Wolves at the Door

by Skye Jones

  “Always take your dog with you.” Elsie nodded toward Sandy. “It’s best not to walk alone around these parts. And don’t be…giving time to any young men who stop you on your journeys. The…boys around here, they’re not to be trusted.”

  I relaxed a little then; clearly, she was merely a nice old busybody worried about protecting my virtue. If only she knew, I’d lost it a long time ago and didn’t miss it one bit.

  We chatted for a while and ate a delicious scone each before Elsie decided she’d better be getting along. When she reached her car, she stilled, hand on the door, and turned back to me.

  “I expect you think I’m just some nosy old bat. And maybe I am. But you mark my words; be careful. There are things in this world we humans have no understanding of. Not anymore. We used to do, before we let modern living wash all our old knowledge away. Myths endure, but people see them as nothing more than stories. Some are simply that—silly tales and old superstitions. But some things we fear the most, they… Oh, listen to me.” She flushed slightly. “You’ll be thinking me mad, not simply eccentric. But do be careful, my dear. These woods are not your friend. Most certainly not after dark.”

  With those words, she climbed into her car and drove down the gravel path, waving her hand out the window as she went. I shook my head as the car disappeared, oddly disturbed by her superstitious mutterings. In fact, I experienced anger toward her for coming here and scaring me with her silly old tales of things that went bump in the night. A lesser woman might have turned tail and fled back to the nearest city—and a faceless chain motel—but not me. I decided to get Sandy’s lead and go for a walk in the very woods Elsie warned me of.

  We walked for miles, and I took photo after photo, so awed by the beauty surrounding me I didn’t notice the night drawing in until the sun had sunk low on the horizon. Realizing we’d better hurry to get back before dark, I called Sandy to me and began to walk the way we’d come. By the time we reached the cottage, the gloaming was well and truly upon us. We walked into the clearing in front of the wooden house, and Sandy gave a low growl. I glanced down and followed the direction she faced…and my breath caught in my chest. A wolf stood, not two feet from the cottage, its fur ghostly silver in the dusk.

  Nothing around us moved as I stared at the animal. Not blinking once, it stared right back at me. Its eyes glowed eerily bright, and it slowly moved its head from me to Sandy and back again. It watched us for a long moment then turned and raced away into the woods to the left of the house.

  For the longest time after it disappeared, I didn’t move. Sandy didn’t either; she seemed as discombobulated as I felt. Finally, I forced my legs to move forward, one after the other, until we reached the door of the cottage. We got inside, and I turned all the lights on, shutting out the gloom. Along with the poachers, wolves, and God knew what else.

  I couldn’t believe it, but I was a biologist and knew a wolf when I saw one. I racked my brain for some rational explanation for wolves in these parts. Maybe a reintroduction program had begun? Something top secret, but there’d be no way I’d not have been informed if that were the case.

  Perhaps it had escaped from a zoo? Except the nearest zoo was hundreds of miles away, and surely an escaped wolf would have been on the news? I’d need to ring Dave again to tell him, but not tonight. I didn’t find myself scared of the wolf—it didn’t present any threat to me now that I was in my cottage, door locked. I’d call first thing in the morning and tell him what I’d seen. He probably wouldn’t believe me.

  After a long soak in the bath, and a glass of wine to calm my slightly on-edge mind, I let Sandy out, making sure to make plenty of noise. The outside light burned brightly in order to scare off any more wildlife that might harm my baby. Then we both retired. Part of me wanted to move the bed away from the window, but I pulled up my big-girl pants and refused to do anything quite so childish.

  Two hours later, I awoke. Tap, tap, screech. Dread unfurled in my gut. It stole my breath and turned my flesh to ice.

  “I’m getting the fucking gun,” I told Sandy, as loudly as possible, hoping the men outside would hear. “I’ve had enough of this shit. And I’m calling the police.”

  “Won’t do you any good.” A quiet, firm voice spoke to me from only inches away.

  And then I did scream.

  Chapter Three

  Inside the room. He’s inside the room. My mind whirled in panic. Sandy growled low in her throat but didn’t move from her basket. My eyes searched the dark of the room, and then I saw him. A dark shape sat across from me, in the old rocking chair in the corner of the room. Oh fuck. I’m going to die. He’s going to rape me and kill me.

  He spoke again. “I’m not here to hurt you, girly. Those outside are another matter. You’ve gone and really stirred the hornets’ nest, you have.”

  His words reassured me slightly. I latched on to the fact the he claimed not to be here to hurt me, and I hugged it to me like a security blanket.

  “Ho…how do I know you’re telling the truth?” I stammered, cursing myself as soon as the ridiculous words left my mouth.

  “Why would I lie?”

  God, his voice. Low and deep, and yet so smooth. It soothed me, despite the situation. “Think about it. You’re a female. Alone, in bed. The only gun is in the kitchen, and I doubt you can use it properly. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done so by now. There’s nothing to stop me and no reason to lie.”

  Well, when he put it like that. Hardly reassuring. “So you’re not one of them?” I wanted to reach out and turn on the bedside light, but something stopped me. Something I couldn’t name.

  “Oh, I’m one of them. But I’m not like them. We’re not all the same, girly.”

  I snorted. “Poachers are all the same to me.”

  “You think I’m a poacher?”

  “Of course you’re a poacher. Like those bastards outside, trying to scare me off, tapping at my window like little boys.”

  He laughed then. Low and harsh. “They aren’t poachers. And they are not trying to scare you off. They want to get in. They want to get at you.”

  Some clichés are used for a reason. They are used because they are so bloody true. Happily, most people don’t ever find this out. They don’t experience their whole life flashing before their eyes as a train hurtles toward them. Or feel their blood turn to frozen sludge in their very veins. Right then, I experienced my own little clichéd moment. My blood ran cold, while my heart stuttered painfully in my chest.

  Somehow, I managed to speak, and my voice came out calm enough to belie my inner turmoil. “I don’t like your game. And if you don’t go, and take your friends with you, I’m calling the police.”

  He sighed. “Such gratitude. I could go, but then they’d come in, and I don’t think you’d like the results very much.”

  “They didn’t come in last night.” I shot back.

  “Because I sat here last night, too.”

  What? The very idea of someone sitting, in the dark, watching me while I slept unawares, had every single centimeter of skin bumping up as the hair rose all over my body.

  “How did you get in? I locked the door.” I glared at Sandy in the dark. Useless guard dog she made.

  “I have a key,” he said. “It’s been in my family for years. I sat here and guarded you. Nobody will hurt you with me here.”

  His soothing, deep, dark voice once again washed over me. It almost lulled me into security, despite my better judgment.

  What would he look like? My mind had been whirring away, conjuring up all sorts of terrible visions. He might be like the bald, hideous creature from those old black and white vampire movies. Or perhaps he’d be tall and darkly handsome, in a devilish way. Something out of a Gothic novel. My very own Heathcliff…which wasn’t a good thing, I’d always thought Heathcliff cruel and mad, rather than exciting and sexy. With trembling fingers, I reached out and clicked on the night-light. Not knowing seemed scarier than the reality of what I might see.
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  He gave a hiss and put a hand over his eyes, giving me time to take him in. Normal. My first, astonished thought was he looked normal. Large, sure. Tall. Even sitting in the chair as he was, I could tell as much. And broad. His shoulders were brawny, defined by his checkered shirt. But normal all the same. He wore faded jeans and a white T-shirt, loosely covered by the unbuttoned checked shirt. The ensemble was finished with the sort of boots construction workers favored.

  “Christ. Warn a guy before you try to blind him.” He moved his hand from his face and scowled…and I stared some more.

  Okay, not quite normal. Unless you count looking like you’ve dropped from heaven as normal, which I most certainly didn’t. Handsome didn’t quite cut it. Blindingly, stupendously beautiful, almost did him justice. Not devilishly handsome as I’d imagined, but a man with the face of an angel.

  “Say what you’re telling me is true?” I sat up straight, before I remembered I wore nothing but a skimpy nightdress, low-cut and made of thin, satiny material. I flushed and pulled the covers up. “Why do you care if the men outside get to me or not?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, the movement drawing my attention to the thick, sandy blond waves. “They’re not men. And I care because, despite also suffering what they are feeling and understanding the torment you’re putting them through, I don’t take what I want by force. You don’t mean to do this. It just is. I won’t sit by and let anyone else force you, either.”

  Force? Did he mean what I thought? Was this vision of beauty trying to tell me that he, and others like him outside, wanted me? As in wanted to… Crikey! I was used to being the last girl standing at the end of the night in my local nightclub. The one a lot of guys didn’t want to be seen to dance with.

  The local lads had mostly gone to school with me, and my nickname there had been fatty freckle face. I might not have been the geeky kid they laughed at anymore, but I also wasn’t on their radar. To them I’d always be fatty freckle face. So the only guys who asked me to dance were the out of towners. I took great advantage of the tourist season when the spillover from Edinburgh city center would make our little suburb alive with the throb of new blood. Still, I might not do too badly with out of towners, but I was hardly a femme fatale. Yet this guy was telling me I drove men mad with lust. He needed to get real.

  “It’s your scent.” He carried on speaking with his low, melodic voice. “Drives us insane. Add in your, frankly hot body, and we’ve got a situation.”

  My scent?

  “Bloody hell!” I sat up again, modesty forgotten in my anger. “What are you, Neanderthals? You mean to tell me, a whiff of Chanel Number Five has you and your friends out there all riled up. I mean, come on. This isn’t the dark ages; there are plenty of women out there in the world. Women who look a lot hotter than me. Who wear sexy dresses and high-heeled shoes and don’t spend their days in cargo pants documenting wildlife. Why the hell would you and your friends get all excited about me? I’m not exactly gorgeous. Just go and jerk off to some internet porn!” I jutted my chin at him.

  His eyes held mine, the slate blue boring straight into me. I fancifully wondered if he could see to my very soul. “It’s not your Number Five, whatever this thing you speak of is. It’s you. Your scent. Your very being. We don’t care for human women. Not in general, but you’re rare. You’re empathine.”

  “A what? No such word exists.” Quite mad, I decided. Utterly bonkers, which fit the Heathcliff analogy rather nicely. Although, so far, his sort-of gentlemanly behavior didn’t.

  He raised a shoulder in a slow shrug. “It means one who understands us. You might not be one of us, but you can bond with our kind. You can understand us, feel our pain, and share our joy.”

  Suddenly needing to move, I tossed the duvet aside and stood, not caring about my strappy, skimpy bit of lace and satin. I paced up and down the cramped room, a space suddenly much tinier with his massive presence in it.

  Finally, I stopped moving and turned to face him. He watched me as a child might tiny creatures in a puddle—he seemed intrigued by me. Fascinated, even.

  “What the hell are you? You keep talking about your kind. What is your kind? You look human enough to me.”

  “I’m not. And neither are the males out there. You need to leave here.”

  “I will not!” I almost stomped my foot. “I have work to do, important work.”

  “They’ll fight for you, and the winner will take you and…they won’t be gentle. They are rogues. I don’t have control over what they do, although they fear me and my pack.”

  “They can’t simply take me. I’m not a thing. I’m a person. A sentient human with feelings and free will.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They’ll take you, claim you, and then you’ll belong to them.”

  “Claim me.” My eyebrows shot up. “As in… Do you mean…”

  “You humans call it making love, which is a lot gentler than the way some of our kind does it. You will be claimed.”

  As I watched him, a plan started to hatch in my mind. I smiled a little, and his own full lips tugged upward, mirroring my actions. “But you want to protect me from them?” I asked.

  He nodded, his smile fading as wariness stole over his face.

  “And you must be able to. Protect me, I mean. To some degree at least, because they are out there and not in here… Because of you?”

  He nodded again.

  “Why?” I pressed.

  “They won’t fight me. My father is, was, their...leader. Even those who left our home respect him and me. Fear us, too.”

  He gave another of those lazy shoulder rolls. “So long as I stay here they won’t come in. They won’t dare challenge me for you. They will believe, wrongly, that I intend to claim you as mine.”

  Disappointment at him not finding me attractive reared its head, but I quickly shook off the stupid thought. I should be grateful at his lack of interest. My plan cemented in my mind as I considered his words.

  “So….How about you tell the men outside you’ve claimed me, taken me or whatever? Say I am yours and to be left alone, untouched by others. Then I can go about my business, safe and sound.”

  He stood, the movement so swift I almost didn’t see him do so. Head cocked to the side, he stalked around me, walking a slow circle as he watched me.

  “Do you enjoy teasing me so?” His smooth voice sounded harsher, strained.

  “I don’t understand what you mean.” My heart kicked up a notch again. I followed his movement, my comfort of moments ago gone in light of his predatory prowling.

  “You talk of us together, put images in my mind when you know how you torment me. I have explained what your scent does to us. And your body in this silky thing, it tempts me even further. I came here to be… How does your kind say it? Ah, yes, a gentleman. I came here to be a gentleman, but you push my limits, girly.”

  Anger exploded within me. I’d done nothing. Pushed his limits? How? By asking for the very protection he offered? And he’d clearly said he didn’t want to claim me, hadn’t he?

  I walked up into his space and poked him in the chest. “I only asked for the help you yourself offered. You said you’d keep me safe.”

  “And so I have. And now you must go.”

  “I will not. I refuse to leave.”

  “Then, I cannot keep you safe.” He turned from me, headed toward the door, and my heart sank. Not only, I realized with alarm, because my best chance at staying safe headed out the door, but because he drew me to him. He called to me in a way I couldn’t even begin to understand.

  “Wait!” My voice came out high and panicked. He paused by the door but didn’t turn around. I walked up behind him and pressed my palms against his broad back, relishing the play of his magnificent muscles shifting and settling under my touch. “You can’t leave me to them. Please…please, don’t.”

  “I’m hanging on to my control by a thread. Yet you ask me to stay.” He turned to me, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. “I ca
n scent you. So sweet. You want me. I can smell your arousal.”

  Mortification covered me as my skin flushed. He was right, though. I did want him. Had, I admitted to myself, ever since the first moment I’d heard his deep, melodic voice. But how fucked up did that make me?

  Oh, I wasn’t ashamed of my desire for a man. I didn’t buy into the crap women were fed by society. Don’t look, don’t touch, nice girls don’t. Women were biological creatures too, and they liked sex as much as men did. But what disturbed me was finding the man attractive in our current situation. With the danger outside and the insane, crazy things he’d told me, I should be jumping in my car and driving off, a hundred miles an hour. Yet, despite it all, I did want him. Badly.

  Chapter Four

  So have him. A little voice in my head spoke. Have him and you get to enjoy all that male beauty. Plus you can stay and do your work and the others outside will leave you alone.

  “You’re right.” I met his gaze head on. “I do want you. God knows why. This is hardly a normal situation, but you’re beautiful. And your voice! You could put George Clooney to shame with it.”

  “Who is this George you speak of? Has he touched you?” His eyes flashed as he spoke and his jaw clenched.

  “Whoa there, Mr. Neanderthal. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. No, of course, he hasn’t touched me.” I nearly added, I should be so lucky, but the man in front of me vibrated with tension, so I didn’t push my luck.

  “Good. I don’t like the idea of other men touching you.”

  “I’m not a virgin.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’ve had sex. If you want some sort of virginal waif, you might need to invent a time machine.”

  “I know you are not a virgin. But I don’t wish to hear of your men. It makes me want to do violence.”

  I took an instinctive step back and he reached out. His fingers trailed down my arm. “Not to you. I don’t want to hurt you, but the men who have touched you... To think of them makes my skin…tight. Makes me…tense.”