Secret Wolf: A Steamy Werewolf Romance

by Dancer Vane

  Secret Wolf

  Dancer Vane

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter One

  ALANNA

  Once again, I was early. Blake, my boss, hadn’t arrived yet when I slid into the dark alley behind the bakery.

  I knew he would have prepared everything during the night, before heading home and getting a couple hours of sleep. Inside, the air would still be warm from the oversized ovens in the basement, and fresh pastries would be waiting for me to organise them behind the display window. He always came back at five thirty, opened the door for me, and then I would get busy preparing everything to open at six, while he did whatever it is bosses do in their office.

  I waited for him in the cold, aware it wasn’t yet five thirty. In the distance, I could hear some drunks singing, and a dog barking. This was a small town we live in - something I appreciate, because I feel safe here, a refugee from the violence of big cities. A small town next to a huge forest, backing on a National Park the size of a small country. I love being so close to nature. And I felt safe in the alley, waiting for my boss.

  Blake didn’t like me, and he didn’t take great pains to hide it. He even avoided me, for no reason that I could see; but he was also the safest boss I had ever had. I prefer a cold, haughty bastard, to someone trying to cop a feel in the employee’s room. I’ve been working since I was thirteen, so I’ve seen it all — and it’s a lot more than I ever wanted to see — in the six years since.

  Blake isn’t nice, that’s the least I can say; he’s cold and silently hostile, and more than once I would have asked him what his problem was, if I didn’t need the job so much. But he’s a decent guy.

  It pains me to say so. He doesn’t have much going for him, but I’ll say the good stuff so it’s out of the way: he’s gorgeous and hot, and he’s never tried to take advantage of me. All together, that should make me wonder if he might be gay, but I don’t get that vibe either, really. He just doesn’t like me. At all.

  I’ll survive. I’ve survived worse.

  The drunken singing was getting closer. I closed my coat tighter around myself — too thin by far, but that was all I could afford — and tried to blend into the wall.

  I knew where my boss hid the spare key. But he was always the one opening the shop in the morning, and I didn’t dare get in before he arrived. God forbid I would be surprised by Blake in any place I wasn’t supposed to be. He would call it snooping, probably. The man knows how to use words like knives.

  And if that makes me wonder if he’s a man with a secret? You bet I wonder. But I don’t quite see the mob connection, there’s no serial killer in town, and he can take from the petty cash all he wants, the bakery-coffee shop belongs to him. So if he’s got a secret, I have no idea what it could be. Maybe he just likes his privacy.

  I wished I hadn’t been so early today, though. The drunks were getting closer, from what I could hear, and Blake was still nowhere in sight. My fault. It still wasn’t five thirty yet.

  I thought I heard footsteps in the alley behind a dumpster — someone who needed to pee maybe, and I turned around. When I turned back, the two drunks were awfully close.

  If I hadn’t been distracted, I might have seen them come in, or have noticed the smell earlier. But when I turned back and noticed how close they were, it was too late.

  “Look, one of them bitches.” I stared at him blankly for a second, then spat an insult.

  “You’re one of them, sweetie?” the other was leering at my slim dress now my coat was gaping open. Not sexy or anything, but too light for the season. My own fault, again, and it didn’t matter because Blake never even looked at me. I was furious at myself for even wearing a dress. The man pawed at me under the coat, and I cursed and kicked him in the knee.

  “She’s one of them” the other guy muttered. “One of them that change into bitches.”

  My English isn’t so good yet, but his was worse, and it sounded more like “beaches.” Okay… I didn’t have time to picture a woman changing into a beach, though, I was slapping and kicking his friend, who seemed to believe being small and a bit plump made me an easy prey. I tried to scratch his eyes out, and almost managed, but when the other grabbed my arms behind my back, I knew the situation was bad.

  The first one opened his fly, while his friend held me. I never expected so much strength from a drunk, but his hands felt like iron, and he encouraged his friend in garbled words. The one facing me, with all his junk out and ready to strike, wasn’t so drunk, though. He grabbed my breast through the dress, painfully, and I tried to bite his hand. He slapped me, hard, and tried to rip my dress.

  I heard a loud growl, and a big dog threw itself at them.

  No barking, no warning, he just leapt at the man, who fumbled, unsure if fleeing or zipping up first. I threw my elbow in the belly of the one holding me, with all my strength and rage. His eyes had widened in horror as he took in the wolf rolling with his friend in the dirt, growling deep in his throat.

  Wolf? No — it had to be a dog…

  I elbowed the man again, grabbed his dirty hair, and he shrieked and tried to run away. But the wolf rose — oh my God, it was a wolf, no dog could be that big, that ferocious — the wolf rose from his first victim and jumped on the other’s back.

  The three of them were rolling in the dirt, the two human trying to protect their faces and shrieking when the wolf bit. Then the least drunk managed to stand, and ran, cursing hoarsely, his jeans bloody and his eyes wild.

  The other was squealing and whimpering on the floor. I wanted to kick him to death, the asshole who had grabbed my arms to help his friend… I landed a kick in his butt, but the wolf nuzzled my leg, preventing me from throwing another kick.

  I was wild with anger, and still shaking from adrenaline, terror and the horror at what these two low-lives had been about to do… and all that because I was stupid enough to wear a dress for a guy who didn’t give a damn? Because I was stupidly early for a job that paid minimal wage, just because I couldn’t help but treasure these few minutes alone with my asshole boss before the first clients came in… I couldn’t believe it. I was more furious at my own stupid behaviour than at the two guys.

  Still, it felt good to have seen one bleeding, and the other was still cowering on the floor. The wolf pushed his wet nose into his neck, and the man yelped.

  Once the wolf turned its head to me, the man stumbled on his feet and ran. His pants were all wet on the front. I felt no pity. They hadn’t been about to take pity either, before the situation changed.

  The wolf watched me for a minute, while I took shaky breaths. It could have been a dog, I tried to tell myself, a big dog. Grey and brown. But I knew I was kidding myself.

  No, really, it couldn’t.

  It had blood on its jaw. I didn’t really fear it, though. It had attacked to defend me. I wasn’t a threat to it or to anyone.

  “Thanks, wolf,” I said softly. It blinked. But by then, I was trembling with fear and hurt as the adrenaline receded, and I would have imagined anything to feel less alone.

  The wolf took a last look at me, then ambled away in the alley in the direct
ion of the dumpsters, cool as you please. I couldn’t keep my eyes from it; not out of fear, but because it was… magnificent. A huge beast of muscle and soft fur. Some of it bloodied, I reminded myself. But I felt no pity for these guys.

  I took the key in the small cache inside the wall. I felt teary and scared, and told myself it was just the cold. I would wait for the boss inside, and God take pity of the damn man if he said a word about it, or even looked at me the wrong way.

  Blake arrived on a gust of cold wind, not five minutes later. I had barely had time to clean my face with a wet towel, and I was still shivering inside the cold bakery-coffee shop, empty and dark, trying to get the coffee machine to work, and failing.

  He shut the door against the wind, and he didn’t ask me what I was doing inside, or how I dared. No — he threw his arms around me, and when I felt suddenly engulfed in all this hard muscle, against his warm chest, I practically burst into tears. I dried them furiously on my arm.

  “Are you okay, Alanna?”

  “Do I look okay to you?”

  He let out a soft sound I’d never heard from him, and I saw his worried face harden in front of my eyes, like morphing in a movie. He relaxed his arms, and I cursed his good intentions. I didn’t want him to be all proper and prim and think of lawsuits. I wanted him to crush me in his arms like he had just done for a minute.

  “Sorry.” My voice wasn’t as firm as I wanted it to be. “It has been a shock.”

  “I’ve seen them. I ran, but I was still too far away to reach you in time.”

  “So you’ve seen the wolf?”

  He hesitated.

  “I’ve seen a big dog…”

  “It was a wolf”, I declared. “It attacked the bad men.”

  The hint of a smile brushed his lips, briefly.

  “It handed them their asses.”

  I didn’t know the expression, and it made me laugh.

  “One of them peed his pants,” I said proudly.

  I just wished I had been able to fight them off by myself.

  I had been saved by a wolf. That was too weird, and I couldn’t count on it happening again. I would have to be more careful. Prepared.

  “You gave them a good fight,” Blake said softly. I was surprised to hear his voice that way. Blake didn’t do soft, he was always hard and demanding. I looked up, shocked. His face hardened, doing that morphing thing again.

  “Now is it the coffee machine that doesn’t work, or your brain?”

  His voice was cutting, reassuringly normal.

  “Coffee machine is junk,” I retorted.

  “It will be if you keep using it without reading the manual.” But our eyes met and for a second, his gaze was almost smiling. There were these tiny creases at the side of his eyes, and I would have sworn his lips were even curling a bit. Who knew his face could even do that?

  “You’ve got dirt on your jaw,” I retorted, raising a hand to brush it away.

  The man jumped away from me. Wow. I knew he wasn’t into me, but his reaction was a bit strong. He must have hurt his elbow against the counter behind him, but he narrowed his eyes and didn’t yell. Tough guy.

  He hadn’t been fast enough, though. I looked at my fingers, surprised.

  “Not dirt. It’s blood,” I said in surprise.

  “I’ve cut myself on the side of the dumpster. Wash your hands well before you touch anything. I’ll just go to my office for a shower.”

  He stopped. “Do you want to shower first, maybe?”

  “I’m not dirty,” I replied. I had had a cold sweat and my back felt clammy. But I wasn’t taking a shower in my boss’ office. Now, that would be one very stupid thing to do.

  “Suit yourself,” he shrugged. And I felt more drained, when he left to go downstairs, than I had been after the wolf thing.

  Chapter Two

  BLAKE

  Taking that hot shower was a mistake. I should have made it a cold one.

  I kept seing that fucker grabbing for Alanna’s breast through the thin dress. I wanted to bite his hand off. I wanted to drag his body in the dirt with my teeth buried in his neck.

  I wanted to be this guy.

  With me, though, she wouldn’t have been afraid. Nor recoil in disgust. She would have leant into my hand…

  Or she would have fought me. Too often in my fantasies she fought me, and that turned me on more than anything.

  I knew there was something wrong with me. I knew the kid has been through hell and back, and I refused to be the latest one trying to take advantage. I wanted her to be safe here.

  But I wanted her to be mine. Mine.

  I knew I was twisted and wrong. Guess you can’t expect any better from someone who is half-beast, half-man.

  And both halves wanted her.

  But I wouldn’t give in. I’d do the decent thing even if it killed me.

  Chapter Three

  ALANNA

  The bakery didn’t close late. At five I was free; half an hour later, if I took the bus, I was home. Most days, I would walk.

  It took me an hour, but I liked the walk. It helped me burn some energy, and breathe in the green smell of grass and damp clay, a rare moment between standing behind the counter and being cooped up at my place.

  I always say “my place” when I speak with someone, which isn’t often. “My house” doesn’t seem quite right. They might imagine a white picket fence and a porch.

  Alright: it’s really my trailer. And not a double wide or anything like that. It’s a narrow, ugly, badly insulated thing barely larger than a shipping container. But I have a tiny kitchen, a shower and a toilet, and I have the place all to myself. The thin door has good locks.

  I’ve had far worse accommodation in the past. I’m not complaining: I’m actually quite proud of having my own place. I pay the rent on time and nobody bothers me.

  Night comes early, in the mountains. As soon as the sun slips behind one of the peaks, the darkness spreads fast, and with it a chill in the air. Grass and dirt seem to give a stronger scent. The night in this town, so close to the mountains and the forest, does have a particular smell, something wild and green that I love.

  My nose twitched, though, long before I came to the turn on the road before the park.

  It’s not the usual trailer park: it’s small, for one. And rather pretty, because grass and bushes grow without help. I’m not sure how many trailers are there, dotted among the trees, but there are only a couple of tenants, both very old people. Blake gives me pastries for them when we have some left, and that night I was bringing in a large bag of almond croissants and hazelnut muffins to share.

  Hazelnut muffins taste a lot better with a glass of milk, so I had grabbed a bottle at the grocery store. The bag was heavy, but I didn’t mind.

  The smell wasn’t right, though.

  It did smell like grass, and green, and a forest in autumn, but beyond that there was something… smoky? Like plastic melting, or burning tyres.

  I walked faster. I was worried about my neighbours. We weren’t friends or anything, but we shared the park and as they were so frail, I couldn’t help feeling responsible for them.

  The night wasn’t as dark as it should be.

  I heard a siren in the distance and at first, I thought of firemen; but the sound was familiar to me. It was the police. Maybe something had happened at the Farnwood place? I knew the famous billionaire had a house not far down the road, in the forest. It looked, from the outside, like a military compound.

  The smell became worse. Then I turned the curve in the road, and when I saw where the smell came from… I let out a shout, and my knees became weak.

  There were a few people around, watching. Very few, this far out of town. My home was burning bright, with a lot of smoke and that ghastly smell. My home. My safe place. My things. Everything.

  For a moment there, I couldn’t breathe. Mrs. Betty was wrenching her hands and crying behind the fence, on the road. Mr. Burr was patting her shoulder as if telling her she wa
s a good girl.

  A long, slender woman in a sexy black dress stood on the side of the road, completely at odds with the rest of us. Her long black hair was shining in the moving light around my burning home.

  I didn’t try to save anything. I didn’t need to run closer to see there wasn’t anything left to save. The heat was unbearable.

  “Lianne has called the police,” Mrs. Betty told me between sobs. She seemed so stricken, that I wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be alright. I knew it wasn’t true, through.

  Nothing would ever be right again. It had taken all I had to build this, this small place of safety, to have my own things, pitiful as they were, a roof. And it had all just burned to the ground.

  How was that even possible? The trailer had been mostly plastic, formica, some metal. It wasn’t a log cabin. That must explain the smell. But how could it have burnt and melted so thoroughly? And why hadn’t anyone called me?

  The answer was painfully obvious. Neither of my neighbours had a cell phone. And that girl, Lianne, she didn’t have my number. I had seen her in town a couple of times — it’s a small town — but we didn’t know each other.

  I watched the burning trailer, still unable to react. To think of any reaction that could be useful.

  I couldn’t see the other trailers behind the scattered trees, but they weren’t smoking, and now that it was dark, I would have seen the light. Only mine was on fire. It didn’t make sense. I had left at five in the morning; if I had left some water on the stove, forgotten to turn the heater off, it would have burned down long before now. At least I thought so.

  And I hadn’t had anything that morning, not even a cup of tea, because I had been anxious to go to work…