Bloody Good Page 22

  Alice appeared to consider the question several seconds. “I don’t think so. Peter was with me and we got home alright.”

  Peter had done nothing helpful that he could see, but wasn’t about to argue the point. “It was the same as two nights ago,” he said. “I swear it was the same.”

  “It’s getting arrogant and troublesome,” Mrs. Burrows said.

  He’d have used a stronger word, but that wasn’t really the point. “Alice did something to it and it fled.”

  Her old face lit up, her eyes glinting with delight and a wide smile creasing the corners of her eyes. “Wonderful! At last, my love. At last.” Peter felt he was missing something vital.

  Mrs. Burrows crossed to where Alice sat and took the hand Peter wasn’t holding. “At last, you understand, don’t you, Alice?”

  “I’m not sure.” Neither was Peter. “I didn’t think about it. I just wanted the thing to go away. Gran, I was terrified. If it hadn’t been for Peter I don’t know what I’d have done.”

  “I think I ought to say I didn’t do anything. It was Alice. She was incredible.”

  “She was being herself.”

  That too, but…“What happened?” This was all getting a bit too much for a half-trained vet to handle.

  Mrs. Burrows gave an odd, lopsided smile. “She was herself. Used her Pixie powers. We can call on quite a bit of strength when driven. It just needed you to convince her to do it.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  She chuckled. “You didn’t need to say anything. You were there, that was enough. Honestly, young people nowadays.” She shook her head as she walked over to the stove and lit the gas under the kettle. “You need a warm drink. Both of you.”

  “Maybe I should be going,” Peter said. He could hardly suggest Alice hoof it down there with him after all this. There would be other nights.

  “No!” Alice tightened her hold on his hand. “Don’t go. That thing may be lying in wait for you.”

  Possibly, but he’d have to get going at some point and maybe now whatever it was (he still could not think of it as a vampire, for heaven’s sakes) was still reeling from Alice’s onslaught. “Doubt it, love, I think you thoroughly unmanned it.” If that was the right word to use.

  “Don’t leave, Peter, please. I don’t want to be alone.”

  She could hardly call it that with her grandmother in the house now busily pottering around putting cups on saucers and searching through a row of tins on the top shelf of the dresser.

  “Alright, for a while.”

  “I think you’d best stay, Peter,” Mrs. Burrows said looking up from filling a muslin bag with dried herbs and petals. “Alice needs you far more than you realize. You can have Simon’s room. The bed’s made up. Alice will show you where to go.”

  That sort of settled things. Not precisely what he’d planned for the end of the evening, but a man could adapt. “Well, thank you, if it’s not an imposition.”

  “Imposition!” She shook her head. “For the first time in her life, Alice chose to use her powers. I think we all owe you, Peter Watson, not the other way around.”

  “I still don’t understand what I did.”

  “You were there, Peter, that’s all was needed.” She put the muslin bag in the pot and poured on water. It was, he noticed, a small, white, china teapot, not the Brown Betty they usually used. “Alice has never used her powers,” Mrs. Burrows went on. “She’s ignored them, even tried to suggest it was all bunk and a bunch of superstition. I tried. I truly tried, but she’s always been as stubborn as a boy. This evening, she finally tapped into her Pixie strength.” She put the pot on the table and covered it with a cozy. “Know what wrought this big change? You, Peter. She drew on the power of all the Pixies to protect you. Now, give that tea ten minutes to brew, it’s a herb blend. It’ll help calm you both down, and I’m off to bed. At my age I need my sleep. See you both in the morning.”

  Before Peter had time to grasp what she was saying, she was gone, leaving them staring at each other in the empty kitchen.

  “You will stay, won’t you?”

  Hell, yes! “Seems your grandmother has made sure of it.”

  “Oh! Gran!” Alice gave a weak smile. “She’s matchmaking, you know.”

  Fine by him. “Does that bother you?”

  “Since she’s never done it before in my life, I’m not sure. I think it’s rather funny.”

  And how was he to take that? “Want some of this tea?”

  “Do you? It’s one of the weird brews Gran gets from Mother Longhurst. Might as well give it a try.”

  He poured two cups and added honey from the jar sitting by the pot. “Here.” He carried Alice’s over to her and drew up the other easy chair.

  They both sipped. “Weird” was a good way to describe it. Not exactly unpleasant, but he’d rather have a nice pot of Typhoo any day. Still, it was warm and wet, and oddly soothing. “Alice, what did your grandmother mean: all that about using your powers because I was there? What have I got to do with it?”

  She took another drink, creasing her forehead, as if trying to pull out the right words to explain. “You really want to know?”

  “Alice, seems I’m up to my neck with vampires, Dragons, and Pixies. I’m out of my depth here.”

  “I was brought up on tales of Pixies and what we could do but weren’t allowed to. As a little girl it struck me as pointless: why have these so-called powers if you couldn’t use them? As I got older they all ended up in the compartment as fairies, Father Christmas, and Guy Fawkes, but I knew Guy Fawkes had been real once. My teenage rebellion was rejecting the lot as superstition and old wives’ tales.

  “I was a scientist. From the time I was ten, I wanted to be a doctor like Dad. Pixies are unscientific. I knew it upset Gran, but I wiped all the old tales out of my mind. Gran gets on at me from time to time about using what I have and I let her go on.

  “Tonight I was scared witless that thing would hurt you. I wouldn’t let it. Gran called it using my powers. Maybe she’s right.”

  She took another sip of tea, paused, and smiled at him. “I didn’t think about it, I just wasn’t going to let that thing hurt you.”

  Yes, well…“I thought I was the one supposed to do the protecting.”

  “You’re not Pixie.” Alice gasped. She’d said it aloud and just for the heck of it repeated the words she never thought she’d ever utter. “I’m Pixie, Peter. I’m still really vague about what that means, but I’m not your average girl next door.”

  “You never were, Alice, and besides, I never did fancy the girl next door.”

  He had no idea what was involved and neither, come to that, did she. “I mean, I’m really different. I think that’s why I denied it for so long. I wanted to be like everyone else.”

  “I’m glad you’re not.” He scooted his chair forward so their knees touched. “I love you, Alice. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I still can’t believe my luck.”

  “Ending up deep in the middle of vampires, Dragons, and Pixies?”

  “Hell, yes, bring on the elves and fairies too, if you like.”

  That was a thought. “You believe in elves and fairies?”

  “I bet right this moment they’re sitting by a fire somewhere asking, ‘I wonder if Pixies really exist?’”

  How preposterous. And how perfectly possible. “You don’t think this is all getting a little outlandish?”

  “Alice, love, it went beyond outlandish when Sergeant Pendragon sprouted talons in this very kitchen.”

  Just two days ago. “We have to stop this thing. It can’t mean us any good.”

  “How? If you read Dracula, it was consecrated hosts, holy, water, and stakes. I don’t think Reverend Roundhill would go for the hosts or the holy water and they always struck me as verging on the sacrilegious.”

  But stakes! That was it! “It’s wood, Peter. Stakes. Remember the first vampire and the tree he impaled himself on. Wood harms them. That has t
o be it.”

  “So we sharpen a few stakes, but we still have to find him.”

  “Maybe he’ll find us again. He’s gone after you twice.” Dear God! That thought froze her soul. “Peter.” She wrapped her arms around him. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Neither do I, love, but what about you? You take care.”

  She had to smile at that. “I’m Pixie, Peter.” There, she’d said it again. Gran must be smiling in her sleep. “That thing’s afraid of me.”

  She leaned right into him, needing to feel his body close. He kissed the top of her head and she felt it down to her toes, and a couple of interesting places in between. She eased herself from his arms and stood. “Let’s go to bed.”

  “Yes, right. Your brother’s room, Mrs. Burrows said, if you’ll show me the way.”

  She’d show him alright. Power and confidence flowed through her like warm hope. She was Pixie. The man she loved and lusted after accepted that. He was staying the night and, judging by their recent very close contact, in the same frame of mind as she was.

  “Come on, Peter.”

  She turned the kitchen light out and led him upstairs.

  Chapter 32

  They took the stairs two at a time. It was far too slow. At the top of the stairs, Alice opened her bedroom door and pulled him in.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, taking in the lace bedspread and the chintz cushions on the wicker chair. “This isn’t your brother’s room.”

  “No,” she replied and shut the door. “It’s not.”

  “Good,” he whispered in her ear.

  Her heart raced with need and longing. “Will you stay?”

  “Only if you’re sure.”

  She stood on tiptoe, laced her hands behind his neck, and kissed him. Hard and long, opening his mouth with hers and teasing him with her tongue. “Does that feel like ‘sure’?” she asked as she paused for breath.

  His reply was to pull her close and set his mouth on hers—his hard, hot, and wonderful mouth. She gladly opened and met his tongue. They were wondrously matched, paired with desire and sheer and utter need. His hand was inside her blouse, stroking her breasts, sending sensations streaming through her. Her little sigh was lost in the depth of his kiss. His thigh came between hers and she opened her legs, wanting more than a strong thigh between them.

  She yanked his shirt from his trousers so she could touch his skin, feel the warm, hard plane of his chest, and the soft downy pelt of hair, and tease his nipples with her fingertips.

  He let out a mutter and responded by unsnapping her bra so her breasts hung free to his touch. His magic touch. His wondrous touch. She couldn’t hold back the moan. Had no need to. She wanted him. Wanted his hands everywhere: on her breasts, stroking her neck, teasing her nipples. But it wasn’t enough and never would be.

  She wanted him between her legs.

  She wanted him inside.

  “Alice,” he whispered. “I need you.”

  “Good.”

  She pulled up his shirt, ripping it open and resting her face against his chest. She listened to his racing heartbeat as her fingers played his nipple. It hardened satisfyingly at her touch, but she licked it anyway.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

  Was he changing his mind? Not if his body was anything to go by. “I’m sure.” She reached down and cupped her hand over his fly and the erection beneath. “I think you are, too.”

  “Alice, I want you so much it hurts!”

  “Good,” she said again. To the wanting bit at least. “You’re hurting? Let me kiss it better.”

  His eyes grew big. “Alice…” he began.

  “I mean it.” She took his hand and led him the few feet to her bed. “You have too many clothes on,” she said, unbuckling his belt.

  “So do you!”

  She hadn’t intended to be the one on the bed, but she was on her back as he pushed her blouse and cardigan off her shoulders and tossed them aside. Her bra went with them and he stood back, smiling.

  She needed more than appreciative looks, no matter how flattering his admiration might be. Besides, he had more clothes on than she did. She sat up and had his shirt off faster than she realized. She didn’t remember undoing it, but it was gone. Along with his belt.

  His erection was still very evident and hadn’t he mentioned hurting? “Sit down,” she said as she slipped onto the floor and settled between his legs.

  “Alice…” he began.

  “Shh.” She unfastened his waistband and the buttons in his fly. The sheer wantonness of her actions thrilled her. He was her man, her lover. They’d faced and overcome horror and now was their moment. Time stopped as they loved. This room was a haven from the worries of war and survival. Nothing mattered but the two of them.

  “Stand up,” she said as the last button came undone.

  His trousers fell into her hands and she eased down his Y fronts. She gazed in almost breathless awe at his wondrous erection. Such power. Such strength. Such manliness. And all for her. Because of her. She was his desire.

  Her fingers stroked one side of his erection.

  “Alice, love,” he said in a rough whisper that became a groan as she closed her hand around him. A most satisfying groan, it sounded to her. Definitely promising. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Talking was a sheer waste of breath. She’d save hers. She settled back between his knees, rested a hand on each of his thighs, and kissed the tip of his erection. Since that seemed to make him very happy, she opened her lips and took the head of his cock into her mouth, licking the smooth skin as her lips closed around him.

  In reply, he grasped her head, tunneling his fingers in her hair and groaning.

  It sounded like sheer pleasure.

  She took more of him in.

  She’d read about doing this, talked about it endlessly in her student days, imagined it, but nothing in her wildest fancies approached the rush and thrill of kneeling, enclosed by the safety and strength of her lover’s thighs, and feeling his male power between her lips. He was totally vulnerable, offering his most prized and delicate parts to her.

  A great wash of loving and passion swamped her mind; she was incapable of any thought other than Peter, his cock, his love, and her need. She moved her lips up and down his shaft and her body responded with its own need. A pulse throbbed between her legs. Now she understood about “hurting.” She needed him deep inside but never wanted to loose his cock from between her lips.

  She’d be happy to stay like this till dawn, till morning, forever.

  “Alice.” He gently pulled her mouth off him. “You are marvelous, but now it’s my turn. You’re not even fully naked.”

  She knelt back on her heels, lifting her chin and chest so her breasts stood out. “Better do something about that.”

  He did.

  Standing her up and undoing her skirt, he let it drop to the floor. He disposed of that and her slip before tossing her on the bed and opening her thighs, as he ran his hand up to the tops of her stockings and stroked the sensitive flesh on the inside of her thighs. “These have got to go, I’m afraid. Very sexy and all that but if I’m naked, you most certainly have to be.” As he spoke, he unhooked one suspender and slowly, as if to tease, rolled down her left stocking, pausing to kiss the inside of her ankle just before he eased the silk off her foot and tossed it over his shoulder.

  “Now for the other one.” If anything, he took even longer over the second one. He spent five minutes playing with the suspenders and several rolling the stocking down inch by careful inch.

  “Are you doing this deliberately slowly?”

  “You noticed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think of is as anticipation, my love.”

  “More like torture if you ask me!” But delicious, wonderful torture that had her literally purring as he kissed up the inside of her legs and back again.

  Felt wonderful, apart from the sweet and burning ache between her
legs. “Arch your hips,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “Best get these sexy knickers off.”

  They were gone. She was as naked as he. The wildness of the night took possession of them. They kissed, caressed, and fondled each other’s bodies, exploring, touching, and tasting, caught up in a mutual frenzy of passion. It was wonderful and incredible.

  “You have condoms?” she asked. If he hadn’t she’d kill him.

  “In my pocket; I’ll get them.”

  Nice of him. Especially since it gave her a magnificent view of his nice thighs and tight bum as he bent to retrieve his trousers from the tangle of clothes on the floor.

  Also gave her the chance to pull back her bedclothes and smooth down the sheets.

  For him.

  He paused to sheath himself while she readied the bed.

  Now she watched him. Watching her.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said. “Lovely. I used to dream about someone like you. Dreams do come true, you know.”

  “I know.”

  Why were they ogling each other when they could be loving? Should be loving. Needed to be loving.

  A wild surge filled her, flooding her brain with lust and power. She stepped toward him. He put his arms around her and toppled her onto the bed, settling between her legs as his mouth found her nipple. Only now, she was the one drawing from him as her passion soared and her need burned while he drew on her other breast, then kissed a line up between her breasts to her neck and chin and finally, after minutes of agonizing joy, he found her mouth and pressed hard.

  She opened to take his mouth with hers, slaking her need and longing as their tongues caressed, but it still wasn’t enough.

  Driven by wanting, she rolled him over, pinning him to the bed as she straddled his thighs.

  This was shockingly lewd and rather lovely and his grin suggested he agreed wholeheartedly.

  Seemed a fire burned between her legs.

  A wondrous fire. A great blaze of need. And all she needed was Peter.

  “I love you,” she said, taking his erection in her hand and holding him steady as she lowered herself.

  He let out a long, slow groan and closed his eyes. Seemed his entire being, her entire being, were focused on the joining between their legs.