by Amanda Jones
“Nonsense!” had said Avelyn, even though the story had given her chills. “Tears and blood? Stop thinking about such ghost stories. And, anyway, if you’re so terrified of the guy, just make sure he won’t choose you.”
“That’s the problem! I can’t blow this interview. My dad will kill me if Max walks out of Alma Venus with a bride that’s not me. I’m his only daughter, remember? The only reason he donated me to the school was because if one day I become the wife of an Alpha, it would be easier for him to maintain the peace with the werewolves.”
Avelyn knew that Delyse’s father was a Councilor and a representative of the human faction, and even now she was thinking of how sick it had been of him to donate his daughter. A donation was almost as offering an innocent girl, who would have otherwise had a bright future, as a gift to the enemy. No matter how twisted it was, some rich, influential people sometimes did it. There weren’t many such donations, so Delyse’s case was a rarity. She had been unfortunate enough to be born in a family of politicians. Yes, apparently, it was all about politics. Avelyn remembered how she had put her book aside to take the trembling Delyse in her arms.
“Shhh… you’ll do just fine.” She had had nothing else to tell her then, and she wouldn’t have found other words to say now. It wasn’t fair. She knew it, Delyse knew it, everyone knew it. But it wouldn’t have done the girl any good if she had let her emotions run wild and had shown her how revolted she was, and told her how she’d have liked to run upstairs, grab her and Delyse’s things, and simply walk out of Alma Venus never to look back. She would have stolen the girl then and took her far away, some place where no one knew she was the daughter of a Councilor and never asked her to sacrifice her soul, her youth and beauty to keep them safe. In a corner of her mind, she was still contemplating the possibility, if only as a mere daydream that alleviated her sorrow just a little.
“Did you know that I wasn’t… I wasn’t…” Delyse had stuttered, unsure of how to continue.
“Calm down, baby. You weren’t… what?”
“I wasn’t supposed to be in House Lupi.”
Avelyn could still feel the sharp chill that had frozen her blood two hours before.
“What are you saying?”
“My test results had placed me in House Aquilae, but my father made arrangements so that I would be moved to House Lupi. The eagle-shifters never posed such a huge threat as the wolf-shifters, so having his daughter married to an eagle wouldn’t have given him much of an advantage.”
“How do you know that?”
“I never felt like I had the temperament and personality of a wolf-bride, so I asked my mother to speak to Miss Delacroix and find out the truth. It was the least she could do for me.”
For the second time that day, Avelyn had been at a loss for words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She had squeezed Delyse tighter, knowing she soon had to let her go. “You might not be a wolf-bride, baby, but you’re stronger than you think.”
Avelyn swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat, and stepped away from the window. She sat down on Delyse’s bed and stroked her childish sheets covered in white and pink swans. Sadly, she knew the result: if this alliance between the Alpha werewolf and the Councilor was so important to both of them, then Delyse would be the one to seal the deal. It was probably the last day she would spend with her friend, and Avelyn was thinking of what they could do later in the evening. But nothing came to her mind. She was too distracted by the thought that she’d have to spend the next three months before her own departure without Delyse. Maybe she was being selfish, or maybe she couldn’t stand the fact that she was now forced to see this beautiful creature sold to someone who probably only cared about the political advantages she’d bring him with her name and status. Delyse deserved to be loved and cared for, just like all the other girls at Alma Venus. They all deserved so much more than what society had decided for them.
Avelyn jumped to her feet when she heard the door open. She tried to put on an enthusiastic smile, but her heart dropped to her stomach when she saw Delyse’s sullen face.
“What happened? How did it go?”
Delyse sat down on her bed and drew her small hands through her thick, rich hair.
“I’m not sure. Fine, I guess.”
“Don’t be like that! Details, I need details.”
“There aren’t any details. It was very different from all the other interviews I had. Not that I have your experience, by any means…” she smiled reluctantly. Delyse was only 18 and had got her own page in the catalog only four months before. “But, he didn’t even ask me a lot of questions. The whole thing seemed to be… a protocol. I was truly ready to do my best and impress him in every way I could, but he didn’t give me the chance.”
“Was he at least nice to you?”
“Oh yes, very nice.” For the first time since she entered the room, Delyse gave up her insecure posture and looked into Avelyn’s eyes. “I think I like him.”
Avelyn gave a sigh of relief. “Well, then why do you look so crushed?”
“There’s something else,” she hesitated a bit. “He wants to interview you as well.”
Avelyn thought she hadn’t heard right. “What? That’s ridiculous! Are you sure?”
“Yes. Miss Delacroix asked me to tell you. It seems that it was a last minute decision, but you still have at least an hour to get ready. There are two more girls he has to see before you.”
Avelyn couldn’t believe her ears. She was listening to what Delyse was saying, but the meaning of her words didn’t quite register. She wondered why a wolf-shifter would even ask for the Vulpes catalog, let alone request an interview with one of the students. Could it be about politics again?
“Well, aren’t you going to at least take a shower and change your clothes?” Delyse snapped Avelyn out of her confusing thoughts.
“What? No. Forget about it. I’ll go as I am. I bet he doesn’t even care about how I present myself. It might be just an odd, perverse curiosity he has about the foxes. Maybe he thinks he’ll, I don’t know, get them better if he figures out their brides.”
“That makes no sense. An Alpha doing field research? What the hell, Avelyn? You’re more clever than that.”
Did Avelyn just notice a hint of jealousy in her friend’s voice? “Hey, listen: whatever it is, there’s nothing to worry about. I see no reason why he wouldn’t choose you. The other girls he’s currently interviewing… they don’t even count. You’re way above them and you know it.”
Yes, Delyse did know it, and Avelyn’s words reassured her. However, there was still something nagging at the back of her mind, preventing her stomach to stop churning in uncomfortable anticipation. “What about you?”
“What about me?” and Avelyn was dead serious when she said it. “He’s not interested in me. Whatever twisted goals he has, I’m not one of them.” She was thinking way beyond the fact that wolves never took Vulpes brides out of sheer principle. She was thinking how they always preferred lean, athletic women to warm their beds.
***
When she passed Miss Delacroix’s secretary in the waiting room, Avelyn could feel the woman’s reproachful eyes on her. “Yes, lady, take a good look at me. I’m not wearing any make-up, my hair is a tangled mess, I’m in my flip-flops, and my soles are probably still dirty from walking in the grass this morning.” Above all, she was a fox-bride, he was a wolf-shifter, she knew how to ruin a man’s enthusiasm, he had no idea what he had gotten himself into. “This should be easy.”
She yanked the door open, stepped into the office, and slammed it shut behind her. And then she stood frozen in place, staring open-mouthed at the man leaning against the desk, arms crossed over a nicely sculpted chest covered in a casual shirt and a checkered vest.
“You…”
“Avelyn,” he whispered, a lazy smile on his lips. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again.”
For the smart-ass that she usually was, Avelyn couldn’t come up with a si
ngle reply. She was such an idiot. How didn’t she make the connection between the mysterious wolf she had met in the garden and Delyse’s Alpha? She felt like the earth was slipping from underneath her feet and it was all her fault. She had been so focused on her plan of escaping to Italy, so excited about the ID her friend had brought her that morning, so seduced by the idea of freedom, that she completely overlooked the fact that, for the time being, she was still the property of Alma Venus and she was still eligible for being sold. To make things even worse, she had even flirted a bit with the wolf who was now leisurely studying her from head to toe. He seemed very pleased with himself. This caused a mix of anger and frustration to build in Avelyn’s chest, making the skin on her neck and cheeks turn a bright red.
“I’m not sure I can say the same, Max.”
“Oh, you’ve learned my name and decided to give up the whole ‘sir’ thing. That’s most delightful. Would you like to sit down?”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t think this meeting will last long anyway.”
“Why would that be so?”
“Many reasons.”
Max unfolded his arms and contemplated sitting back down behind the desk. Instead, he chose to sit on the sofa that covered almost the entire left wall. One arm spread wide on the headrest, and his right leg brought up on his knee; he felt comfortable and in control. He took his time to appraise the girl in front of him. She was stunning. In the morning, he had only seen her from afar, and then she had left him standing in the middle of the garden, enjoying her little stunt, making a show of ignoring him and his attempts at making conversation. Well, the tables had just turned. Max felt like he had all the time in the world, so he chose to simply stare at her and let her wait for his next words. After all, this was an interview and she had to do things his way. He was pleased to see that she hadn’t changed her dress and hadn’t put on any make-up. Her red hair was a tangled mess that hung down her shoulders, caressing the tender skin of her neck, which was now flushed with anger. He smiled. The green dress, although it touched her soles, didn’t leave much to the imagination. Max could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and all he could think of was that he felt a strong, sinful desire to pinch her nipples and see them poking the soft material. He shifted a bit, cursing his tight jeans, and looked back to her cute face.
“If you are ready, I think we could begin the interview.”
“Go ahead.” Avelyn was still trying to calm her breathing and the wild thoughts that were running through her mind. On the one hand, she found it impossible to take her eyes off him, but on the other hand, the way he looked at her, with such deep hunger in his eyes, made her shrink in panic.
“What can you tell me about yourself?” Max held her gaze and was pleased to see that, unlike Delyse, Avelyn did not look away.
“Nothing that you haven’t already read in the catalog.” She had no intention of making it easy for him. Any kind of cooperation was out of the question.
“I’m afraid the catalogs only offer some general information about the students. They’re not of much help, if you ask me. So, I’d like to hear you talk about yourself. For instance, what do you like to do? What are your hobbies?”
“Eating. I like eating.” There was silence for a second. Maybe Max was waiting for her to continue, or maybe he was reconsidering this whole interview.
“All right. I have a fine chef at Schloss Blackmane. He makes the best stews and stakes. My wolves go hunting twice a week because Harold never cooks his special dishes unless he has fresh game.”
Avelyn only arched an eyebrow. Silence.
Max changed his position by placing both feet on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees. For some reason, he didn’t feel that relaxed and in control anymore.
“You like reading. Have you finished ‘The Shadow of the Wind’?”
“No. Unfortunately, I was rudely interrupted an hour ago.”
Max chose to ignore her comment. “It is Zafón’s most popular book, but, personally, I feel that ‘The Angel’s Game’ is much better written and more abundant in those gothic elements he uses so well. Also, his debut novel, ‘Marina’, was quite impressive. Since Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein’ I hadn’t read a proper gothic novel that would have everything: atmosphere, mystery, characters, ungodly, pseudo-scientific experiments. Have you read it?”
Avelyn hesitated for a second, not sure how she should answer his question. She had no idea werewolves took time to read, and she had to admit to herself that Maxwell Blackmane had just touched one of the subjects she liked most. She could talk for hours about books, especially about this particular author.
“Yes, I… I enjoyed ‘Marina’ very much.” She couldn’t afford to say more than that.
Max smiled, a fleeting thought crossing his mind. “You’re holding back, love.” He stood up, contemplating getting closer to her because he so wanted to touch her face and inhale the scent of her shampoo, but, instead, he walked past her, leaned on the window sill and looked at the clouds gathering above the forest. The sunny day was slowly turning into a dark, gloomy evening.
“This morning, while I was admiring Alma Venus, I was thinking how it could make a fine setting for a dark fantasy novel. Don’t you think? It has the history too. Did you know that in the 6th century it used to be an abbey where boys were taught how to read and write? Those who wanted to become monks would also learn a bit of philosophy and the sciences. There is a legend which says that, once, a girl disguised herself as a boy because she wanted to learn, and in those times girls were not allowed to. They were considered inferior beings whose only purpose was to keep the house clean, cook, and bear children. But this girl wanted more from her life, so she pretended to be a boy. It worked for a couple of years, but then she fell in love with one of her teachers, a monk. He found out her secret, and after some time she vanished. No one truly knows what happened to her, but some say that the monk fell in love with her and got her pregnant. When she couldn’t hide her pregnancy anymore, her lover took her deep down in the dungeons beneath the abbey, where she gave birth to her child, unheard by anyone. The child grew up in the secret tunnels which had been built so the monks could escape in case of war and siege.”
Max stopped talking. He could feel that Avelyn had stepped closer to the window, but he couldn’t tell if she was admiring the view or studying his profile.
“But that’s just a story. It’s probably not real,” he concluded.
“Then why tell it?” asked Avelyn, her voice barely a whisper.
Max turned towards her, pleased to see that she had actually rounded the desk and was standing a couple of steps behind him. “Because it is a tragic love story. I’ve always been drawn to them. Haven’t you?”
Avelyn’s anger had long dissipated, and now she couldn’t decide how she felt about this strange man who was watching her with those green, mesmerizing eyes. A couple of minutes before, his arrogant smile had annoyed her, and his hungry looks had made her feel both aroused and panicked. Leaning against the window, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and she felt the need to uncross them, pull them over her shoulders and press her body against his so she could see exactly what he saw out the window from where he stood, and ask him to tell her more about the girl who raised her child in the dark tunnels beneath Alma Venus.
“I guess so,” she finally answered his question. “I’ve never heard this one, though. Are you sure you haven’t just invented it?”
Max threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly. Avelyn smiled as well, unsure of what to say or do next. This had never happened to her before, to enjoy the time spent with a shifter. She wanted to prolong the moment, the spell that had just formed a magic bubble around her and Max, catching them together in this corner of the office, near the window. She wanted to relax, sit beside him on the window sill and tell him all the tragic love stories she had read on her loneliest nights, under the cover. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She had to think of Delyse and of Joanna
Thorne, the alter-ego that was waiting for her beyond the gates of Alma Venus.
“No, I didn’t invent it,” said Max while contemplating the mysterious changes he could see on her features. “I read it once in a book I found in my family’s library.”
“A book about Alma Venus?”
“No. It covered all the medieval myths and legends of Western Europe. This one was called ‘The Maiden and the Child of Darkness’.”
“I’d love to read it.” She didn’t say the words out loud.
“You see,” he continued. “Tragic love stories are the ones that can truly make us feel hopeful and excited about life. They give as that dose of adrenaline right before the tragic ending, that feeble faith that the worst will not happen, even though, deep inside, we know it will happen and it even has to. Then, as we read the last line, a powerful feeling of catharsis envelops us because we have gone through pain and sorrow along with the characters, cried with them and hoped until the last moment. We experienced darkness and death, and now we’re back to reality, book closed on our lap, aware that, unlike the characters, we have another chance to live and love to the fullest. We never like to read boring little stories about perfectly average relationships which seem to work out of inertia because the two involved preferred to settle for less than to take any risks.”
Avelyn had slowly approached the window sill and dared to sit on the edge.
“Average love stories aren’t worth telling because they fail to stir the passion and desire inside us…” Seeing her so close, and knowing she had come willingly, Max couldn’t resist anymore and grabbed her shoulders lightly, bending over her and drowning into the deep pools of her eyes. “And these are the only things that make us feel alive, and urge us to push forward no matter what.”
