Allure

by Christin Lovell

  I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up.

  “Come eat.”

  I slowly climbed out of the bed. I grabbed the blanket and awkwardly started to fold it.

  “Give me that,” he said, snatching it from my grip. He threw it back on the bed and then startled me by sweeping me up into his arms. Without warning, he planted a quick kiss on my lips.

  My breath caught. “You really shouldn’t do that.”

  “Why?” he asked. He carried me out to the kitchen and set me down on top of the granite-covered island. He stood in front of me between my legs, patiently waiting for my reply.

  I wasn’t used to undivided attention. I looked everywhere but at him, trying to come up with a good reason. Unable to think of something, I decided to chance the truth. “Because I don’t want to get hurt.”

  “What makes you think I’d ever hurt you, mi amor?”

  I looked him square in the eye and countered, “What proof do I have that you won’t?”

  He nodded once, backing away. “Fair enough. What do you want to eat?” He opened the fridge and stood staring in at its contents.

  I felt guilty. I knew in some way I had hurt him; I had just admitted that I didn’t trust him not to hurt me when thus far he’d done everything to protect me. I couldn’t get past my own barriers of protection though.

  “You don’t have to make me anything.”

  “You’re not leaving this kitchen until you eat,” he snapped.

  I definitely had hurt him.

  “Marco.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Please understand that it’s not you. You’re great from what I’ve experienced so far, but I…” I sighed. How could I say this without invoking him? “Growing up, I learned that I couldn’t trust or rely on anyone. I’m not saying everyone is bad, but not everyone is good. Since I don’t have anyone to fall back on, I…I just can’t take the risk. I can’t afford to lose anything right now, especially my heart.”

  He closed the fridge and returned to me. “Emma, the moment I scented you, I knew you were mine. You don’t have that ability yet, but in the next couple of weeks, you will realize that my connection to you is permanent. I’m not going anywhere. Regardless of what happens, what you decide, I will always be there for you to fall back on. I can’t be with anyone else.”

  “What do you mean you can’t be with anyone else? We’re not married.”

  “When we sniff our mate, something primal triggers inside us. We become obsessed with them; not in a stalker sort of way, but it stops me from even thinking about another woman. They lose any and all appeal compared to you. We can’t get enough of you and your scent. It’s embedded in us forever.”

  “Oh.”

  “You don’t control it, Em. None of us do.”

  I thought back to Ryan’s attempt to bite me. “What would have happened if Ryan bit me?”

  “You would have been marked as his. His DNA would have entered your bloodstream and altered your scent. You still would have had a choice, but my inner wolf would have lost you.”

  I glanced down at the floor. “Mating certainly isn’t love then.”

  “No. It’s an animalistic behavior that attracts us to what nature finds to be our perfect match; it’s up to us to make it more than that. I’ve yet to meet a divorced mated couple though.”

  I perked up. “I thought you said women werewolves are rare?”

  “We mate with humans the majority of the time. Their scent lures us to them, but it’s up to us to make the proper human connection for them. We’re so driven though, we rarely lose them.”

  “How are there so many of you then?”

  “There aren’t really in comparison to the number of people in the world. We live in packs though, so it seems like a lot in a small perimeter. Regardless, it’s a genetic mutation, typically affecting the X chromosome. You Y’s truly are rare given you’re somehow affected by a male’s gene code.”

  “So a werewolf can’t bite a human and make them one?”

  He laughed. “No. We’re not blood driven to begin with. We have the traits of a wolf but not the appetite of one. We’re very much human in that sense.”

  “But how does that work if you’re injecting your DNA into their blood stream?”

  His eyes lit with amusement. “It’s a bite, not a blood transfusion. It’s like the vaccines. They’re literally injecting you with a bit of the virus. It’s not enough to actually mutate and take hold of your system; it’s merely an introduction. No different than if your pet dog had bitten you.”

  “Oh.” I was embarrassed by my foolish Hollywood assumptions.

  “You’ve been reading a bit too much into fiction, mi amor.”

  “I suppose. If it’s a genetic mutation, then how did it come about?”

  “No one knows for sure, but rumor is a mad scientist transfused himself with the blood of an entire wolf. He and his wife consummated, she became pregnant, but he died before he could tell her, or even shift for the first time. People married young back then. The boy married and had a child before he shifted for the first time at sixteen. Somehow it kept passing down the line. The first pack created became the royal one. They decided to change the last name of every lycanthrope to either describe them or their ranking, and every last name has the word wolf in the meaning. Before they understood the basic science of scent, this was how they identified themselves in public without speculation. Bledri means wolf ruler. Rudolph means famous wolf. Lowell means young wolf. Esarosa means white wolf. My last name, Raul, means wolf counsel. Alphas only give birth to other alphas. Every alpha’s last name either means wolf counsel, wolf ruler or wolf shield.”

  “What’s Ryan’s last name?”

  “Redell. It means the same as mine.”

  “Oh.” I took a minute to absorb it all. It was fascinating; better than any book I’d read. These people basically created an underground society and clearly identified themselves in the simplest of forms: their names. “Wait. If alphas only breed other alphas, how many packs are there?”

  “Stop thinking about your books.” He chuckled. “It’s different with us. Every one of us is lured to a different pack, to a different location. Just because you were born in one pack doesn’t mean you will remain with them after you shift. Back in the day, the dreams were the mind and body’s way of subconsciously warning you since you won’t realize anything until it’s too late. Today, they help lead you to your intended pack. Also, if an alpha is killed, another alpha is lured to take over the pack.”

  “Is that the only time a pack changes alphas?”

  “No. When the alpha stops shifting, usually between the age of sixty and seventy, the pack changes hands, but the old alpha remains with the pack typically playing the role of wise counsel.”

  “Why would you stop shifting?”

  “Body can’t handle it anymore. It’s not an easy physical process to go through.”

  That made sense; it was just so different from what I’d always heard and read. “So I’m a descendent of the first pack?”

  “You’re a descendent of the first alpha in the first pack.”

  I furrowed my brows trying to envision it all. Some of the qualities were very accurate in the books; others were close but off the mark, which meant that the first person to write about this probably knew the truth, but skewed it on purpose.

  “Are we…well… Is it a law to keep our kind a secret?”

  “You’re throwing away all your books.” His eyes lit with amusement. “No. We have no laws or rules, only the simple order of things which are our traditions. We keep a low profile though because what regular humans don’t understand, they dissect with science. The answer is in our DNA so it would easily be discovered, but we don’t want to share that with a power hungry government who would probably breed us as weapons. So yes, we can tell, but we only tell those we trust.”

  “Sadly, that makes sense.” I nibbled my lip.

  “Yes, and sadly I’ve let you
distract me for too long because I hear your stomach growling.”

  “Oh.” I felt my cheeks heat.

  He kissed my cheek with a loud pop and returned to the fridge. “How does steak and potatoes sound?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had steak. Potatoes are okay though.”

  He frowned. It looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. He didn’t have to; I already knew what it was. Steak is an expensive cut of meat. I was barely paying the limited bills I had so all I had to eat was bread and peanut butter, and they certainly weren’t serving filet mignon in the orphanage. We had them at the diner, but again, I didn’t want anything I could potentially miss.

  “Well, tonight is your lucky night because I make a great steak.” He beamed.

  I gave him a small, shy smile. “Need any help?”

  “No. Just sit and look pretty.” He winked. He was forever making me blush. I was starting to love every second of it though.

  Twenty minutes later we were eating medium rare T-bone steaks with sautéed potatoes and onions. He was nice enough to cut my steak for me, and insisted on feeding me my first bite. The second it hit my tongue a merriment of flavors burst from the juice of the meat. The meat was salty, yet succulent. It was something you could literally suck on contently for hours. The flesh of the meat has a hint of smokiness that added, rather than took away from the flavor. With merely a few chews of the tender cut, I swallowed it all.

  He was tempting me for sure because I would certainly miss this. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, and Wilma’s a great baker.”

  He grinned brilliantly. “I knew you’d like it.”

  —

  Chapter Eight

  After dinner we sat quietly on the couch. He had gingerly wrapped me in his warmth, keeping me pressed against him. I must have fallen asleep because when I awoke, it was daylight out. I was still on the couch, but he’d taken the time to cover me with a blanket and set a pillow beneath my head where his chest was.

  I was sore sitting up. I looked around but didn’t see Marco. I called his name, but got no response. In my search I found a note on the island:

  Good Morning, Mi Amor,

  I had to go into the office for a few hours. Breakfast is downstairs. Take the medicine I’ve left here before you eat.

  If you need anything, ask Kuha. Sarah will be on the fourth floor doing laundry today if you need anything washed or cleaned.

  I’ll see you soon.

  Love, Marco

  P.S. Door Code: 173086

  I saw the pills beside a glass of water on the counter. I was amazed by his thoughtfulness.

  “Oh, God. What am I still doing here?” Marco was luring me in with every action, spinning me in his web of wonderful. Who would want to leave all of this? Who would ever want to leave him? I was being sucked in. Subconsciously, I was kicking myself, but physically I was enjoying every minute.

  How did I lose my barrier of protection that I’d held tight to for so long? One minute it was there, the next he kissed it away. He was a complication and a blessing.

  Not wanting to dwell any longer, I swallowed the meds and headed downstairs.

  There was a world of commotion when I entered the kitchen.

  “Damn straight I’m for the Patriots!”

  “You’re going down! Giants are going to pummel their asses!”

  I walked up to the island and grabbed a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit from the tray.

  “Juice for my lady.” Kuha smiled, passing me a glass of orange juice.

  “Thanks”

  “How are you feeling today?”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “I don’t believe you for a second after yesterday, but my mother taught me never to argue with a lady.”

  “I like your mother.” I grinned. I looked around. Both TVs were tuned into ESPN; four broadcasters behind a desk debated about something football related. “I take it this is every Sunday during football season?”

  “Always. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to escape back upstairs.”

  Escape. A job! I could go apply for a job today. Marco was gone and the guys were distracted. I could easily slip away for a few hours and apply at one of the resorts.

  “Did Marco leave my bag down here? I want to shower and change.”

  “Sarah probably took it.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks.” I downed the OJ, grabbed a paper towel, wrapped it around the breakfast sandwich and took it with me up to the fourth floor.

  I had been curious about what was on the fourth floor since all of the living space seemed to be below it. I opened the door directly into a laundry room. A really big laundry room with a wall full of front-load washers and dryers. There was a large folding-station-slash-island in the middle of the room with detergent, stain remover and other supplies on the open shelves encompassing the lower half of it. Clothes baskets were lined on top of every dryer.

  “Hello?” I didn’t see Sarah. I set my biscuit down on the island and walked through the door across from the entry. It took me into a huge bathroom. There were stalls, several large showers covered with river rocks and blue opaque glass doors. “Hello? Sarah?” I called again.

  No response.

  I went back out into the laundry room and through another door further down on the same wall. This time I walked into a huge dressing room. There were large, solid wood armoires, enough to hold a good size wardrobe with a drawer for shoes below, lining three walls. There were several chairs in the center of the space and a few stand-up mirrors. Large windows on the back wall flooded the room with light. I opened a door on the adjacent wall of the one I’d entered and found myself in the bathroom again. I quickly closed it and went back out into the laundry room to the final door on the adjacent wall to this one. This time I ended up in what looked to be a lounge. Bookcases lined an entire wall. There were several plush chairs in the space as well as some game tables and a small TV on in one corner. That’s when I saw her.

  “Sarah?”

  She turned around in her chair. “Oh, hi. I’m sorry. Did you need something?”

  “Just my bag of clothes. Kuha said you had it.”

  “Ah, yes. They should be dry. Let me go check.”

  “You don’t have to. Just point the way and I’ll go do it.”

  “Sweet of you, but I needed to check on a few loads anyway.” She was already halfway across the room, making a beeline for the door.

  I stepped aside, allowing her to move past me. “I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but are you a part of the pack?” I followed behind her.

  “No. My son once was though. He passed away about two years ago though.”

  Guilt rammed me. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s alright. Not your fault.” She stared off into the distance; I knew she was remembering. I didn’t dare interrupt her private memory. After a few seconds she shook herself it seemed. “Anyway, I didn’t know what to do after. He was my only son and I was a single mother. So, Marco talked me into sticking around claiming they could use a housekeeper, which I really couldn’t argue with. You know how messy men are.” She laughed a sweet, motherly laugh. She opened a dryer and began pulling out my clothes. “I wouldn’t change it for the world though. He overpays me, under works me, and gives me every conceivable holiday off. When I leave here, I go home to a beautiful apartment and a cat who hisses at me thinking I’ve been rolling around with dogs all day.” Her smile lit her eyes.

  “Sounds like everything worked out as well as it could have.”

  “It did.” She nodded her head in agreement. She carried my laundry in a basket to the island.

  I quickly rounded the counter to meet her. “Oh, you don’t have to fold it or anything. I’ll just take it.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s actually nice to have another female around. I usually only get that on my days off.”

  I awkwardly attempted to help her fold them to the best of my one-handed ability. She laughed at my efforts and
re-folded what I’d done quickly.

  “Here you go. You’re all set. Let me know if you need anything else. I can usually be found in the study. If it’s meal time, though, I’m usually in the kitchen preventing natural disasters.”

  “I definitely think it’s a good thing they retained you.”

  She opened the door for me, my clothes freshly folded and returned to my bag for easier transport. I quickly went upstairs and changed. I knew it would take me a while to walk to the resorts. I put on the only thing I had that was half-way decent: my work uniform, layered on my coat and scarf and headed out.

  Two and a half hours later I reached the Snow Leaf Resort. A cheerful young woman greeted me as I approached the desk.

  “Hi. Welcome to the Snow Leaf Resort. How can I help you?”

  “By chance are you hiring any temps for the season?”

  “I think so, but let me go check.” I watched her enter a back office, her long brown hair swaying against her lower back. A minute later she returned with an application in hand. “Are you right or left handed?” she asked, handing me the paper and pen.

  “Right.”

  “Give that back to me then. I’ll fill it out for you if you’ll just tell me the information.”

  I looked at my right hand. I’d adjusted to the constant throbbing in my lower arm, having accepted it as a part of life. My limb was still bandaged, irritated and swollen though, not to mention a little awkward to shower with. Realistically, the application would probably have a better chance with her writing; it would actually be legible.

  I lifted my gaze, nipping at my bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. My name’s Kristina. What’s yours?” Her blue eyes were clear, glittering water, not nearly as dark as my sapphire orbs. One look into them and I knew she sincerely wanted to help.

  “Emma. Emma Bledri.”

  “Nice to meet you, Emma. How do you spell your last name?”

  I spelled it out for her as she carefully wrote it. I was surprised by her penmanship given how long her nails were. They were perfectly polished with a fancy design standing out on each one. I never did anything with my nails. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just didn’t have the money to. A dollar for nail polish took away four ramen noodle dinners.