Wolf Angel by Mark Hobson (best e reader for manga .TXT) 📕

do everything yourself. You should let some of the others shoulder some of the responsibility. You already have enough on your plate with your father, they’ll understand if you wanted to step back. You’re going to suffer from burn out if you are not careful.”

“But it’s my case. I want to see this through to the end. Get the bastards responsible.”

“Okay,” she replied quietly. A hush descended for a moment, a nice lull that felt good. Then she whispered: “I want to help you.”

Pieter looked at her upturned face, an unspoken question on his lips.

“I can do something, to help with the strain you’re under.”

Then she placed her hand over the front of his trousers and gently squeezed him.

“Please let me.”

Pieter squirmed, partly from awkwardness but mostly from the shiver her touch sent through him. “Lotte, I’m not sure.”

“It will be good for you. And for me. We both need the release.”

“You’re a lovely girl, but ah, it feels-“

“It feels right.” She placed a finger over his lips, nuzzled his neck. “No more talking.”

She unfastened his trousers and took him in her hand, squeezing and flexing until he was hard, and Pieter, his breathing coming faster, felt his passion rising. Taking a hold of his hand she glided it up under the hem of her nightie, where he felt her moistness, and her legs parted for him.

She undressed him, using her fingers and mouth on his body, and he now felt shivers of desire pass through him in waves, so he grabbed her and pulled her nightclothes away, nearly ripping the material, and she gave a small squeak of delight as he pushed her down onto the couch, and so she parted her legs even more but he pushed them wider still and thrust himself deeply inside. She was breathing hard like him, and thrusting up, as he drove his pelvis down, her breasts flushed and aroused, and she shivered as he finished inside her, calling out his name as he thrust one final time.

He gazed down, but now her eyes were pure black orbs, and her mouth stretched wide, impossibly so, until her jaw was distended, and she bit his neck as her passion continued, and her hand closed around his throat and squeezed.

A deep snicker came from her lips. Pieter flung her away in panic.

Again Pieter awoke with a shout, beating at the air to fend her off, and rolled off the couch onto the floor. He jumped to his feet, aware in the back of his mind that he was fully clothed, and he saw that the room was empty.

“Fuck!” he shouted, as the dream flickered in his mind before fading completely.

◆◆◆

Sometime during the night while he had been sleeping Lotte had quietly left, taking her few possessions with her. She left no message or forwarding address, and when he tried her number there was no connection, no voicemail recording, just silence. Without a word, she had gone.

GRISSLEHAMNS – UPPSALA DISTRICT – SWEDEN.

MARCH 1946.

After leaving the Convent of The Sisters of the Precious Blood, the two of them, Wenzel and Agent Gerdi, the young novice nun, had struck north. Driving in a stolen farm vehicle and using forged papers, they made good progress. Europe was just getting back to its feet after years of war but passage was much easier now, as long as they did not draw unnecessary attention. If anybody stopped them, then they were brother and younger sister trying to reach their home to be reunited with family, just like the millions of other displaced citizens.

After two weeks they passed over the Kiel Canal and then crossed the border into Denmark. Wenzel had planned this escape route many months before. Taking Gerdi with him hadn’t been part of it originally, but he realized that one young man travelling alone would still attract unwanted attention, and she had been of huge help, so allowing her to accompany him and thus avoid detection herself would be an advantage for them both. But with the onset of winter their journey had slowed to a crawl, and he decided they should see out the worst of the snows and bed down in a safe house in Copenhagen.

With the arrival of spring their journey had resumed. Crossing over into neighbouring Sweden at Malmö, they had headed north-east. Wishing to avoid the capital of Stockholm Wenzel instead drove into Uppsala, a wild and rugged district with a craggy coastline overlooking the cold waters of the Gulf of Bothnia. Finally in late March they had arrived at the tiny fishing hamlet of Grisslehamns, and awaited passage on board the fishing vessel MFV Toró, bound for the islands of Ǎland and their final destination – Finland.

They spent the time waiting by booking into a small ramshackle boarding house, offering to pay double as long as the elderly proprietor did not pry into their business. Happy to take the money, he left them be, and Wenzel and the girl whiled away the time by sitting on the porch and enjoying the stiff breeze blowing in.

Wenzel at times recalled events back at the convent.

Killing Mother Annette and the other nuns had been an abhorrent but unavoidable evil. Their screams and pleas for mercy, echoing around inside the stone walls, were pitiful and harrowing to hear, but Wenzel was ruthless, and carried out the task with the help of the novice nun without hesitation. Together they had chased them down one by one, their knives ripping and cutting and plunging at them in a sick orgy of bloodlust.

When it was done they returned to the small room hidden deep beneath the convent where the sleeping babes lay in their cribs. Retrieving his knapsack from the floor Wenzel had removed a number of other items. First a pair of large syringes, one of which he handed to Gerdi. Then the glass phial given to him by the beautiful She-Wolf Ilse Hirsch as she had lain wounded in the grass, with its contents of