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But while Brad and Irma whirled to the wild music, Glina was simply ... whirled away! A Gypsy lad shared his wine with her, and walked her behind a tree where the branches came down low. Now, she couldn't even remember how he'd looked. But then he had been the handsomest boy in town, and unlike Nestor he'd known exactly what to do. His mouth had sucked the breath from her lungs, and lifting her skirts he'd slipped into her slick as an eel. Afterwards ... he was gone as quick as he came. No one had known but Glina - oh, and the boy, of course - but she'd dreamed of him almost every night since, right up until Nestor came. And then she'd dreamed of Nestor.
One day when her father was off hunting, and her mother washed clothes and stored vegetables, Glina had finished her tasks about the cabin and gone down to the river where Nestor was fishing. She deliberately wore a short dress and a blouse buttoned to the waist. And as soon as she was out of sight of the cabin, she'd quickly unbuttoned the top of her blouse to show the i
Sitting down beside Nestor, she'd made a great play of lifting her dress so that her thighs would show, and talking to him she'd held his face towards her and leaned forward, tempting his eyes to her cleavage. And he had looked at her. There had been something in his eyes at least, even if she couldn't say what. But despite that while she talked to him she leaned her hand on his thigh and squeezed it, always when she stopped speaking and relaxed, his attention would return to the river and his line.
Committed, finally Glina had stripped naked, waded into the water, and bathed there right in front of him. He wasn't likely to tell anyone, after all. No longer able to fish, Nestor had watched her; and as she came out of the river gleaming wet, breasts lolling, at last he had stood up. Then ... she'd definitely seen something in his eyes, and a little more than something in his hand.
Hurrying him out of his clothes, she had kissed him all over that body she'd so cared for, and guided his hand to her aching flesh while she sucked on his rod. And Nestor: he might be damaged in his mind, but his body was whole; it wasn't long before the fire in his loins sparked faint, fleeting, disjointed memories in his head. And then ...
... It had been as it was now, as it had been ever since.
In the sun-dappled shade of a willow, driving into her as if to split her, Nestor's face had been a mask of -what? - hatred? Oh, he had wanted her body, desperately desired to pour all of his angers, his frustrations into her, and so empty himself of them for a little while at least. But it wasn't love or even lust that he felt. No, for if anything Nestor took revenge against something which even he had forgotten, something which he had never understood in the first place.
His hands had crushed her breasts, which were scarcely hurt but yielded to the pain, the pleasure, and his mouth had crushed her mouth. And Nestor had moaned as he came again and again into her, and she felt the burn of his hot spray deep in her core. He had moaned a name - Minha? Minya? - Misha! And it was like a curse coughed from his damp slack mouth as his right hand left her breasts to tighten on Glina's throat.
But Glina was no weak little thing to be throttled. Now as then, she took his hair, yanked back his head, grasped him with her sex and sucked the last drop of loathing out of him; until he fell exhausted on his side, and rolled over on to his back. And then she hugged him, and sobbed while she worked his shrivelling flesh in her hand. She sobbed for herself, because she wasn't this Misha who had hurt him so much - whom he must have loved - and for Nestor himself, because he had been hurt so much ...
And so Glina loved him, and was in turn 'loved'.
Later she used him, sat on him where her hands had brought him back to life. But because his eyes were dull again and his body's responses simply that, responses, she took cold pleasure in it...
On their way back to the cabin, suddenly Nestor paused and his face turned up to the sky. He sniffed - an animal sound - and his dark eyes flashed starshine. A
moment later and Glina felt, sensed, heard it too. And gasped!
The moon was floating low over the distant barrier range. But there was more than moon and stars in the sky. Small dark shadows flitted high overhead; they blotted out the starlight and passed on. Then larger, more sinister manta shapes came gliding behind, while bringing up the rear -
- Something pulsed and throbbed, faint at first but growing louder.
'Down!' Glina whispered, dragging Nestor to his knees in a clump of night damp bushes. And a pair of Wamphyri warriors went spurting and pulsing overhead, their chitin armour tinged blue in the glitter of the stars.
A breeze had come up; it formed the blue-grey exhaust gases of the warriors into a veil across the sky; it fell on the forest in an acrid stench of something dead and crawling with maggots. Glina held her breath, but Nestor breathed deep. And suddenly ... he was alert! Brushing her hand away, he stood up, came slowly erect as the shapes of nightmare passed from view. He saw the sentient, liquid eyes of the warriors swivelling and sca
And: 'Wamphyri!' Glina breathed, when they had gone.
Wamphyri.' The word burned like cold fire.
Nestor looked at her. He was pale; there was recognition, a question in his eyes. His mouth twitched a little, and spoke at last. 'Wamphyri?'
'Shhh!' she cautioned, despite that they had gone.
Seconds passed and he spoke again, urgently. 'Wamphyri?'
Brad Berea came rushing along the path from the cabin. He was buttoning his jacket, his breath forming plumes in the suddenly cold air. 'Nestor ... and Glina!' He brushed Nestor aside, fell on his daughter and hugged her. 'We heard them - their warriors - and I knew you were out here. But we're well hidden away in the trees and they passed us by, again ...'
Nestor took his arm, and Brad looked at him in surprise. 'Eh?' he said. 'What's this? Life in the dummy? Has it scared some wits into him, then?'
'Again?' said Nestor. 'They've passed us by, again?'
'A yellow mocklark!' Brad grunted. 'He repeats my words like a bird, without understanding a one of them!'
'Wamphyri!' Nestor suddenly shouted, and grabbed Brad by the throat. But Brad was strong, and now that the danger was past he was also angry. He tripped Nestor and knocked him flying into the bushes.
'Father!' Glina cried. 'He was only frightened!' But she wondered ... Nestor's eyes had been so strange watching those monsters fly overhead . .. she had sensed his fascination.
Nestor stood up and she took his arm. 'Aye, look after him,' her father grunted, turning back toward the cabin. Tor if he goes for me again you'll be tending his cracked skull a second time!'
As he faded into the darkness, Nestor whispered: 'Again? Have they passed ... before?'
'When you were sick,' she told him. 'It was like tonight, just an hour or so after the sun was down. They had been doing some early hunting. We saw them heading home again, toward the Northstar, which shines on Starside's last aerie.'
The Northstar!' he said, turning his head unerringly in that direction, and gazing at the evilly glittering star, frozen like a chunk of ice over the barrier range. 'Heading home. The Wamphyri...'
'Come on,' she said, almost dragging him along the path. 'Let's get in.'
But not far from the cabin she pushed him against a tree and felt to see if there was life in him yet. There was still time, barely. Sometimes, even though she'd had him more than once, he would be ready; but not tonight. And as she took his hand again and led him back to the cabin, still his eyes were fixed on the low silhouette of the mountains, and the star of ill-omen which lit them. And in Nestor's mind, all unheard: Home - the Northstar- the last aerie - the Wamphyri! Compared to which, the lure of Glina's body was nothing ...