Wolf Island
Copyright© 2026 by Sonarflash2026
Chapter 2
Science Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 2 - A product of illicit genetic engineering, Beth escapes from a research facility in a stolen kayak. Pursued by men in a fast cruiser, she turns into a limestone fissure, hoping to find a place to hide. Swept into a tidal cavern, she escapes, finding herself mystically swept into an alternate world.
Caution: This Science Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Science Fiction Paranormal Magic Were animal Cream Pie Oral Sex
Beth leaned forward, digging in paddle blades, circling what remained of the island. She estimated that it was well over a kilometre and a half in length, perhaps two, and easily two kilometres wide at the south end, that part dominated by the tall basaltic monolith. There, she could make out hills, ridges and ravines. Two more small streams and one creek had her supposing there must be small lakes or sizeable ponds within the low hills.
At a more leisurely pace, she returned to the Southwestern cove and grey totem pole, spending several minutes drifting, studying the area. There were no signs of native habitation, no signs of a campfire. Beth finally decided. She turned the kayak, running well up into the mouth of a stream before grounding the craft. Without getting her feet wet, she stepped onto a slate ledge, then dragged the kayak beyond a tangle of high tide flotsam. Once on dry ground, she pulled on hiking boots, then slowly unpacked, continually looking around, listening, cataloguing sounds.
There were ravens croaking in the distance. Crows and jays squabbled. Squirrels chattered high up amid the canopy of evergreen giants. She guessed the island might harbour a bear, possibly even a cougar.
Between the totem pole and bordering forest, there was a wide bench of slate bedrock, then a band of dead needles that merged with the forest floor. Within the shadows of evergreens, most ground was covered with thick sphagnum moss.
She chose a level, mossy patch well back from the totem pole, setting up camp. Easily six or seven metres wide, the clearing was littered with dead, broken branches. Not far from the brook, the spot made a perfect campsite.
Beth dragged dead branches into a pile, clearing an area between three enormous hemlocks. She unpacked gear, setting up a dome tent between trees and the stream. After the nylon dome was pitched, she worked her way out along one point, scrambling over slippery rocks, harvesting large mussels. After gathering a full pail, she set the catch to soaking in the stream. As she took pause, Beth realized that the tide was well out and still dropping.
“Totally wrong,” she muttered, glancing at her wristwatch. The time was only 8:35 AM. Her watch and memorized tide tables didn’t agree with her observations.
“Definitely a different world, or alternate dimension,” she sighed. “It’s still only morning at the facility.”
Beth grinned, looking up at the sky and sun, then back at her small computer. She smacked a palm against her forehead, then keyed the notepad for an internet link. There was no signal. Google was noticeably absent. The electronics worked, only she had no power source for charging her devices. She hurriedly switched off the computer. “Just like the GPS. No satellites. No technology, except for what I’m carrying ... and when the battery dies, they’re gone.”
Very slowly, Beth straightened and looked all around. After searching shadows between huge trees, she stared up at the ancient totem pol. When her gaze reached the wolf head, a curious chill shivered up her spine.
As sunset graced the sky with rose tints, Beth was on her knees, feeding small dry branches into a campfire. Black basaltic beach rocks provided a neat, enclosing circle. A little of her precious, stolen cooking Oil and muscles sizzled in a fry pan. Beth sprinkled in pinches of curry and garlic powder taken from the facility kitchen, stirring the meal with a fork. The lap of water on rocks and whisper of wind in tall evergreens gave a peaceful background.
A flicker of movement beyond the trees didn’t immediately register. Beth looked up and around. Silent as a wraith, something moved in shadowy darkness between cedars. At first, there was only an impression, a blurring of shape amid shifting, dusky light, then she was faced by the solidity of a man with long, ratty blonde hair. He seemed young, probably not much older than her, and not very tall or large; but, he had stern, uncompromising grey eyes.
For an instant, fright gripped Beth. Unobtrusively, she slipped a hand into her jacket pocket, grasping the nine millimetre Beretta. Her gloved left hand gripped the cast iron frying pan by its handle. That, along with hot, sizzling oil was another potential weapon. As backup, there was a large combat knife in her belt sheath. Still, somehow, even though she was armed, Beth suddenly felt vulnerable.
At first looking haughty, the man stopped a few steps away from the fire. He darted puzzled glances at her tent and gear, then looked her over, frowning at her ponytail, finally settling on her face. After another moment, his expression shifted and he seemed quite perplexed.
“Good lord!” he said, voice instantly revealing a cultivated British accent. “A girl? Here? Wearing breeches instead of a proper dress?”
Instantly bristling, Beth didn’t move, snapping, “I’m eighteen, and no mere girl! That aside, I wasn’t planning on attending a party!”
His chin came up, eyes narrowing, his head snapping back. He stepped closer and she took notice of his odd garments. Her eyes went wide. His shirt was woven cedar bark, as were leggings. His breechclout looked to be made of scraped, poorly tanned hide. On his feet were wood sandals lashed in place with strips of cedar bark. Except for his odd, slightly pale complexion, he almost looked like an ancient coastal native.
“Who ... or what in hell are you?”
Sandy blonde brows arched. Even though not an imposing figure, he drew himself up, looking down a prominent nose at her. “You first, young woman,” he said stiffly. “Who are you, and what are you doing on my island?”
“Your island?” Beth felt her stomach flip and momentarily sink. Her glance shot over him again. He wasn’t physically imposing, and didn’t seem to be wearing a knife, though the long, thick staff in his right hand gave him reach. She knew that it could be lethal.
“I didn’t see a house!” she answered, venturing, “do you really own this island?”
His nostrils flared. “You first! You heard me, young woman,” he said primly. “What are you doing here? How in blazes did you find my lagoon?”
‘His?’ she puzzled, thinking, ‘can anybody own a lagoon? Is that why it hasn’t been recorded on maps? Some kind of preserve? Privately owned land?’ Beth stopped her wandering thoughts with a shake of her head. ‘No, this is a different world. Real different ... and now, there’s this Englishman?’
She forced calm, deciding on tact, saying quietly, “pardon me, but I didn’t know this was private property. I looked, but there were no signs posted. Besides, I needed a place to hide.”
“Hide?” he said, frowning, suddenly concerned, once again taking in all of her at a glance. “You needed a place to hide?” He looked around, absorbing details. His gaze lingered on her tent, shifting to the kayak, her backpack, finally, on the frying pan.
“Hide from whom? This is all very curious,” he said, shaking his head, then shrugged. He stepped forward, laid down his staff, squatting across from her. He stared down at the frying mussels. “Poaching too?” He shrugged. “No matter. Will you be so kind as to share your dinner.”
Beth tried not to gape. “I suppose,” she said, feeling disjointed and a little bewildered. “There’s plenty.” She took her thumb off the pistol’s safety. Hand coming out of the pocket, she picked up the fork, once again stirring the heap of savory mussels.
“There’s more than enough for both of us.”
“Yes, the lagoon does provide an abundance,” he agreed, gesturing at rocks beyond the beach with his free hand. “A wealth of food out there if one has need. Mussels, oysters, shrimp, crabs, abalone, scallops and seaweed, along with salmon and rock cod.”
She nodded, glancing at the plastic pail of fresh water in which she was soaking a considerable number of mussels, oysters and clams. “There’s plenty of food. I hope you don’t mind my staying here for at least one night?”
His fair brows lifted again. “Here? On Wolf Island?” He appeared to shiver. “The moon is nearly full. That wouldn’t be safe for you.”
Beth patted her pocket. “I have a pistol,” she told him, watching for his reaction. “. An assault rifle too. Besides, I’m not afraid of wolves. They tend to avoid humans.”
“You have firearms?” he said, disbelief obvious. “My word, you seemed a mere girl, not old enough, or large enough to handle one!”
“Not too small,” Beth replied, giving a disdainful sniff. “As mentioned, I am eighteen, not a mere girl!”
He cocked his head, regarding her quizzically. “No need to be rude,” he said quietly, offering her a faint smile. “One is merely ... curious. I would guess you were only fourteen, possibly sixteen?”
“Physically eighteen, but intellectually over thirty,” she replied arrogantly.
His expressive brows arched again, then he frowned, saying primly, “pardon me if one questions your voracity young miss.”
Beth felt her cheeks grow warm. She knew about a blush, but before this moment, had never experienced the sensation.
“Believe me or no, I really don’t give a damn!” she snapped back, clenching her teeth, blowing out a breath through her nostrils. “There are ... things about me you don’t know, and strange aspects you likely wouldn’t understand.”
“Well, perhaps not, but I am willing to listen,” he replied, giving a short, decisive nod. “After all, you did manage to enter this realm, which makes you rather unique. No other person ever discovered the passage to my lagoon.”
“About that,” Beth said, eyeing him uncertainly, continuing to stir the frying muscles. “I don’t think anybody can own a lagoon. Just the land around it. Am I wrong?”
“A mere technicality,” he said easily. “I have occupied the surrounding land and this island for time out of mind. There is, or was nobody else. Therefore, the lagoon is mine. You know, possession is nine tenths of the law and all that rot.”
“You don’t look ... like you could afford to buy it.”
He gave a light chuckle. “Once upon a time, I was extremely wealthy. Not that it matters any more. Here, worldly riches is of no consequence. This beautiful solitude is richness indeed.”
“I was speaking of money,” she replied.
“I suppose our family estates have considerable worth, but this is not England.” He hesitated, looking thoughtful, adding, “Unfortunately, one has loneliness in abundance. Occasionally, I have found myself sinking into depths of dark despair.”
“Sometimes, being alone is better,” she said thoughtfully, scraping half the muscles into a metal pie pan. “Having a lot of money might help me escape.” She gestured with the fork. “I only have this one fork and this.” She said, handing him the metal pan.
“Quite all right my dear,” he said, accepting the pan. “One has been reduced to using fingers or pointed sticks for a long, long time.” He paused, hesitating, then said, “as for escape, there is none, I am saddened to inform you.”
“I’ll see about that,” she murmured, using the fork, spearing a cooked mussel out of the pan. “I’m Beth, by the way,” she said, puzzling, trying to figure him out. “If you’re rich, how come you don’t have utensils, Or decent clothes? Or, are you some kind of recluse imitating a coastal native? Sort of like Grey Owl?” She blew on the mussel, biting it carefully. “I told you my name. What’s yours?”
“I don’t know of this person called Grey Owl,” he said, blowing on the hot muscles.
“He was an English lord who pretended he was an Indian, living in the bush in Ontario,” she told him, watching as he gingerly fingered a mussel before plucking it up and popping it into his mouth. “He lived in the bush and wrote about beaver and his wilderness experiences.”
“Ontario?” He listened, chewing thoroughly, A slow smile creasing features. Crows feet crinkled at the corner of his eyes. “Delicious. Dusted with corn flour? garlic, paprika, cayenne and even curry! Marvelous!” He swallowed, then said, ““don’t know of this place ... Ontario. Is that in the colonies? Somewhere in Upper Canada?”
She blinked. “Part? Yes! You don’t know about the Canadian provinces?”
“Alas, I know little of the North American colonies,” he replied with a slight shrug. “My name is Leveson-Gower. That is, George, Edward Richard, Marquess of Stafford and Duke of Cleveland ... or I would have been. Likely my first cousin ... or one of his descendants holds those titles.” He paused, cocking his head. “Pardon me, but you didn’t give your family name.”
“That’s because I don’t have one,” she said, puzzling at his words, watching for his reaction. “I was their second creation. I’m Beth, the second to come out of the research project tanks.”
“Come out? Project tanks?” he said, looking very puzzled.
“A secret research project,” Beth replied. “Genetic engineering. They are producing artificial humans in tanks. Artificial wombs. Alef was the first one to mature. A male. He became unstable, so he was terminated. Before the scientists had an inkling of my full capabilities, I managed to escape. If they had known what I was becoming, I would have been terminated like Alpha.”
“Scientists? Out of a tank? An ... artificial womb?” He paused, a second muscle halfway to his mouth. “Terminated? Do you mean ... killed? And, who are ... these scientists?”
“Crazy fascists,” she answered, waving towards the northeastern ridge. “A group working in secret. Genetic engineers. They have a facility at the head of the Inlet. Decades past, there was a logging camp and at one time, a military base. The region is very isolated. I was planning my escape over the winter. Tricked out their computer security systems. Made a cache with stolen camping supplies, survival gear and weapons. Escaped last night with the kayak.”” She gestured at the beached craft. “Couldn’t risk stealing one of their power launches.”
“A Kayak,” he said with some interest. “A curious little boat. I watched as you circled my island. Ages past, there were drawings of similar craft in British newspapers. As I recall, it was from an Arctic expedition. They were used by Canadian aboriginals ... Eskimos. Only your kayak doesn’t appear to be covered with animal hides.”
“Of course not!” she laughed. “It’s made out of composite fibre and plastic.”
He gave her a blank look. “Plastic? Composite?” He cocked his head, studying her again. “So, you were a prisoner. You escaped, and found your way in here.”
“Not exactly a prisoner, though I did escape, and I’m hiding,” she said defensively. “I heard one of their big launches coming down the inlet a little while ago. They were probably searching for me.” She frowned, glancing up at the clear sky. “Only thing, that was early, just after dawn, and there was a heavy overcast with rain. I ducked into a cleft in limestone cliffs, then into a narrow cavern. I’m certain I was only in there a few minutes, but when I came out here, it was afternoon, and the sky was clear. My watch still says it’s morning. Too bloody weird, so near as I can figure, I phased into a an alternate dimension. I’m thinking this must be a parallel world.”
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