Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  Control. Balance. You are not the wolf. The wolf is part of you.

  The inner mantra helped, but he still needed distance.

  “Bandages first,” he said to himself. “Bandages first.” He stole into the bedroom where he dumped all his aid supplies onto the mattress and paused a few seconds to shake off Clear-Skies’s bid for dominance. Noticing the toppled space heater, he restored the device and flipped it on. When he returned to the bathroom, he lifted Izzy and brought her to the bed, too.

  Cotton balls exploded out of the package when Curtis ripped it open. One of them bonked off his nose. He rushed with the disinfectant and almost spilled it. Libido raced with logic. Logic only had to hold up while Curtis finished his work. There was no way he’d keep a level head after that. His sex drive wouldn’t lose and when it took him over and he took Izzy, he knew he’d be closer to animal than man.

  • • •

  Everything Curtis did with his chemicals and cotton hurt like hell. As a ballerina, Izzy was no stranger to pain. She’d danced through excruciating conditions with a smile on her face and a springing bounce in her step, crying her eyes out once the curtain fell. Right now, stoicism didn’t concern her. She had no audience but Curtis. Shouting proved cathartic when pain spiked beyond her threshold. Her swelling ankle rested on the bed and she mentally computed probable rest times. She worried. A ballet teacher MIA was a ballet teacher that didn’t get paid. As soon as all her slashes were cleaned and padded, Curtis shoved all the first-aid equipment from the mattress and crawled over her.

  Izzy sank to her back. The top of Curtis’s head bobbed between her breasts. He licked a cool, wet path over her sternum and sucked at the plump bottom curve of her breast. Moving down her body, he came to the single aching opening that couldn’t be quelled with medicines or balms.

  Thighs in hand, Curtis lifted Izzy’s bent legs and covered her throbbing sex with his mouth. She threaded her fingers in his hair. He feasted, tongue parting her slit, probing her dampened passage, and fluttering at her swollen bud. Various hurts became irrelevant at the galvanizing pleasure he invoked. It sparked in her fingers and feet, nipples and clit, traveled in a shivering wave from the top of her head to her soles.

  Curtis raised his head and his damp, cool hair slipped over Izzy’s fingers. His lips and chin glistened with her arousal and his haunting eyes didn’t leave her face when he bit her inner thigh, holding the tender flesh in his jaws. He kissed her trembling stomach and came over her, pushing her knees to her shoulders. His cock traveled through her slit, making her gasp.

  No, not this way. She’d had it with submitting to physically stronger forces.

  Wriggling up, she brought her legs down and met him face to face.

  Lips to Izzy’s, Curtis tried to get her back down, but she fought him, put her fingers to his chest. Cupping his side, she pushed. She wanted him on his back. A snort and a shake of his shoulders communicated his displeasure. He nuzzled her cheek and fastened his fangs at the junction of her neck and shoulder. At her sex, his fingers tested her entrance and when she made a little high noise he surged upward, stroking and setting her core alight. He tried repositioning her again and she almost relinquished her ground if only he’d keep fingering her.

  Releasing a frustrated growl, Izzy caught Curtis’s wrist and slid him free of her sex. She sucked in breath at the sudden absence of pressure and her teeth cut into her bottom lip. With his waist trapped between her knees, she twisted herself, hoping he’d roll over. He didn’t. Instead, he snapped at her, teeth a millimeter from her face. Pursing her lips, she steeled herself. Behind those wild eyes and bared fangs was Curtis. The wolf was a part of him and he wouldn’t hurt her. Curtis had taught her a thing or two about canine language. Kow-towing some to his proverbial chest thumping would get her what she wanted, but how? Ah, she had it. She tipped back her head and exposed her throat.

  That’s about as submissive as you get without going belly up.

  Dipping low, Curtis rested his teeth on her neck, holding her there as he’d held her thigh. Grumbling his acceptance of her gesture, he drew away and reluctantly turned on his back.

  No sooner had Izzy straddled him, he was up and guiding her hips where he wanted them. She steadied herself on his shoulder and her mouth went to his. She gave him tender kisses, trying to recapture the reins of their lovemaking.

  Slow, slow.

  Amorous direction proved useless.

  One powerful thrust of Curtis’s hips housed him inside her. Moaning, Izzy ground herself against him, giving herself over to his urgency. Her entrance accepted and gripped his length. Breath escaped the fused seam of their mouths in hisses, their kisses deep and near violent. His fingers grasped the round curves of her ass and encouraged her frantic rocking. Fangs forced her mouth wide and once or twice, she came close to piercing herself on their pointed tips. She never thought she possessed a taste for pain or danger, but riding Curtis while he warred with his inner beast pitched her excitement sky high.

  When Izzy climaxed, she arched back and screamed, clawing at Curtis’s back. He buried his face in her chest, teeth dragging over her skin as he grunted and snarled out his own release. Within her constricting sex, his cock pulsed. Collapsing against him, she allowed his possession and command of her body. Arms secure around her, he rolled them over where they lay — Izzy’s face to Curtis’s chest — in a warm, sore tangle.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I tried to save him.”

  Izzy’s eyes fluttered open. She drowsed, but hadn’t lost consciousness. The space heater cast an ambient, orange glow in the otherwise dark room. Curtis’s quiet voice held none of the feral gruffness it had minutes ago. Her lashes swept his chest when she raised her lids and he squirmed.

  “I couldn’t break out of Thomas’s command. I tried, Izzy, I swear, but by the time I broke free, your brother was gone. You — ”

  Izzy hushed Curtis, putting her fingers to his lips. He moved her hand away.

  “Do you believe me?” he asked.

  Smashing her forehead to his chest, she wished she could disappear somehow, meld with him perhaps, stop being Izzy. “I do, but, please, I can’t hear this now.”

  “But after tonight, you won’t come back here, will you?”

  As soon as he said it, she knew it was true. She’d initiated this tryst because she’d wanted to drown herself in sensation. Reaffirming their ties to each other, she’d told herself, that’s what she intended. That was a lie. She didn’t want to think about death and wolves or Werewolves and what she felt for Curtis, so she used sex — like she used work and dance and everything else — to shut it all away. But those thoughts and feelings wouldn’t stay locked up and she couldn’t have sex forever, though she wouldn’t mind trying with Curtis. She ran a palm over his torso.

  A bond shimmered between them still. Izzy fancied she saw it just on the edges of her vision, fine and glinting like a strand of spider silk, that delicate. Despite all she felt for the man beside her, this place, his kind, had taken too much of her blood and spirit. The thread connecting them also kept her bound to the past. It anchored her to the weight of insurmountable events that made each present moment so painful. In her mind, she wanted Keene Lodge buried and forgotten, but this grave was Curtis’s home. Forgetting one without the other wasn’t possible. Leaving Curtis made her insides ache. She could deal with the pain. She couldn’t stay.

  Someone tapped at the bedroom door.

  Curtis rolled off the bed. His movements were relaxed, but Izzy tensed anyway, ready for another attack. Not bothering with clothes, he padded to the door and opened it. Though his body blocked the exterior view, she recognized Melinda’s voice.

  “They’re gathering,” Melinda said.

  “And Gerome?”

  “Gone already. Wouldn’t even stay for Constance to check him out.”


  Curtis grunted. “I thought I smelled Constance. Would you tell her to come back here? I want her to take a look at Izzy.”

  “Yeah, sure boss.”

  Recoiling at the title, Curtis’s backside hunched, the motion delineating each muscle. Izzy couldn’t believe the pair carried on a conversation with him stark naked. Wolves ran around bare assed all the time, but human form was different. At least, it seemed it should be. Neither of them sounded at all perturbed.

  “You’re gonna have to say something to them, you know,” Melinda said.

  “I do. I want you in here while I’m not. No one gets past this — ”

  Scrabbling interrupted Curtis and a whining bundle of fur scooched by him and into the bedroom. Nook trotted to the disheveled mattress and leapt up. Izzy squeaked when he nuzzled behind her, his fur damp with snow and ice and very cold.

  Curtis sighed. “No one but Nook gets past this door, ok?”

  “Got it.”

  While Izzy shoved the soggy dog off the bed, Curtis came back.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Bed springs creaked when Curtis sat. “The local wolves are gathering.”

  “Here?”

  He nodded. “They sensed the shift in power. They’re coming to acknowledge the new Alpha.”

  It took Izzy a second to process that Curtis meant himself. His word hadn’t affected her that way for nothing. Thomas’s death meant he’d inherited the seat of command. Any order he gave demanded compliance. Her mouth went tight and her words came out strained when she said, “Did I want you just now because you ordered me to?”

  “No.” Curtis grabbed her by the shoulders, massaged them. “No. The Alpha’s power affects behavior, remember? I could tell you to hop on one foot or spin in a circle, but I can’t control your feelings or thoughts.” The pads of his thumbs traced circles on the bare curves of her shoulders. “I can’t make you want me. If you don’t believe anything else, believe that.” He searched her face for an answer she wouldn’t give him and slowly withdrew his hands. Staring at his lap, he scratched the back of his neck.

  “She’s not pack, but one of the locals — Constance is a nurse and I’d like if you’d let her look you over, please.” Izzy noted Curtis’s careful wording. He made sure he phrased his suggestion as a question, made certain he gave her a choice. “Don’t think you need stitches, but I’m no doctor.”

  Izzy agreed to a check-up and Curtis brought her one of his oversized shirts. He helped her get it over her head, then chewed the inside of his cheek.

  “I’m Alpha now. No one can do anything to you without going through me. You wouldn’t be in any danger if you decided you wanted to … you know, stay.”

  Izzy’s eyes were unfocused when she said, “I see.”

  Abruptly, Curtis stood. “Either way, I’m making you pack ward.”

  When she didn’t say anything to that, he explained.

  “It means a threat to you is a threat to the pack. To all of us.” He made a face. “As of now that’s me and Lin.”

  “You think someone will try to hurt me?”

  “No, I just — ” Curtis sucked in a deep breath. “I want you to know you’re safe. Here.” He brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Anywhere.” His face became pinched. “And Izzy, I need to know … that is, would you tell me what Gerome did to you when you were alone with him and Thomas? It’s important.”

  “What he did to me? He held me down,” the backs of her eyes stung and memories threatened to overwhelm her, “so Thomas could cut me.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yeah.” Izzy searched his face, trying to interpret what it was he wanted to hear.

  “You’re sure? It’s just that before, I could smell him … ” His eyes dropped to her lap and she understood.

  “He got too close for comfort at first, but Thomas put a stop to that.”

  Obviously relieved, Curtis let out the breath he held.

  “You might want to get out there.” A tall, burly woman with streaks of gray in her blond hair leaned in the doorframe. “Natives are getting restless.”

  “Right,” Curtis said and left Izzy with this unfamiliar, yet kind looking woman who didn’t bat an eye at the naked man sidling passed her. She came and sat by Izzy.

  “Constance,” she said by way of introduction and not much after that. She inspected Izzy’s arms — Izzy ooched and ouched when the bandages peeled up — and tched at the patient’s throat, probed the painfully tender flesh with firm, careful fingers. “That’ll be sore a while. Curtis did all right by you. You’ll have scars, but everything should heal up nice and clean. You notice any inflammation and you get to a doctor, y’hear?”

  Izzy bobbed her head in acknowledgment. The woman didn’t have the power of an Alpha, but she struck Izzy as the no-nonsense type.

  “Nothing broken in that ankle far as I can tell. Might want an X-ray for certain. Two weeks off it should do you fine to my eye. You need anything from me?”

  Excusing the nurse, Izzy shook her head and Constance went about her business. When the woman strode out the door, Izzy saw Melinda crouched in the hall. The redhead offered a tired smile and shut the door, paying respects to her privacy.

  From the bedroom, Curtis’s voice came to her muted. He talked a while, interrupted by the occasional howl or bark. Izzy pulled the covers tight around her. She assumed Melinda guarded the door, but that didn’t ease her mind. Sounded like a lot of wolves out there. How many could there be in Colorado? The world? A chorus of wailing cries marked the end of Curtis’s speech. He didn’t return to the bedroom immediately, but when he did he had her duffel in tow. He set it next to her.

  “Lin can take you home tonight if you want. I shouldn’t leave the property for the next couple of weeks. You could stay if — ”

  “No. I think home would be better for me right now.” She looked at his feet when she spoke.

  Curtis made a soft noise and touched her hair. He scrubbed a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes, turned away.

  Inside her bag, Izzy found clothes and her phone. Curtis hadn’t bothered with her destroyed prosthetic. They dressed together in silence.

  Melinda had the Jeep started and warmed up by the time Curtis escorted Izzy outside. People she didn’t recognize loitered away from the cabin. Red points from their lit cigarettes moved up and down like fireflies in the dark. A black patch in the snow marked where Thomas fell. The body was gone. She couldn’t take her eyes from that patch as she situated herself in the passenger seat and shut the door. When Curtis knocked on the window, she rolled it down. He gripped the sill, but he didn’t lean inside.

  “Be safe, you two, all right?” His voice broke on the “all right.”

  “No worries, boss,” Melinda chirped.

  “Izzy, you have my number, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she said, barely hearing herself.

  “You need anything, you call … if you want to,” he hastily tacked on to the order.

  A slight jerk of her head served as Izzy’s reply. Stepping away from the car, Curtis gave the hood a send off pat and trudged to the cabin, expression shuttered and distant. Izzy rolled up the window and let her mind go blank. Spacing out turned down the volume on sensation and muted sound. Still, she felt the minute twang in her heart when the thread running between herself and Keene Lodge — Curtis — snapped. Unmoored from the weight of the past, she expected to soar, but she grew heavier. Forsaking her slender lifeline, she fell.

  And fell and fell and fell.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Two weeks proved an accurate estimate for Izzy’s recovery. That Monday, she called Claire, her instructing assistant, and had her take over studio classes and private sessions for the duration. Luckily for Izzy, Claire was a saint with a flexible schedule.

&nbs
p; The first days Izzy slept, leaving her bed only for water and toilet. By day three, she craved a shower and exercise. She indulged in each, the shower longer than the exercise. Her ankle was just a little swollen now and she didn’t want to push it. The awful bruises around her neck were deep purple and her voice, when she spoke, rasped. She spent a lot of time on the couch wrapped in an ice pack muffler. Thank God for winter and her ready supply of turtlenecks and scarves. Come the second week’s end, she had her new prosthetic and sat in on classes, offering her discerning eye with Claire’s instruction and correcting where need be, which wasn’t often. The bulk of Izzy’s studio work came in returning phone calls, wrapping up paperwork, and updating the website. A month and a half remained until the studio performance of The Nutcracker, which left about six million things to do. Six million to-dos blessedly distracting her from everything and everyone she’d encountered at Keene Lodge.

  Dr. Turner saw Izzy right on schedule. The therapist’s red lips twitched at the sight of her patient. The ghost of a frown wrinkled her pin-up girl features, but she quickly recovered her pleasant mask that concealed any worry she might have divulged.

  Sessions up to the production were an utter waste. Dr. Turner tried engaging Izzy about her weekend with Curtis and Izzy dodged all the conversational lures. She discussed the upcoming show, her stress over her injury, and pressures coming from her professional track students and their parents. Personal life was a minefield she skirted. Besides wading through the emotional wreckage of that weekend, how could she spill her guts about murder and Werewolves? What would Dr. Turner do if she suspected Izzy had a psychotic, homicidal break? These were topics best shut away in airtight compartments with rummage-proof lids. There’d be plenty of time to unpack all that. Later.