by Dancer Vane
Anyway, the choice was easy. She was a lot younger than me, and she wasn’t interested in me, she only needed the job very much. What wasn’t easy was sticking to it once the choice was made.
But that little smile today, the way she practically danced over that table, with my eyes glued to her ass? She was asking for it.
That’s what every abuser says, isn’t it?
That kid was driving me crazy. So I ran.
I ran to the edge of the trailer park. Not a light in the dark, but I could smell the cold ashes and something strong. Some chemical. It was dreadful, so I ran away.
To the woods. Along the bushes, along the Farwood walls, on the other side of the road. The forest is deeper there, dark even with a full moon, and it wasn’t a full one yet. I wanted to run my lust into oblivion, to run until my muscles shook under the fur and I would be too exhausted to remember that girl. To want her.
I needed to find some distraction. Fuck some girl who didn’t look like her, who wouldn’t remind me of her, come hard inside someone else, and get it out of my system.
I hunted, and fed, and then drank in the cold waters of the lake, cleaning my fur from blood and gore.
Then I ambled home, feeling better.
And ran into her.
Chapter Eight
ALANNA
I was standing outside the house. Which is a stupid thing to do in the middle of the night, of course.
The truth is, I felt safe inside my boss’ property. There was a fence, and heavy gates, so I felt as if I were in the garden of a private house.
Which was stupid, I guess, because this was a huge place and someone could climb the fence, and I was far away from the main house. Too far for Blake to hear me if I called for help, especially when he was asleep.
And he was certainly asleep at three in the morning. Or at the bakery.
I wasn’t sure what had woken me. I had opened my eyes suddenly, wide awake, and knew I wouldn’t sleep again.
I tried for a while. But I could feel the forest whispering around the house, and I didn’t want to stay in bed, trying to get back to sleep when it was obvious I wouldn’t.
I had taken a few walks on the property before. I didn’t go close to the main house: with the lights on inside and whole walls of picture windows, I could see everything inside the house, and that made me uncomfortable. I respected his privacy. I didn’t think highly of snoops.
But there was ample space to take walks in the woods away from the house, without leaving the property, and that was a luxury to me.
So that night when I woke up, I didn’t feel scared. I wasn’t going to go for a walk in the woods, sure, but I made myself a cup of coffee and went to drink it outside on the terrace, watching the night.
That terrace was only a patch of stone floor outside the door, with a few large shrubs in terracotta pots around it, and the woods outside. The air smelled fresh and green, humid, like a forest at night, with a hint of some flower.
I couldn’t see Blake’s house from there, there was a hundred yards at least and a lot of dense vegetation between us. Far away from any big city, the sky night was an inky black, velvet sparkling with many more stars than I had ever seen.
I heard an owl call, and saw tiny eyes sparkle, low in the bushes. I thought of Blake’s comment about the unicorns and smiled. In the middle of the night, the world seemed suspended, reality further away, and I could afford to think of Blake — my boss so far away in the real world, the daylight world — without being so scared of rejection. At that time of night, holding my warm mug in two hands, I could even call him by his name in my head.
There was movement in the bushes, something small. I startled, and chuckled at my own nervousness.
Then I turned around, and I faced the wolf.
I let out a strangled cry, and I froze.
Can you tell if a wolf is startled? Because he seemed to be as surprised as me. He let out a small whimper, like an echo of my own weak cry.
We faced each other in the moonlight.
The forest seemed to have fallen silent around us. Not because of me, the human weakling, but because of the predator in front of me.
I knew better than to run. I know nothing about wolves, but I know about dogs, and about men — the kind that roam the city like wolves roam the forest. I knew not to run. And nothing could have convinced me to turn my back on him.
He seemed to feel the same. None of us moved.
Then… then fear seemed to seep out of my body.
There was nothing threatening about the wolf. Well — there were a compact two or three hundred pounds of pure muscle, fangs that would shred me in minutes, a concentrate of animal strength. But his attitude, his body language, weren’t threatening.
Then it dawned on me. It wasn’t just a wolf — it was the one who had attacked the two drunks in the alley.
I extended a hand, slowly, very slowly, ready to take it back at the first sign that he took it for a snack.
He walked closer. The smooth dance of muscle under the thick fur, the claws ticking on the cement floor, as I held my breath, and sniffed my fingers.
I didn’t speak. I was in awe, and while it wasn’t really fear I felt… I was very aware this wasn’t a pet.
He looked at me, and I met a golden gaze, deep and serious.
His fur looked thick and soft, but I didn’t feel comfortable petting it. I wanted to show respect. We were two inhabitants of the night, and in some way, of the wilderness.
I grew up in inner cities, but in more way than one I came from the wilderness as much as he did. I wasn’t high on the food chain, but I had had to fight for everything I ever had, and fight to simply stay alive, and keep some scraps of dignity.
I wasn’t as beautiful, or as muscular as he was. But I came from the same harsh world, the same constant fight to survive. I could only wish I were as strong as he was, though.
We stared at each other. He nuzzled my hand with his snout. His fur was wet and cold there, but I noticed the rest of his body was dry.
“You’ve been drinking in the lake?” I asked softly.
No human recognition in these eyes — Thank God, because the last thing I needed was a talking wolf — but his nose bumped against my thighs.
“You’re beautiful,” I told him, not that he cared.
And under the moonlight, I realised what I liked so much about the wolf, what made me feel so much at peace with the world. It was strength without agression; it held a lot of power, but it wasn’t threatening.
A bit like Blake sometimes.
Go tell that to his prey for the night, I thought. The wolf, not Blake, of course.
The idea was unsettling. I assumed he had eaten, but who knew? I was suddenly reminded that here was a creature who ate flesh, and that I was flesh.
I caressed his muzzle and then, prudently, his head.
“Thank you so much,” I whispered. “Things were not going well for me, in that alley.” He nuzzled my palm, almost tickling me.
I knew I had to get back inside the house, but I felt reluctant to leave. I would probably not see him again, because wolves are not hanging out around houses, are they?
“I’m going back to bed now,” I whispered to the powerful beast, who seemed to hang on to my every word as if he understood them. “But I’m glad you showed yourself to me. I’m glad I’ve seen something so beautiful. And thank you.” I gave it a little, watery smile, and walked backwards to the house.
The beast watched me. Beautiful and, it seemed to me, wise.
I closed the door softly, and latched it. When I looked through the stained glass, I saw only the deformed shape of a wold, through the little pieces of glass, ambling into the darkness.
I went to sit down in the kitchen, my now cold mug in my hands.
And thought of the man who said he was the mayor. He had said I had confirmed something he already suspected, when I failed to faint at his news that werewolves were real. What did he suspect so far? That
I already knew that? And how would I?
But surely, if he went around saying that werewolves were a thing, people must mostly ignore him. I didn’t expect anyone in his town would look at him wide-eyed and ask “Really? Tell me more.” Except his doctor maybe.
I thought about Blake, his powerful shoulders, his long legs, all that I didn’t allow myself to think about during the day. His hands.
The supple ease of his movements, as if all this strength came without much effort. If werewolves were real, he would be the first person I would suspect of being one, with so much ease and confidence, that insane strength that even shows under his clothes — not to mention when he wears only a thin tee-shirt to work near the ovens.
That way he has sometimes to watch me and not say a thing, that makes me feel I’m a squirrel about to become a snack.
Blake baking as I went downstairs, once, at the bakery; Blake focused, kneading dough, the way his powerful body moved under a white tee-shirt. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I had never seen anyone so muscular.
I even noticed that morning, for the first time, that he could be dangerous. I had forgotten what I meant to ask him, and after a few seconds I had run upstairs rather than interrupt. I remembered the powerful dance of muscle and skin and sheer power. No agression there, just a quiet strength. But… the feeling that if it did turn into agression, I wouldn’t want to be the one facing him.
Although…
His strength around me, his warmth and hard muscle, after the attack.
I hadn’t let myself think of the attack since then. It was a bad memory, and it brought with it a lot of worse ones. Even now, sitting in the dark, it felt like bugs creeping all over my skin when I remembered it.
Blake had seemed uninterested in the wolf. But he had been uncomfortable. He had seen a big dog, he had said, and changed the subject.
And wasn’t that strange? Because even if it had been a dog — and it was clear it wasn’t — a dog attacking two strangers to defend some girl it had never seen, that seemed a bit strange.
And a wolf jumping at the attackers… wasn’t that even more unheard of? That wolf looked intelligent, and kind. I had no complain about the wolf.
But Blake… he had been angry at these guys, I could feel him practically vibrating with anger, but he hadn’t been surprised at all about the wolf. Had had no question about it. No comment either. As if that was the most common thing, that a wild animal would find itself in our back alley in the center of town, and attack two humans to save another. I was pretty sure wolves didn’t care if a girl got raped in the neighbourhood. They had their own life.
That was a very strange behaviour for a wolf.
Or just a very strange wolf.
I took a sip of tepid coffee. Yep. A very strange wolf.
And Blake had never mentioned it later. Given how little I wanted to be reminded of the encounter, I had been grateful. But was it tact on his part? Or… was he as willing as I was to forget the incident, for his own reasons?
The mug clattered softly on the table, and I realised I had stopped holding it tightly. I must be practically falling asleep. Good. I rose and glanced at my phone, charging on the countertop. It was almost four in the morning. I wondered if Blake was in bed, about to wake up and drive to the bakery.
No… he finished baking around three thirty, then came home and grabbed some sleep, before going there again at five-thirty. Which, for the first time, didn’t seem to make sense. Why didn’t he sleep two hours later, and then baked and opened the shop without that pause in between?
Maybe he couldn’t sleep at night. Maybe he was afraid of the dark. He must have been about to drive home right now, anyway.
Except — not this night. Tomorrow was Monday, and we were closed on Mondays.
I felt a little pang of loss. I realised I had been looking forward to seing him this morning. Maybe to tell him about the wolf.
And how stupid would that be? Because I was like the wolf, a creature of the night, of the wilderness, who feared humans and would never belong in their cities.
I had nothing in common with the man who lived in that beautiful, cold house, the man who wore well-pressed shirts, fucked girls like Lianne — not her, but someone similar, tall and slim and always perfectly groomed — or invited them to dinner in some fancy restaurant where they would actually feel at ease and not completely out of place.
Blake might smile and nod if I told him I had seen a wolf that night, while he had been sleeping in his satin sheets or silken sheets or whatever. But he wouldn’t give a damn, and it would only confirm to him that we didn’t belong in the same world.
When I woke up on Tuesday morning, I had decided against mentioning a wolf on his property, in case Blake thought it was dangerous, and decided to hunt it.
Blake was weird all of day long on Tuesday. But then, he was always mercurial. It didn’t mean much, and if I started to be attuned to his moods, I was in for a rough ride.
Speaking of which… yes. Just yes.
He left two hours before I did in the afternoon, which was usual, leaving me in charge of the place.
I liked these quiet two hours, then the rituals of closing, when I was alone in the bakery and it became my own private realm. One that was still infused with his cold gaze and sneering comments, but slowly, the aroma of sugar and white chocolate, and of a bunch of roses on the counter, would take over, and I could get back into my fantasies, between serving the few clients before closing time.
I loved spending time in a place that smelled that good.
On Tuesday night, he was about to leave, and he grabbed a small bag of leftover croissants. “This is for you. I’ll take them home.”
I looked at the bag.
“Oh, I’ll take it when I leave.”
“I’m driving home. It’s easier.”
I hesitated. I knew what I wanted to do, but wasn’t sure he would agree. And making him angry… well, at night in my bed it might sound good, but standing in front of him in the well-lit bakery, making him angry was the last thing I wanted.
“I’d rather take them with me,“ I mumbled.
“Girl, you need to speak up.”
I sighed, annoyed.
“It’s for me, right? So I can do whatever I want with it.”
“Yes, sure. Like what? Eat them?”
“I was thinking of going to the trailer park.”
“There’s nothing there. It burned to the ground.”
Yeah, thanks. The words still brought a burning feeling behind my eyes.
“But my neighbours are still there, thank God. I’m going to pay them a visit and I’ll bring them these.”
“Oh.” He looked surprised. Like human beings were the last thing he would have thought about. Maybe he couldn’t believe I had people in my life beyond him.
“If it’s a social call, then take a couple of muffins too. I made too much.”
Wow. I didn’t realise my boss had a heart. Although, I don’t think he could ever imagine that my offerings of free tartelettes and day-old croissants were probably half the calories my two neighbours got in a week.
As it wasn’t for me, I pushed my luck:
“Can I take a couple of cinnamon rolls, too?”
“Of course. If you pay for them.”
Ah. I was almost worried about him.
He looked at me, and added “I’ll make another bag for you. Business was slow today. No need to let all this get stale.”
I shot him a curious glance. Business hadn’t seemed particularly slow to me, and most of what was left, I could place in the fridge or freezer tonight. But he pointedly fished out of the counter two white-chocolate muffins — my favorite — and almond croissants — not a bad choice either.
Nothing in this display was a bad choice, but apparently, he had noticed what I liked most. The fanciest confections, based on pistachio or salty caramel, were not to my taste; whipped cream didn’t travel very well.
Two muffins and a cup
of milk would make my dinner, while the frothy creamy stuff would have made me sick to my stomach and still left me hungry.
His gaze rose and met mine. “Good choices,” I noted.
He smiled briefly, then looked annoyed and grabbed his car keys on the counter.
“I’ll see you after you visit your neighbours, then.”
I looked at him blankly. He lifted the bag. “I’ll leave this for you in my kitchen.”
“I don’t have your keys.”
“No, ring the bell and come in. That way I’ll know you came safely back from the trailer park.”
I was sure he meant well. But I also couldn’t help the paranoïa about feeling he wanted to trick me into going to his house late at night. It’s not his fault, and I was a bit ashamed of my instinctive reaction, but old habits die hard. Especially old habits that kept you alive so far.
“You’re not my father.”
I hadn’t been able to stop the words in time, but I think what he noticed was the way I had shut down suddenly.
He shrugged.
“Not that I care what you do in your free time. I’ll leave it outside your door, then.”
Yes… but no. I wasn’t leaving the squirrels and ravens have my dinner.
“No. Better keep it at your house, please. I’ll ring when I’m home.”
“Thank you.”
I wasn’t sure what he was thanking me for. Maybe, for not making his life harder than I already did.
“Thank you,” I said softly. But he was already through the door, so I’m not sure he even heard me.
Chapter Nine
ALANNA
It was awfully late when I got to the trailer park that night. I missed a bus, and then waited for a second one that never came, so I walked to the park, as I had done many times before. It was already dark when I arrived.
I forced myself to ignore the charred remains of what had been my home, and my few belongings. Turning my back to them, I focused on the fire Mr. Burns was setting in a circle of stones, and the hot tea Mrs. Betty was bringing me from her own trailer.