’re here now. I trust you, you know. I have since we met. I know you won’t think less of me because I want to be fucked.”

Gabriel met his gaze again. “How could I, when I’ve done it myself?”

“You’d be surprised,” Crispin said, and kissed him again.

Gabriel drew back first, but not too far. He spent a few moments staring into Crispin’s eyes. Crispin felt another smile stretch his face. He leaned forward and nudged his nose against Gabriel’s. Not coincidentally, his cock bumped into Gabriel’s.

“Well?”

Gabriel’s eyes had gone hot. He asked, “Do you have anything we can use?”

“In my coat pocket.”

“Why don’t you fetch it, then?” Gabriel sat on the bed.

Crispin got the tin and tossed it to him. Gabriel caught it one-handed and examined the wrappings. After a moment, lounging back on the bed, one knee drawn up, he picked apart the knotted string with teeth and fingers. Crispin’s cock twitched as he imagined those teeth on him.

Crispin sat next to him. He wanted to touch Gabriel’s softly furred legs, so he did, stroking their length, feeling the hair beneath his palms as well as hard muscle. He remarked, “I used that kind once before.” He pictured the slickness on him, in him, and shivered. He wanted Gabriel in him so badly that he physically ached. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Put some on your cock. I want to watch.”

“Kiss me first.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone as much as I’ve kissed you,”
Crispin said, stretching out beside him, fitting their bodies together. When his cock slid against Gabriel’s, he closed his eyes for a moment, catching his breath. He was going to make this last.

“I like kissing,” Gabriel said, cupping his hand over Crispin’s buttock. “I’m going to kiss you all over.”

Crispin slipped his tongue between Gabriel’s parted lips. Soon they were clutching each other and panting.

“I have to stop,” Crispin said, his chest heaving against Gabriel’s. “I wanted to make it last.”

“Next time,” Gabriel promised. His hand circled gently on Crispin’s arse. “Do you want me to bring you off first?” When Crispin shook his head, he said, “Turn over for me, then.”

Crispin lay on his belly for Gabriel and felt safer than he had in months. He rested his head on his folded arms and closed his eyes as Gabriel kissed him between his shoulder blades, leaving a warm spot behind.

“Let’s try this pillow,” Gabriel said, arranging it beneath Crispin, then stroking the backs of his thighs. Crispin heard the metallic scrape of the tin’s lid being twisted off, then felt a warm, wet kiss pressed to the small of his back. Oiled hands stroked from there to the backs of his thighs, then eased into the crease of his arse.

Velvety sensation rushed up his spine; he shuddered, sighed and relaxed into Gabriel’s gently probing, stretching fingers until his skin thrummed like a plucked string. “That’s good,” he said. “Put some on your cock.”

“Do you want to turn over and watch?”

“Just hurry,” Crispin said, grinning into the sheet. He suddenly wanted to laugh. He did laugh when the head of Gabriel’s cock pressed inside him, until he ran out of breath.