Free Bitten by the Alpha Wolf by R. E. Swanson

pleasure itself united them.
    Bruce held her hips and tensed up towards her, his back and legs rising off the bed like a wave. She rode it, catching her breath, trying to say his name. They were searching, now, for the apex of their meeting and at the point, when it came, she could no longer say anything. Not only was his name gone, her own name own name was also lost. There was no division between them.
    They each disintegrated with pleasure. They held still, caught in the moment, as they had been when they came in, holding each other’s eyes in a gaze that spoke worlds. Then he let himself fall back on the bed and she collapsed easily on top of him.
    In the gray, early dawn, she felt Bruce leave her. He kissed her on the shoulder and slipped quietly out the door.
    Jenny dozed pleasurably in the afterglow of their lovemaking. She drifted in and out of sleep as dawn crept through the skylight and a parallelogram of light shifted across her bed and alighted on her face.
    Jenny woke, rose from bed, and had a shower.
    She went downstairs, deciding to take advantage of her early start and have breakfast before the other guests were up. To her immense surprise, Ana was already there, eating breakfast and chatting to Razvan.
    Ana glanced at her and carried on her conversation, which Jenny judged was about literature. It had been a long time since she had heard her daughter talk about her favorite subject.
    Razvan leaned languidly against the doorway to the kitchen. He wore his black turtleneck again and it made him look even more languorous than usual. One of his long-fingered hands gently held his temple as he leaned his head to one side. He listened to Ana intently, though at one stage Jenny felt him glance at her and there was the tiniest flash of recognition from those dark eyes.
    “Razvan made me a special vegetarian breakfast,” said Ana. “You should try it.”
    “What is it?”
    “Poached eggs on a bed of spinach and tomatoes,” said Razvan. “With a few of my own little extra ingredients thrown in,” he smiled, “for pizazz.”
    “Sounds very healthy,” said Jenny.
    “Yes, you are right,” said Razvan, at his haughty best. “It will give you stamina,” he smiled again, this time the teeth showing.
    Jenny could feel herself blushing, and prayed that Ana wouldn’t notice.
    “Stamina for all your exertions,” he added, then disappeared back into the kitchen.
    “What were you talking about?” asked Jenny, trying to sound as light as possible. She pressed her napkin to her face, hoping to hide her flush at least a little bit.
    “Books,” said Ana. “Razvan is very interested in English Literature. It’s why he came here.”
    “Not to claim benefits then,” said Jenny, pouring herself some of the coffee from the pot on the table.
    Ana ignored her. “He even knows the writer Paul Magrs.”
    “That's more than I know,” said Jenny.
    Ana sighed. “That's because you only read sappy romances and Fifty Shades of Grey . Magrs writes a kind of horror. But good horror. Not trashy stuff. Anyway, it’s all set in Whitby. There's a pair of detectives solving these strange, horrible crimes. You should read it.”
    “That type of thing just keeps me awake at night,” said Jenny, stifling a yawn.
    “Razvan was saying how the books draw on the strange atmosphere in Whitby.”
    “The strange atmosphere?” asked Jenny.
    “Razvan says that there is something very strange right at the heart of Whitby. Haven't you noticed it, too?”
    “I'm not sure,” said Jenny, looking at her daughter. She was wondering how Ana noticed anything at all, given that she was so attached to her cell phone.
    “Razvan says there may be something in the stones or the landscape that works on our imaginations.”
    Razvan says, Razvan says, thought Jenny.
    “It has an effect on all the inhabitants, and on the visitors too. It has an effect, I'm sure of it.” Ana scooped up the last of her poached egg.
    “I suppose every place has