Ravished by the Beasts

"Miss Isobelle Harding," our principal, Mr. Saunders, called me to the stage.

Shaking with adrenaline and sweating like a bitch in heat, I ascended the steps with the sound of applause ringing in my ears. All my focus went into not tripping in my graduation gown and looking like a complete dickhead in front of all these people. The pressure of having a hundred pairs of eyes following me across the stage scorched my face with embarrassment. I wasn't exactly an outgoing person and despised being the center of attention. Perspiration formed across my upper lip like a sweaty mustache, making me feel sticky and gross.

Why did this gown have to be made from black polyester?

In temperatures of eighty-six degrees, the heavy material was suffocating. By the time I had walked across the stage floor, I was a flustered mess. As subtle as I could muster, I wiped my damp palms against my gown before accepting the diploma. The principal grasped my clammy hand as we exchanged an awkward handshake. I couldn't get away quick enough, scampering off down the opposite steps to where my best friend, Joanne Prichard, was waiting for me.

A beaming smile spread wide across her face. "We did it!" she squealed jubilantly, bouncing on her heels.

"I know," I gushed, relieved that the torture was finally over. "Thank fuck for that. No more essays. No more exams. We're fully-fledged adults. Productive members of society," I expressed, reminiscent of all the caffeine-infused nights that we had endured over the last few years.

"Soon-to-be taxpayers you mean," Joanne replied, bursting my bubble.

My heart dropped. "Oh, yeah. And repaying the student loans." The thought was daunting.

"Fuck the loans. I can't believe you're going away tomorrow. I'm gutted I can't come with you," Joanne grumbled, pouting her lips to display her envy. "You're such a lucky bitch."

It was true. I was lucky to have been chosen out of all the other candidates. The university had secured a grant for one person to travel abroad to study a rare species of Canis lupus, more commonly known as wolves. An unknown species was found in the faraway state of Whitehaven, and I had been chosen to research them. All the necessary equipment, also food and lodging, would be provided. I didn't have to worry about anything. When the information pack came through the mail, I obsessively scoured through it to find out anything I could about the place, the culture, and whether I'd be staying in the wilderness or a town with lots of people. I decided to run a Google search to see if it would bring up a street view, but each time I tried, the search engine didn't recognize the location. Whitehaven was so remote, there weren't even any news articles available. It's like it didn't exist.

"I know . . . I've never been as far as Spain before," I replied. "I've always wanted to go to America. Now my dream is becoming a reality." I clapped my hands with excitement, feeling proud of myself.

My mum was concerned about me traveling alone, which didn't ease my anxiety. As much as I craved my independence, I was nervous about taking this giant leap and it surprised me when my professor mentioned I would be going alone. It would have been nice to have a companion. Joanne was visibly disappointed. Not that she wasn't happy for me, but because this would be the longest time we would ever spend apart.

"There you are, girls," Dad chimed as he rushed towards us.

My mother was hot on his heels, as were Joanne's parents. They were all bleary-eyed after shedding proud tears of joy during the ceremony.

"Let's get a decent photo of you to commemorate this occasion," Joanne's dad, Gordon, urged.

"Just the girls first, then we'll do one with the mums, then the dads, and then finish with a group photo," Gordon directed, organizing things.

I posed beside Joanne, both giving our best smiles before our mothers ambushed us.

After taking lots of photos, Gordon passed around the camera, allowing us all to view our pictures on the digital screen. My smile faltered as I witnessed the unfiltered reality of a bog-standard image.

Where the hell was a Snapchat filter when you needed one?

"This is one of the proudest moments of my life," my dad, Arron, gushed with pride. "The other times were marrying you, Fiona, and of course, when you were born," he said, as he pinched my flushed cheek.

I cringed, baring my teeth.

"Shall we go to The Smoke House for dinner?" I suggested.

That was mine and Joanna's favorite restaurant, and I wanted us to enjoy one last meal together before I leave for the summer. I would be gone for twelve weeks. That would mean three long months of missing everybody. I wasn't going to hold my breath that they would have sufficient WIFI out in the sticks. It would be just my luck to be given a carrier pigeon to send messages back and forth.

"We've never been there, have we, Gordon?" Joanne's mum, Norah asked.

Gordon pressed his lips together as he thought. "Isn't that the one that serves cowboy food?"

"That's the one," Joanne replied, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Dad. Cowboy food." She chortled.

"I bet our Izzy will get to experience the real deal over the pond," my dad added, "Real cowboy food." He beamed.

Dad had always wanted to go to America, and experience how cowboys lived. He loved watching old western films and often wondered what it would be like to ride on horseback. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't all like that. Whenever he watched an old film on television, he would comment on how his lifelong dream was to sit and eat food that had been cooked on an open bonfire, ride through the wild west, and sleep under the stars. Sorry, Dad but you're a few decades too late. My grandparent's equestrian center a half a mile down the road from us didn't quite cut it in comparison. He would have to make do with an electric barbecue, and a walk, trot, and canter around the paddock.

"I will not be hanging around any cowboys, Dad. Where I'm going, there's nothing but forest and mountains for miles," I explained.

Not that the thought of strapping big countrymen wearing slack jeans and not much else didn't seem appealing to me, because it did. A girl could dream, and those were exactly the kind of thoughts I could pack in my spank bank and fantasize about during the twelve-hour flight.

My father's exuberant expression never faltered despite what I told him. "It's still going to be brilliant though, no matter what. It's a fabulous opportunity they have given you," he chirped happily.

"I couldn't agree more," I replied, still relishing the delicious imagery of me riding a ranch-hand called Hank like a bucking bronco. Hank the hunk who was hung like a -

"Earth to Izzy," Mum chuckled, snapping me out of my reverie.

I blushed furiously. I had been single for way too long, and my overactive imagination was reminding me of that.

Dad's upbringing was not as cushy as mine had been. He came from a life of poverty on a council estate in Bradford. Both his parents had died whilst he was little, and he went to live with his aunt. He shared a bedroom with five of his cousins, and each of them survived on one meal a day. Money was tight, and he left school to get a job so he could help his aunt the best he could. It was only after he turned twenty, he joined the police force, starting from the bottom, then spent years progressing through the ranks to become the Chief Inspector of the Metropolitan Police.

Mum came from a modest middle-class family in Warwickshire. Her life was a stark contrast to the way Dad lived. She had never experienced poverty and didn't understand how it felt to go hungry. My grandparents always made sure she was happy and never went without. They bred racehorses and enjoyed holidays abroad every year, whereas Dad had never even visited the seaside. Mum studied to become a Pediatric Surgeon and currently worked at Great Ormond Street Hospital in London. Both my parents came from opposite walks of life, yet their paths entwined together somewhere along the way. That's almost poetic if you think about it . . . like fate had brought them together.

My parents were supportive of me. I have always shown an interest in animal biology, so I knew it was my future vocation. The type of career that would enable me to travel the globe and take me to places that I could only read about in reference books. Those were my dreams, and I couldn't help but wonder whether fate had any plans in store for me too.

We arrived at the restaurant and were shown to a large oval table right in front of an open-plan kitchen. We could see the chefs cooking, turning the meat on the grills, and the yellow flames licking the sides of the steaks. The cowboy-themed décor and the aroma from the smokers made it feel as if we were in the real Wild West. After perusing the wooden-backed menu, I had decided on the chicken bucket special and a large glass of house red. A twenty-something guy wearing a red plaid shirt and jeans took our orders. We didn't have to wait too long before he worked his little butt off to bring the food to our table, earning his service charge as he worked those buns.

"Mm, this brisket is to die for," Mum complimented as she tucked into her food.

Norah gave Mum a look which suggested that she was immensely satisfied. "It is. It just melts in your mouth . . . and this barbecue sauce is, mmm, heaven."

I flashed a grin at Joanne who was glowing crimson with shame, embarrassed by the orgasmic noises that our mothers were making as they savored the food.

"I think we should bring our wives here more often, Gordon," Dad joked, looking at his friend with a wide-eyed expression on his face.

Gordon snorted with a nod. "I know. They seem to love the meat, all right."

At that point, Joanne nearly died of humiliation and so did I. Her fork dropped from her fingers and clattered onto the table.

"Izzy, are you coming to spend a penny?" she asked hastily. It was a polite way to ask if I would accompany her to the women's restroom.

I followed her as she weaved past the tables filled with happy diners. The moment that we were out of earshot, she rounded on me.

"Why are they like this? We can't bloody take them anywhere," she whined in a mixture of amusement and embarrassment.

"They're having fun. It's cute. My parents work all the hours that God sends. It makes a change, seeing them spend time together like this," I replied with a shrug.

Joanne chewed on the inside of her cheek before answering. "Yeah, but they don't give a shit what they say and who hears them," she huffed with a half-laugh. "What am I going to do without you? I'll be all alone, wallowing in second-hand embarrassment."

Joanne was easy to embarrass; it didn't take much. Just the mention of sex was enough to turn her a deep shade of red. I wasn't a prude by any means, but I kept my saucy thoughts to myself. I locked those in a vault in the back of my brain, never to be brought out into the open.

After a brief moment of respite, we returned to the table to finish our meals. The conversation flowed smoothly, and the alcohol lifted my spirits. Now wasn't the time to get all sentimental about leaving my family and friends behind. I was looking forward to whatever the future had in store for me.

Once the evening ended, we said our farewells. Three months would be over in a flash. I would be back before they know it. My only concern was the lack of service my mobile phone was likely to receive high in the mountain range. It would make calling and texting difficult. But that was a problem I would have to face another day. Tonight, I was planning to dream about Hank and his extra-large plank.

The following morning . . .

"Have you got all of your travel documents and your visa?" Mum asked as she crossed off each item on the checklist.

Mum was a list maker. Not a single day went by when she didn't compile a list of things that she needed to do or things she needed to buy. This time, she had put together a list of all the items I needed to take with me to America.

"Yes, Mum, they're in the travel wallet you bought for me," I replied, holding it up as evidence.

"See, Arron. Those things come in handy, don't they? They keep everything together all in one place. Everybody should have one," Mum suggested as she wagged her index finger at Dad. He had initially scoffed at the idea of owning one, back when she was ordering them from eBay the other week.

Mum began rhyming things off, using her fingers to count on. "Let's see, you've got your money. We packed your suitcases. Do you have a spare charger? Did you get one?" she questioned, her brows almost hitting her hairline as if we had forgotten a vital necessity.

"Yes, I picked one up the other day," I answered.

"Well, that's all then. Oh, wait. Here, I bought you some magazines to read on the plane," she remembered, then fished them out of a carrier bag.

"Thanks, Mum. I forgot to buy those," I replied with gratitude.

"She thinks of everything. She's sharp as a whip, this one," Dad praised, fawning over Mum in adoration.

She gave him a loving peck on the lips before returning to fuss over me.

"I just thought, it's a twelve-hour flight. You'd get bored to tears otherwise." Her eyes creased with concern. "You will be okay out there on your own, won't you?" Tears welled up in her hazel eyes.

"Mum, I'll be fine. Even if I must communicate via smoke signal, you will hear from me one way or the other," I comforted her. "There will be loads of things to do when I'm not working. I'm sure that there will be plenty of people for me to make friends with. The university has rented me a car, so I can get from point A to B and not be destitute," I assured her, seeing her frown lines relax.

"Well, make sure you ring home, or else your father and I will be on the next flight over there," she warned, in her warm maternal tone.

My parents both accompanied me to Heathrow airport so that they could give me a grand send-off. I promised myself that I wouldn't cry, but my soft self was barely holding back the tears. I checked my luggage into baggage handling, then turned to bid my parents an emotional farewell.

Reality had kicked in by this point and it took everything I had not to fling my arms around Dad's neck and beg him to take me home.

"Dad, Mum, I'm going to miss you," I bawled.

Dad's eyes reddened as he fought back the tears. He was such a gentle giant when it came to us, but to anyone else, he was an intimidating hulk. Mum's face already had tear tracks running down both cheeks.

"Oh, my baby . . . my only baby," her shoulders bounced as she wept uncontrollably.

Even at twenty-one years of age, I would always be their little girl. I hugged them as if my life depended on it, and it took all my willpower to detach myself from them and walk away. As I turned around to give a final wave, I noticed them clinging to each other in a tight embrace. The sight almost broke me. Mum placed her fingertips against her lips as if to blow me a kiss and Dad held one outstretched hand up in a somber wave.

Part of me welcomed the adventure, and part of me wanted to remain rooted in London. The moment I stepped foot on the plane, I had an ominous feeling that my life was going to change forever - or maybe that was Mum's apron strings snapping. It was a daunting feeling, the thought of fending for myself. Not only that, I hated flying. Just the thought of having a vast space between me and the ground made my ass cheeks twitch with trepidation. I resorted to occupying myself with magazines and perusing the duty-free brochure until my eyelids drooped. Not that I could sleep for long. It didn't help that they screened Final Destination as the in-flight movie. As soon as the landing gear hit the tarmac, my body relaxed, and I sighed with relief.

Then the second we were allowed to leave our seats, I scrambled to retrieve my belongings from the overhead storage compartment. I planned to make a run for the baggage conveyor before anybody else could get there. It was a British thing. We hated queueing. It was no different to a German tourist getting up at the butt crack of dawn to claim dibs on a sun lounger, I was hoping to avoid the stampede of passengers and forego waiting in line.

My plan worked. I was the first to arrive at the baggage conveyor, smug as fuck. I waited and waited . . . and waited, glancing at my watch, and tapping my foot with impatience, huffing, and muttering my thoughts to anyone within earshot like a typical disgruntled Brit - complaining about the shit service and how they better not have lost my luggage or else there would be hell to pay. Then as the cases emerged, my luggage sporadically popped through the flaps as if they'd been to hell and back. I snatched the battered cases, tossed them onto a luggage cart, then made my way to the arrival area - and it was just my luck to have chosen the cart with a wobbly wheel, one that refused to turn the way I wanted it to.

There was barely anyone left in the foyer by the time I got there. It was hard to miss the tall bespectacled guy who was holding up a piece of A4 paper that had my name scribbled on it. I couldn't tell if he'd slicked his hair flat with gel or whether it was greasy because the light just seemed to bounce off all the moisture. The tweed suit jacket he had teamed with an Oxford shirt, jeans, and Converse made it look as if he couldn't decide between dressing like a professor or a student. He gave a surprised double-take as he noticed me approaching, blowing the stray hairs from my face, and swearing at the cart. I must have looked like a nutjob.

"Hi, you must be Isobelle?" He greeted me with a strong New York accent.

I caught the way his eyes ping-ponged from my eyes, down to my voluptuous cleavage, and back again as if they were having an involuntary spasm. I zipped up the jacket of my Juicy Couture tracksuit, cramming my ample bosoms inside.

"Yes, sir," I replied, unsure who I was addressing.

I smoothed down my hair and offered him my hand to shake.

Is he a student or a professor? I can't tell.

"Call me Peter. I'm a professor at the University of Michigan," he introduced himself, answering my question. "You're a real English rose, aren't you? So pretty." Peter narrowed his eyes in a cheeky analysis. It didn't seem seedy, and he certainly didn't mean to intimidate me. It was a clumsy attempt at making chit-chat, and it made me cringe with embarrassment. I wasn't used to getting compliments from guys.

"You ought to be careful. The boys will trip over their tongues when they catch an eyeful of you," he remarked, chortling with amusement.

Instead of rolling my eyes at the cheesy line, I blushed awkwardly at his compliment. I pulled the cart out into the open air and over to where a blacked-out SUV was parked, the fucking wobbly wheel protesting like a dying mouse. Then Peter helped me to load my luggage onto the back seats. He jogged past me to open the passenger-side door, proving that chivalry isn't dead. The polite gesture surprised me, and I flashed a thankful smile as I slid onto the cool leather seat and shut the door.

Apart from the few cringe-worthy comments at the airport, Peter wasn't the worst person to be stuck in a car with. The conversation maintained a steady flow and we never ran out of things to talk about. I discovered that his age exceeded the mid-twenty benchmark and that he was in his mid-thirties, unmarried, and owned a short-haired Chihuahua called Derrick. He was single and was currently living in his grandmother's house. I had no room to judge because I still lived with my parents.

"How long is the drive to Lakewell?" I inquired, hoping that it wasn't that far because I was getting a numb bum from all the sitting down. Not to mention the jetlag. All I wanted was to brush my teeth and collapse into bed.

Peter's lips twisted as he thought. "Uh . . . three, maybe four hours, tops. Depending on whether the roads are clear. There's a lot of traveling through woodland, and those roads aren't well lit," he explained.

My facial expression sank with fatigue.

Three or four hours. Great.

"Ugh," I groaned. "Where is Whitehaven, anyway?"

"It's off the beaten track so to speak. There aren't any road signs that'll lead you there, so there's no way to find it unless you know where to go. The guest house where you'll be staying is right by the forest. The owners are called Chloe and Lincoln Anderson and they have two little kids. They're mad tight," Peter mentioned, trying to put my mind at ease. "They'll make you feel at home."

"I'm grateful I don't have to make my own way there. I could sleep for a week," I replied, fighting the urge to yawn.

He wasn't wrong about the drive. It took ages to reach the guest house. It was late into the night by the time we arrived. I could barely keep my eyes open. As Peter pulled the handbrake it jolted me awake.

"Are we here?" I slurred, wiping the drool from my chin.

"This is it," Peter announced. "I got you here safe and sound, just as I promised I would."

I flashed an exhausted smile. "I didn't doubt you for a moment."

I gazed out through the windscreen and up at the highlighted brickwork. The spotlights on the walls bathed the guesthouse in a pale-yellow hue and a sun canopy stretched around the front of the building like a light and dark striped skirt. The inside was just as modern as the outside. Peter helped to bring my belongings to the reception desk. We had to be quiet so as not to wake the sleeping borders. Chloe and Lincoln were there to greet us, and what a fine-looking couple they were too.

Chloe's summer dress clung to her voluptuous figure like she had been hand-stitched into it, and her blonde hair and tanned skin gave her a healthy glow. Her husband, Lincoln, stood around six-foot-five, rocking the hot mountain man look without really having to try. Either he was well-endowed, or a snake had slithered up the inside leg of his jeans, because fuck me, that was one impressive appendage. I turned my attention elsewhere.

Peter and Lincoln carried all my luggage to my room, allowing Chloe to give me a brief tour of the guest house.

"I hope you like your stay here at Whitehaven. If there's anything you need, just let me know," Chloe kindly offered.

"Thank you. I'm going to look around the town tomorrow to get a feel for the place. Maybe talk to a few of the locals, meet some people, and settle in," I replied, thinking that she was the luckiest woman I had ever met.

"You want some company? I was planning on taking the kids out for a few hours, anyway?" Chloe suggested.

"That would be great, but only if it's not too much trouble," I answered, not wanting to be a burden.

She gave me a look that implied, "Don't be silly," before responding in a hushed tone. "It's Linc's birthday this weekend, and the kids want to get him something special. So, trust me, honey, it's no bother at all."

"Oh. I'll tag along then. What time should I be ready for?" I asked.

"Oh, say nine-thirty after we sit down to breakfast. The kids usually have me up around six. They run into our room and bounce on the bed. They're natural alarm clocks." Chloe chuckled.

"Well, in that case, I'll let you get some rest. I know that I'll crash as soon as my head touches the pillow," I replied, struggling to contain a yawn.

Chloe escorted me to my room before saying goodnight. As the light filled the lavishly decorated suite, my jaw hit the floor. I considered my house to be a palace, but this place was stunning.

I let out a low whistle, wondering how much of the budget was being blown on my accommodation costs. Not that I was prepared to trade this in for a shitty truck-stop motel. No way.

They had crafted the bed from the same oak wood that flowed throughout the building. All the soft furnishings matched in cream-colored cotton with a country rose pattern. I took a seat on the bed to peel off my clothes then pulled on a pair of pajamas, yawning and in need of some rest. As I cocooned myself in the feather-soft sheets, I sent a quick text to my parents and Joanne, just to let them know I arrived here safely. I didn't expect an immediate reply from them because of the time difference.

Drifting off to sleep was easy. I would have had a full, peaceful night if it wasn't for the loud, harrowing sound that tore me from the land of slumber. I knew it was late because it was still dark outside. I looked around for my phone and pressed the home button to illuminate the screen.

"It's four o'clock in the morning for fuck's sake," I grumbled, after reading the time.

I was too sleep-drunk to get up and peer through the open window. So, I just lay there and suffered through the commotion. Another loud chorus of keening howls filtered into the night. I recognized it as a wolfs' song. I had barely managed to grab two hours' worth of sleep, and as the sound grew louder, I groaned with annoyance. Fair enough, this is what I came here for, but for God's sake, I was exhausted. On clumsy feet, I stumbled out of bed and staggered to the window. The curtains were swaying gently in the cool night breeze, and I made a mental note not to leave it open the following night.

"Oh, bugger off and howl somewhere else," I complained sleepily. "I'll get revenge when I come and poke my nose into your habitat. If you disturb my sleep, I'll fuck up yours. Trust me, I have a box full of rectal thermometers and I'm not afraid to use them."

My fingers clutched the window frame and slammed it shut. That only made matters worse. It was as if the wolves were heckling me for their own amusement. My eyes strained through the darkness, but all I could make out were shadows. I yanked the curtains closed before shuffling back to bed. At least I knew my research was going to prove a success, especially if there was a pack of wolves living beyond Chloe and Lincoln's back garden. The insufferable noise continued into the early hours. Instead of letting it torture my eardrums, I plugged my headphones into my phone and listened to my playlist. With the velvety tones of Adam Lavigne crooning into my ears, I drifted back to sleep.

The annoying high-pitched sound of my phone alarm ripped me from a pleasant dream. My earphones only amplified the sound. I yanked them from my ears and rolled over, then grabbed my phone to turn off the alarm. A groan escaped my lips the second I saw it was already eight a.m. My eyes stung and my head felt foggy as if I was suffering from a hangover. The infernal racket from last night didn't help. I felt as if I hadn't even slept at all. After much deliberation, I forced myself out of bed and began my morning routine.

Having a shower helped to wake me up, scrubbing myself with the soapy sponge until I felt clean and refreshed. Clutching my damp towel around me, I shuffled over to the window, scanning the clear blue sky for any sign of a rain cloud. The sunny morning helped me to decide what clothes I should wear. I put on a vest top, jeans, and a comfortable pair of sneakers.

I had a good feeling about today. This place felt like a home away from home, although I wasn't sure why. New places were supposed to feel different. Whitehaven didn't. Before leaving my room, I grabbed my handbag and slumped off downstairs towards the communal dining area. Chloe was there, dressed, and ready to start the day. She was busy fussing over her children, who were arguing over who had the most cereal in their dishes. I watched as she tipped a few more grains into one bowl so that it evened them out.

"There, now you've got the same amount as your brother." She placed the bowl down in front of the little blonde-haired girl, who had been giving her some attitude.

"I'm a big boy, aren't I, Mommy. I'm gonna grow up big and strong just like Poppa Bear, won't I, Mommy?" The little dark-haired boy asked angelically.

"You sure will, Cameron," Chloe replied, then bowed down and kissed the top of his head.

"Will I be big like Poppa? Or will I be a princess like you, Mommy?" The little cute blonde girl inquired, scrunching her brows quizzically.

"Oh, Angelica, you're the only pretty princess around here," Chloe fawned, squeezing her daughter's cheeks. She chuckled, then leaned down to plant a kiss on the side of her face.

"Poppa calls you his princess," Angelica stated, her brown eyes flared wide with innocence.

"Yeah . . . and he's my big, cuddly teddy bear." Chloe noticed me standing in the doorway smiling and shot me a grin.

"Coffee?" she offered.

"That would be great, thank you," I replied politely. I would have preferred tea, but I doubted they drank Yorkshire Tea here. I didn't much care for alternative brands.

We ate a quick breakfast before we headed into town. It made more sense to take Chloe's car as it already had the kids' car seats installed in the back. After such an enchanting breakfast, listening to the children's tales, I was convinced that they were two of the most adorable children I had ever met.

Cameron and Angelica were four years old and were fraternal twins. Angelica loved to chat non-stop. Chloe often had to remind her to slow down while she was talking, whereas Cameron was the quiet one who hardly said a word. Chloe referred to them as her cubs. Maybe that was just a cute pet name that also meant kids, but they referred to their dad as Poppa Bear. So maybe that's where the nickname cubs came from.