The Hostile Wife

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1 The beginning and the end

Alice rolled down the window, looked around confused, then raised it quickly.

In the list of places, she had thought as a possible location for a Gothic themed party, the quiet outskirt of Starville, south of New York, wasn’t absolutely included. A refined club, yes. A private mansion, maybe. A small town renowned for its annual crusted pork festival? Very unlikely.

She scratched her chin, still brooding over it and looking outside perplexed.

“Gina, are you sure about the place? I can only see a dirt road and thousand trees. Have we got lost?”

Gina, her gaze focused ahead, shook her long black curls, which were even more voluminous than usual.

“Relax, I have the right directions. See? Even the GPS agrees with me!”

Alice adjusted her glasses, which slipped down her nose, and noticed, with a hint of panic, that the aforementioned GPS showed only an empty brown space, an unknown place off the map.

“Well, we all know how reliable your sense of direction is, darling,” commented Clara from her place on the backseat, rolling her eyes. Her twin sister Amber gave Alice the eye.

“Anyway, what matters is getting there! We're already so late...”

Alice frowned at them both. “What? It's your fault, not mine! I've been telling you for days I would’ve stayed home, finishing my Supernatural marathon. I'm here only because you rang on my intercom and ambushed me. By the way, the actor playing Bartholomeus is such a hottie! What’s his name?”

Gina's excited and ear-deafening scream suddenly filled the vehicle. “Here! This is the place! I’m dropping you in front of that hulk, so you won't ruin your shoes while I park.”

In fact, they had almost reached a square-plan building. It seemed to be ancient, short and flaked, barely illuminated by few lampposts and surrounded on two sides by a dense, lush forest. At first sight, it could be confused for one of those run-down abandoned constructions, infested by stray animals and shady wicked guys, who people stayed away from. Only the massive gate looked new, judging from the shiny black paint. On the third side of the building there was a crowded parking space with cars organized in compact rows.

The bouncer, a seven feet tall beast, dressed in black and with shoulders as big as Minnesota, scrutinized them from head to toe, as if he had an x-ray vision. Although a bit unsettling, he merely seemed interested in carrying out his job, so the girls waited on the front steps in a fearful silence, without looking at the two big caliber guns he displayed on his sides. The only perceivable noise was a buzz coming from the woods, but that didn’t sound too dangerous. Then Gina ran there headlong, in one hand her five inch heels, red as blood (to stick to the theme, she said), in the other the group invitation for the party, which she got as a regular in an online urban fantasy forum. She handed it to the bouncer smiling mischievously at him, which made Clara roll her eyes once again. When he opened the gate, she went forward with no hesitation, dragging them behind her.

They ended up in a small, bare and dirty hall. No sign of the fabulous party.

“Isn't it exciting?” Gina squealed, widening her dark made up eyes and lowering the neckline of her tiny, strapless leather dress.

In truth, Alice was worried that a giant rat or a stinky crackhead, with the tourniquet still on his arm, could appear and rob them. She gulped, huddling up with Amber, who also had a weird feeling about the situation, but had the wise idea of saying nothing, to avoid any fight. Sometimes Gina was a real pain in the ass.

Another bouncer reached them, coming out of a side door. Same sober clothes and wrestler build, identical weapons on his belt. He read the invitation as well, carefully analyzed them, then pointed at a worn-out beige brocade curtain, riddled by woodworms, and went back where he came from, offering no more info.

Gina jumped from excitement. “Can you believe it? We will join one of the most exclusive parties in North America! Imagine if we meet some famous actors like Patt...”

“Cut it out!” Clara exploded. She’d been holding back for a while and was tired of that farce. “There will be just a bunch of nerds, dressed up like Dracula, with a lot of greasepaint on their faces. How original! New York is full of places like this.”

Gina, however, was too lost in her own fantasy and, before Clara ended the sentence, she had already pulled the dusty curtain aside, unveiling another reinforced door. She touched it with embarrassing deference, then pulled the handle.

Their jaws dropped when, a few steps ahead, the scenario completely changed. The room was huge, decorated with refined furniture and suffused violet lights. In the middle, there were a few small round tables, most of them occupied, while large and comfortable sofas surrounded the room, up to a crowded bar area. At the right end, there was a security guard, standing in front of another black door. The shouting was intense, but the building was clearly soundproofed and everyone seemed to enjoy their evening, laughing and drinking. No one was wearing masks nor costumes as the girls had thought. On the contrary, the men were dressed in elegant suits, while the women, all young and in perfect shape, looked like Victoria's Secret models.

Alice thought the atmosphere wasn’t too bad and she would’ve stopped at the bar for a pep drink: then, if she had found a nice guy and felt the sparkle, things would’ve got interesting. It wasn’t likely, but she believed it was about time to have fun, like any other girl her own age. After all, she would not be twenty-four forever and wasn’t planning on being a virgin much longer.

Gina had promised her it would have been as easy as pie. She had been talking for days about charming men, strong feelings and, more than Alice could be comfortable with, the chance of wild s*x, to convince her. An unforgettable night, in her opinion. Not that she didn’t trust her friend, but when mythical and obscure creatures were involved, Gina wasn’t reliable: she had a very unhealthy obsession.

Alice saw her moving toward the bouncer with fast steps, whispering to herself and swaying her hips. She and the twins resignedly followed her. They showed the invitation one last time and came into the Vampire's Lair.

“Gosh, what a headache! This is a nightmare!” complained Clara, rubbing her temples.

For three hours, they were immersed in the most absolute chaos, dazed by loud music, pushed around by an eager, dancing crowd of people dressed as their favorite demoniac characters, who were socializing and flirting with no inhibitions near the tables and the black and blue sofas.

Alice thought it looked like an average cosplay more than a fabulous, exclusive party: studs and fake leather were a must, followed close by steel chains, earrings and necklaces. The people were wearing a heavy, theatrical make up, to show off their creativity, so the Lair was teeming with pale and gaunt faces, flaming red lips and eyes colored in the darkest shades. Someone had painted bloody holes on his necks and wrists. A girl had a couple on her legs, near the femoral artery, right where her tiny red underwear began. Or was that a skirt? Alice didn’t prefer to enquire and came closer to her friend.

The atmosphere had become oppressive to Clara: she couldn’t stand anything of that ridiculous night and, on top of that, shortly before she had argued with a girl who was wearing tiger skin contact lenses, because she believed her slave had shown Clara one of his genital piercing.

“I'm gonna leave in ten minutes. First, I need to rescue Amber, before that guy with a chain around his neck persuades her to wear leash and muzzle. Are you coming with us?”

Alice shook her head and rubbed her tired ankles, realizing just then that her delicious drink, a Juicy Vein, according to the menu, was almost finished.

“I'm staying. This music is not my thing, but I'm having fun, and since I'm here...”

Clara frowned. “Are you sure you're okay? Did you check your drink for drugs? These days you never know!”

“Nope, there's only a bit of alcohol and a lot of blueberry juice in it. It seems vampires and werewolves are quite moderate when they drink. The same can’t be said about that guy over there. Can you see him?”

Clara looked in the direction she pointed. “Jeez! That can’t be his chest, right? Not with all those hairs! Now I know why they say squirrels are on the verge of extinction: that freak glued them all to himself!”

Alice burst out laughing, not caring about the guy who caught them staring. She was laughing so much, she got tears in her eyes and cramps in her stomach, but couldn’t resist from looking at the squirrel-man again. Somebody else, however, captured her attention.

In retrospect, she wouldn’t have been able to explain how, why or if there was a detail, a casual event that made her look on the left. Did she drink too much? Had her glasses slipped once again down her nose? Or was it a weird twist of fate? Because there had to be a reason if, suddenly, the man she had wished to meet her whole life was in front of her, in a charming, hot, irresistible wrapping of flesh and bones. Moreover, the stranger glanced back with such an intensity it was like he wanted to swallow her in one bite. He was so ravenous and mysterious that, even at a distance, he aroused an absolute excitement in her body, mind and heart. Every single cell of Alice was irresistibly attracted to him and there was no logic nor ethics that could make her reason again.

She had to have him. She had to belong to him.

Alice perceived, more than heard, Clara asking something, but it was as if every noise surrounding her had ceased and every person, every object, had fallen into oblivion. Except herself and that man, who stared at her like a predator, before devouring the trembling, yet eager, victim of his bites.

In that moment, with blood roaring in her ears for the furious beating of her heart, Alice could only obey the desire which, slow and hot as burning lava, was pouring onto all her erogenous zones, destroying all inhibitions, loosening muscles and nerves, re-writing her DNA to impress upon her the unique mark of those eyes. Those dark, intense, paralyzing eyes, that traveled over her, as if he was trying to memorize the position of every single, vibrant cell.

Alice watched those eyes getting closer in a few, precious seconds that seemed like an eternity to her; adorned by thick, long eyelashes, they narrowed down to two thin slits and started to scrutinize her, as to capture her secrets.

“I'm Bill.”

Here, done. It only took a few syllables, uttered by a sensual voice, with the most erotic timbre in the world, and she was gone. Head over heels.

Without a motion and in silence, Alice took time to admire his straight, dark brown, shoulder-length hair. She dreamt for a moment of curling a lock around her finger as she would have done with hers to feel how smooth it was.

The stranger's face looked like an artwork, with a straight Roman nose, high and sharp cheekbones, full and red lips, which stood out of his fair skin. The lower lip, in particular, was an illicit invite to sin. Unlike other men, he wasn’t wearing any make up. He had close-fitting but elegant pants on, black lace-ups with inlaid tip and was holding a jacket in his hands, so tight it got all wrinkled.

Alice wanted to introduce herself, she had to, but her mouth was dry and dirty thoughts were filling her head, leaving her speechless. So, Clara did it in her place.

“Hello Bill. Bye Bill. Say hi to your friend, the squirrel,” she said with her usual sass, dismissing him with an impatient movement of her hand.