by Mia Frances
The canned goods he'd brought only saw them through the first two weeks of his occupation. That was all he could salvage from his cache at the museum he told her. He insisted the rest had been plundered by others. She didn't believe him. He was too smart to have allowed something like that to happen. She suspected that the rest of it was safely stashed away someplace. He was partial to hiding things in the woods. Though they always had meat on the table for their evening meal, she'd yet to see the animals the cuts came from. Every morning he left the camp to check his traps and hunt. He'd return later in the day sometimes with a fresh killed rabbit or squirrel, but mostly with a hunk of meat from a larger animal, probably a deer. He never brought home more than one meal's worth, with maybe a few bones left over for soup. She suspected that somewhere out in the woods was a crudely built shelter, piled high with food and supplies. Though she often thought about following him to find it, she didn't dare. It was too risky. Tracks were easy to see in the snow, hers as well as his. He'd find out and be madder than hell at her for spying on him. She wouldn't have gained anything. He'd just move his stash someplace else. The scarcity of food was his insurance, his trump card, his way of keeping them in line and under his thumb. That's why he never brought the kills home. He didn't want anyone to know just how much there was. He was afraid that as the reserves grew and the specter of starvation retreated, they'd be tempted to get rid of him. As long as he was needed, he had a home. Once he outlived his usefulness, they might turn on him and force him out. He didn't trust them, but then why would he? The only thing he saw reflected in their eyes was fear and loathing.
She could hear whimpers coming from the downstairs bedroom. Seth was crying in his sleep, the most recent recipient of Wolf's discipline. It hadn't been clear exactly what the boy had done, but then it didn't take much to provoke Wolf's displeasure. Even Justin and Charles, their misguided hero worship having faded, disliked him. Every member of the household had been the victim of his ill temper at one time or another. Alex more than anyone. She was the constant object of his criticism, scolding, and correction. Alex was treated like a child in her own house. Told what to do and when to do it. She was being kept a virtual prisoner here.
Most of their confrontations were over the children. Acting the part of patriarch, he allowed her no say in raising or disciplining them. If she spoke up, she was told she was being defiant and disrespectful; and when she didn't speak she was accused of sulking. Either way she couldn't win! He was the feudal lord and master of this small corner of wilderness. It was his fiefdom, and she and the children his unwilling serfs. Wolf governed by fear and intimidation. His guns and belt, symbols of his authority. They all cringed when he so much as arched an eyebrow or frowned in their direction. The punishments he meted out were a means to that end. The sight of that strip of leather cinched around his waist was enough to keep them cowering and obedient. He'd taken on the role of chastising husband and father, a strict disciplinarian. As though he'd stepped from the pages of a bad Victorian spanking romance. He said he punished them for their own good. He called it correction. She called it cruelty. The man was an ogre. When the punishment was over, he'd often sit, holding his victim on his lap, attempting to comfort them, as they sniffled their apologies.
Alex detested him! He was a Neanderthal, a caveman. This was the 21st century, but you wouldn't know it from him. A sexist male chauvinist, he believed he had the God-given right to dominate her, just because he had a dick and she didn't. She was, to his way of thinking, his inferior. Equally irritating was his patronizing attitude. He constantly called her "little girl" and treated her like a child, telling her when to get up, when to go to bed, when to eat, when to take a nap, even when to go to the bathroom. The last he enforced with a large jar of suppositories he'd found in a camp he'd ransacked. Wolf insisted she had to have a bowel movement at least once a day while she was recovering from her injuries. He said he didn't want her to get constipated. If she didn't go, he'd put her over his knee, shove a suppository up her butt, and make her. It was humiliating, but it could be worse. He'd been searching high and low for a rectal thermometer and a fountain syringe to use on her, so he could better monitor her temperature and give her a thorough cleaning out. She thanked her lucky stars he hadn't found either yet. Wolf was a cocksure, condescending tyrant! Who tried to intimidate Alex by repeatedly reminding her that he was taller, tougher, burlier, brawnier, sturdier, and stronger than she was. Translation…he was a big oaf! A musclebound ape with a gerbil-size brain! Alex longed for spring when the plants would grow again and there'd be plenty of food. They wouldn't need him then. They'd be able to fend for themselves, be free of his control. But it wouldn't be easy! He wouldn't leave willingly, more drastic means would be necessary to get rid of him. Though he kept guns in the house, they weren't loaded. The ammunition was stored elsewhere. The trick would be to locate it without his knowing. She was hoping that having a gun pointed at his middle, and knowing she wouldn't hesitate to shoot, would give him incentive to move on. Not likely! The man was a stubborn son of a bitch. In the end, she'd probably have to shoot, maybe even kill him, to get him out of their lives. Alex had a hard time believing she was actually contemplating murder. But what else could she do? If ever a man deserved it, it was Wolf. She witnessed on a daily basis how unfair and mean he could be. Yet there were times when she felt almost guilty for her negative feelings toward him, when she felt her nerve deserting her. In his own way, he was doing all he could for them. Their survival had become less precarious since he happened on the scene, but the price they paid was high. He fed them, saw to it that they were kept safe and warm, but in return he wanted them to be devoted slaves. When they resisted, he called them ungrateful. He wanted their loyalty, respect, and obedience, but did nothing to earn it. He thought he could bully them into it, impose his will. When they objected, he felt himself ill-used. He was a man that defied all attempts at understanding. She couldn't fathom why he did the things he did. One moment he'd be fuming and threatening and the very next calm and rational.
What also confused her were his clumsy attempts at affection. When Jasmine took ill with a fever, he sat up all night, holding her on his lap, gently stroking and rocking her. When the rabbits and squirrels were scrawny and the portions meager, he'd pretend he wasn't hungry so that the children could eat their fill. Sometimes at night she could hear him moving from room to room, checking on the kids, making sure they were covered, watching over them as they slept. She didn't know what to make of his behavior. He was an ogre, yet how could she explain his lapses? She found it bizarre that he rushed to the side of a whimpering child, having a nightmare, when he was the bogeyman in their dreams. Did he think his little acts of kindness somehow made amends for all the rest of it? If he did, he was sadly mistaken.
Alex watched the door, wondering when he'd return, dreading the sound of his footsteps. He'd gone out just after dinner, telling her he'd be back in a few hours and to wait up for him. It wasn't like Wolf to leave camp at night, but something was raiding his traps. He was determined to find out what and put an end to it. She held up her left hand and, fighting back tears, looked at the finger where her wedding band and engagement ring used to be. He'd taken them away from her, saying he wouldn't allow her to wear another man's ring. She had no idea what he'd done with them. Probably threw them out in the snow somewhere. It was as though he were trying to erase every trace of her past. Wolf was a jealous man, bridling every time she mentioned Matt's name. The precious few momentos of their life together had mysteriously disappeared. The photos of her husband were taken down and removed from their frames; the mug with his name on it, and the beer stein bearing the Ryan coat of arms smashed to smithereens. Even the few items of clothing that had once been his were missing. She'd cried when she found they were gone. When she was scared, Alex would wrap herself in his old jacket, her nose pressed against the sleeves, the smell of her husband clinging to the fabric, giving her comfort. She'd found the charred remains of
the buttons while cleaning ash from the fireplace, but try as he might, Wolf could never take Matt away from her. He could empty the house of his things, forbid her to speak his name, but, in the end, no matter what he did, Matt would remain. He was more than just a memory, he was part of her.
Alex hugged her knees, scared to death of what was coming. Six weeks had passed since the attack. Though it had taken a long time, she was fully recovered. Her grace period was over, the stay lifted. He'd been true to his word, leaving her alone, giving her body time to heal, never touching her. But that was coming to an end. Wolf had told her this morning that from now on they'd be sleeping in the same bed. Two days ago he'd begun framing what appeared to be a large closet in the back corner of the main room. She'd learned, to her dismay, that it was a bedchamber. It consisted of a raised platform wide enough to hold two single mattresses pushed together and a crude wooden frame that reached from floor to ceiling. A blanket, stretched taut between the beams, formed a makeshift wall on one exposed side; and a sheet, suspended from the ceiling like a curtain, provided entry to the cubicle on the other. She suspected the barn siding he'd used to construct it had come from Freidman's parlor, but where he got the nails was still a mystery. She glared at the monstrosity. It looked like something out of the dark ages. Not surprisingly, it reflected the character of the man who built it. He'd been born several centuries too late. He'd have faired well as a conquering warlord or a fierce barbarian chieftain. She glared at it, unable to bear the thought of him touching her. He'd drag her into that dark hole; and then, holding her down, would mount her like an animal. At least he'd risen above his baser primitive urges. Unlike beasts that mated out in public, he required privacy, a place where he could spend his lust unseen.
The younger children were confused by the sudden flurry of activity, wanting to know who was going to sleep in the cubicle and why there were two mattresses; but the older ones understood all too well. They felt guilty they couldn't do anything to stop it, thinking they'd failed her. Especially Justin and Charles. Of all of them, Deana was the most affected. Unable to direct her anger at the person she hated, Wolf, she instead lashed out at Alex. Holding her responsible for bringing him here, for having unwittingly lured him to their camp. It didn't help that Wolf let it slip that he'd first seen Alex at the museum. It raised suspicions in Deana's mind. Alex tried to make her understand that she had no choice in the matter, but the girl wouldn't listen. Sleeping with Wolf was an act of betrayal. What happened in the woods hadn't been Alex's fault. Her injuries were proof of that. She'd tried to fight them off. That was forgivable, but not this! There was no knife pressed to her throat and no gun ready to fire this time; so why would Alex meekly go along with it? For Deana the only answer was that Alex wanted Wolf. Wanted to lay with that pig! Wanted to be used and degraded by him. She was a married woman. She had a husband. How could she betray Uncle Matt, betray her marriage vows like that? A decent woman would resist, no matter the consequences. She could only assume her aunt's acceptance of her fate indicated consent.
It wasn't until the others went to bed and Alex was washing that Deana came to her. She stood a few feet away, staring at her aunt in silence. Then, confused and ashamed, she burst into tears. At 13, her niece, having spent her young life attending strict, Catholic, all-girls parochial schools, conceived of the sex act as an ordeal. Something dirty and disgusting. A sin married couples committed behind closed doors. Husbands pouncing while their wives struggled, enduring hurt and humiliation, so they could make a baby. In her young mind, she equated intercourse with pain. She'd seen what they'd done to Alex, how close they'd come to killing her. She feared that Wolf would do the same. It wasn't Alex she hated, but herself. Paralyzed by fear, she could do nothing to save her aunt, standing helplessly by while she was brutalized and hurt yet again. She'd held Deana close, assuring her she wouldn't be harmed. Eventually the tears slowed and the girl was sent off to bed; but for a long time afterwards she could hear her sobbing upstairs.
Alex gazed at the flames, despondent. Her life was an endless wake. She spent her days mourning. Grieving for all that was lost: the loved ones dead, the cities that lay in ruin, the nation destroyed. Clutching at empty dreams of blue skies and spring. She rested her head on her knees and slowly closed her eyes. She didn't want to think anymore.
A loud creak shattered the silence as a blast of cold air swept through the room. Wolf was home. Alex sat frozen, the sheet held tightly to her breast as he stepped over the threshold. He glanced at her, eyes lingering only a moment before turning away. Her heart pounded as she watched him. Except for the occasional look in her direction, he seemed oblivious to her presence, as he busied himself removing the outerwear that protected him from the bitter cold. Bits of ice clung to his beard. The flesh of his cheeks and forehead were cherry red, burned by the frigid, biting wind.
Goose pimples covered her arms, not from the cold…from him. Who was he? Who was this man who'd be sharing her bed? Even though he lived with her, Alex hadn't the slightest idea. Oh she knew what he looked like all right, the sound of his voice, the way he moved, but she had no inkling what went on in his head. What he thought, felt, dreamed, or cared about were mysteries to her. Alex was mortified to think that in a little while she'd be lying naked and he'd be inside her. She and Matt made love. What did she call this? Fucking? Screwing? Humping? Banging? No, she called it what it was…another rape! The worst part of it was knowing that it wouldn't end tonight. It would keep happening, over and over again. There was no escape.
She jumped as she felt his hand touch her hair. He was standing behind her.
"How about some help with these boots?" he said, his fingers lightly stroking the side of her face. He pulled the rocker closer and sat down.
Alex hesitated a moment then slowly got to her knees. She didn't look up, her gaze nervously focusing on the floor. He extended his leg and she timidly grabbed hold of the boot, tugging until it came off. Her hand was shaking as she laid it down next to her. She waited for him to offer the other leg, but the seconds came and went. The chair creaked as his weight shifted. She looked up and found him leaning forward, staring at her.
"You look pretty tonight," he told her. "I like your hair down like that." He reached out his hand to her. "Come closer."
Though apprehensive, she complied.
His rough, calloused fingers gently explored the curve of her face. Her skin was soft and smooth as velvet. Her features dainty. She had the cutest turned-up nose, high cheekbones, and plump, bow shaped lips. Her eyes were big and blue, and fringed with dark, feathery lashes. She looked childlike, innocent. Sometimes when he looked at her, that was all he saw, just those two enormous eyes. Wolf couldn't help wondering what Alex looked like before the war. He could imagine her with plucked, softly arching brows; eyelids shaded dark blue, cheeks tinted pink, lips a delectable red, and her legs and underarms shaved smooth. Dressed in silk and satin instead of clothing that resembled rags. Alex was beautiful now, what must she have been like then, before her eyes lost their sparkle, before pain and misery had stolen the luster of youth from her face? She rarely smiled, but when she did, there was a radiance about her. She was petite, almost fragile. There were times when he'd ached to hold her, crush her in his arms, but he was scared she'd break. Alex was such a little thing, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. There was a vulnerability about her. Could be that was the attraction: not the pretty face, or the soft curves of her body, but the need he saw in her. He wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh, make her feel safe again. He didn't know why, but there was something about her that made him feel more like a man than he ever had before. He drew her close, nuzzling her hair, drinking in the fragrance. She smelled like a woman: warm, sweet, and enticing. Alex stiffened, her muscles tensing. After what happened, he could understand why being touched by a man would terrify her; but didn't she understand that this was different, that he wouldn't hurt her, that he cared for her? His thoughts turned to their first me
eting at the museum. He regretted what he'd done to her that day. It was inexcusable. He'd never forced a woman before in his life. He'd acted on an impulse, a compulsion born of anger, grief, and need. She'd been a convenient body. A way to ease his loneliness. He could only imagine how terrified she'd been. If he could take it back, he would. But that was all in the past now. He'd make it up to her, make her forget. This was a new beginning for them.
"You smell so good," he told her, breathing in her scent, then drawing back to ogle her. Her nearness overwhelmed his senses.
Alex nervously shifted her gaze from his boot to the floor and back again.
There was something in her shyness that appealed to him She was like a chaste virgin bride, trembling as she meekly submitted to her husband for the first time. He sat back in the rocker, leering at her, thinking he must be dreaming. Was she really his? Wolf extended his leg and she obediently removed his other boot. He found her deference seductive. He could feel his cock begin to twitch. It pleased his male vanity that she was so docile. He watched as she gathered up the boots and slowly crossed the room to put them away. Taking in the sensuous roll and sway of her hips.
Alex deposited the boots beside the door. "Do you want something warm to drink?" she asked, nervously, her back to him. There was no response.
Wolf shook his head, a knowing grin on his lips. The little minx was trying to delay the inevitable, buy herself some time. No dice! He'd kept his part of the bargain, now it was time for her to keep hers. "Come away from the door Alex, it's drafty over there. Come by the fire."
Alex wanted to run away, resist, defy him, but knew it would only provoke him and prolong her misery. In the end, he'd get his way, no matter what she did, making her pay dearly for her feeble attempt at rebellion. She had no say in the matter, no choice but to obey.
