her. And in his way, he had initiated it. Shy to begin with (scarcely a Don Juan!), his prowess had improved with experimentation. And, unlike most men the first time they are with a woman, Harry had felt driven to satisfy her; he'd quickly discovered her preference.
A moon child, with that of the wolf - a great deal of the wolf - in her, B.J. had 'submitted.' And with her breasts flattened to the soft blanket, and her face turned to the red glow of the fire, she'd felt the delicious thrusting, the hammering home of Harry's turgid flesh in the heart of her womanhood. Oh, he had gone without for ... a long time, that much was obvious. But so had she, and could take al that he could give. Yet despite the fact that she sucked on him desperately with her sex, still he had held back until he first felt her shuddering, and heard her moaning, before firing into her his long, hot bursts. And Bonnie Jean Mirlu had never felt so well satisfied. Not in that respect, anyway.
For him, their sex was a jammed floodgate finally opened. Pouring himself into her, the rest of his pain - his grief? -and all of his anxieties and frustrations were temporarily suspended. Time itself seemed suspended, in the oblivion of those briefly blazing seconds as B.J.'s sugar, the searing and singing of her flesh, saturated his psyche and melted in his mind. And the second time he came, such was B.J.'s pleasure that as they disengaged she turned him on his back and kept
his shaft moist and throbbing in the soft sleeve of her mouth ... until he was ready again.
But throughout she had been aware of the danger, and mindful of Radu's warning: 'Be sure - be absolutely sure - that if he gets into you, nothing of you, of us, gets into him!'
Of course not, for he wanted Harry for himself, to use ... however he would use him. He wanted him pure, human. At first, anyway. As for Radu's purpose with Harry:
B.J. knew of it (the dog-Lord had explained something of it, at least) but for the moment did not want to think about it. For the moment she wanted only to lie here, warm and drowsy, with Harry's arm draped over her and his sleeping, no longer intense but oddly innocent face resting against the resilience of her breasts, and her thigh between his legs where his rod, all flaccid now, twitched occasionally, perhaps from the 'memory' of its mounting. For while he had pleasured her with his body, it had not stopped there: he now pleasured her with his presence. Yes, she . . . liked being there with him! And it was also a curiously pleasant thought that he'd shot his seed into her - despite that she had been obliged to kil it.
Contraception? Pills and plastic and senses-stifling rubber? Unnecessary. Her body, her system, was its own protection. There was that in her blood - the same alien essence that defended her against Man's common ailments, time's deterioration, and even physical injuries - that would not allow of the invasion of his sperm. B.J. need only call on it, think it into being, and her system would, or had, responded to destroy all of Harry's myriad squirming tadpoles of generation.
It had taken but a thought, a command issued from B.J. 's mind to her own innermost organs and tissues, to the immature leech which she even felt growing within her despite that her Master had denied it:
Other than you, there is that in me which is alive. I do not wish it. Cleanse me of this infestation. So be it. And it was done.
Except the other way was much harder: to keep that alien essence to herself, and not transmit it, or allow it to transmit itself, into her partner. She wanted him enthralled in the one sense, but not as a true thrall in the other. B.J.
herself, she might have wanted him so, but the dog-Lord did not. No, for Radu wanted him for himself. Again, it seemed a contradiction:
That her Master would insist she was not Wamphyri, but at the same time worry about her passing on anything to Harry, to his Mysterious One. Herself a thrall (if that was all she was), B.J. 's bite would make him a moon child - aye, to be stricken by the moon at its ful, and held in awe of unnatural urges