Imitating Fiction

Chapter 3. Ryeka

No matter how much I try, my c****x seems to stay just outside of my reach. I finally give up, laying in the middle of my bed panting in frustration. Staring at the ceiling, a tiny flame of idea begins to grow in my mind’s eye.

I jump up, not bothering to get dressed, and rush to the room I had set up as my office. Most of my belongings, including most of my clothes, are still packed away in boxes, but, despite my lingering writer’s block, the first thing I had set up when I moved in was my desk and computer.

Breathing through the impatience clawing at me as my computer boots up, I let my mind drift fully into the story playing out in my mind. When my word processor finally opens, I look at the blank white screen, the cursor blinking like an impatient schoolteacher, and send a silent prayer that my fingers can keep up.

For the next two days it almost feels like I’m in a trance. I barely eat or sleep while the words pour out of me, weaving a new world:…

A young witch, betrayed by her werewolf mate, harnessed the power of her despair to cast a powerful spell that engulfed the world in darkness. As the years passed, the witch fell deeper and deeper into the madness of her heartbreak, and the spell grew in power, touching every living thing on the planet.

The fae were no longer content with mutually satisfying kink. They increasingly turned to torture and snuff films. Vampires were no longer sustained by the life-giving energy of s*x and instead chose a half-life brought by death. Werewolf packs splintered, brothers turning on each other, and even Betas betrayed their Alphas creating instability in the once tight family orders. Mother Nature herself struggled against the spell. The spring rains didn’t come to an arid land baking under the angry sun’s relentless blaze. The dark energy was even felt by the humans who had long ago convinced themselves that they were the only intelligent species on the planet and ignored their cousin beings as supernatural unless to be used for entertainment purposes. Now they were consumed by an all-encompassing greed that led to endless wars and the destruction of their most precious resources. None suffered quite so much as the witch covens, however. Outcast, feared, blamed, and murdered for the state of world. They tried to hide themselves, not calling on the power that sustained them for fear of being hunted.

At last, when the world was at its darkest, a young girl orphaned, in infancy and raised in an orphanage, came of age and was turned out of the state home to make her own way in the world. Growing up in the orphanage had not been the tragic beginning one would expect from our soon to be heroine. She had had friends, been cared for, even loved. It didn’t give her the

sense of belonging that could only come from family, however. She set off across the country to find a place she could call home. Not knowing, of course, that she was a witch was her best protection from the cruelty of the world towards her kind. Unfortunately, growing up believing she was nothing more than human, she was unprepared when she found the man who had captured her heart was indeed a werewolf Alpha.

On the third day of writing, I’m drawn out of my trance by the incessant ringing of my phone. Grumbling in irritation, I paw through the wrappers of granola bars and chocolate on my desk. Stabbing the screen with my finger, I answer, “What do you want, Karen?”

Luckily, my agent, Karen Moore, is used to the inconsistent moods of artists. “Hello, Ryeka!” she practically sings. “How is it going?”

“It was going fine until you interrupted me,” I grumble, reading over what I had just written. I needed to solidify names for my leading couple, but I’d need to do some research first.

“-and so I signed you up. It’s in a couple weeks, sorry for the last-minute notice, but I’ll send you all the details,” Karen is saying.

“Sorry, what? I wasn’t paying attention,” I tell her truthfully.

She sighs, but it’s a sound of quiet acceptance that she will probably need to tell me the same information at least three more times. “Fan-Con in San Antonio. It’s like Comicon, but… different. More intimate.”

“No,” I state flatly, this is not something I’m willing to discuss.

“Excellent, I knew you’d agree that it’s important to drum up your fans. Especially now that you’re working on your next book.”

“First of all, I said no. I’m not going. You know how some of those people get when they think I’m more… open than I am.” Apparently, my s*x scenes were a little too believable and some had difficulty telling fiction apart from reality. “And second, I didn’t say I was writing anything.”

“First, you are going. You’ll have full security, so no one will get close to you this time. I can guarantee that. And second, what sort of agent would I be if I didn’t recognize that distracted, irritated tone you’re using on me right now. I guess the move helped shake something loose?”

“Something like that,” I mumble. “But, Karen, that’s even more reason for me not to go. I don’t want to interrupt my flow.”

“Honey, life continues even while you’re writing. Who knows? Maybe it will give you even more inspiration! I’ll email you the details. Ta-ta!”

I open my mouth to protest, but realize she’s already cut the line. Damn.

I try to read through what I’ve written, but my eyes won’t focus, and I realize how tired I am. Maybe a nap will refresh me so I could get back into the story.

A few hours later, I wake up wondering what the village in my story would be like at night. The village was the seat of the werewolf pack that our heroine- I’m leaning towards Xia for her name- had unwittingly found herself. Obviously, being full of creatures of the night, how it looked after dark was important. I’ve only ever experienced cities at night, with the harsh glow of neon lights, and the buzz of too many people living too close together, all with an inexplicable case of insomnia.

I think about heading into town to see what it feels like to experience a small farm community at night. Glancing at the clock I groan- one am. The city girl in me tells me it’s a bad idea for a woman to go out alone after dark. Of course, the dangers here seem to be more likely a wild animal rather than a serial r****t. Still. It’s a bad idea.

As I drive through the streets, I marvel at how different the town looks after dark. It had declared itself a dark skies community several years before in an effort to curb light pollution. As a result, the Milky Way galaxy, as well as more stars than I’d ever imagined existing, shine bright enough to see by even without a moon in the sky. Tonight, however, the moon is nearly full, and shines like a spotlight on the sleepy town. The strange orange glow of a few sodium lights dotted the main street, the rhythmic flashing of amber traffic lights making the shadows seem to move, but most of the town is cloaked in darkness, giving it an almost ominous, foreboding feeling. It’s easy to imagine anything hiding between the old buildings, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

I cross the bridge over the picturesque river that flows to the north of the main square and turn into the little park that hosts family picnics on lazy weekend afternoons. Sitting in my car, I once again tell myself that getting out of the relative safety of the vehicle would be a stupid, reckless move.

Slipping off my flip flops, I dangle my feet in the cool water of the river while I perch on a raised area that I could easily imagine children leaping from into the calm waters on hot summer days, laughing as they splashed through the torrid afternoons. I flip to a blank page of the notepad I always carry, the moon giving plenty of light to see the page. I let the feeling of the town wash through me.

The love of an old couple curled up in bed together. The furtive, nervous groping of a pair of inexperienced young lovers who had snuck off together. The worry of the girl’s mother as she lay in bed waiting to hear her daughter’s return. The fear of the Alpha trying to keep his pack together when resources were stretched thin. The anger of his Beta knowing that he could overthrow their leader if only he could gather just a little more support. The jealousy and angst of that same Beta, aware that his Alpha had found his

mate, a witch. There was hope in his negative thoughts, that a witch as a Luna could possibly make it easier for him to turn their entire pack against their Alpha. But a Luna was still a Luna. He was unsure of what his next move should be. The looming figure of Death teased the edges of his mind, but he wasn’t quite ready to take that drastic step. Not yet.

I look at what I’ve scribbled. I had intended to simply channel my feelings from the actual town, but apparently the story is still coursing through me. I shrug to myself and turn to a fresh page. It’s not bad, needs polishing perhaps, but it was a start.

I wiggle my toes in the water and begin writing the physical sensations of sitting here when I feel as though I’m being watched. Glancing up, my eyes find him immediately. Standing under the bridge, a short distance away, is the largest dog I’ve ever seen. No, I correct myself, that’s not a dog, that’s a wolf. I know the thought is ridiculous. No wolves have been seen in Texas since the 1970’s or 80’s, and even so, this looks much larger than any wolf I’ve seen in any zoo.

I should be panicking right now, I think as I remain completely calm. His stormy grey eyes study me. I get the feeling that he’s as surprised to find me there as I am to see him. Something splashes in the river drawing my attention away from him. Possibly a fish trying to escape some unseen predator, but my thoughts immediately fill in the blanks with water fae lurking below the surface, ready to drag any unsuspecting swimmer to a watery end.

When my eyes return to where the wolf had been standing only moments before, he’s gone. I smile at myself, realizing that much like the imaginary water fae and plotting Beta, a giant wolf is almost certainly a figment of my overactive imagination.

I go back to writing my notes, jotting down thoughts of fae that once protected this river and the community that thrived along its banks, but had turned feral and bloodthirsty with the effects of the witch’s heartbroken spell.

I feel his presence again, behind me this time, as I scribble in my notebook. “If you’re going to sit back there and distract me, you might as well come sit next to me,” I say, not turning.

The large animal plods silently to sit by my side, towering over me. I smile and slide a sidelong glance up at him as he c***s his head at me.

“Yes, I knew you were there.” His head c***s in the opposite direction. “No, I don’t know how. And before you ask, no, I don’t know how I can speak wolf now,” I say with amusement.

I turn to look up into his face. It’s hard to tell under the moonlight if his fur is black or very dark brown, but his grey-green eyes shine clear. They seem somehow familiar, but as ridiculous as the idea of a wolf is, as crazy as the idea of me understanding his questions is, the idea that I know who he was is ludicrous. Suddenly, it occurs to me that I’m dreaming. Well, in that case…

“So, are you going to kiss me in this form, too?” I ask the wolf with a wicked grin.

His canine mouth pulls back in an answering smirk and he leans his head down to rub his cold nose against my cheek before gently licking the spot on my shoulder Jarek had deliriously tortured me with just a few days earlier.

A shiver runs down my spine and I laugh at myself. “I’ve always been quite fond of doggy style, but I think this may be taking it too far,” I joke. The huff he makes in response sounds like laughter.

He curls up behind me, wrapping his huge body around my waist and laying his head in my lap as I set my notebook aside. I lean back against his solid body and trail my hands through his impossibly thick, soft fur, scratching around his ears and scruff while he vibrates with pleasure.

We sit here in comfortable silence, watching the moon’s reflection on the water until I yawn. “I should go crawl back into my bed before I think I’m not dreaming this,” I say sleepily.

His eyes peer up at me, and he lingers as though he’s unwilling to let the moment end. Finally, he stands up and bows his head low to help me to my feet. Slipping back into my shoes, I turn to look at him, shocked to find that he’s nearly at eye level with me. Wolves don’t get this big, I think fleetingly before reminding myself that this is just a dream.

He follows me to my car, and I give him one last hug goodbye, relishing the feeling of him nuzzling into my neck while I bury my face in his fur. I drive home in a state of euphoria.

It’s not until I pull into my driveway that the smile fades from my lips. It had to be a dream, right? None of it could possibly be true. Maybe I’m just sleep deprived or my blood sugar is low. I crawl beneath the covers on my bed and try to ignore the longing in my heart. Something tickles my nose, and I glance down at my t-shirt that I hadn’t thought to take off. There, clinging to the soft fabric, are a few dark hairs. I pinch them in my fingertips, my mind refusing to believe what I’m looking at. It can’t be real. It’s impossible.