The Howling

When he was a hundred yards down the grassy road toward the village, Roy Beatty slowed down. His anger had melted away, and he was ashamed of the way he had spoken to Karyn. He reminded himself what she had been through, and that the only reason they came to this isolated valley was to help her. The last thing in the world he should be doing now was losing his temper and storming out of the house like some sulky adolescent.

But a werewolf! It had to be, Roy decided, Inez Polk who was putting such ideas into Karyn's head. He wished now that he had gone over to the car when he came out of the house and had it out with the woman. But at the time he had been too angry. All he wanted to do was get away.

Well, no, that was not quite right. His real reason for going to the village, he had to admit, was to see Marcia Lura one more time. He would have to tell Marcia he was leaving. It would not be easy, but it was impossible to simply go without seeing her again. His emotional bond to the green-eyed woman was too strong to allow that. Roy could not put a name to the emotion between him and Marcia. Not love, certainly, not in the sense that he loved Karyn. Lust was more accurate. Sheer physical attraction. Chemistry. And yet there was more to it than that. Marcia Lura had introduced him to sensual delights that were beyond anything he had experienced. Beyond anything he had imagined. No, it would not be easy to leave what he had found here.

Roy came to the main road that led into the village. As he turned and walked toward the gift shop he tried and rejected a number of opening remarks for what he must say to Marcia. There was no way to soften it.

In a way, he told himself, it was good that this business with Karyn had come up now. Eventually he would have had to break off with Marcia, and the longer he put it off, the more difficult it would be. Her hold on him would grow with every meeting. It was like a strange sweet sickness.

The village of Drago was bright and empty. Eddies of dust curled along the main street in the light breeze. The shadows of afternoon had barely begun to darken the valley. Roy turned at Marcia Lura's gift shop and pushed in through the door.

The bell over the door tinkled, an incongruously merry sound that did not match his mood. He peered around in the perpetually dim light of the shop.

Marcia came in through the curtains in the rear that separated the shop from her living quarters. She wore tight-fitting pants that hugged her thighs and belled out at the ankles. A striped blouse was open several buttons down, revealing an amulet on a gold chain that hung in the crevice between her breasts.

'Hello, Roy,' she said. 'I wasn't expecting you until later.'

For a moment he stood looking at her without speaking. Her pale-green eyes were softly luminous in the dusk. The black hair had an animal sheen to it that reflected blue highlights. She was so beautiful it brought a lump to his throat.

'I have to talk to you, Marcia,' he said finally.

'All right. Come in the back.' She reached out a slim arm to part the curtains.

For a moment Roy hesitated. Somewhere deep in his subconsciousness a warning sounded, but the nearness of the woman, the heat of her body, the scent of her, overpowered his doubts. He walked through the curtain into her rooms.

'I was having some tea,' she said. 'Let me make you a cup.'

Without waiting for him to answer, Marcia went to her small gas range and turned up the flame under a copper teakettle. From a canister she spooned crumbled leaves into a cup, then added a few drops of thick liquid from an opaque bottle. Roy watched, fascinated by the grace of even her smallest movements.

When the water was boiling Marcia poured it into the cup and stirred the mixture. She carried the cup across the room and set it on a low table before the sofa.

'Let the tea steep for a minute before you drink it,' she said. She sat down on the sofa, patting the cushion next to her.

Roy sat down beside her, but was careful not to let their bodies touch. To keep from looking into her eyes, he busied himself stirring the tea. Its aroma was a mixture of spices with a hint of something bitter.

'You wanted to talk to me,' Marcia said.

'Yes.'

'About us?'

'In a way. And about Karyn. She isn't getting any better.'

'I'm sorry.'

'So am I. I'm going to have to take her away from here.'

'You're leaving Drago?'

'I have to.'

For the briefest fraction of a second Marcia's body stiffened. The pale-green eyes narrowed, and Roy saw a flash there of something dark and dangerous. Then it was gone. Marcia was poised again, cool and lovely, and Roy thought he must have imagined the moment.

'How soon must you go?' Her throaty voice was without emotion.

'Tomorrow.'

'I see. Your tea should be ready to drink now.'

Roy looked down at the cup as though wondering where it had come from. He lifted it to his lips and sipped the dark brew. It had a sweet, wild taste.

'Do you like it?' she asked. 'It's a very old recipe.'

'It's fine,' he said quickly. 'Marcia, I don't want to talk about the tea.'

'About what, then?'

'I hate to leave you. Do you know that?'

'I know,' she said. 'But we never pretended it was forever, did we?'

'No, but I want you to know that it wasn't just a… a fling for me. You've been something very special in my life. You've given me something I've never known. I'll never forget you, Marcia.'

Marcia leaned toward him. Again he had the delicious sensation of being drawn into those deep green eyes. Into them and down to unknown depths.

'No,' she said softly. 'You never will forget me. Drink your tea, darling.'

He raised the cup and drank. The pungent steam brought tears to his eyes. When he put the cup back down in the saucer he was surprised to see that his hand was shaking.

Marcia watched him. She reached over and placed her hand on his leg. The fingers seemed to sear his flesh through the cloth. His world shrank to this room and this hour and this woman.

He touched her hair. His hand moved to the back of her neck and pulled her head toward him. They kissed, their mouths open, tongues mating. When at last he pulled back a little way, Roy was breathing heavily.

'I do love you, Marcia,' he said.

She shook her head. 'No. You admire me. You want me. You may even need me. But you do not love me.'

Roy started to say something more, but she stopped him.

'Not yet,' she said. 'You do not love me yet. But you will, my Roy, you will.'

He kissed her again. His hand moved down the long smooth curve of her back to her firm, round hip. Marcia's body moved under his hand, and he felt that she was wearing nothing beneath the blouse and pants.

Marcia drew back her head and looked into his eyes. The corners of her mouth curled upward in the suggestion of a smile.

'Tell me what you want, Roy.' She ran her tongue across her teeth. 'Tell me what you want to do to me.'

'I want to make love to you,' he said.

'Not like that. Tell me in the real words. The words you say to me when we are naked together.'

'I want to fuck you.'

'Yes. Yes. And what else?'

'I want to taste you.'

'Where?'

'Your breasts. Your nipples. Your cunt. I want to kiss you and taste you there and everywhere.'

'And do you want to be inside me?'

'Yes. Oh, yes.'

'Tell me.'