Secret Wolf: A Steamy Werewolf Romance

by Dancer Vane

  Cars parked in front to watch. People came and talked to each other. The police came, and for some reason, the two men who got out of the car instantly focused on Lianne. “You live here, miss?” one of them asked.

  I turned around. “I do. I did.”

  Turning away from Lianne, he frowned at me. “Where are your parents?”

  “I’m nineteen.” I got that a lot. And the frown and doubt when I gave my age; I got that a lot too.

  “Alanna’s a good girl,” Mrs. Betty put in. “She’s the victim here, not a criminal.”

  “Let us decide that, Mrs. Betty,” the young man retorted, and I saw anger flash in Lianne’s eyes briefly, but she didn’t say a word.

  “Do you live here too?” The man was frowning at her, and I could guess why: she looked much too sophisticated for a trailer park. Even seeing her standing outside of one seemed shocking.

  “I was on my way home from the restaurant,” she said calmly. “I work at Decker’s, on the lakeshore.”

  “It’s rather far from here.”

  “I take the bus and get off at the crossroads — she gestured vaguely towards the woods — and then walk home. When my shift ends early.”

  One of the policemen sort of elbowed the other. “And when your shift ends late, you stay at the Farnwood place, that right?”

  Her face was a study in indifference. She must have been my age — nineteen, because it’s true, I’m not lying about that — and Farnwood, as far as I knew, was closer to fifty. The other side of fifty. Still, that didn’t give them permission to smirk at her like this. She didn’t seem to mind.

  “I didn’t set fire to this trailer,” she said with calm indifference. “I was coming into town from the bus stop and when I saw the fire, I stopped to check that Mrs. Betty and Mr. Burr were fine. Which they were. So I called the police.”

  She turned to me and added: “I didn’t know you lived there too. That’s why I didn’t think of you. I only knew about these two.” She said “these two” with a smiling glance, as if talking about two mischievous children. Mrs. Betty actually giggled.

  “You have a place to go to tonight?” The young woman asked me.

  And I must say, it takes courage to ask someone that, when you know they probably don’t.

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. I was standing there in all the clothes I had, with a small purse and a bag of pastry and a bottle of milk, and painfully aware I had nothing else in the world.

  And nowhere else either.

  I felt like crying. I felt like calling someone for help, but there was no one. And there would be no crying. I’m stronger than that.

  “I’ll be fine,” I told the girl, who was watching me kindly. Her eyes were very dark and very large. She seemed to understand a lot more than what I said.

  She nodded at my bag of pastries. “Blake’s?” she asked with a smile.

  “I work there.”

  “Take a minute. Eat something. I’ll see if I can think of something.”

  The policemen were trying to disentangle themselves from Mr. Burr, who was instructing them to check for accelerants, and telling them what to look for. Mr. Burr watched a lot of T.V.

  I heard Lianne whisper in her phone, a few yards from me. I caught barely a few words. “You know how you say I never let you do anything for me? Well, you’re going to be happy. Because I do need a favor.”

  I shook my head, trying to see better. The smoke was making my eyes all teary.

  I had no-one to call. No place to go. The night felt very cold and… very wide. The world seemed huge, and dark, and I had never felt so alone.

  Minutes later, a car purred, stopped, I heard apologies and awe. The reaction of the two policemen to the billionaire was almost funny. I turned to get a look at the guy.

  Older, slender but powerful shoulders, a man I would have avoided being alone with. A hard face, too, but his pale blue eyes were kind. He shook my hand, like a politician in campaign.

  “Grant Farnwood. I’m sorry about this situation. Don’t worry, we’re going to help you.”

  The policemen frowned and muttered something. I hoped he didn’t include them in the “we”. He turned towards them: “Is there any chance this is a criminal incident?”

  The guy he was talking to, the older of the two, shrugged, carefully not impressed.

  “We’ll check. But… old trailer goes up in flames, not anything new. Could you have left the gas open, miss…?”

  “We didn’t hear any explosion, did we ?” frowned Mr. Burr, glancing at Mrs. Betty. She shook her head.

  “I didn’t have breakfast.” My teeth were chattering. I guess the cold was getting to me, now that the flames were lower, having consumed almost all their fuel. “I never have breakfast in the morning.” Silently, I held up the bag of pastries. “Often I get something at work.”

  Farnwood’s smile became wide and, I couldn’t help thinking, a bit predatory. “Oh, you’re that girl?”

  I looked at him blankly, and Lianne glared at him simultaneously.

  “You work at Blake’s, right?” he insisted.

  “I do.”

  “I see! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  That seemed unlikely, to say the least.

  “So… I thought you might stay at my place tonight, but Blake would kill me. I’ll give him a shout.” Lianne frowned at his back while he took his phone out and walked away a few yards.

  “You’re all set up, I see,” one of the policemen said. He gave a once-over to Lianne in her clingy black dress, not bothering to do the same with me. “Suppose it helps to have friends in high places.”

  “It’s always good to have friends,” Lianne concurred, with complete indifference.

  As soon as the men went back to their car, after presenting their respects to the rich guy, she turned to me:

  “Do you have something against Blake? You didn’t seem happy when Grant said he would call him.”

  I felt small, fat and dirty, standing next to her. She even smelled good — and how was that possible after standing in these stinking fumes?

  “He’s my boss,” I said simply.

  “Would you prefer us to call someone else?”

  “There’s no-one else,” I said. And I had to force the words out, because my throat seemed to have closed suddenly.

  She nodded. “I know how it is,” she said. And somehow, I had a feeling she did. “Look, I don’t know Blake personally, but I know that Grant and him are good friends. Men can be jerks, though. Can I give you my number? You call me if you feel uncomfortable staying with him. We’ll work out something.”

  I tried to speak. Something in my throat wasn’t working.

  I tried to remember the last time someone had been looking out for me, having my back, and all I could remember was the growl of a wolf. Before that? A blank.

  “He’s a decent guy,” I managed to get out.

  Lianne was watching me thoughtfully.

  “But I don’t want to bother him,” I added.

  It was a bit more than that. I had learned, the hard way, that people don’t burden themselves with others. Blake kept me because I did my job well; he wasn’t going to keep an employee who became more trouble than help.

  Farnwood turned around, all bright and smiling. “As I thought,” he called out. “He said he’d be here in a minute. But there’s no need, of course — we’re driving you. Lianne, dear, care for a lift too?”

  Chapter Four

  BLAKE

  I was waiting at the gates when Grant’s car stopped in front of me. That was thoughtless of me: I should have invited him inside for a drink. But he waved my concern away: “I can’t stay.”

  I peered through the window to get a glimpse of Lianne, but the car was empty. I couldn’t ask Grant to say hi for me — she didn’t know me from Adam. The only time when Farnwood let us all close to her, she had been blindfolded.

  Alanna got out of the car. It felt like ten days since I had seen her last, an
d I fought not to take her in my arms. She looked defeated. Terribly small, in the darkness by the empty road.

  Grant said good bye, with some final recommendation, and the advice to call the police. “Trailers don’t just burn to the ground,” he grunted. “Fishy.”

  I stared at Alanna in surprise. She had been living in the trailer park? That seemed terribly isolated, for a girl living alone.

  She held my gaze. I could tell she was humiliated to need anything from anyone. It seemed to me that she didn’t have much practice in needing help, or rather, in receiving it.

  We both stood on the side of the road after Grant’s car left. I lived a fair way out of town, on the lakeshore. On the lake side, my windows faced the dark waters, some fancy restaurant on the other side of the lake, and not much else: trees, an abandoned farmhouse, and some cabins, deeper in the woods, sometimes used as vacation rentals.

  On the road side… well, you’d better love woods and wild animals. Which I do. The house isn’t even visible from the road.

  Alanna was shivering, and I cursed myself for not noticing before. She smelled like smoke and burnt chemicals. Not good.

  She returned my gaze with a challenging expression I knew too well.

  “Long day?” I asked.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  And fuck me, it might even be true.

  I didn’t expect her to fold and cry. She was a warrior. I admired her for that.

  But sometimes, I wished she would just let herself be vulnerable. Let me help her. I suspected that in her past experience, though, help was never free. Because she seemed so reluctant to accept it.

  “Let’s go inside,” I offered.

  She looked at the gates. From the road, all you can see is a driveway that looks more like a large woodland path, leading through the forest, and then down the hillside. The house is built lower on this path, close to the lake.

  “You live here?” she asked.

  “I do. Come.”

  She frowned: “You live… where? In a cabin? I’m not sharing a cabin with you. I’m fine outside.”

  “I’m sure you are. But there’s no need.”

  I must admit, I felt a bit anxious at her reaction when she would see the house.

  Part of it was the desire to impress her, which was petty and made me feel small. I’m thirty-four and I’m seriously over trying to impress anyone, unless we’re talking baking. Usually.

  The other… was the natural shyness at having her in my home, my place. Unexpectedly.

  However, I didn’t mean for her to stay at the house with me. There’s a small guest cottage, and a carriage house, deeper in the woods, where she would have her own space. And not tempt me by parading around the house with her hair wet after a shower, or… I could imagine so many situations when she would tempt me, and some of them not at all her style, but I knew I had to keep her away.

  The fact that it would be away, but within the alarm-protected fence around the property, seemed like progress, though. I hadn’t known she lived in such an isolated place as the trailer park, and I had been lucky not to know. It would have made my nightly runs… different. I would have spent far too much time running there, and lying in bed being worried about her.

  I already spent far too much time in bed thinking about her.

  After closing the gates, we walked in silence along the path.

  “What’s a carriage house?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. It sounds like a garage to me, but this one was purpose-built as a little house. Probably the driver’s house? It’s been empty for a long time, anyway. You’ll be better in the guest cottage.”

  She laughed softly. “No, that’s for your guests.”

  “It’s empty.” I never have guests. I like my privacy, or rather, I really need my privacy. I bring women home, obviously, but they don’t sleep in the cottage.

  Alanna shook her head. This was going to be a long night, I thought.

  “I’m not your guest.”

  “I’m not going to beg you. Do as you please. I know you will anyway.”

  She shot me a quick glance.

  “I’m sorry to be bothering you like this.”

  I stopped. This was important, and I wanted her to look at me.

  “Alanna, I don’t mind having you here.” My voice sounded so stern it made me wince. I wasn’t the warm and fuzzy kind. Not as a human. And something told me trying to be warm and fuzzy with her would only scare her.

  “I won’t stay long,” she promised. “Tomorrow I’ll call the guy who rented me the trailer. He’s got a lot more of those. I should have thought about that before coming here.”

  I sighed. “It has been a long day. Take a bath, have dinner, go to bed. Tomorrow you’ll do what you need to do. But you can stay here as long as you need.”

  She knew I wasn’t married, I thought. That I lived alone. Anyway, she didn’t ask.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She laughed, frankly. “It’s not a pleasure. I’m sorry to be bothering you like this.”

  Now could be the time. Now I could make a lame attempt at flirting and tell her it was a pleasure to have her here, close to me, alone with me, without being interrupted by customers. But that was probably the last thing she needed, when she was already unhappy about spending the night at my place.

  We arrived at the top of the hill, and saw the house below. I had left some light on and in the moonlight we could see perfectly the large modern construction, the picture windows, and beyond, the glistening expanse of the lake. There was a small pause, a moment when she stopped and looked shocked.

  She recovered quickly, though.

  “Why do you even work at the bakery?” she frowned.

  “I love it,” I replied. “I love baking, and some of the employees are pretty cool.”

  My only employee shot me a wary glance.

  I needed to stop right there. Because she’d had the most horrible day, and her boss hitting on her would be the worst rotten cherry on this shit-cake.

  “Anyway,” I said curtly. “Are you going to look from here, or shall we get inside?”

  Inside, this was the most awkward I’d ever felt, so I reverted to type: arrogant and brisk.

  She never meant to stand in my living-room, looking warm and soft among all the marble and stone. She never wanted to stand at the door to a bathroom — not mine, just a guest bathroom — whiled I pile on her arms towels and soaps and little bottles of stuff.

  I didn’t even do that for my lovers. They could use my bathroom and get their own towels from the cabinet. But that girl, I took her to the farthest edge of the house, to an ensuite I never use, as far from my own as I could. It was clean and comfortable, the whole house was, but also empty.

  “Shit. I don’t have clean clothes for you.”

  “That’s alright. I don’t either.”

  Her dark humour made me chuckle. But I knew better than to keep along that line.

  God knew I wouldn’t mind her staying naked all night. As long as she wanted. I’d get naked too, if it made her more comfortable. But that was my private fantasy, not hers. Hers was probably to be somewhere safe and warm, far away from her leering boss.

  She was so young, in spite of her bravado. She was nineteen, looking a lot younger — I checked her papers when I employed her, and double-checked — and I’m all of twenty-seven years old. Old enough to know better.

  “Take a bath,” I told her, checking absently that I’d put some bubble bath among the little bottles I gave her. “Have a long bath, relax. I can get some sheets for this room, or I can go and get the guest cottage ready.” It was only a question of turning on the main switch. The rest should be ready. But I needed to get out of there while she was in the bath.

  “I only need a quick shower.”

  “Do as you please. When you’re ready, come to the kitchen, we’ll fix something to eat.”

  She nodded. Her eyes were red-rimmed even if I k
new she would never cry. It must have been the smoke.

  I wished she would let herself cry. I had a shoulder ready for her.

  But then, I was no saint. Start crying on my shoulder, and who knew where the comforting would end.

  Chapter Five

  ALANNA

  I looked at the key in my hand. Heavy. Cold. I felt something weird on my face and I realised it was a huge grin.

  Blake was anxious to get me out of his house, and as far from him as he could, without actually throwing me out. He insisted I take the guest cottage. But the next day, I did a bit of exploring on my own, and I found what he called the carriage house.

  It was a sinister little stone house, deeper in the woods. It stood empty, but not as derelict as he thought. I went in through a broken window and spent a moment in the small, empty house, dreaming I was Snow White and I had found the house really meant for me — one with no creepy band of dwarves.

  The house was small, meant for just one or two people. There was a living-room with a chimney on the ground floor, and an ancient kitchen with coffee stains on the formica counters. But formica is easy to clean.

  There was also a foyer, and the door has a stained-glass window that lets in coloured light. I climbed the stairs and found one bedroom and a small bathroom upstairs, rather dingy, but I’m not scared of a bit of cleaning. Another, steeper flight of stairs led to a kind of attic. This was a dream.

  The house even had running water in the bathroom, brown, and spluttering like it was offended to be woken up. Once I found the electrical switchboard, I turned the power on and one bare lightbulb lit up in the bathroom upstairs. This was not “derelict”, as my boss had said; it only needed some love and someone who wasn’t afraid to scrub.

  So I spent the first night in the guest house as my boss wished, and the next morning, in his gleaming kitchen, over toast and jam, I asked Blake if he would rent me the carriage house.

  He looked horrified.

  “It’s half in ruins.”

  “Not at all. There’s only one broken window. And you need to fix it anyway, before the rain ruins the floors downstairs. They’re wood.”