The chilling, wolf-like cry had sent a tiny tremor rippling over Jean Blakely's curvaceous, naked body, and she snuggled backwards in the bed, up tighter against her young husband, finding reassurance in his sheltering, rugged masculinity. He stirred with the movement, making her realize that she was tickling his face again with strands of her long blonde hair. His strong hand cupping the resilient flesh of her left breast started to move away, then returned as if in after-thought to reclaim the firm, full mound, and she felt the length of his flaccid penis possessively seating itself tighter back between her buttocks, the pubic hair of his lean pelvis pleasurefully brushing against their yielding, sensitive smoothness.
She quietly sighed in drowsing unrest. Her soft belly and tingling sperm flooded vaginal walls still fluttered with little throbbing spasms from the rapture of their love-making. It had nearly happened this time, and she was confident that very soon they would discover the intimate formula. Most of all, she had made him happy; all else, even her own fulfillment, was of secondary importance… but the animal's lonely cry had seemed to add to her uneasiness.
Wide awake once more, Jean's novelly devoted young mind fell into thought. It was just that everything was so strange to her, she supposed… and she loved him so much. Their marriage, Crescent Valley, this new and foreign life away from the city, the latter all that she'd ever really known… it was such a different existence… except for his being a law-enforcement officer.
She'd vowed, after watching her mom's many many nights of worry that she'd never marry a lawman… and here she was, happier than she could ever have dreamed possible. Of course, with Mark it was a little different; he was a deputy sheriff in an almost rural district, while her dad had been a Los Angeles detective with his life constantly in danger, but why couldn't Mark have been a druggist, or a carpenter, or… or…? Ridiculous… lying there thinking such nonsense…! He was Mark Blakely and she loved him with every ounce of strength she possessed! In fact, she couldn't imagine him being anything else but a deputy sheriff; he looked so handsome in his uniform. Besides, if he'd chosen any other career she probably would never have met him! Certainly, he wouldn't have been in L.A. attending the police academy seminar for that week, nor could her father have invited him home to dinner…!
And what a beautiful, whirlwind seven-days they had been: first, the double-dates with Steve and Carol; then, the private ones of their own… and the very first kiss! Shortly, Mark's proposal had followed. Lord, she'd thought she was going to go out of her mind with happiness! Mom had guessed before they'd even had a chance to tell her, Jean remembered, smiling to herself in the darkness, and Dad had just stood there beaming proudly, waiting to give them both his blessing.
Two months ago, yet it seemed like yesterday that Judge Wilton had pronounced them man and wife. It hadn't been at all what she'd girlishly envisioned as her wedding, but neither she nor Mark had wanted to wait another minute. Besides, he'd had to get back here to the valley and she'd had no intentions of letting him come alone… nor had she really known one single moment of regret over her snap decision. She'd loved him from the very first instant their eyes had met, and that, she knew, would never change regardless of what he did to her… or what he couldn't do… But that wasn't fair, that last uncalled-for thought, she mentally reprimanded, angry with her self. Gently, she caressed his big, virile hand warmly cupping her naked breast, brushing with fervent affection the soft masculine hair that grew sparsely along its back. He would soon discover the intrinsic key to bringing her to orgasm, she reassured herself, a tiny passionate tremor rippling over her once more, the erotic anticipation nearly as satisfying to her young, voluptuous body as the unlocked moment itself might be…
Though he hadn't moved any portion of himself, except his face to escape the perfumed taunting of her silken hair teasing at his chin, Mark lay wide-eyed, well aware of his new young wife's sleeplessness. Again tonight he'd failed, he confusedly thought. And she'd been almost there, that much he felt certain of, but he hadn't been able to hold back his cum any longer! Damn, she was so lovely… her breath-taking body… so soft and white and roundedly curved at every strategic point… he had only to look down at her and he was lost! He'd cum like some sort of unleashed, pumping fountain, his bloated balls achingly pressuring the sperm from them in wild, spurting gushes that had damned near torn him apart! And after that, what could he possibly do for an encore… even knowing that she was as excited and tighter than a drum inside, hoping, just hoping and giving herself to him… only to be left played with, but never released? What else was there for her outside of wrapping her soft arms around his neck as she pressed her warm smooth curies tightly against his spent body and passionately whispered how much she loved him… that it was all right, and maybe next time it would be different? What else… except hit him in the face with a shoe, or something, the way the wealthy and spoiled Lydia Newell would react? But then, Jean was no Lydia, was she, not his gorgeous Jeannie…?
Christ, it wasn't even honorable to tie both of them into the same thought! Maybe if he'd waited until things were in better straits here in the valley, he could've made this twenty-two year old golden young Venus some sort of a physically satisfying husband! Not only was Lydia an ever-present menace to their marriage with her sensually vicious body and mind, but there was the rotten drug problem the town had suddenly been exposed to among its young people… and even worse, the unbelievable wild-dog pack that was raiding the herds for food, plus, the stupid damned stories that were spreading about its huge, mysterious leader. He'd brought her there right in the midst of it all… his precious Jeannie, exposing her to the worst possible side of the valley. He hadn't been thinking… couldn't, damnit! He'd been that far gone… completely and totally in love… if that term could accurately describe what had happened to him.
Hell, for himself, he wasn't sorry. Like any man, he was too damned lustful. But for the exotically precious young woman he held snugly embraced against him, he couldn't help feel genuine concern. Christ, he loved her so damned much! If only he'd used his head, or heart, instead of his brainless hard cock to do his thinking…!
"You're awake, aren't you, Darling," he heard her softly whisper in a statement rather than a question. "I could tell by the way your hand began to squeeze and stroke my breast."
"Y-yes," he breathed, feeling her trying to cuddle her intoxicating, nakedness back against him even closer, her smooth little hand holding his that was intently clutching the firm resilience of the unbelievably full mounds on her chest.
A revived sensation of desire charged through him at the meaningful squirm of her satin-smooth buttocks back against his cock between them, causing it to lurch into the first stages of re-hardness and she passionately whimpered. He kissed the crown of her head, even as thoughts of Link Morgan, Lydia Newell, and the ferocious dog-pack with its wild leader raced through it. Why he should think of them, and especially a brute animal at such a time, was unanswerable! She was so beautiful, so softly luscious, so absolutely feminine…!
"W-what's bothering you, Darling?" she whispered.
"You. Just you, baby… nothing else."
"Oh Darling…" she said, kissing his hand. "I-I know you want to mean that… but there's something else on your mind… Already, I can tell, and I've only known you two-months. You can't lie to me, Mark… not ever… Please? What is it? Let me worry with you? Isn't that part of our life together?"
He didn't answer right away. Then: "Of course, baby. I'll always tell you," he lied, feeling protective in the act. "Minor things, really… day to day details that I have to be concerned with…"
"What about the dogs?" she asked in a hushed tone.
"The dogs?"
"The wild-pack everyone is talking about that raid the sheep?"
"What about them? It happens all the time."
"Not according to the women in the neighborhood," she quietly replied. "Old Granny Obert said something about it being a hundred years ago when the valley was first settled that dogs actually ran wild like this. And… and she insists that… that they had the same leader…"
"Good Lord, Jean! You can't believe that medieval nonsense! Dammit, those pipe-smoking, nursing-home cases ought to be carted away!" Mark snapped, rolling onto his back and letting free of her breast.
Immediately, Jean turned over, crowding close to hug him. He could see her lovely heart-shaped face by the light of the half-moon filtering in through their open window.
"Well, don't get angry with me, sweetheart," she entreated. "I'm only trying to tell the deputy sheriff what's circulating around town…"
"The deputy sheriff can't do a damned thing in this little burg!" he snapped, not meaning to sound angry. "His jurisdiction begins at its town-limits. Inside those barriers, Chief of Police Link Morgan enforces the law… such as it is…"
"Darling, Darling, please…? You're beginning to sound mean."
"I don't intend to… I'm sorry," he said, his brain suddenly filled with the memory of the three boys he'd picked up for pushing dope at the Valley High School. He'd turned them over to Link and nothing had happened yet, not even a hearing before Judge Collins… but then, even the judge was on Link's pay, wasn't he. Goddamnit, how could you maintain law and the citizens' rightful peace in an area like this with such as Link Morgan and the Newells? They controlled! Damnit, sometimes he was tempted to ask Sheriff Hester for a transfer! He would if it wasn't for his dad… dead now, killed by Link's accidental hunting bullet…! Yeah, he would because of Jeannie, but he knew he'd never be able to forgive himself! The sons of bitches! Goddamnit, he never should have brought her there until it was all cleared…!
The telephone interrupted his thoughts. Jean let free of him as he fumbled for the light-switch then the instrument setting on the table beside him. She tensed as it rang again. There had been only a few such night calls since their marriage, but each of them had been serious enough to take him from her… auto accidents… a robbery… and…
"What the hell are you saying, Doc?" she heard Mark incredulously blurt out. "The Purcell girl… Link Morgan's niece…? My God… did he maul her…? What…? Th-that's impossible…! I can't believe… listen, I'll be right there, Doc…! Have you called Link? Okay… okay, I'll be right over…!"
Jean could hardly believe the appalled expression wrenching the handsome features of her husband's rugged face. He was staring at her, but frighteningly not seeing her, she realized. Whatever it was all about, the knowledge of it had actually drained the blood from his chiseled features!
"Wh-what is it, Mark?" she hesitantly asked, sitting upright in the bed and pulling the sheet up over her nakedness as he hurriedly bolted to the floor and began to dress.
"What…? Oh… an accident, honey… there's been an accident… nothing for you to worry about," he managed after a moment, as if her were pacifying a child.
He was lying and she blew it, that thought alone sending an icy chill along her naked spine. He would never he, only to protect her, or keep her from worrying… "A-Annie Purcell, you said… and… and did he maul her… please, Darling, tell me the truth…?"
"Damnit, Jean, it's nothing for you to concern yourself with!" he snapped as he strapped on his holstered pistol, then went to the closet and brought out his shotgun. His sharpness of tone, rather than offending her, only added to her anxiety. "Just go to sleep… and I'll be back as quick as I can…"
He started out the door, then, as if on second thought, crossed the room to close their bedroom window, that surprising act almost completely unnerving her.
"Why did you do that?" she brusquely questioned. "Would you like to have me suffocate here in my ignorance, too?"
She saw him swallow tightly and move toward the bed, bending down to kiss her. "Please, baby… I can't explain now… there isn't time. I've got to get over to Doc Emory's," he said, stroking her back as he warmly kissed her lips. "Just trust me and do as I ask… all right?"
"Al-all right, Darling… I'm sorry…"
"I know… now try to get some sleep… and don't worry."
"I-I'II try," she promised as he smiled back one last time before disappearing through the doorway.
Some dozen men in hasty dress had gathered in front of the doctor's house when Mark drove up. Most of them were carrying rifles or shotguns, and the others, he assumed, were armed one way or another. He snapped his own shotgun into its accessible bracket and stepped from the patrol car.
"Hello, Mark," a naselish voice he recognized as Fred Clark's greeted, the tall, thin man approaching him. "I found her… stumbling along Cypress Street, naked as a plucked little jay-bird and filthy dirty, poor kid…"
"Had she been mauled, Fred?" Mark questioned, repeating the question that Doc Emory had not answered.
"Hell… couldn't tell for sure," the other replied. "Didn't see any blood, but she was crazy, hysterical… moaning that the Goddamned brute had raped her! The wife and I both heard her scream. We only live a hundred yards or so from that cellar, you know…!"
"Is Link inside?" Mark interrupted him.
"Yeah, and right ready to kill," the informant said. "Cripes, I never saw him so wild, Mark…!"
The tall deputy pressed through the gathering, moving up the walkway toward the lighted porch. He still couldn't believe it, and would not until Doc Emory repeated his affirmation. Cripes, such Goddamned things didn't happen, except in old wives' tales!
"Come in, Mark," Mrs. Emory invited in a hushed voice, opening the door in her night robe. "They're in the living room. The poor girl is sleeping… Doctor gave her a sedative."
"Thanks, Mrs. Emory," Mark nodded, moving toward the raised sound of Link Morgan's gruff voice. The barrel-chested, unshaven man was dressed in his usual non-uniform of khaki shirt open at the collar, leather hunting pants and boots. He'd been drinking; his small colorless eyes were bloodshot and his shock of white hair uncombed. To Mark, he always looked like a man in his sixties, rather than pre-fifty, the result, undoubtedly, of his own dissipation.
"Hello, Doc," Mark greeted the slight, mustached physician first, then with a nod: "Link. What happened… how is she…?"
"I'll tell you what happened, Blakely! That Goddamned wild sonofabitch dog raped my niece, and I'm going to hang its hide as high as that bitch on the flagpole in front of town-hall! Only first, I'm going to rip the bastard's nuts off!" Link bitterly snarled, addressing the fact that Mark had warned him against taking an armed posse into his jurisdiction again for any reason.
Mrs. Emory had started to enter the room, but quickly left at the Chief of Police's lurid choice of words. Mark bit at his lower lips, forcefully controlling himself. He said: "What are your findings, Doctor?"
The slight, aging bald man solemnly nodded, giving medical credence to the broad-shouldered police chief's ranting version. "No doubt about it, Mark… the beast actually attacked her. Its animal semen was present in my examination. Surprisingly, it didn't harm her in any other way… oh a few scratches, but they could have occurred when it tore the clothing from her. Actually, she's suffering mostly from shock. I've given her a sedative. She's sleeping in my office…"
"You mean, the dog literally ripped the clothing from her?" Mark asked in disbelief.
"You're fucking well told he did!" Link roared, raising a waterglass half-filled with liquor to his lips that he had undoubtedly wheedled from the doctor. He gulped half of it, breathing in shortened rasps as he glared at the deputy. "Shredded the Goddamned panties and everything else right off her, and Fred Clark was there when I gathered 'em up! I tell you again, Blakely, that devil from hell's got to die! It ain't enough that the pack is killing the sheep, now they're attacking young, innocent girls and fucking 'em like bitches! You tell me that bastard ain't some kind of evil spirit Tom Satan, himself…?"
"You're talking like an ass, Link!" Mark short-temperedly replied. "I don't know the answer but there has to be one! Maybe… maybe Annie can give it to us when she's herself again…"
"You go to hell, Blakely!" the powerful man snarled, stomping about the room, then gulping the remainder of his drink. "I, for one, ain't waiting for that evil sonofabitch to attack another girl in Crescent Valley! I aim to do something about it, whether you lay sanction or not! I'm forming a posse and going out…!"
"There'll be no posse, Link… unless I call for them," Mark calmly interrupted him. "I won't tolerate the brutal torture of animals, even vicious ones, the way you did last night. Out there is my territory, and I intend to guard it. I don't intend to have a bunch of liquor-whipped maniacs riding those hills with rifles and shotguns. If you remember, Link, that's the way my father died…!"
"Wh-what the hell are you saying, boy? That was an accident!" the huge man spat, well aware of the deputy sheriff's meaning. "Christ, could I help it if he wore a jacket the same color as that cougar? You… you think I meant to shoot him…?"
"Here, here… both of you, stop!" Doc Emory stepped in. "You're letting this get the best of you. I know it's a horrible situation, but you must try to work together… for the good of the community!"
Mark tightly swallowed. He wasn't pleased with his own outburst. "Of course, you're right, Doc. I'm sorry," he said, watching the little man's slow, understanding smile. "I'll place a call to the conservation department immediately. This is their problem…"
"Problem!" Link blurted. "Their problem! You go to hell, Blakely! This is my problem, and every man, woman, and child in this valley! That fucking brute raped my niece and I don't intend to sit back while some square-headed tree-planter decides to do something about it! You've got twenty-four hours, deputy, and you better hope to Christ that son of Satan doesn't attack another girl!" he roared, slamming his glass down hard onto a table before storming toward the doorway. There, he turned one final time. "I warn you… twenty-four hours… and then I defy any man in this valley to stop me!" Mark stood straight and silent, listening to the big man's heavy foot-falls, and finally the unnecessary crash of the front door shutting behind him. In all truth, if everything Doc had said was accurate, he was hardly sure he could blame the police chief… except that he was drunk, or nearly so…
"He's upset, Mark," Doc said, breaking the silence. "You know Link… spontaneous and gruff. He only knows one way…"
"An outmoded way, I'm afraid," Mark replied, sighing and taking a half-turn around the room.
"Would you like a drink?" the physician invited.
"No thanks. I'd like a bit more information, though."
"Shoot."
"Y-you're certain the dog actually raped her?"
The little man made a shrugging motion. "How certain can you be? Intercourse, yes. The presence of the dog's sperm… yes… absolutely!"
"But he didn't hurt hers Doc," the deputy enthusiastically pressed. "You said there were no marks of such…"
"None. Positively none! And I am as amazed as you are, Mark. It… it seems almost diabolical, doesn't it?"
"I-I don't know, Doc… Christ, I really don't know what to think," Mark heard himself reply his mind whirling. "Those… those crazy tales that women like Granny Obert whisper… about the brute having done the same thing a hundred years ago… damn! How old is she, anyway?"
"Ninety four-five-six… somewhere in there… she would, or could remember," Doc Emory softly answered. "She's mentioned it to me, you know… the leader, I mean, with that old Roman medallion around his neck…"
"Do you believe it, Doc?"
The little man offered an excusing smile. "I'm a doctor, Mark… forty years a practitioner… I believe only what I see, feel, taste… know to be fact."
Mark felt a cold shiver move over him. Ridiculous, he angrily thought… except that he had seen the medallion, too! He said: "Her mentality… Granny Obert's, I mean, what would you say to it, Doc?"
"Hmmmm, keen… especially for a woman her age, Mark. Very, very keen…"
"Yeah… I thought so… I've talked to her, too… but I wish she'd leave Jeannie alone," Mark said, slowly folding downward onto the edge of the davenport. "It… it can't be true… can it, Doc…?"
The little man had poured himself a glass of wine. He quietly sat himself into a chair across from Mark, sipped first, then stared off beyond. "I truly don't know how to answer you, Mark. I've spent a lifetime in my profession and this is the first case of its nature I've ever encountered. I have to deal only with the facts, I repeat, that's the nature of my profession. Yours requires more, and that's your problem, if I may. But to answer you, Mr. Deputy Sheriff… can it be true…? I say, everything is true until it's proven false… and that's the law of the universe!"
"But… but… it can't be, Doc? Christ, it can't be…!"
The little man smiled and nodded as he plucked at the end of his mustache. "I know," he said, "I know…"