Bitten by the Alpha Wolf

by R. E. Swanson

  They danced in this way until the moon had left the night's sky and gray dawn filtered through the window, and then Razvan was gone.

  The days after the night with Razvan were like the days after getting very drunk. Jenny was on edge and frankly amazed at herself. She was not entirely sure how it had happened or even what exactly had happened. She was sure she had never experienced the like of it before, and quite sure she would never do it again. But that didn't necessarily mean she regretted it.

  She spent those days floating around the tourist shops with Ana, who appeared increasingly bored.

  One evening she was lying in bed reading when Tom phoned, demanding to speak to Ana.

  “You've got her number,” she said, “if you want to speak to her, phone her not me.”

  “She's not answering,” said Tom. “What have you said to her?”

  “I've said nothing,” she replied. “And if I did say something, what could possibly be worse than the truth?” In the background she could hear his girlfriend pestering him. “She's still with you then?”

  “Of course she is,” he said, but he sounded weary.

  “What happens when the money runs out?” she asked.

  “Never mind that,” he said testily. “Just ask Ana to call me, will you? And by the way, I think it's totally wrong of you to go away like this. This will count against you.”

  “You think it’s wrong of us to go away,” Jenny said, genuinely amazed. “That's rather ironic, don't you think? Considering.”

  The line went dead. He’d hung up on her, but really, she wasn’t surprised.

  She considered ignoring his request, but instead, sighed and got up. She knocked gently on Ana's door.

  “Come in,” Ana said. She was reading with the light on.

  “Your dad asked you to call him.”

  “Yeah,” said Ana, “I'll maybe give him a ring tomorrow.”

  Jenny went back to her room, thinking how nice it would be if she had Bruce's strong arms to fall into, and how lovely it would be to lie with her head resting on his chest.

  From her pillow she gazed at the black outline of the Abbey against the blue-black sky. She thought of Razvan. She thought of how wrong it had all been but how it was all deliciously right.

  Jenny closed her eyes and thought of Bruce again. For a moment she thought she might be tempted to combine the two thoughts, and then she fell asleep.

  The next morning, Bruce presented them with two tickets for the steam train across the moors.

  “It was the one they used to film Harry Potter,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “That's really kind of you,” said Jenny. “Thank you ever so much. I think we will have a lot of fun.”

  Ana regarded the tickets suspiciously as she crunched her cereal. When they were waiting on the platform she turned to Jenny and said, “Does he think I'm an eight-year-old boy?”

  “Come on, he's being friendly. It was a lovely thing to do. Anyway,” she said, “I'm excited, and I’m not an eight-year-old boy.”

  Ana dug her hands into her pockets. They heard the steam engine a long time before they saw it. Then it came into view, the steam billowing out from the tracks until it covered them both. Jenny laughed, loving the magical experience.

  The train took them out over the moors. Jenny sat by the window, happily watching the countryside go by, while Ana sat determinedly looking at her phone. But, decided Jenny, no one, not even a moody adolescent, could resist the charms of a steam train for long. On the way back, she spotted Ana breaking into a smile as a group of young children waved enthusiastically from a passing roadside.

  Back at the guest house in the evening, Jenny decided to find Bruce and thank him once again. He was cleaning a recently vacated room.

  “Give me twenty minutes,” he said, “and then if you really want to thank me, you can buy me a pint in the pub.”

  She went up to see Ana. She was watching a TV series and barely seemed to register Jenny’s presence. “I won't be back late,” she told her.

  But in the end she was. Jenny had no idea how the time went so quickly. Bruce was an easy person to talk to and she spoke a lot and at the same time learned a lot about him.

  “How do you think the separation will end?” he asked.

  “Divorce,” she said, without a pause. “There's no way back now. It's the way it is, even though it's horrible, and maybe I should try harder, but I just can’t.”

  “You can't blame yourself,” he said. “It's clear that you were the victim in all this.”

  “Not me,” she said, “but Ana. I can't help feeling that she's been let down. Two weeks ago she comes home with a tattoo of a cross, here,” she said, pointing to the base of her neck. “Can you believe that?”

  “It's not the same, these days.” he said. “Kids today get tattoos as often as we buy clothes.”

  He went to the bar and got two more drinks. It was after closing time before they finally left and walked slowly back to the guest house.

  Bruce took two bottles from the kitchen, red for him, and white for her. “Will you sit with me?” he asked.

  She grinned. “Of course.”

  He led her to the bottom steps of the stairway, where they sat whispering loudly and hushing each other, in case they woke the guests.

  Jenny nudged her shoulder against him in a drunken friendly way, and Bruce put his arm around her. She looked at him. He was very handsome, she thought, and then they kissed. Bruce’s lips were warm, and he tasted sweet like wine. Jenny sighed into the kiss, feeling immense comfort.

  When they broke away, they continued to look at each other, calmly, knowing that some difficult and important question and been resolved.

  “I can walk on my hands across the hall,” said Bruce.

  Jenny laughed at the way he had broken the seriousness of the moment. “Don't be ridiculous, at this hour you can barely walk across there on your feet.”

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  “And why would you be able to do that?”

  “Army training,” said Bruce.

  “Army training,” repeated Jenny. “What's the good of being able to walk on your hands in a war?”

  “Confuse the enemy,” said Bruce. “Make them think you've got no head.”

  Jenny laughed, causing a little wine to go up her nose. “Don't be stupid,” she said, holding her hand over her face. “Ouch, it burns.”

  “Also,” said Bruce, “it’s good training for conflict in Australia.”

  “Whatever,” said Jenny, “I don't believe you.”

  “If I can't do it,” said Bruce, “I'll bring you breakfast in bed, every day of your stay.”

  “Done,” said Jenny laughing.

  “However,” said Bruce, “if I can do it, you have to do something for me.”

  “What's that?” she asked.

  “Striptease,” he said.

  Jenny nearly spat out her wine. “No way. You have to be kidding.”

  “Right,” said Bruce, “because you know I can do it.”

  Something in his self-satisfied macho attitude irritated Jenny. She looked at the hall. It was a good ten yards long. Then she looked at Bruce. If he had been sober then maybe, just maybe. But now? Wasn't a chance.

  “All right,” said Jenny, “you're on.”

  Bruce pretended to spit on his hand and they shook on it. Then he went to the door and did a handstand.

  Uh oh, Jenny thought. He didn’t seem to have any trouble with balance.

  He wove a little as he went, but he walked on his hands the full length of the hall.

  “Damn it,” said Jenny and slapped her palm against her face.

  “Always a bit easier when I've had a little to drink,” said Bruce.

  Jenny laughed as he took her hand and led her up the stairs.

  Jenny had never done it like this before. The idea of doing a striptease before Tom would have been ridiculous, but here she was standing before Bruce as he sat on the bed, holdin
g his bottle of wine. Jenny felt the shyness, the panic that grew inside her until she felt almost dizzy. She removed her blouse and placed it on the lamp, bathing her in a soft orange light. That was better, she thought, more forgiving.

  Jenny stood in front of him, her self-confidence growing until it bordered on the insolent. As she moved, she was astounded at the range of provocative gestures that she suddenly found herself capable of. Gestures that, previously, she could only have done knowingly and with a huge slice of irony, she now did slowly, teasingly, and she watched Bruce's eyes burn with interest.

  When she was done, Jenny stood there naked for a moment. Bruce was completely still, as if still mesmerized. She leaned toward him and kissed him hungrily. She placed greedy kisses on his chin, neck and down onto his chest. She could hear his breathing, deep and low. Easily he gripped her waist and raised her up above him so he could kiss her breasts. He found her nipples and worked his tongue back and forth until both became hard. He settled her down onto his lap. She felt the hardness of him beneath her and gasped.

  Jenny grabbed his shoulders and moaned while he pleasured her breasts until she felt she would die from the overwhelming sensations. Finally, she released herself from his grasp and returned to kissing his chest, marveling at the muscles working beneath. Jenny went lower, and he moaned with a mixture of pleasure and desire as if Jenny were pulling all of the pain and frustration from his body. At the same time, Jenny let out a soothing sound that resembled a contented purring.

  Bruce gripped her waist. She reached around his back, her nails taking his flesh. Their bodies burned together, turning the cool English night into the fevered heat of the jungle.

  As she bent her body over him, Jenny could feel the sweat running down his back and the dampness trickling from her thighs.

  He lifted her, holding her so that all her weight was taken by his arms. She remained, teetering on the edge, on the brink of forever. Their eyes were locked together, contemplating the pact they had made. Then she moved down slowly on to him until he was inside her, deeply sheathed. They were very still, gasping at breaths, until, finally, their bodies began to move of their own volition.

  The manly heat of him nearly drove her to the edge. Jenny had to concentrate her mind, lest she simply collapse in pleasure and wild laughter. Instead, she managed to think only of him, and focus her mind and body on him and what he needed her to do. She looked for that certain touch or movement or caress that would please him the most. Soon she became lost in that task of creating pleasure until she was only being pleasure, and pleasure itself united them.

  Bruce held her hips and tensed up towards her, his back and legs rising off the bed like a wave. She rode it, catching her breath, trying to say his name. They were searching, now, for the apex of their meeting and at the point, when it came, she could no longer say anything. Not only was his name gone, her own name own name was also lost. There was no division between them.

  They each disintegrated with pleasure. They held still, caught in the moment, as they had been when they came in, holding each other’s eyes in a gaze that spoke worlds. Then he let himself fall back on the bed and she collapsed easily on top of him.

  In the gray, early dawn, she felt Bruce leave her. He kissed her on the shoulder and slipped quietly out the door.

  Jenny dozed pleasurably in the afterglow of their lovemaking. She drifted in and out of sleep as dawn crept through the skylight and a parallelogram of light shifted across her bed and alighted on her face.

  Jenny woke, rose from bed, and had a shower.

  She went downstairs, deciding to take advantage of her early start and have breakfast before the other guests were up. To her immense surprise, Ana was already there, eating breakfast and chatting to Razvan.

  Ana glanced at her and carried on her conversation, which Jenny judged was about literature. It had been a long time since she had heard her daughter talk about her favorite subject.

  Razvan leaned languidly against the doorway to the kitchen. He wore his black turtleneck again and it made him look even more languorous than usual. One of his long-fingered hands gently held his temple as he leaned his head to one side. He listened to Ana intently, though at one stage Jenny felt him glance at her and there was the tiniest flash of recognition from those dark eyes.

  “Razvan made me a special vegetarian breakfast,” said Ana. “You should try it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Poached eggs on a bed of spinach and tomatoes,” said Razvan. “With a few of my own little extra ingredients thrown in,” he smiled, “for pizazz.”

  “Sounds very healthy,” said Jenny.

  “Yes, you are right,” said Razvan, at his haughty best. “It will give you stamina,” he smiled again, this time the teeth showing.

  Jenny could feel herself blushing, and prayed that Ana wouldn’t notice.

  “Stamina for all your exertions,” he added, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “What were you talking about?” asked Jenny, trying to sound as light as possible. She pressed her napkin to her face, hoping to hide her flush at least a little bit.

  “Books,” said Ana. “Razvan is very interested in English Literature. It’s why he came here.”

  “Not to claim benefits then,” said Jenny, pouring herself some of the coffee from the pot on the table.

  Ana ignored her. “He even knows the writer Paul Magrs.”

  “That's more than I know,” said Jenny.

  Ana sighed. “That's because you only read sappy romances and Fifty Shades of Grey. Magrs writes a kind of horror. But good horror. Not trashy stuff. Anyway, it’s all set in Whitby. There's a pair of detectives solving these strange, horrible crimes. You should read it.”

  “That type of thing just keeps me awake at night,” said Jenny, stifling a yawn.

  “Razvan was saying how the books draw on the strange atmosphere in Whitby.”

  “The strange atmosphere?” asked Jenny.

  “Razvan says that there is something very strange right at the heart of Whitby. Haven't you noticed it, too?”

  “I'm not sure,” said Jenny, looking at her daughter. She was wondering how Ana noticed anything at all, given that she was so attached to her cell phone.

  “Razvan says there may be something in the stones or the landscape that works on our imaginations.”

  Razvan says, Razvan says, thought Jenny.

  “It has an effect on all the inhabitants, and on the visitors too. It has an effect, I'm sure of it.” Ana scooped up the last of her poached egg.

  “I suppose every place has a special atmosphere,” said Jenny.

  Razvan came and brought her breakfast. “Looks and smells wonderful,” she said.

  “It will taste just as good,” said Razvan, immodestly. He then presented Ana with a book. “Here is the novel. At the back of the book is a map and I have marked on all the places with supernatural significance.” He beamed at her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That's great.” She turned Jenny. “Mum, I'm going to check out these places before they get busy with tourists. Is that okay?”

  “I suppose,” said Jenny.

  “I'll take my phone,” said Ana.

  Before Ana had finished her breakfast, the dining room had filled up with guests. Razvan was back in the kitchen and Bruce was down and taking orders. He edged between the tables, checking in with everyone to make sure they were starting the day happily. As he moved past Jenny, he gave her shoulder a little squeeze.

  “Still in bed?” he asked nodding to the empty chair.

  “Out already,” said Jenny.

  “Very good,” said Bruce. “Want to meet for coffee by the harbor when I'm done here? About half past ten?”

  Jenny said she would love to.

  Because she had time before meeting Bruce, Jenny walked up the hill to the cliffs overlooking the sea. She delighted in the morning breeze caressing her face. It blew away the previous night to such an extent that she began to wonde
r if it had all really happened. The second time in a matter of days. It was incredible. It was ridiculous. But was it good? It was exciting, that was for sure. Where it left her, she couldn't really say.

  She walked back to the town till she was overlooking the river. Somewhere up there, near the ruined Abbey, she imagined Ana would be. Jenny wanted to phone her to check she was okay, but knew it was better not to. Ana had a project, something that took her away from the distractions of her phone and television. She was happy for the first time for a long while, and Jenny didn’t want to interrupt that.

  Jenny walked on back through the town and her thoughts turned to Razvan and what a very strange creature he was. Strange, but was he harmful? Jenny's instinct told her he was not. She had never met a character more at home in his own strangeness.

  Despite her meandering walk, Jenny arrived at the café before Bruce. It was warm enough to sit outside and she found a table by the harbor wall. Beneath her, a fishing boat had just returned and the morning’s catch was being lifted in bright plastic boxes. Interested seagulls sat on the wall and watched.

  As she sat outside the café, Jenny's thoughts inevitably turned to Bruce and her feelings for him. Last night she had lusted after him as she had lusted after no man since . . . well, since a few days previous.

  Jenny laughed at herself. The night with Razvan had been a night of wildness. A night when she was drunk on lust. A night she could barely believe happened, and one that left her howling at the moon.

  Surely, the night she had enjoyed with Bruce was a different order of things. Jenny looked down at her hands. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? But was it true?

  How could she want two different things at the exact same time? It made her greedy. She couldn’t allow it.

  But she didn’t think she could be happy any other way. It was a good thing this vacation would be over soon.

  She looked up to see Bruce walking down the road toward her. She smiled to see him in the same black t-shirt that he seemed to have a hundred of. That upright, military march, with his chest out like a barrel. She laughed as she watched him with his solid muscular walk. He saw her and waved, breaking out into that wide, infectious grin. Jenny knew that grin was mirrored on her own face. She laughed to herself and sent Ana a text to say where they were.