MC ROMANCE: Wanted by the Alpha Biker (Motorcycle Club Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (MC Romantic Suspense Contemporary New Adult Short Stories) (17 page)

As I entered the clearing she showed me, I noticed the scent of humans. That always made me feel uneasy in my bear-form. An eons old threat, tacked onto that smell, I recoiled from the threat, preferring the woodlands. Counter-intuitive, I know. I am, after all, a human myself sometimes. But true.

I breathed in again, cautious. I smelled her.

All my senses ignited. I would not stay in the woods then for any threat or promise. The scent was beautiful. Honeysuckle and musk. It drew me onward.

She stood below the last pine tree, pale in the dusk. As I neared her, my mind called an ecstatic greeting and I feel a stab, like lightning, in the back of my head. It ached and throbbed, pressing me down. I fell to the ground, unconscious.

I do not know how long I laid there. Eventually, I felt my mind come back to itself.  It was darker now, almost night, and I was looking into her face closer than I had ever been.

Her skin was pearls, her eyes mirrors of gold. She smelled of honey and clover, lips dusky rose. I reached up, planning to rest a paw on her shoulder. I saw a hand—a fine-boned, scholar's hand—reach out, a little unsteadily.

Oh, heavens. Now she knows.

I sat up, feeling stupid. I hoped that I could simply shrug it off, that she had not noticed the spectacular transformation. As if anyone could fail to see it! Even I knew that was a hopeless case.

Then I saw her eyes. They rested golden and focused, and I had never seen such an expression.

My body understood it, even if my mind did not, and responded shamelessly and violently, the stab in my groin a physical pain.

“I...” I began, desperate to explain myself. My voice was fogged with longing.

“Don't.” Her voice dances out low, melodious and musical. 

This was the first time I had ever heard her speak. It thrummed through my body, making the arousal even worse.  I had never wanted anything this badly, this intensely.

“Very well. I won't.” I manage.

She smiled. It gave her sudden dimples. Then she looked down into my eyes. “Aurelius.”

To be here, in my human form, beside her on the grass in springtime! My body ached, and my mind saw only her.  “Kiryla.”

We, neither of us I am sure, knew what comes next. Despite my long life, I was completely inexperienced. But I think we both wanted to find out.

My hand reached out to hers.  I leaned over, and my lips found her mouth. I had never done this before. Somehow, the body must have a deeper knowledge, for it seemed to guide me.

Her lips parted under mine. Her mouth tasted honey-sweet, and warm, and cloying with its scent of woman and sweetness. It flooded my senses, making my loins ache.

I pressed her backwards with my weight, and she bended, yielding, until I laid over her on the grass. Her breasts pressed against my chest, and I lost myself in the sweet softness of that sensation.

I kissed her yet again.

My touch wandered over her body. Soft and amply-curved and graceful. I had never felt anything so precious. I needed to undress her, to feel her smooth, cool skin against my own.

Beneath me, she murmured. A soft moan that destroyed, finally, all my self-control. My fingers fumbled awkwardly with her bodice, while my mouth discovered the silken skin of her breasts. It felt impossibly smooth and warm.

I have been to Damascus, and felt all the silks of the Orient. None of them come even close.

She moaned again, her lips a small line of disapproval. I was mortified. What did I do?

I sat up and looked down at her, my chest heaving with longing.

“Not... here.” She managed, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks pink.

I nodded. I understood. Anyone could come upon us here. I felt surprised I did not think of it. Desire had overwhelmed all my other senses.

With my hand in hers, she led me to the barn. Soft hay lined the floor.

She stood with her back to me as her fingers, more clever than mine, found the strings of her bodice and untied them fully. I heard a soft protest in my own throat.
No. I will do this
.

I moved behind her, and slowly peeled the dress to her waist. My mouth found the skin of her shoulder and kissed it. My teeth nipped her flesh, taking a soft bite of her smoothness as I nuzzled her throat. Her body was warm and scented, and my loins throbbed with my need.

I eased the dress down her body and kissed her skin as I went. The scent of her grew stronger, a cinnamon-sweetness that cloyed as flowers and which fired my desire beyond anything I had ever felt. My tongue explored her body, running down her thighs. She gasped, and the sound ignited me.

Then I was taking off my clothes with all the urgency that flooded my veins like fire. She lay before me, and then we were sinking into the straw, as my body covered hers. The need to be within her drove me like nothing I had ever known.

Inside her. Finally.

I drew back and thrusted into her, and the sweet pleasure of her tight damp well proved too much to bear. She cried out once and I kissed her throat, distressed to cause her pain. I knew of this, the loss of maidenhood.

She seemed unhurt. I thrusted in again, slowly this time, and she moaned, in pleasure now. The sound was too much for me, and I withdrew and move in again. Withdrew and thrusted. Until my body was riding a driving, unconscious rhythm which was within me and greater than me, driving me on to a peak of pleasure so intense I thought I would die, I pressed into her silken dampness. I heard the blood sing in my ears as the pleasure flowed through me and into me, a rising tide.

I cried out, my voice throaty and primordial, as I had never heard it. To my amazement, she cried out too. Our voices join together, our sighing breath.

I do not know how long I was transported away from myself. But when I awoke, she rested in my arms. Her cheeks were damp, and so are mine. I kissed her, and she kissed me.

We were together in this. For all time. Whatever happened.

***

Now, I sit here in this monastery and write as if the fires of Hell were on my heels. 
That is as I remember it. That was how it was.

I am a man tormented. My blood sings her name.  My heart, too, longs for her gentleness and closeness.

But it is impossible.

I am only half-human. And, worse—far worse –I am condemned to live forever.  Or at least, much longer than her fully-human life.

I will love her and I will see her die. I cannot bear it. Cannot give my heart to her, and have her take it with her.

Perhaps worse, her life throbs within me. I feel her memories and I hold them in my heart. I am no longer of my own experience, but hers as well. The lives marry in my mind and I clutched my chest at her thought.

What can I do?

There is nothing anyone can do to remedy it. There is no cure for my curse, no end to my torment. And so I write madly, every day.  I want to set it all down, make a record of each of our precious memories.

It seems I have. There is nothing left to say. I close the book and sit back, exhausted, tears streaming down my face.

I will leave this mad, passionate narrative for her. It is written in a leather-bound book, a gift from the prior. It is all that I can give. Then I will leave.

***

“Luca? Brother?”

That is him, now. Prior Alexy. I hear his limping step behind me. He crosses the floor and comes to sit beside me at the desk.

“Prior.” My voice is grating and harsh. When did I last sleep?

“Brother?” His voice is gentle. “I repeat my offer. Tell me what torments you.  Please, my friend.  Trust me. There is nothing so terrible that it is not redeemable, you know.”

Can I tell him? I am certain he would think my love a sin, would condemn these longings of the flesh. And yet he is a good and holy man, a learned scholar, not a bigot. I can trust his opinion.

I tell him.  Everything, almost as it is set down here. Leaving out the bit about bears, of course. And about immortality. I love my friend and would not scare him so.

At the end of my story, he looks up at me, his eyes clouded with pain.  “My brother, that is a hard story.”

I incline my head. It helps to hide the tracks of tears that weave across my cheek.

“I believe you are right in your choice.” He says, his hand covering mine. “You should say farewell to your sweetheart. Return to your vows.”

“I know.” I choke. I cannot bear to say it.

“You will leave now, to say your goodbye?”

I nod. I cannot say it.

“When you return, perhaps we can discuss a pilgrimage?” he asks, his voice soft. “I have documents to deliver to a brother in Constantinople. Perhaps you would take them?”

He must believe the traveling would be good to help me forget. He does not say it, but it is clear that that is why he asks.

I nod, my throat closed with my reined emotions. “Thank you, Brother.” I manage. The kindness he shows me is a fresh cut to my heart. I did not know we were so close, that he feels my pain as I do.

He nods gravely and squeezes my hand. Then he leaves, his steps slow and echoing in the silence.

So it is I come to my decision.

              I end my account, close the bindings, and find my feet on the road towards the farmhouse.

It is the first day of summer. I have had all spring to love her, and now I must leave. Turn my steps to pilgrimage and a long, slow life without her.

I kiss the leather binding of the book, pack it carefully, and set off on the path.

***

Kiryla is at Alena's house.  Still light, this summer evening passes without scene. They have been discussing a case of Alena's, but Kiryla is not listening.

“What is it, dear?” Alena's voice is soft.

“Nothing.” Kiryla's voice is dreamy. She is silent a while, considering, and then continues. “Actually... I would like to tell you.  To share this pain.”

And she does. She tells her teacher all of it. Her meeting, her loving, the depth of her feeling. And why she is so sad.

“He is immortal. He told me so last time I saw him. I can do nothing about that.”

“No.” Her teacher looks at her from the corner of her eye.  She pauses for a while, then carries on.

“There are things I have not told you, Kiryla.” She says. “One of these, is that life is truly endless, when we move beyond form.”

              Life is eternal, beyond form and after death; she knows that. It is scant help, and sounds trite. Kiryla looks up, as if stung.

“I know all souls may persist eternally.” Her voice is harsh and cold with hurt.

“Quite so, Kiryla.” Her teacher nods.

Kiryla looks down then, immediately regretful.

“Thank you, teacher.”

Alena only nods.

They are quiet a while, and then Kiryla rises.

“I must leave. Let me take those jars and collect more celandine.”

“Thank you, dear.” Her teacher inclines her head, her flawless skin pale in the dying light. She has forgiven the earlier outburst, and is serene as ever.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Kiryla.” Her teacher nods farewell.  Kiryla nods back, and walks, stiff, from the hut.

Life is truly endless, beyond form.

The words play through Kiryla's mind, again and again, as she walks. The basket of bottles hits against her leg with each step. She uses the anger of that sudden bruising pain to spur her on.

Yes
, she thinks angrily.
I know that
! Life is truly endless, beyond form. Truly endless...

She stops. Almost walks into a tree.
Oh, heavens
!

She almost screams it. She feels euphoria rush through her, lift her up so that her soul sings with the stars.

“I have it!”

I must tell Aurelius.
Aurelius is at the monastery
. 
Her feet find themselves running up the path towards the church in the woods.

“Aurelius. Aurelius!”

Just shouting his name is a joy.

After ten minutes of breathless running, she stops to catch her breath. As she starts forward, she runs straight into a man in gray robes.

“Aurelius?”

He stares at each other. His gray eyes are filled with horror. She is laughing, not noticing the graveness of his expression.

“Aurelius! Are you alright? I have something to tell you! Something wonderful.”

“And I have something to tell you.” His voice is low.

“Very well.” She says. Her smile teases him, her eyes warm and entirely unreadable. “You go first.”

***

I say my farewell. I remind her why I have to go, now.  I cannot look up at her face. I feel her thoughts creeping towards me, her memories in our time since passed. The life she has lived without me all these days begs for my attention and I steel myself against what I know she has been thinking.