Secret Wolf: A Steamy Werewolf Romance

by Dancer Vane

  God, I was dying to be with her again. Naked. I had a lot of ideas about what to do with that pretty ass.

  And her comments that she was too heavy? She must have meant too fat. I needed to let her know, in her flesh, that she was just perfect for me. I didn’t like a bony ass, or being able to count ribs. I loved her flesh, firm and glowing with health, I loved her strength and the way she melted in my arms. I loved how tight she was when I took her, how my fingers dug into her ass…

  I had to grab a towel from the floor to cover my physical reaction to the memories. No, I realised when I saw the tented towel, better turn around.

  The sun caressed my back. It felt good. I was still half-hard and half-dreaming of what I was going to make her go through when I’d come back.

  Grant came and sat on the bench next to me, where we kept the towels and the sunscreen.

  “Going to cream my back?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  But his tone was dry, and I looked up. His face was stern.

  “Can I give you some news?”

  Oh God. Foolish humans had started another massacre, probably. There was a reason why I hadn’t turned on the TV in my room.

  “Bad news?”

  “Worrying news. Can you turn around?”

  “Huh, no. In a minute.”

  I lifted my head and placed it on my arm, so I was turned to him and watching him. I took off my shades. Because… Farnwood. He’s got that kind of aura, of innate authority, that makes even someone like me just take off his shades to talk to him.

  “I have news,” he said, “And you’re not going to like it.”

  In fact, his tone was so sober, his face so tired and grey, that all my previous enthusiasm disappeared. I rose and sat down on the side of my chaise-longue.

  “Shoot.”

  “Remember when you asked me to check on your new employee?”

  “Sure.” That must have been six months before. I remembered his horrible story, about a crack addict trying to pimp his daughter.

  “The DA who was able to give me the information, he told me where her father was jailed. Chicago.”

  “Yes?” Grant wasn’t nervous. Ever. But he did look dark.

  “I asked him to add me to the list of people who should be notified in case of release. Normally it’s only the victim’s family, but, you know. We’ve been friends a long time.”

  Oh no. I could see where this was going, but I couldn’t stop it. Grant went on : “He just called me. The man was released a week ago.”

  Chapter Twenty

  ALANNA

  Blake had offered to hire an extra for the week-end when he wouldn’t be home, but I assured him that wasn’t necessary. I would open the shop on Friday, but there was no point opening the next two days, given that he wouldn’t be there for baking.

  Sure, I could have thrown frozen bread in the oven, but he was so appalled at my suggestion, that I let it go. It would be fresh or nothing, then. I wasn’t sure if it would make a difference for croissants or muffins, the basic stuff, but apparently the bakery wasn’t about the basic stuff.

  Blake was so horrified at the idea that I felt it was the perfect opportunity to broach the subject of us offering healthy treats, just to tease him.

  He looked at me blankly, shook his head as if he had had a horrible vision, and then went on counting the money in the cash register, ignoring me.

  I laughed. “Some people don’t like heavy cream.”

  “If they want frozen pastry and fat-free muffins, there are a few options in this town. I can send them there. With my boot in their ass.”

  “You’re obsessed with ass.”

  He gave me a sly glance, half-a-smile.

  “What can I say? I see yours around here all day. It keeps me focused on what really matters.”

  “Which is?”

  “Your ass, obviously.”

  I rolled my eyes, but it was hard to pretend I was offended. I was sad that he was leaving; I felt horny all the time, after so many months of frustration, and just watching him move made me wet. Half-hope, half-memory. A killer combo.

  He placed the money into the enveloppe for the bank.

  “You know I don’t need to go,” he said.

  “I think you do. You need a holiday.”

  He growled. I sighed.

  “Okay… you deserve a holiday.”

  “And you deserve…”

  Our eyes met, and when the door chimed, he smiled and didn’t say a word — but I knew exactly what he had been about to say I deserved.

  And that made cheeks warm.

  Still, when I walked to the bus stop that Friday night, I felt a bit silly and a bit sad. A strange mix.

  I ran in my head the list of things I had to do, wary of forgetting anything. I had closed the shop, taking extra care because nobody would go there until Monday.

  I wiped the countertops, unplugged the industrial-size coffee-machine, ran the dishwasher. I felt a bit sad not to come back to work for the next two days… and that was the strangest feeling ever. I had expected I would jump with joy at sleeping in for two days in a row.

  And yet. Work was closely associated with Blake, and just that made me sure I would miss it.

  Since the shop would be closed, I had no intention of coming back to town these two days. So I stopped at the charity shop (where I didn’t find clothes I liked, but bought two paperbacks) and bought groceries on my way to the bus stop.

  I planned on sleeping late, declutter the attic, take long walks in the woods, and read in my bed until late at night. I had no TV, but radio stations on my phone for music and news. And who needs news anyway? I was quite happy to be safe from the world for a couple of days.

  I wondered if I should give a call to Lianne, given that her boyfriend was currently away with mine. Calling him my boyfriend seemed terribly daring. No, he wasn’t my boyfriend. I had no idea what he was… my boss. A sort of friend, still tentative. A great fuck. Yet there was no way I thought of him only as that. I rode the bus home with a blush on my cheeks.

  And yet, how I would have longed to call him my boyfriend, silly as it sounded.

  Maybe that was exactly the reason why I couldn’t call Lianne: she would know in two minutes how I felt about him. And I couldn’t have that. Not when his feelings, if he had any, were for my ass rather than for me.

  Was it true? I reminded myself of all the little gestures, half-said sentences… but that was the point: he had never said anything different. A half-assed, aborted invitation to Deckler’s didn’t count (“We can go if you want” had been a good intent to save the situation, but it didn’t count as asking me on date). And truth was, there was little to remember.

  No, what gave me hope, what made me feel good about all this, not casually used and discarded, was something I felt, not anything he said.

  Something tenuous, and probably all in my head; the emotion, a certain look I surprised sometimes when I turned and found him watching me; and maybe just the fact he didn’t try to make me sprawl spider-like on his kitchen island (I would have had bad news for him), but looked for maximum contact when we were together.

  I mean, when we were fucking.

  He held me. He touched me. Didn’t focus on my pussy, although his attentions were welcome there, but kept kissing me, grabbing me, pulling me back to him when I rolled over after sex.

  I didn’t know if he was my boyfriend, or just taking advantage because I was there day after day, lusting after him, and he would rather throw me a quick fuck than leave me drooling all over the countertops. Although, quick… not really. More thorough than quick.

  Oh dear. I squirmed on my seat and tried to look through the window until it was time to get off the bus, and the weight of the groceries and the book helped me focus on the present. Nothing like mindfulness, in a cold, dark night, with heavy bags cutting your fingers, to avoid self-combustion.

  Once at home, though, I left the groceries, washed my hands and went u
p for a hot shower. Not a cold one; I felt no guilt about giving myself a bit of relief.

  While the water grumbled in the old tubes and started to warm timidly, I tried to not think about Blake swimming, gorgeous, under the eyes of lusty, slim, and certainly promiscuous women. Of him going to some club with the two other men. Oh dear.

  It wouldn’t be cheating, because we had never said anything. Not about any relationship. It didn’t matter that I had not wanted anyone since I had started working for him (in spite of being constantly aroused, and that was torture).

  I couldn’t expect him to be the same, to do the same. I didn’t think the woman in the kitchen was his girlfriend either, especially as he didn’t strike me as someone who would cheat; but… I wasn’t anything official either. So he had no reason not to go clubbing, and bring someone back to the hotel with him.

  So… I stepped into the shower, under the now scalding water, and decided to forget about the women there, and just focus on him, and how he made me feel.

  I spent the afternoon in the woods, wandering on well-maintained paths, careful not to get lost. To avoid walking along the road, I took the bus to a beauty spot further down the road, where various paths started and cars often parked. From there, I walked deeper under the tall trees, enjoying the unusual smells of nature and forest, that reminded me of Blake.

  Crossing the road, walking further, I reached the lake and walked along the shore for a while, enjoying the light glittering on the blue expanse of water. It felt like a holiday probably did: restorative, healthy, fun.

  I was fitter than I expected: being on my feet all day, running up and down the stairs to the kitchen, seemed to have done me good. The walk turned into a hike, and I was famished by the time I decided it might be time to go home.

  After the sun set, the temperature just dropped. The brisk afternoon turned into a cold night, far too early. It was barely five, but I hurried to get back to the bus stop and the car park in the rapidly fading light, pressing both hands in the pockets of my coat. The short coat dangled against my hip as I half walked, half ran to the bus stop.

  I looked quickly at everyone on the bus before I stepped on, and realised I had stopped doing that for a couple of months. I had felt good here, settled. Safe. I had stopped checking if anyone was following me, secure in the knowledge that my father was in jail and that social services must have lost interest in me when I turned eighteen. I had relaxed.

  And now, just the sight of some jacket and shoulders in the crowd, in the blink of an eye, days before, had brought back my fear — or rather, my paranoïa.

  Anyway, the bus was only half-full. Some faces I recognised, and the others were the same as everywhere. A young boy noticed my glance and smiled to me. I smiled back.

  As always, I had my key fob in hand when I stepped off the bus. The driver and I exchanged a “nice evening” before he closed the door behind me.

  I shot a quick look on both sides — nobody to be seen anywhere — and beeped the gate open. I slipped inside and closed it again as if I had monsters on my heels.

  Ridiculous. Since I had moved to this place, I had come home every night without even a chill between my shoulder blades. But then… most of the time, I believed Blake was home. That helped.

  The gate securely closed and the alarm light blinking discreetly, I walked down the path, then took the narrower path between the oaks and maple trees, emerging onto the small terrace in front of my door.

  “Geez, you took your sweet time,” a voice drawled from the darkness behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ALANNA

  There would have been time to run. There might have been time to make it to the road, and once on the road… keep running, hope for a passing car. But I froze. The familiar terror held me in place, unable to move.

  Because they say there are monsters, and I know it’s true. They say that a man changing into a wolf is a monster; but that voice — that drawl, the stink of rotten teeth after years of meth, his quiet jubilation at knowing he could hurt me? that was my own personal monster.

  I held my keyring inside the coat pocket, my hand trembling over the keys. I could fight, I thought. The vision of the situation — empty house, empty woods, not a neighbour in miles — made me falter; but of course I could fight. Maybe thrust a key in his eye.

  When I turned around, he was watching me in the darkness. There was no porch light. He knew what I was thinking, about running, about the keys. And that made him smile.

  Because he held a knife. It took me a minute to register it, and he kept watching my face, waiting for the moment I would notice.

  My legs trembled. He had come out of the underbrush behind me, blocking the path, so there was no way I could run to the road. I ran options in my head quickly. I could try to get into my house and slam the door before he grabbed me — but there was maybe two yards between us, and he was quick. He would just break a window downstairs.

  I could run to Blake’s house. I thought I might outrun my dad and have time to deactivate the alarm… yeah, probably not. If I managed to lock myself in, I could call the police; when he broke a window in Blake’s house, because he would, that would call the security company.

  “Stop thinking,” he sighed. “Always trying to be smarter than me. Stop thinking and open the damn door. It’s cold out here.”

  My house was the worst option. My house wasn’t connected to the alarm; he could kick the door open or break a window, and no-one would know until they found me.

  “I don’t live here alone,” I said. I hated how my voice was trembling. That didn’t sound like me; it was a little girl’s voice, come back from long ago.

  “You do. The owner has left town. The shop is closed. You’re all on your own.”

  “He comes home tonight.”

  “Nah, he doesn’t.” He stepped closer, and it took all I had to stand firm and not take a step back. All I know about predators, I learned it from this man. Not that it did me any good at the time.

  He gave a harsh laugh, then coughed.

  “What, you expect he’s paying you a visit when he comes home? That’s what I thought. You’re a sly little slut, aren’t you? I was wondering, too, how you got yourself that pretty little house. That’s not your job paying for this place, is it? No missy. That’s your sweet little pussy paying for it. And I’m your daddy. So stop looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf and open that door.”

  “You’re not welcome here.”

  My voice sounded firmer, that was the good side. I was trying to gain time, but I wasn’t expecting any help, that was the bad one. I could argue with him as long as he would let me, but he was the stronger one and in this forest, at night, no help would come.

  “I’m cold out here,” he growled. “I need a good bed and something to keep it warm. It’s your duty to keep your daddy warm, sweetheart.”

  I spat at his feet.

  It took a lot more courage than I ever had before. I was still scared of him; the rabbit in me cowering, trying to disappear, as if that had ever helped me. Well, that had kept me alive at the time, when I was certain, absolutely certain, that he would kill me if I challenged him.

  His eyes widened, and in one swift movement he stepped closer and slapped me, hard, so fast I had no time to see it coming. My head turned and my cheek stung, but the humiliation was worse. I pushed him back, but it made him laugh.

  “Give me the keys now. Stop making me angry or you’ll be sorry.”

  If there was a big bad wolf, he was there, right there. I remembered Blake thrusting into me, all warm skin and breathless voice, and it reminded me who I was. Not a girl. But a woman. A woman he made love to, and he thrust his dick into me hard and deep because he knew I could take it; because he knew I was strong.

  I had to be strong.

  This was a fight I couldn’t win. But it was one I might be able to avoid. I knew the park between the houses, and on the lake shore, the woods were denser, wilder. I might escape, climb a
tree maybe, hide long enough that the morning would come, and then a whole day, and then Blake would be home again.

  No, better. I could run to the house and slam into these bay windows to rise the alarm before I hid.

  I was very, very careful to keep my eyes on his face; if I so much as glanced towards the woods, towards the path to the little clearing where we made love, he would guess what I was going to do and not give me time to try. So I kept my eyes on his face, and slowly, slowly, started to raise my hand with the keys in it.

  Then I darted into the woods.

  I’m not a runner. Can’t afford the shoes or the gear. But I was younger than he was and had never done drugs. That was my only advantage. And as soon as he started behind me, he was coughing. Tuberculosis, I hoped.

  But rage and hate fuelled him, and they might be stronger than fear. Or just last longer.

  I had to reach the house. He didn’t expect me to be able to go inside, no matter what he said about my relationship with Blake, and he was right. Did he know about the alarm? Was he the one who started it in the middle of the night before?

  My vision blurred; running in the darkness, I felt small branches lashing at my cheeks, grabbing at my hair, but the raspy sound of my father behind me spurred me on. I didn’t care about pain, or the burning in my lungs, all that mattered was to escape from him.

  Why had he come back?

  That was stupid, I had feared it so much, but now I couldn’t believe he had actually come. Why? Looking for a place to stay for free? Or just eager to reassert his power over someone weaker and feel like a man again?

  I wouldn’t be the weaker one anymore. I had decided that a long time before.

  My brain stopped working and I didn’t care; my legs were all that was needed now. I ran furiously, not nearly half as fast as I wanted to, and heard his raspy breaths and some barking cough, too close behind me.

  Live. Run.

  I didn’t have enough oxygen to think, but that word took place of conscious thinking.