Prompt: 097: Writer’s Choice: Sensation - The Werewolf Chronicles
Title: Precipice
Author: luthienberen aka Jadwiga
Character: Alexander Finch
Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt: 097: Writer’s Choice: Sensation
Beta: rae_fa
Word count: 5,509
Rating: R (no under 17s) overall.
Notes: A thurible is a charcoal burner used in church during Mass, also called a ‘censer’ (link: http://www. thefreedictionary. com/ censer) Remove the spaces to click on the link.
This is part of a series of chapters, which can be can either be found via the community’s tag system or fictionpress.
Summary: Michael pursues his line of investigation leaving Alexander to take a risk.
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Chapter 24: Precipice
1st November, Tuesday
Tuesday dawned a bleak, miserable day, aptly reflecting the moods of the two men inside the solitary house nestled amidst the snow covered wild.
Alexander lay in a stupor barely awake after a long night of fretting. Now, after hours of staring into the dark, questioning his and Michael’s actions last evening his exhausted mind finally could rest - or what passed for rest.
He was fortunate he had a free first period this morning; Alexander did not think he could function without catching some sort of reprieve. Yet, even as the werewolf drifted further into the abyss his sharp ears snared a sound.
Senses responding instantly Alexander whimpered. He really wished to rest. However, the noise from Michael’s bedroom was far too alluring for him to miss or to ignore once registered.
The shuffle of feet on soft carpet and the crick of a door being opened as gently as possible caressed him. The slightest of coughs and then, distantly, came the echo of water running. Sighing, Alexander slung his left arm over his eyes wondering whether Michael was delicately trying to leave early to avoid him. Not that Alexander could blame Michael - he had his own trouble concerning yesterday’s events, and even though he prayed with every fragment of his soul that Michael was falling in love with him, Alexander could never forget that Michael had the power to be his most deadly enemy.
And truthfully, the shrewd Mountie was a foe to be reckoned with until Alexander could be sure of gaining Michael’s sympathies and understanding of his nature.
/As if being a werewolf wasn’t difficult enough, being a werewolf in love is a dizzying blend of senses and emotions all wrapped into one. I feel like I’m on a roundabout that won’t stop spinning!/
Michael’s scent wafted through his bedroom door shattering his ruminations. Alexander opened his mouth and breathed deep of the intoxicating aroma. He could taste Michael’s wariness and indecisiveness. He could hear the agitated breathing denoting Michael’s struggle with whatever emotion that had brought him to Alexander’s threshold.
Was he worried why Alexander wasn’t up yet? Concerned there wasn’t a light or noises coming from his room? Alexander squeezed his eyes shut. /Not making this easy for yourself are you my handsome Michael? Or for me to be honest./
As Alexander predicated when Michael summoned up the courage - or foolishness? - to speak, his first words were: “Alex-Alexander?” followed by a light yet insistent tapping, “Alexander? Are you well? It’s seven already…”
In the pause that commenced Alexander realised that Michael would not give up now that he had started, there was too much adrenaline flowing through his system for Michael to desist. The werewolf could smell the anxiety, desire and determination on the sweat beading Michael’s flesh.
/Frankly, sometimes being a werewolf is annoying./
Gathering his courage or stupidity, (Alexander wasn’t sure which), he rolled out of bed. “I’m fine Michael. I simply overslept.” /Now that you have been answered will you go now or linger still?/
“Alexander?”
/I thought not./ “Yes?”
“Can you open the door?”
/Why must investigators always see evidence before they believe?/
“Coming!”
Stepping away from the bed Alexander spied his dressing robe and wisely pulled it on. Temptation was being courted this morning but there was no need to completely impale oneself on it so early in the day.
Pulling his door open Alexander kept a firm grip on the door handle…and on reality. “Good morning Michael, how did you sleep?” /Formality is best right?/
Michael’s gaze travelled over his frame not missing anything ere resting on his face. The dark brown eyes were tired but still intense, smouldering like incense in a thurible.
“As well as you I believe.”
Alexander didn’t say anything, what could he say?
“I’ll go now, still need to put my tie on.”
Alexander found himself nodding and watching as Michael somehow walked backwards to his bedroom without injury.
Returning to his bed Alexander noticed he had clawed at his covers in frustration and that his bedside clock read ‘7:10’. The day was going to be a long one.
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Once Alexander had driven away, Michael collapsed on the lone sofa in the living room. Titling his head back he rubbed his palms over his face. “Damn.” What had he been thinking when he had gone to Alexander’s bedroom this morning? A bout of temporary insanity?
“Oh, well then, simply a continuance of last night. Terrific, now I’m muttering to myself.”
Groaning, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to organise his thoughts. He had no desire to leave quite yet for work. He had vital research to carry out in the library…research on werewolves, and he had to compose his mind before he exposed himself to the public.
It was for that reason he was waiting here in Alexander’s house for the library to open, rather than heading for the station where Fey would notice his distraction and ask for an explanation.
Hopefully, by the time he returned to his office from the library, it wouldn’t be long until Paul called him with the background information that he had requested. Maybe then he would be able to squash the ridiculous urge to search Alexander’s belongings to prove his innocence.
Sighing, Michael raised his head and squinted at the clock on the wall. Was it really only 7:35am? It felt like an eternity had passed since Alexander, the redheaded mystery, had left for work.
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Alexander had been worried when he realised that Michael was purposely delaying his departure from the house, but there was nothing he could do about that. This was not the first time that Michael had left after him without uncovering Alexander’s secret.
What was soothing was Michael’s obvious display of suppressed emotion. The tense set of his shoulders, the tightening around his mouth and eyes, which Alexander’s superior eyesight easily detected and the scents that poured off him, was enough for the werewolf to want to rush to work, if only to give his overwrought senses a reprieve!
Compared to that, the chaotic sounds, smells, sights and tactile inputs of Cougar School were a gentle swell of classical music and a balm to Alexander’s frayed state.
Moving fluidly to the school entrance Alexander welcomed the comforting embrace of his surroundings, this was the environment he loved and adored and while it could not always bring peace, at times it was a great aid, especially now.
Slipping into his role of ‘ordinary human history teacher’, Alexander managed to get through the staff meeting, and then followed his colleagues as they headed to their classrooms before the first bell rang.
Relieved he had the first period free and that he didn’t have to cover for a fellow teacher, Alexander waited patiently until staff and students were in class with the second bell safely rung. Only then did he walk on feet so stealthy that none heard him pass. Easing into the bitter conditions outside, Alexander darted towards the trees that bordered the back of the school, (as well as the school yard), thankful that the dim light coupled with his speed and gracefulness would conceal his presence.
Almost flowing across the distance to the tree line which offered safety, Alexander mused on how he would explain his absence from his classroom, in the unlikely occasion should anyone try to find him. A smile tweaked his lips and Alexander’s eyes shone as he had an idea. The top floor classrooms were almost always empty - and on a Tuesday morning they certainly wouldn’t be in use. If anyone did question his absence he could say he had wished to catch a quiet moment, and where better than one of the disused top rooms where no one would think to look?
The minor risk invovled in such a lie was worth it in Alexander’s opinion. He just needed to be with nature for a moment. Indeed, as he padded past tall evergreens their smell was a lovely succour to his fraught mind. Even the bare deciduous trees were beautiful in their winter sleep.
Finding a suitable tree Alexander easily leapt up onto a naked branch and climbed a little way into the tree, recalling his similar endeavour in the Church orchard, but unlike then he had no meat to feast on, nor was Alexander hungry for raw flesh.
Settling down, Alexander mused how a werewolf could discover a comfortable perch among the hard boughs.
A dead body hanging from a tree, blood still warm and dripping.
Face white Alexander shook his head. Yes, werewolves were excellent at seeking out resting - and eating - places, just like the werewolf who had infected Raphael Laurence, the man spoken about in the journals by the medical doctor Jonathan Swift.
/But that is not me and I came here for peace, not for melancholy thoughts./
Shrugging off his temporary gloom Alexander balanced on the tree limb and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he could taste the prickly pine needles in the nearby evergreens, a flavour underscored by the sharp tang of snow preparing to fall.
As he sank into his being Alexander estimated that the heavy black clouds would release their contents tomorrow, he wasn’t certain when, but tomorrow would see a fresh cascade of snow.
Flexing his fingers the werewolf recalled his lessons with the wolf-cub and focused his energy. Alexander did not dare to transform completely, not yet, not when his confidence was still unsteady. He also would not risk fully Changing on school grounds! Too great a danger for himself and for his students and colleagues. However, he was confident enough to attempt a part transformation.
Breathing now slow, Alexander remembered the night he had first Transformed and tried to capture the sensations that had preceded his Change and occurred during it. No pain, just acceptance of who he was. It was difficult but Alexander was indomitable in his aspiration.
Instead of allowing errant emotions to rule the day Alexander willed a clear, calm mind to order events.
It worked…partly.
Feeling a tingling sweep his body, greatest at his fingers, eyes and ears, Alexander nearly let excitement destroy his light mediation. Trembling, still tightly controlling his emotions Alexander opened his eyes and yelped. “Ow!”
The light! The pale grey light of the morning filtering through the ‘forest’ was almost as bright as on a sunny afternoon. Shielding his eyes so he could rub the poor abused things Alexander froze. Claws! Lowering his hands the werewolf blinked his eyes clear of wetness and gazed on the long claws that tapered from fingers that were close to becoming ‘toes’ emanating from paws. Delight began to rise in his chest and Alexander permitted himself to wallow in a bit of that, but not to be overcome by the sensation.
Remembering the feeling in his ears, he carefully touched the tips with a hand-paw, (he had no desire to cause injury), and had to grip the solid branch for purchase so he did not fall. /Pointed ears are fashionable right?/ Alexander whispered to himself faintly.
Dazed by his success, Alexander the werewolf spent a few minutes exploring this achievement, before deciding it was time he returned to the school building. Reversing the Change was easier and quicker than Alexander had feared it would be, and having successfully forgotten his concerns over Michael, as well as progressing with control over his condition, Alexander was much a happier werewolf than he had been when he re-appeared in his classroom ready for the next period.
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When the time rolled around that he could leave without being ridiculously early for the library to open, Michael was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Lounging about the house of the man he was infatuated with - no, mere infatuation this was not and it was time to be honest, like yesterday evening, too much rested on this otherwise - the man he is falling a bit in love with, (Michael hung onto the ‘bit’ in a last desperate attempt to keep his sanity), was maddening.
The frigid conditions outside were a welcome relief to his jittery state and Michael breathed deep lungfuls of icy air, even relishing the way the cold gnawed at his exposed hands and cheeks. Sliding into the car and fiercely twisting the key Michael backed carefully out of the driveway.
During the entire ride into Storm and to the library, coursing through surprisingly busy streets, Michael debated how he was going to approach his research. He could hardly ask the librarians whether they had any books on werewolves. Something like that would be around the town in minutes - not what he wished.
Eventually, as he pulled into a space near a cheerful looking building with a sign denoting ‘Storm Library’, the Mountie decided to simply browse without help. It was too big a risk otherwise and he was already taking enough risks.
Walking up slippery steps Michael blinked at the painfully bright lights that met him in the entrance. Compared to the greyness outside, the normal lighting of the library was a shock and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. When they did, Michael saw a reasonably largish room ahead. A little distance from the doors was an oval desk, with one side devoted to returns and the other to checkouts.
Beyond this were three tables full of computers and after them shelves groaning under the weight of books and journals. Fascinated and hopeful, Michael pulled off his hat and rubbed his fingers together to shake off the cold.
Nodding at the female supervisor standing behind the desk, Michael advanced into the room, empty bar the few workers and now him at two minutes past the opening time.
Within two hours of hard searching Michael came to two conclusions: 1) That there was a ludicrous amount of werewolf fiction out on the shelves in the guise of horror, romance, role-play, or any of the three combined. 2) The closest thing to actual discussion of werewolves in folklore and history was a minor reference here and there to serial killers or the medical classification of ‘clinical lycanthropy’ where a patient believed he or she could transform into an animal.
Unfortunately, neither helped Michael since he was seeking discussion on actual physical transformations and not the opinions of people who believed such things didn’t exist, and popular fiction was too far from the source for Michael to know how much was based on old (and modern) tales to be useful.
Realising this left the internet with all its advantages and disadvantages, Michael replaced the books he had been rifling through and shouldered on his coat. He would scan the internet at work - no one would walk past his computer that way and wonder incredulously why a Mountie was staring at a screen filled with words and pictures pertaining to werewolves.
Causally strolling out with a polite nod and charming smile for the lady by the entrance Michael headed with grim determination to the station.
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Three hours later
Michael winced. His brain felt like it might explode if he tried to cram any more information, while his eyes were promising to ignite if he gazed at his computer screen for a single second longer. Surrendering to the inevitable Michael disconnected from the internet and for good measure shut off the monitor.
“Shit, who would have conceived there was so much on werewolves? Who sits there writing this stuff?!”
Desperate for a drink Michael rose and gasped as his backbone protested. Right, sitting hunched over was a bad idea and while he didn’t know who wrote or drew half the things he had seen, he knew reading it was damn addictive.
Gingerly stretching his spine, Michael twisted side to side to loosen up the muscles in his back and to ease the cricks from his spine. Once he could move without feeling like an old man Michael grabbed a drink of water to drown his thirst. He followed the beautifully cool liquid with invigorating fruit juice and a (late) hot lunch.
Only then did he contemplate all he had discovered on his tour of the vast information system that was the internet.
There were thousands of sites devoted to werewolves from films and books to role-playing games and forums aplenty. Drawings depicted varied images of werewolves, every artist having their own interpretation of the ‘monster’.
More useful were the sites angled towards those who believed they could change into animals - whether it be an actual physical transformation or a spiritual/mental change. On top of this were the sites dedicated to folklore - and to tales of werewolves through history and culture.
While many stories possessed a negative view, Michael was heartened by the tales which had good werewolves, and whether these were based on fragment of truth or were simply fiction, Michael wanted to believe that not all werewolves were inherently evil.
Indeed, various cultures viewed werewolves (or whatever they were called in individual customs) differently, and if modern day claims to mythical man-to-animal transformation could be trusted, then ‘good’ and ‘werewolf’ were not necessary a contradiction in terms.
Michael leaned against his window, glad of the privacy of his room, and brooded on the ‘facts’. The possibility that Alexander - the man he cared for deeply - might be innocent even if he was a werewolf, was a hope so intense that it hurt. Could he trust what he had gleaned from his research?
He did not know. He could only guess. What little facts he possessed in this investigation seemed backed by some of the ‘stories’ online: of tales of transformation without requirement of the full moon; of a creature that was lethal and fast and capable of the damage inflicted the past summer and early autumn.
Michael sighed. Essentially he was still in the dark. What he had now was some support for his personal belief that such creatures as ‘werewolves’ could exist - too many accounts from around the globe to dismiss them all as hallucinations or the workings of an insane mind.
The harsh ringing of the telephone shattered his reverie and Michael dashed to his desk, dropping onto his chair as he snatched the handle. “Inspector Neil.”
“Hello Michael, Paul here. I have the information you requested.”
Michael was dimly aware that he was on the edge of his seat. “Nothing much really - I have sent my report to you electronically but in short there isn’t anything for you to worry about. Both are clean, especially the history teacher. His story matches out regarding his illness from pneumonia and I even cross-referenced the times of the killings with the locations of the two men. Both check out.”
Michael nearly whimpered when he heard those stunningly wonderful words: ‘both check out’. Alexander couldn’t have committed the murders! Nor Fenway, his guilty conscience whispered.
“Michael?”
“Er…yes?”
“You alright? For a moment there you sounded strange.”
“I’m well Paul. Thank you for your help. It’ll make matters progress.”
“Sure. No problem for a friend. Take care of yourself Michael.”
“Thanks, and you too. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Michael replaced the receiver and grinned. He felt substantially better and if the report confirmed his suddenly cheerful mood he would be able to arrange Ryan Fenway to take him out to location on the Dempster Highway where Henry had experienced his terrifying encounter.
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/I was correct about the snow./
Framed by his bedroom window Alexander cut a pensive figure, gazing at the brilliance outside. Right shoulder braced against the edge of the window, Alexander placed his fingertips on the smooth glass.
Even with his heightened perception he could not feel the terrible cold that hulked just on the other side - the heating system was to be lauded. Yet, though he could not touch the chill his senses had been accurate in their prediction of snowfall. Big, fat flakes had descended on Wednesday, obscuring everything in a thick white fog of biting bitterness.
Onto Thursday a steady snowfall came, until at last night-time fell, granting a reprieve for a few hours. Then, on Friday a light gentle rain pattered from the white heavens; small petals of frozen water finishing the ivory layer that mantled Storm and the countryside.
Eventually Saturday morning crept in with pale gold fingers, revealing a marvellous picturesque landscape. /Deadly, but very beautiful,/ mused Alexander as he traced the frosty tracks on his window.
The sky now appeared a lovely dazzling clear blue, with not even the barest hint of snow. However, Alexander knew differently. He was certain that it would snow, vigorously, ere the day was gone. The werewolf had known this fact the moment he had awoken, right down to the core of his being, all his instincts afire with this steadfast knowledge.
His work on controlling his condition seemed to be succeeding, since he could now narrow down when specific weather factors would occur. Pleasing, very pleasing but still Alexander brooded.
/Michael…./
The Mountie was never far from his thoughts and this morning Michael preyed on them even more, for the handsome man had been restive all during breakfast and was now partaking in a flurry of activity. This concerned Alexander on many levels, not least that he could guess it had something to do with Michael’s case, but also because if the Mountie’s hurried behaviour led to on outing he could expose himself to the serious weather front soon to be moving in.
And he couldn’t warn Michael without revealing too much, after all, if the weather man said it was meant to be clear why should Michael believe Alexander? Especially if Alexander refused to tell him the reason why he knew better?
Growling from his spinning head, Alexander let his hand fall to his side and turned from the window. In so doing his eyes fell on his bedside table and the sheet of paper with the pen he kept in case ideas, dreams or premonitions blossomed in his mind while in bed.
Just like now for instance. Smiling, Alexander headed for his study where he reached for his letter paper and fountain pen.
5th November, Saturday
My dearest Amy,
I have no idea whether I shall send this to you or not, but I must confide in someone (and I’m afraid Father Jacques cannot help me in this) even if it is to a friend who may never receive this piece of paper.
What a week:
The 31st of October ushered in such a revelation, that the effects are still being profoundly felt some days later. Michael confessed that he cares for me, which almost made my cry out-loud in laughter and joy. To know that Michael’s attention is not simply lust, and could be more, brings me such hope that I am almost dizzy.
And is it truly surprising that I feel this way? I am in love with Michael and the tantalising prospect that if Michael permits himself, he could fall in love with me, is enough for me to crawl out of my skin, don a nice red furry outfit and run around in delight.
It may also give me a better chance of persuading Michael that I am innocent if he is suspicious of me, (and I believe he is), for he may be less likely to reject me as a godless monster if he does love me.
But such persuasion is difficult and risky under the circumstances. I must keep practising gaining autonomous control of the transformation, while maintaining constant vigilance on Michael’s actions.
And Michael is confounding me. On Tuesday he returned home in a better humour than I have seen him in for some time. He actually smiled so widely that I thought he had hit his head, and then he appeared to be on the verge of grabbing me. Next thing I know, he spends the rest of the evening and the following days gazing at me with nearly the same intent expression he has been wearing for a while.
‘Nearly’ for I discern impatience in those dark eyes of his, and this new agitation underscores all his interactions with me. On occasions I can taste how frustrated he is with waiting - waiting for what I do not know, but I fear it may be related to whatever caused his good humour on Tuesday - it certainly wasn’t related to practising restraint!
Talking of restraint…Michael isn’t good with impatience. Surprising for a man apparently used to solving complex crimes, as whatever he is waiting for doesn’t prevent him from glaring at Figaro whenever he sees him, which has been every lunch period since Wednesday (as he has decided we should torment ourselves by eating together).
Michael also wishes to test my limits by sitting close when we are at home and making a habit of knocking on my door in the mornings to ensure ‘I’m awake’ - not to mention saying goodnight when we are already in our rooms, under the guise of checking if I’m alright.
What is buzzing in that mysterious mind of his?
We can’t continue this way, and if Michael’s actions are encouragement I will take a risk soon.
Apparently, wolves also aren’t good at waiting.
“Alexander?”
Alexander froze, pen hovering over the page, his last words engraved in his mind. Somehow he managed to gather his wits, “Yes?”
“Can you come down for a minute?”
“Sure.” Capping his pen, Alexander waved his letter to hurriedly dry the ink, and then slid the paper underneath some school documents. Locking his study Alexander then causally walked down the stairs wondering why Michael wished to speak to him.
He found his answer by the front door. Michael stood in the hallway entrance, door firmly closed, but dressed for cold weather. By his feet was a large backpack.
Attempting good cheer even though his heart was beating fast, anxious over what this all meant, Alexander asked: “A excursion Michael? Am I coming since you called?”
Dark eyes flashed with amusement before the intense scrutiny of the last few days returned. “No. I’m just waiting for Ryan Fenway. We’re going for another tour of the countryside.”
Alexander really didn’t like the peculiar turn phrase Michael gave ‘tour’. “Oh, you should have said - I would have prepared some food and beverages for you as I did previously.”
Michael smiled. “No need, I rustled some provisions up as I didn’t want to bother you.”
Alexander nodded. “Any reason for your trip? I would have thought you would have gone during the week.”
“Unfortunately, Fenway wasn’t available earlier than Saturday, and to be fair, I wished to know more, do some research on the case before I went to the Dempster Highway. I’ll only be gone a few hours.”
/From what I can infer I believe that is the place where Henry Boots witnessed Charlotte’s transformation./ Alexander’s mouth was unusually dry as he asked: “And your research has been satisfactory then?”
“I have some ideas, yes.”
There wasn’t much in the remark, no real weight to the words, yet the causal indifference in the reply seemed to offer its own sense of dreadful promise. Alexander felt his heart almost miss a beat, but attempted to keep smiling as he looked up into the handsome face of his friend, filling his senses with what could be the last moment of friendliness between the werewolf and man he loved, if Michael did know the truth and would not see past what Alexander was: a werewolf of Charlotte’s design.
As he gazed steadily into Michael’s eyes Alexander was acutely aware of how Michael stared at him with an assessing gleam in the dark pools. Slowly, everything about them grew eerily still as the vibrant attraction between Alexander and Michael shimmered, the memory of their passionate kiss and Michael’s desperate confession torturing them.
Alexander became almost giddy, as he smelled the increased pheromones in the small hallway - and why did the hallway suddenly feel so inadequate? So tiny and cramped when it had always been sufficient?
Alexander had the peculiar sensation that he was simultaneously experiencing the overwhelming craziness of wishing to be embraced and kissed, dissecting what Michael’s words really signified and yet observing the whole fraught affair from afar.
Recalling his letter to Amy, Alexander arrived at the frank conclusion that if he wished to assert his innocence to Michael then he would have to remind Michael what they could be together - what the Mountie would lose if he didn’t trust his own feelings regarding Alexander and, hopefully, the investigation.
Therefore, throwing caution to the wind, Alexander did what he believed both of them wanted with every fragment of their beings, and kissed the man he loved.
One had to be bold occasionally to capture destiny in one’s favour!
Body stretched along Michael’s length Alexander mused how hard it was when one was small and in that instant Michael finally responded, his strong arms reaching around Alexander’s back to seize him in a tight grip, pulling Alexander up, partly supporting the werewolf’s weight in his arms.
Michael returned his kisses with a relentless fervour, tongues plundering and lips moving down his throat back to his mouth, leaving Alexander - and Michael - drowning in a world of sensation.
The wolf within Alexander whined, submitting to the undoubtedly alpha male that engulfed him, painting the air with his heavy earthy aroma. Yet, the werewolf also demanded his pleasure, kissing and lightly biting at Michael’s once cracked dry lips, now wet with saliva. His tongue lathed just beneath Michael’s chin, much to the surprised but welcoming delight of his Mountie.
Alexander’s passion intensified and as the werewolf drank in Michael’s presence - hard body under rough cloth, salty sweat, and searing want - all of which overwhelmed his entire world, Alexander realised with the small portion of his mind yet unclouded, that as his werewolf nature came to light, his eyes would be the first to show it.
Already, Alexander knew - inherently sensed - that his pupils would begin to bleed yellow, intermingling with the grey-green of his eyes. And, like before, when sitting within Michael’s arms on his bedroom floor, Alexander snapped shut his eyes and desperately tried to regain his equilibrium.
He did not fear Changing, the last few days comforted Alexander that he would not lose control, but now wasn’t the moment he wished to alert Michael to the fact that he wasn’t entirely human. No, he simply wished to leave Michael with a promise of what could be between them.
Then, as Michael’s hot, irregular breath curled over his face a voice shattered the intoxicating moment.
A knock on the door and…“Inspector?”
Fenway had arrived while they were ‘occupied’.
They reluctantly drew apart and Alexander heard an animal like snarl. /Damn, was that me?/
Risking a peek at Michael, Alexander saw the furious expression twisting the handsome features. Angry lines spread from Michael’s eyes and mouth, and when he spoke, Michael’s voice was sour, tinged with frustrated desire.
“Coming Fenway!”
/Ah, not me. A relief. / With that calming thought Alexander realised he was smug. Michael was clearly off balance and smelled of a man interrupted before matters could become rather more interesting involving less material. Alexander had the incredible hunger to laugh.
Struggling to contain the inappropriate emotion the werewolf watched, amused as Michael glanced down at him, and then flexed his right hand, easily engulfing the slender shoulder on which it rested. His fingers dug into Alexander’s back.
“Last minute chat with Fenway then I’m off. You take care Alexander, I’ll be back soon.”
Ignoring the way his belly clenched with unfulfilled need, and his wolf nature snarled in disgust, Alexander said: “I sincerely hope so Michael. I shall try and keep myself occupied while you’re gone. Good luck. And do be careful.”
Michael seemed to be ready to inquire what he meant by ‘keeping himself occupied’ by the sudden stench of jealously that rolled off the man he loved.
“Yes,” Michael’s tone was less than enthused, “see you in a few hours. Farewell.”
Picking up his backpack Michael pulled open the door and hesitated on the doorstep. He appeared to be warring with a thought. Finally he muttered, “I think Figaro is busy today so perhaps you can call someone else to keep you company? Just remembered something he mentioned to me.”
“Sure Michael. Thank you for warning me.”
Frowning, obviously uncertain as to his response, Michael went to join Fenway. Amazingly, Alexander succeeded in waiting until Fenway and Michael vanished from sight and sound of his werewolf eyes and ears, before slumping to the floor and crying with laughter.
Encouraging Michael’s passions had worked better than he could have conceived!
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Author: luthienberen aka Jadwiga
Character: Alexander Finch
Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt: 097: Writer’s Choice: Sensation
Beta: rae_fa
Word count: 5,509
Rating: R (no under 17s) overall.
Notes: A thurible is a charcoal burner used in church during Mass, also called a ‘censer’ (link: http://www. thefreedictionary. com/ censer) Remove the spaces to click on the link.
This is part of a series of chapters, which can be can either be found via the community’s tag system or fictionpress.
Summary: Michael pursues his line of investigation leaving Alexander to take a risk.
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Chapter 24: Precipice
1st November, Tuesday
Tuesday dawned a bleak, miserable day, aptly reflecting the moods of the two men inside the solitary house nestled amidst the snow covered wild.
Alexander lay in a stupor barely awake after a long night of fretting. Now, after hours of staring into the dark, questioning his and Michael’s actions last evening his exhausted mind finally could rest - or what passed for rest.
He was fortunate he had a free first period this morning; Alexander did not think he could function without catching some sort of reprieve. Yet, even as the werewolf drifted further into the abyss his sharp ears snared a sound.
Senses responding instantly Alexander whimpered. He really wished to rest. However, the noise from Michael’s bedroom was far too alluring for him to miss or to ignore once registered.
The shuffle of feet on soft carpet and the crick of a door being opened as gently as possible caressed him. The slightest of coughs and then, distantly, came the echo of water running. Sighing, Alexander slung his left arm over his eyes wondering whether Michael was delicately trying to leave early to avoid him. Not that Alexander could blame Michael - he had his own trouble concerning yesterday’s events, and even though he prayed with every fragment of his soul that Michael was falling in love with him, Alexander could never forget that Michael had the power to be his most deadly enemy.
And truthfully, the shrewd Mountie was a foe to be reckoned with until Alexander could be sure of gaining Michael’s sympathies and understanding of his nature.
/As if being a werewolf wasn’t difficult enough, being a werewolf in love is a dizzying blend of senses and emotions all wrapped into one. I feel like I’m on a roundabout that won’t stop spinning!/
Michael’s scent wafted through his bedroom door shattering his ruminations. Alexander opened his mouth and breathed deep of the intoxicating aroma. He could taste Michael’s wariness and indecisiveness. He could hear the agitated breathing denoting Michael’s struggle with whatever emotion that had brought him to Alexander’s threshold.
Was he worried why Alexander wasn’t up yet? Concerned there wasn’t a light or noises coming from his room? Alexander squeezed his eyes shut. /Not making this easy for yourself are you my handsome Michael? Or for me to be honest./
As Alexander predicated when Michael summoned up the courage - or foolishness? - to speak, his first words were: “Alex-Alexander?” followed by a light yet insistent tapping, “Alexander? Are you well? It’s seven already…”
In the pause that commenced Alexander realised that Michael would not give up now that he had started, there was too much adrenaline flowing through his system for Michael to desist. The werewolf could smell the anxiety, desire and determination on the sweat beading Michael’s flesh.
/Frankly, sometimes being a werewolf is annoying./
Gathering his courage or stupidity, (Alexander wasn’t sure which), he rolled out of bed. “I’m fine Michael. I simply overslept.” /Now that you have been answered will you go now or linger still?/
“Alexander?”
/I thought not./ “Yes?”
“Can you open the door?”
/Why must investigators always see evidence before they believe?/
“Coming!”
Stepping away from the bed Alexander spied his dressing robe and wisely pulled it on. Temptation was being courted this morning but there was no need to completely impale oneself on it so early in the day.
Pulling his door open Alexander kept a firm grip on the door handle…and on reality. “Good morning Michael, how did you sleep?” /Formality is best right?/
Michael’s gaze travelled over his frame not missing anything ere resting on his face. The dark brown eyes were tired but still intense, smouldering like incense in a thurible.
“As well as you I believe.”
Alexander didn’t say anything, what could he say?
“I’ll go now, still need to put my tie on.”
Alexander found himself nodding and watching as Michael somehow walked backwards to his bedroom without injury.
Returning to his bed Alexander noticed he had clawed at his covers in frustration and that his bedside clock read ‘7:10’. The day was going to be a long one.
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Once Alexander had driven away, Michael collapsed on the lone sofa in the living room. Titling his head back he rubbed his palms over his face. “Damn.” What had he been thinking when he had gone to Alexander’s bedroom this morning? A bout of temporary insanity?
“Oh, well then, simply a continuance of last night. Terrific, now I’m muttering to myself.”
Groaning, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to organise his thoughts. He had no desire to leave quite yet for work. He had vital research to carry out in the library…research on werewolves, and he had to compose his mind before he exposed himself to the public.
It was for that reason he was waiting here in Alexander’s house for the library to open, rather than heading for the station where Fey would notice his distraction and ask for an explanation.
Hopefully, by the time he returned to his office from the library, it wouldn’t be long until Paul called him with the background information that he had requested. Maybe then he would be able to squash the ridiculous urge to search Alexander’s belongings to prove his innocence.
Sighing, Michael raised his head and squinted at the clock on the wall. Was it really only 7:35am? It felt like an eternity had passed since Alexander, the redheaded mystery, had left for work.
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Alexander had been worried when he realised that Michael was purposely delaying his departure from the house, but there was nothing he could do about that. This was not the first time that Michael had left after him without uncovering Alexander’s secret.
What was soothing was Michael’s obvious display of suppressed emotion. The tense set of his shoulders, the tightening around his mouth and eyes, which Alexander’s superior eyesight easily detected and the scents that poured off him, was enough for the werewolf to want to rush to work, if only to give his overwrought senses a reprieve!
Compared to that, the chaotic sounds, smells, sights and tactile inputs of Cougar School were a gentle swell of classical music and a balm to Alexander’s frayed state.
Moving fluidly to the school entrance Alexander welcomed the comforting embrace of his surroundings, this was the environment he loved and adored and while it could not always bring peace, at times it was a great aid, especially now.
Slipping into his role of ‘ordinary human history teacher’, Alexander managed to get through the staff meeting, and then followed his colleagues as they headed to their classrooms before the first bell rang.
Relieved he had the first period free and that he didn’t have to cover for a fellow teacher, Alexander waited patiently until staff and students were in class with the second bell safely rung. Only then did he walk on feet so stealthy that none heard him pass. Easing into the bitter conditions outside, Alexander darted towards the trees that bordered the back of the school, (as well as the school yard), thankful that the dim light coupled with his speed and gracefulness would conceal his presence.
Almost flowing across the distance to the tree line which offered safety, Alexander mused on how he would explain his absence from his classroom, in the unlikely occasion should anyone try to find him. A smile tweaked his lips and Alexander’s eyes shone as he had an idea. The top floor classrooms were almost always empty - and on a Tuesday morning they certainly wouldn’t be in use. If anyone did question his absence he could say he had wished to catch a quiet moment, and where better than one of the disused top rooms where no one would think to look?
The minor risk invovled in such a lie was worth it in Alexander’s opinion. He just needed to be with nature for a moment. Indeed, as he padded past tall evergreens their smell was a lovely succour to his fraught mind. Even the bare deciduous trees were beautiful in their winter sleep.
Finding a suitable tree Alexander easily leapt up onto a naked branch and climbed a little way into the tree, recalling his similar endeavour in the Church orchard, but unlike then he had no meat to feast on, nor was Alexander hungry for raw flesh.
Settling down, Alexander mused how a werewolf could discover a comfortable perch among the hard boughs.
A dead body hanging from a tree, blood still warm and dripping.
Face white Alexander shook his head. Yes, werewolves were excellent at seeking out resting - and eating - places, just like the werewolf who had infected Raphael Laurence, the man spoken about in the journals by the medical doctor Jonathan Swift.
/But that is not me and I came here for peace, not for melancholy thoughts./
Shrugging off his temporary gloom Alexander balanced on the tree limb and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he could taste the prickly pine needles in the nearby evergreens, a flavour underscored by the sharp tang of snow preparing to fall.
As he sank into his being Alexander estimated that the heavy black clouds would release their contents tomorrow, he wasn’t certain when, but tomorrow would see a fresh cascade of snow.
Flexing his fingers the werewolf recalled his lessons with the wolf-cub and focused his energy. Alexander did not dare to transform completely, not yet, not when his confidence was still unsteady. He also would not risk fully Changing on school grounds! Too great a danger for himself and for his students and colleagues. However, he was confident enough to attempt a part transformation.
Breathing now slow, Alexander remembered the night he had first Transformed and tried to capture the sensations that had preceded his Change and occurred during it. No pain, just acceptance of who he was. It was difficult but Alexander was indomitable in his aspiration.
Instead of allowing errant emotions to rule the day Alexander willed a clear, calm mind to order events.
It worked…partly.
Feeling a tingling sweep his body, greatest at his fingers, eyes and ears, Alexander nearly let excitement destroy his light mediation. Trembling, still tightly controlling his emotions Alexander opened his eyes and yelped. “Ow!”
The light! The pale grey light of the morning filtering through the ‘forest’ was almost as bright as on a sunny afternoon. Shielding his eyes so he could rub the poor abused things Alexander froze. Claws! Lowering his hands the werewolf blinked his eyes clear of wetness and gazed on the long claws that tapered from fingers that were close to becoming ‘toes’ emanating from paws. Delight began to rise in his chest and Alexander permitted himself to wallow in a bit of that, but not to be overcome by the sensation.
Remembering the feeling in his ears, he carefully touched the tips with a hand-paw, (he had no desire to cause injury), and had to grip the solid branch for purchase so he did not fall. /Pointed ears are fashionable right?/ Alexander whispered to himself faintly.
Dazed by his success, Alexander the werewolf spent a few minutes exploring this achievement, before deciding it was time he returned to the school building. Reversing the Change was easier and quicker than Alexander had feared it would be, and having successfully forgotten his concerns over Michael, as well as progressing with control over his condition, Alexander was much a happier werewolf than he had been when he re-appeared in his classroom ready for the next period.
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When the time rolled around that he could leave without being ridiculously early for the library to open, Michael was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Lounging about the house of the man he was infatuated with - no, mere infatuation this was not and it was time to be honest, like yesterday evening, too much rested on this otherwise - the man he is falling a bit in love with, (Michael hung onto the ‘bit’ in a last desperate attempt to keep his sanity), was maddening.
The frigid conditions outside were a welcome relief to his jittery state and Michael breathed deep lungfuls of icy air, even relishing the way the cold gnawed at his exposed hands and cheeks. Sliding into the car and fiercely twisting the key Michael backed carefully out of the driveway.
During the entire ride into Storm and to the library, coursing through surprisingly busy streets, Michael debated how he was going to approach his research. He could hardly ask the librarians whether they had any books on werewolves. Something like that would be around the town in minutes - not what he wished.
Eventually, as he pulled into a space near a cheerful looking building with a sign denoting ‘Storm Library’, the Mountie decided to simply browse without help. It was too big a risk otherwise and he was already taking enough risks.
Walking up slippery steps Michael blinked at the painfully bright lights that met him in the entrance. Compared to the greyness outside, the normal lighting of the library was a shock and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. When they did, Michael saw a reasonably largish room ahead. A little distance from the doors was an oval desk, with one side devoted to returns and the other to checkouts.
Beyond this were three tables full of computers and after them shelves groaning under the weight of books and journals. Fascinated and hopeful, Michael pulled off his hat and rubbed his fingers together to shake off the cold.
Nodding at the female supervisor standing behind the desk, Michael advanced into the room, empty bar the few workers and now him at two minutes past the opening time.
Within two hours of hard searching Michael came to two conclusions: 1) That there was a ludicrous amount of werewolf fiction out on the shelves in the guise of horror, romance, role-play, or any of the three combined. 2) The closest thing to actual discussion of werewolves in folklore and history was a minor reference here and there to serial killers or the medical classification of ‘clinical lycanthropy’ where a patient believed he or she could transform into an animal.
Unfortunately, neither helped Michael since he was seeking discussion on actual physical transformations and not the opinions of people who believed such things didn’t exist, and popular fiction was too far from the source for Michael to know how much was based on old (and modern) tales to be useful.
Realising this left the internet with all its advantages and disadvantages, Michael replaced the books he had been rifling through and shouldered on his coat. He would scan the internet at work - no one would walk past his computer that way and wonder incredulously why a Mountie was staring at a screen filled with words and pictures pertaining to werewolves.
Causally strolling out with a polite nod and charming smile for the lady by the entrance Michael headed with grim determination to the station.
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Three hours later
Michael winced. His brain felt like it might explode if he tried to cram any more information, while his eyes were promising to ignite if he gazed at his computer screen for a single second longer. Surrendering to the inevitable Michael disconnected from the internet and for good measure shut off the monitor.
“Shit, who would have conceived there was so much on werewolves? Who sits there writing this stuff?!”
Desperate for a drink Michael rose and gasped as his backbone protested. Right, sitting hunched over was a bad idea and while he didn’t know who wrote or drew half the things he had seen, he knew reading it was damn addictive.
Gingerly stretching his spine, Michael twisted side to side to loosen up the muscles in his back and to ease the cricks from his spine. Once he could move without feeling like an old man Michael grabbed a drink of water to drown his thirst. He followed the beautifully cool liquid with invigorating fruit juice and a (late) hot lunch.
Only then did he contemplate all he had discovered on his tour of the vast information system that was the internet.
There were thousands of sites devoted to werewolves from films and books to role-playing games and forums aplenty. Drawings depicted varied images of werewolves, every artist having their own interpretation of the ‘monster’.
More useful were the sites angled towards those who believed they could change into animals - whether it be an actual physical transformation or a spiritual/mental change. On top of this were the sites dedicated to folklore - and to tales of werewolves through history and culture.
While many stories possessed a negative view, Michael was heartened by the tales which had good werewolves, and whether these were based on fragment of truth or were simply fiction, Michael wanted to believe that not all werewolves were inherently evil.
Indeed, various cultures viewed werewolves (or whatever they were called in individual customs) differently, and if modern day claims to mythical man-to-animal transformation could be trusted, then ‘good’ and ‘werewolf’ were not necessary a contradiction in terms.
Michael leaned against his window, glad of the privacy of his room, and brooded on the ‘facts’. The possibility that Alexander - the man he cared for deeply - might be innocent even if he was a werewolf, was a hope so intense that it hurt. Could he trust what he had gleaned from his research?
He did not know. He could only guess. What little facts he possessed in this investigation seemed backed by some of the ‘stories’ online: of tales of transformation without requirement of the full moon; of a creature that was lethal and fast and capable of the damage inflicted the past summer and early autumn.
Michael sighed. Essentially he was still in the dark. What he had now was some support for his personal belief that such creatures as ‘werewolves’ could exist - too many accounts from around the globe to dismiss them all as hallucinations or the workings of an insane mind.
The harsh ringing of the telephone shattered his reverie and Michael dashed to his desk, dropping onto his chair as he snatched the handle. “Inspector Neil.”
“Hello Michael, Paul here. I have the information you requested.”
Michael was dimly aware that he was on the edge of his seat. “Nothing much really - I have sent my report to you electronically but in short there isn’t anything for you to worry about. Both are clean, especially the history teacher. His story matches out regarding his illness from pneumonia and I even cross-referenced the times of the killings with the locations of the two men. Both check out.”
Michael nearly whimpered when he heard those stunningly wonderful words: ‘both check out’. Alexander couldn’t have committed the murders! Nor Fenway, his guilty conscience whispered.
“Michael?”
“Er…yes?”
“You alright? For a moment there you sounded strange.”
“I’m well Paul. Thank you for your help. It’ll make matters progress.”
“Sure. No problem for a friend. Take care of yourself Michael.”
“Thanks, and you too. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Michael replaced the receiver and grinned. He felt substantially better and if the report confirmed his suddenly cheerful mood he would be able to arrange Ryan Fenway to take him out to location on the Dempster Highway where Henry had experienced his terrifying encounter.
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/I was correct about the snow./
Framed by his bedroom window Alexander cut a pensive figure, gazing at the brilliance outside. Right shoulder braced against the edge of the window, Alexander placed his fingertips on the smooth glass.
Even with his heightened perception he could not feel the terrible cold that hulked just on the other side - the heating system was to be lauded. Yet, though he could not touch the chill his senses had been accurate in their prediction of snowfall. Big, fat flakes had descended on Wednesday, obscuring everything in a thick white fog of biting bitterness.
Onto Thursday a steady snowfall came, until at last night-time fell, granting a reprieve for a few hours. Then, on Friday a light gentle rain pattered from the white heavens; small petals of frozen water finishing the ivory layer that mantled Storm and the countryside.
Eventually Saturday morning crept in with pale gold fingers, revealing a marvellous picturesque landscape. /Deadly, but very beautiful,/ mused Alexander as he traced the frosty tracks on his window.
The sky now appeared a lovely dazzling clear blue, with not even the barest hint of snow. However, Alexander knew differently. He was certain that it would snow, vigorously, ere the day was gone. The werewolf had known this fact the moment he had awoken, right down to the core of his being, all his instincts afire with this steadfast knowledge.
His work on controlling his condition seemed to be succeeding, since he could now narrow down when specific weather factors would occur. Pleasing, very pleasing but still Alexander brooded.
/Michael…./
The Mountie was never far from his thoughts and this morning Michael preyed on them even more, for the handsome man had been restive all during breakfast and was now partaking in a flurry of activity. This concerned Alexander on many levels, not least that he could guess it had something to do with Michael’s case, but also because if the Mountie’s hurried behaviour led to on outing he could expose himself to the serious weather front soon to be moving in.
And he couldn’t warn Michael without revealing too much, after all, if the weather man said it was meant to be clear why should Michael believe Alexander? Especially if Alexander refused to tell him the reason why he knew better?
Growling from his spinning head, Alexander let his hand fall to his side and turned from the window. In so doing his eyes fell on his bedside table and the sheet of paper with the pen he kept in case ideas, dreams or premonitions blossomed in his mind while in bed.
Just like now for instance. Smiling, Alexander headed for his study where he reached for his letter paper and fountain pen.
5th November, Saturday
My dearest Amy,
I have no idea whether I shall send this to you or not, but I must confide in someone (and I’m afraid Father Jacques cannot help me in this) even if it is to a friend who may never receive this piece of paper.
What a week:
The 31st of October ushered in such a revelation, that the effects are still being profoundly felt some days later. Michael confessed that he cares for me, which almost made my cry out-loud in laughter and joy. To know that Michael’s attention is not simply lust, and could be more, brings me such hope that I am almost dizzy.
And is it truly surprising that I feel this way? I am in love with Michael and the tantalising prospect that if Michael permits himself, he could fall in love with me, is enough for me to crawl out of my skin, don a nice red furry outfit and run around in delight.
It may also give me a better chance of persuading Michael that I am innocent if he is suspicious of me, (and I believe he is), for he may be less likely to reject me as a godless monster if he does love me.
But such persuasion is difficult and risky under the circumstances. I must keep practising gaining autonomous control of the transformation, while maintaining constant vigilance on Michael’s actions.
And Michael is confounding me. On Tuesday he returned home in a better humour than I have seen him in for some time. He actually smiled so widely that I thought he had hit his head, and then he appeared to be on the verge of grabbing me. Next thing I know, he spends the rest of the evening and the following days gazing at me with nearly the same intent expression he has been wearing for a while.
‘Nearly’ for I discern impatience in those dark eyes of his, and this new agitation underscores all his interactions with me. On occasions I can taste how frustrated he is with waiting - waiting for what I do not know, but I fear it may be related to whatever caused his good humour on Tuesday - it certainly wasn’t related to practising restraint!
Talking of restraint…Michael isn’t good with impatience. Surprising for a man apparently used to solving complex crimes, as whatever he is waiting for doesn’t prevent him from glaring at Figaro whenever he sees him, which has been every lunch period since Wednesday (as he has decided we should torment ourselves by eating together).
Michael also wishes to test my limits by sitting close when we are at home and making a habit of knocking on my door in the mornings to ensure ‘I’m awake’ - not to mention saying goodnight when we are already in our rooms, under the guise of checking if I’m alright.
What is buzzing in that mysterious mind of his?
We can’t continue this way, and if Michael’s actions are encouragement I will take a risk soon.
Apparently, wolves also aren’t good at waiting.
“Alexander?”
Alexander froze, pen hovering over the page, his last words engraved in his mind. Somehow he managed to gather his wits, “Yes?”
“Can you come down for a minute?”
“Sure.” Capping his pen, Alexander waved his letter to hurriedly dry the ink, and then slid the paper underneath some school documents. Locking his study Alexander then causally walked down the stairs wondering why Michael wished to speak to him.
He found his answer by the front door. Michael stood in the hallway entrance, door firmly closed, but dressed for cold weather. By his feet was a large backpack.
Attempting good cheer even though his heart was beating fast, anxious over what this all meant, Alexander asked: “A excursion Michael? Am I coming since you called?”
Dark eyes flashed with amusement before the intense scrutiny of the last few days returned. “No. I’m just waiting for Ryan Fenway. We’re going for another tour of the countryside.”
Alexander really didn’t like the peculiar turn phrase Michael gave ‘tour’. “Oh, you should have said - I would have prepared some food and beverages for you as I did previously.”
Michael smiled. “No need, I rustled some provisions up as I didn’t want to bother you.”
Alexander nodded. “Any reason for your trip? I would have thought you would have gone during the week.”
“Unfortunately, Fenway wasn’t available earlier than Saturday, and to be fair, I wished to know more, do some research on the case before I went to the Dempster Highway. I’ll only be gone a few hours.”
/From what I can infer I believe that is the place where Henry Boots witnessed Charlotte’s transformation./ Alexander’s mouth was unusually dry as he asked: “And your research has been satisfactory then?”
“I have some ideas, yes.”
There wasn’t much in the remark, no real weight to the words, yet the causal indifference in the reply seemed to offer its own sense of dreadful promise. Alexander felt his heart almost miss a beat, but attempted to keep smiling as he looked up into the handsome face of his friend, filling his senses with what could be the last moment of friendliness between the werewolf and man he loved, if Michael did know the truth and would not see past what Alexander was: a werewolf of Charlotte’s design.
As he gazed steadily into Michael’s eyes Alexander was acutely aware of how Michael stared at him with an assessing gleam in the dark pools. Slowly, everything about them grew eerily still as the vibrant attraction between Alexander and Michael shimmered, the memory of their passionate kiss and Michael’s desperate confession torturing them.
Alexander became almost giddy, as he smelled the increased pheromones in the small hallway - and why did the hallway suddenly feel so inadequate? So tiny and cramped when it had always been sufficient?
Alexander had the peculiar sensation that he was simultaneously experiencing the overwhelming craziness of wishing to be embraced and kissed, dissecting what Michael’s words really signified and yet observing the whole fraught affair from afar.
Recalling his letter to Amy, Alexander arrived at the frank conclusion that if he wished to assert his innocence to Michael then he would have to remind Michael what they could be together - what the Mountie would lose if he didn’t trust his own feelings regarding Alexander and, hopefully, the investigation.
Therefore, throwing caution to the wind, Alexander did what he believed both of them wanted with every fragment of their beings, and kissed the man he loved.
One had to be bold occasionally to capture destiny in one’s favour!
Body stretched along Michael’s length Alexander mused how hard it was when one was small and in that instant Michael finally responded, his strong arms reaching around Alexander’s back to seize him in a tight grip, pulling Alexander up, partly supporting the werewolf’s weight in his arms.
Michael returned his kisses with a relentless fervour, tongues plundering and lips moving down his throat back to his mouth, leaving Alexander - and Michael - drowning in a world of sensation.
The wolf within Alexander whined, submitting to the undoubtedly alpha male that engulfed him, painting the air with his heavy earthy aroma. Yet, the werewolf also demanded his pleasure, kissing and lightly biting at Michael’s once cracked dry lips, now wet with saliva. His tongue lathed just beneath Michael’s chin, much to the surprised but welcoming delight of his Mountie.
Alexander’s passion intensified and as the werewolf drank in Michael’s presence - hard body under rough cloth, salty sweat, and searing want - all of which overwhelmed his entire world, Alexander realised with the small portion of his mind yet unclouded, that as his werewolf nature came to light, his eyes would be the first to show it.
Already, Alexander knew - inherently sensed - that his pupils would begin to bleed yellow, intermingling with the grey-green of his eyes. And, like before, when sitting within Michael’s arms on his bedroom floor, Alexander snapped shut his eyes and desperately tried to regain his equilibrium.
He did not fear Changing, the last few days comforted Alexander that he would not lose control, but now wasn’t the moment he wished to alert Michael to the fact that he wasn’t entirely human. No, he simply wished to leave Michael with a promise of what could be between them.
Then, as Michael’s hot, irregular breath curled over his face a voice shattered the intoxicating moment.
A knock on the door and…“Inspector?”
Fenway had arrived while they were ‘occupied’.
They reluctantly drew apart and Alexander heard an animal like snarl. /Damn, was that me?/
Risking a peek at Michael, Alexander saw the furious expression twisting the handsome features. Angry lines spread from Michael’s eyes and mouth, and when he spoke, Michael’s voice was sour, tinged with frustrated desire.
“Coming Fenway!”
/Ah, not me. A relief. / With that calming thought Alexander realised he was smug. Michael was clearly off balance and smelled of a man interrupted before matters could become rather more interesting involving less material. Alexander had the incredible hunger to laugh.
Struggling to contain the inappropriate emotion the werewolf watched, amused as Michael glanced down at him, and then flexed his right hand, easily engulfing the slender shoulder on which it rested. His fingers dug into Alexander’s back.
“Last minute chat with Fenway then I’m off. You take care Alexander, I’ll be back soon.”
Ignoring the way his belly clenched with unfulfilled need, and his wolf nature snarled in disgust, Alexander said: “I sincerely hope so Michael. I shall try and keep myself occupied while you’re gone. Good luck. And do be careful.”
Michael seemed to be ready to inquire what he meant by ‘keeping himself occupied’ by the sudden stench of jealously that rolled off the man he loved.
“Yes,” Michael’s tone was less than enthused, “see you in a few hours. Farewell.”
Picking up his backpack Michael pulled open the door and hesitated on the doorstep. He appeared to be warring with a thought. Finally he muttered, “I think Figaro is busy today so perhaps you can call someone else to keep you company? Just remembered something he mentioned to me.”
“Sure Michael. Thank you for warning me.”
Frowning, obviously uncertain as to his response, Michael went to join Fenway. Amazingly, Alexander succeeded in waiting until Fenway and Michael vanished from sight and sound of his werewolf eyes and ears, before slumping to the floor and crying with laughter.
Encouraging Michael’s passions had worked better than he could have conceived!
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