Burning Desire

by Ami Snow

  Three –

  “Please – don't hurt me.” said Natasia, trembling. With her eyes strenuously shut tight and her knees cradled against her chest, she braced herself.

  The creature stood still. The panting intensified, its heavy breathing escaping in vehement wheezes, steadying itself, its claws puncturing the tree bark. Natasia's eyes fluttered open, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. Behind the creature was a mangled, black iron fence. There was a disturbed gap between the posts, with chunks of iron strewn across the grass. A piece was missing from the neat row of triangular spikes that adorned the top of the fence. Her darting gaze settled upon the glinting spike, protruding from the creature's arm. She softened, finally understanding.

  “You're hurt.” She stood up slowly, still shaking, as she cautiously approached the creature.

  The creature grunted, turning away defensively. Natasia raised her hands carefully – her palms open, fingers spread apart. She managed a fleeting smile. “Shh...It's okay.”

  Natasia reached out soothingly, gently stroking its arm, pleasantly surprised at the texture of the creature's fur. The strands felt almost velvety against her fingertips. She noticed a silvery streak between the creature's glowing, amber eyes. She placed her wobbling hands on the spike, biting her lip nervously, and gave it a strong, hard yank.

  A thundering, agonized growl erupted from its mouth as the creature doubled over in pain. Natasia gasped, staggering backwards, as the creature transformed before her eyes. The rich coat of fur dissolved, revealing tanned, olive skin slicked with a sheen of sweat. The creature's bright yellow eyes were now a deep shade of brown. Its stained, serrated teeth shrank significantly in size.

  “Wei?” squeaked Natasia.

  Wei looked up, clutching his arm. “Thanks,” he croaked.

  Natasia stared at him in stunned silence. She blinked.

  “Oh my god – what the fuck is going on?! What just happened?! No – this can't – HELP –”

  Wei hurtled forward, thrusting his hand against her mouth, instantly muffling her horrified screams. His eyes enlarged dramatically.

  “Shh – shut up! I'm not gonna hurt you. Just keep it down – please. There's people everywhere.” Wei lowered his hand delicately. Natasia, shaking vigorously, took a deep breath as she attempted to regain her composure.

  “And oh my god, you're naked,” said Natasia loudly, her mouth clamping shut abruptly. She averted her eyes quickly, florid with embarrassment.

  Wei smirked, retrieving a pair of jeans from his backpack. He slipped on his jeans, eyeing Natasia. Her chestnut curls were tousled, the red lipstick on her naturally pouting lips, slightly smeared. She had a round, full face, flushed light pink, and a sharp, pointed nose, and her eyes were a striking emerald green. He couldn't help but notice the stressed buttons on her blouse, sitting atop her large breasts, threatening to burst. Her wide hips hugged the woven fabric of her skirt, and the flesh of her waist poured out slightly at the waistline. She gazed fixedly on the patch of grass next to her shoes as she waited for him to get dressed.

  “I don't have a spare shirt,” said Wei pointedly, “You mind helping me with this?”

  “Of course,” muttered Natasia as she picked up the tattered remains of Wei's shirt, wrapping it tightly around his arm.

  “Alright, thanks again,” said Wei, wincing, “Natasia, is it? You're the new hire.” He spoke with a slight accent.

  “Yes, I'm Natasia, it's good to meet – no, wait – I still don't understand,” said Natasia, exasperated.

  “It's a long story.”

  “Well I've got all night,” said Natasia, crossing her arms against her chest.

  “Fine,” grumbled Wei, “But we can't talk here. Come with me.”

  The brilliantly lit hallway of Wei's apartment building was a stark contrast to the seemingly lightless, mystifying atmosphere of his spacious apartment. There was a bookcase in the center of the living room that embellished rows of hardcover books. The walls, painted several coats of black, were lined with black and white photographs in rusted gold frames. Despite the lack of warmth in the room, there were no visible creases on the plum colored sofa, the books were arranged in alphabetical order – everything was kept immaculately in place.

  “You're a werewolf?” blurted Natasia. The word rolled off her tongue, yet it seemed so foreign.

  “Technically, yes – but I prefer lycanthrope. It's just got a less Halloween-y vibe to it,” said Wei casually, walking towards the kitchen counter, “Want something to drink?”

  “No, thank you. I've got so many questions.”

  “Here,” said Wei, ignoring her. He handed her an open bottle of cold beer, “Drink this. You'll like this.”

  “Thanks,” muttered Natasia, taking the bottle.

  “So, ask away.” Wei plopped down on the sofa, patting the empty space next to him. Natasia obliged, taking a seat next to him.

  “Where's your TV?” asked Natasia, confused.

  “That's your first question? I've got a laptop. I stream,” said Wei, cocking an eyebrow, “I may be a lycanthrope but I'm not completely out of touch.”

  “Right,” said Natasia, giggling nervously, “I didn't know werewolves – I mean – lycanthropes, existed.”

  “There's a few of us.”

  “How's your arm? Doesn't it heal?”

  “It's not magic. We heal much quicker than the average human, but it's not instantaneous,” said Wei, combing through the drawer of his coffee table. He picked up a roll of gauze.

  “Let me help you with that.” Natasia unfurled the roll of gauze around the raw gash on his arm. Her breathing sharpened as her hands traced the lines of his defined bicep.

  “Thanks.”

  “How did this happen to you? Were you born this way?”

  “No. It's like an infection. Well, I call it an infection, but there's no cure. I was out camping with a few of my boys, senior year. For some reason, I was left alone on the campsite. I don't know what it was – I'm assuming another one of my kind – mauled me while I was asleep,” said Wei, pointing to his back, “That's how I got the scar.”

  “That's terrible. I'm sorry,” said Natasia softly.

  “Don't be.”

  “Can you shift at will?”

  “I'm in control most of the time. It took several years for me to master it. Some who are infected transform unwillingly when it turns dark, some under extreme emotion,” explained Wei, “I've never been seen. I was sloppy tonight. You need to promise me that you're not going to tell anyone.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. I trust you.”

  “So I'd like to take you out this weekend. You know, to say thank you.”

  “What?” said Natasia, taken aback at his assertiveness.

  “Korean barbeque place on 7th , sound good?” Wei gave her a small, lopsided smile.

  “Oh, I –”

  “Good, that's settled. I'll see you Saturday at eight.”

  Four –

  “Alright guys, take one each,” said Natasia as she handed a stack of marbled-cover notebooks to the girl in the front row. “These are your new journals. You guys will be writing in these journals weekly, effective immediately.”

  The class groaned. Natasia kept her smile plastered to her face. Aurora's eyes flickered open and shut as she struggled to stay awake. Increasingly annoyed by her own fatigue, she rested her chin against her fist, staring into space. Natasia noted the dark circles under Aurora's eyes. Her naturally pale complexion was pasty white. Natasia wondered what was plaguing the young girl's incessant thoughts.

  “It can be anything creative – poetry, songs, stories, journal entries – again, I stress, anything creative, as long as it means something to you. Do I make myself clear?” continued Natasia. The class murmured in disgruntled agreement.

  The bell rang. The students stood up as they stuffed their books into their bags, their desks screeching as they fought their way towards freedom.

  “Aurora –
hold on a sec.”

  “What you want?”

  “Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted.”

  “You're telling me I look like shit?”

  “No,” sighed Natasia, “You just look a bit sleep-deprived, is all. I'm worried about you. I know you probably don't want to hear this, but you can talk to me about anything.”

  “You're right,” said Aurora evenly, “I don't want to hear it.”

  “Okay, Aurora. I'll see you tomorrow.” Aurora gave her a tight-lipped, scathing look before trudging out the door. Natasia breathed a sigh of defeat.

  Natasia walked up the flight of freshly polished wooden stairs, making her way towards Vicente's office. She knocked quietly, her fist rapping against the large, mahogany door. She studied the gold-plated sign that bore the bolded words, “Vicente Harland, Principal of Cedar Creek Academy”. She waited impatiently for an answer, fingering the paint, which was slightly ebbed off.

  “Come in.”

  Vicente was seated on a black leather chair, his head buried in his hands. He leaned forward, rubbing his temples, gesturing for her to take a seat. His suit was rumpled, and his tie was loosened around the neck.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Gardner?”

  “Please, call me Natasia. I'm so sorry to barge in like this, but I was wondering if Aurora was doing alright at home,” said Natasia slowly, “She hardly stays awake in class.”

  Vicente sighed, “To be honest – Ms. Gardner – Natasia, I can't tell you much about Aurora. As much as it pains me to say, I barely know my own daughter.”

  “I'm sorry, Principal Harland, I don't mean to pry –”

  “No, it's fine. You're not. I can't seem to have one conversation with her without her exploding in my face. I don't know why she resents me. She even goes by Langley now – her mother's maiden name. Her mother's been on my case nonstop, too.”

  “I'll try talking to Aurora, if I can. I'm sorry to hear about all this.”

  “Thank you, Natasia. You're a sweet girl,” said Vicente, his eyes twinkling.

  Vicente pulled open a drawer, producing a half-empty bottle of brandy and an empty cognac glass. Natasia's eyes widened as he poured himself an alarmingly generous amount of brandy, nearing the brim. He guzzled down the golden brown liquid, sighing contently. He bent his head backwards, then side to side, his neck crackling. He groaned in satisfaction. He offered her a glass. Natasia declined, and instead, approached him.

  Natasia placed her hands gracefully on Vicente's shoulders, gently kneading, the muscles on his shoulders slowly relaxing. Vicente sat up, rigid, as he felt the contours of Natasia's soft, ample breasts, pressing lightly against his back as she massaged him. His crotch began to tighten. Natasia's eyes locked on the tent of his crotch. Droplets of sweat dripped down the side of her face, her heart pounding wildly against her chest. Her breath was hot and damp against the nape of his neck. She grazed her tongue against his neck, licking a trail to his ear.

  “How's that?” rasped Natasia.

  Vicente's chair swiveled. He rose suddenly, snaking an arm around Natasia's waist, as he slammed her forcefully against the wall. He slid his tongue into her parted lips, their noses grinding as he kissed her hungrily. Their fingers intertwined as he moved onto her neck, interchanging warm, wet licks with tender, gentle sucking. His teeth skimmed the flesh of her skin, biting down. She gasped at the sore, sudden smarting in her neck, her knees faltering, as she felt the damp pool forming in her cotton panties. Her finger brushed against the silver band around his finger. Natasia stopped abruptly, her ears ringing.

  “Wait, stop – I can't,” said Natasia, pulling away.

  “I'm sorry –”

  “I have to go.”

  Natasia straightened her blouse as she scrambled forwards fumblingly, scooping up her red pumps. She raked a free hand through her hair, desperately licking off the lipstick smudged on her teeth. She draped her blazer around her shoulder, her fingers fumbling on the silky texture, adjusting her pantyhose at the same time.

  “Hey – Natasia – wait –” started Vicente, his voice pleading.

  The door swung shut behind her.

  Five –

  The restaurant was elegantly furnished with a traditional Asian motif, and was buzzing with sprightly conversation. The sweet smell of grilled, sizzling meat subdued the clouds of wispy smoke from the charcoal grills drifting through the air. Natasia prodded at the slab of meat on her plate with her chopsticks. Wei watched her from across the table, as his chopsticks flitted from dish to dish. He scarfed down the slabs of meat – the rarer, the better.

  “You okay, Natasia? You seem distracted. You're not touching your bulgogi.”

  “Hmm? Yes, I'm fine – sorry. This place is great,” said Natasia, stuffing the piece of meat in her mouth. The savory, marinated flavor seemed tough and dry in her mouth. She swallowed reluctantly, washing it down with cold tea.

  “What's on your mind?”

  “Oh, I'm just –”

  Natasia jolted in her seat, her face suddenly reddening. Wei's foot slithered up her calf, slowly, deliberately rubbing against her leg. He leaned forward and gave her knee a tight squeeze, the craters of his dimples deepening as his lips curved into that lopsided grin she liked. She fiddled with the amethyst pendant on her neck shyly, a coquettish grin spreading across her face.

  “There's the smile.”

  “Here,” said Natasia, giggling as she leaned forward with a napkin, dabbing away at the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, where are you from, originally?”

  “I'm an American – what's that supposed to mean?” asked Wei, arching an eyebrow.

  “Oh – I'm so sorry – I just thought –” sputtered Natasia.

  “Chill, I'm kidding,” said Wei, reclining in his chair, flippantly spreading his legs.

  “Jackass,” said Natasia, suppressing a smile.

  “I was born in Texas,” said Wei in a terrible southern drawl, “but my parents are Chinese immigrants.”

  “Interesting,” said Natasia thoughtfully. “If you don't mind me asking – how old are you, anyway?”

  “How rude,” said Wei, smiling angelically at her as he cocked his head to the side, “Well, how old are you?”

  “I'm twenty-five, but that's beside the point! It's not everyday I meet a – lycanthrope,” said Natasia, her voice dropping to a whisper.

  “I'm thirty-eight. Sorry it's not more impressive. Like I said, it's different for everyone. We age differently. We're definitely much stronger and we heal much quicker than the average person, but we're not immortal,” explained Wei.

  “Right. I'll stop grilling you now, it's like taking Lycanthropy 101.”

  “Don't be sorry. I don't mind. In a way, it's like a weight off my chest, you know? I've finally got someone to talk to about all this.”

  “What about your parents? Do they know?”

  “No. I was infected at seventeen. My parents are immigrants – they've given up practically everything to come to the United States, to make a future for me. I had to leave. I couldn't put that burden on my parents after everything they've done for me. I don't know where they are, and I've been on my own since.”

  Wei's face was sullen, and there was a flash of remorse in his eyes. Natasia softened as emotion lingered in his voice. The wrenching pain of abject devastation was something she knew all too well. She reached for his hands across the table, their fingers interlaced, and stayed silent.

  He looked at her in fascination. She wasn't like anyone he'd ever met. He knew she wasn't someone you could just cross paths with, and the thought scared him a little. He thought himself a lone warrior – strong and self-sufficient – yet here she came along. It was like a reverse damsel-in-distress situation. He was the damn damsel.

  “Enough about me, Natasia. I'm really not that interesting. Let's talk about you – but let's go out for a smoke, yeah?”

  Natasia agre
ed, following Wei out the door. She accepted the stick of cigarette from him, and there was a brief silence as the pair sparked up. Tufts of smoke poured out the end of their cigarette, dancing into the night. They sat down on the curb.

  “Where were you before Cedar Creek?” asked Wei.

  “Oh, just a little town in the middle of nowhere. It's not important,” said Natasia, her eyes lowered.

  “Wait – you were just giving me the third degree –”

  “Okay, but listen – I'm only talking about this once. I was engaged once upon a time at the age of nineteen. Before you start – I know, I know, I was young and stupid. I don't need to hear that. It's a very common story, really – girl meets guy, guy fucks girl's sister, guy impregnates girl's sister. Basically, my life would make for a great Maury episode,” said Natasia, laughing darkly.

  “That's not even the worst part,” continued Natasia, her eyes glistening, “He abused me for years, and it took me forever to get out. I don't talk about this because I don't want to seem like damaged goods, like –”

  “Hey, hey, shh – I'm not going to try and fix you. You're not damaged,” said Wei softly, sliding both arms around Natasia's waist, pulling her close to him. He tilted his head gingerly, pressing his lips against hers. The sweet friction of their lips connecting engulfed her senses. She moaned softly as his hand clutched the back of her head. Her toes curled at the passionate, yet tender way he nibbled her bottom lip. His fingers slowly wandered up the soft flesh of her stomach, suddenly stopping short as he neared the cups of her breasts. He cleared his throat.

  “You've had a long night. Let me take you home.”

  Natasia tossed her handbag on her sofa as she kicked off her stilettos. She shut the door of her apartment behind her, and flopped down on the sofa, holding her chest. Her heart was still racing from the kiss she shared with Wei, and she found herself unable to wipe the goofy grin off her face. She was in such high spirits – something she found rare lately – that she decided to get a head start on the students' journals.

  Natasia slipped into a pair of badly worn, but comfortable pajama pants. She settled herself on her sofa, hoisting the stack of journals onto the table. She poured milk into a bowl of honey oats as she began to go through the students' entries, laughing at some of the silly poems a few students came up with, scribbling down obligatory teacher's comments on each entry.