Little Red & Her Wolf

I originally wrote and posted this story, known as Stalked, to Lit on 11/16/17, under the name KindofHere, and I posted it again (I believe) as MrHereWriting in 2020 (maybe). Now I'm posting it again.

I do not give anyone permission to re-post or archive my stories. If you want to download my story for personal use, be my guest, but that's as far as my permissions go.

Otherwise, have fun and enjoy.

1

Marcus Wolfe

"I am Marcus Wolfe."

The reflection in the mirror was not his own. His mind saw a different creature, a thing he didn't recognize. It was him, but it wasn't him. The face staring back was sharper, wilder--animal.

He folded his straight razor, never having brought it to his skin, setting it down on a white cloth. He ignored the ever-present five o'clock shadow tinting his lean jaw. He never let it grow into a full beard, and his dark whiskers remained a constant reminder of what lurked beneath his skin.

"I am Marcus Wolfe."

His green eyes caught the light, and he watched their glow brighten within the mirror.

"Telling yourself who you are won't stop what's coming," his grandfather had told him long ago.

"You shouldn't have bitten me."

"The beast bit you. Embrace the gift he's given you."

"Will it hurt?"

"It doesn't matter. The man never remembers."

"The beast better remember," Marcus told his reflection.

He entered his shower, turning the knobs until the water created a billowing cloud of steam. He soaped his sun-gold skin, running his hands through his fine black hairs to touch the only scars marring his lean body--puncture scars whose wounds ran deep.

He left his shower once clean, drying himself as he entered his bedroom. He looked through his windows that overlooked Industry Park, a vast expanse of wilderness cut with manmade pathways, streams, and a large lake, but thankfully, no zoo.

"Sometimes the beast needs to hunt," he said. They weren't his words, but he repeated them often to remind himself of why he let it happen.

The sun had begun its descent over the western horizon. His skin prickled with the coming of the night and the rising of the moon. The moon promised him power, but he could never remember the true strength of that power the following morning. Some gifts lingered, making him more than a man but less than the beast.

He took a deep breath, smelling everything in his room and filtering out all but the scents of lavender, vanilla, hints of lilac, cloves, and other botanicals of a particular choice. Hidden among them was the faintest scent of something unique to the world. The aroma was pure. Marcus embraced it, allowing it to roll through him like a mist made of warmth, love, and eternity.

A pink card lay on his bed. He picked it up, holding it under his nose as he breathed in the perfume. He let the fragrance linger in his nostrils while his chest rose and fell in time with his deep breaths.

The moon was growing closer to him. He had to hurry. He put the card down next to the duffle bag he had packed earlier. He would have preferred to stay indoors during the night, hooked up to an IV drip with enough carfentanil to kill an elephant but only enough to place him in a stupor. Two days before the full moon and two days after, he would sleep through the change, but on the fullest of the moons, he allowed the beast to hunt because it needed to.

Marcus changed into some throwaway clothes he had bought at a second-hand store. The pants, the shirt, and the long coat were a few sizes too large, purposefully bought that way to accommodate his size after the change. His shoes were his own. He'd take them off and throw them into the duffle bag before it was time. The last part of his ensemble was a black baseball cap he would never see again.

He picked up the pink card and the duffle bag; then, he left his room and exited his high-rise apartment. Every so often, he'd lift the card to his nose for a long whiff of its perfume. As always, when he left his home for his once-a-month hunt, he took one last look at his door before forcing himself to continue into the night.

2

Redonna Washington

"I'm running late," Red said. Her fingers spun, their motions a blur as she turned the dial to her combination lock to the right, then left, then right again. "Late-late-late."

"Why the hurry?"

Red answered Sandra's question with a shrug and a smile before running to the showers with her body wash in hand. She didn't have time to go home, but she always planned for that contingency. A doctor's life was one of hurrying up to wait, which threw off her schedule more often than not.

She showered quickly, cursing her need to work out instead of going straight home. She lathered her smooth, brown skin, using her hands to push the soap over her toned curves, wiping away sweat and the grime of her hospital's cold corridors. She finished showering and raced back to her locker, her small feet slapping against the white-tiled flooring.

"So, what's that hurry?" Sandra asked again.

Red tapped her left ring finger with her right forefinger.

"Oh, the fiancée," Sandra said. "The mystery man nobody gets to meet."

"That's him."

"Does he exist, or is he a book, a cat, and a bottle of wine?" Sandra laughed.

Red pulled her full lips into an amused crescent that showed off the perfect white pearls of his teeth. "He's real; you know that. We're going out tonight."

"Mm-hmm," Sandra said. "What is he? A bookish professor? Everyone is betting he's boring and twice your age. I think he's an old lawyer with a big dick."

"Hey, I have a wild side," Red said as she glared at her gym bag. "I can't leave this at the gym. Can you take it for me and drop it off at the hospital tomorrow? I'll pick it up on Monday."

Sandra's eyes did a clockwise roll before she said in an overacted, sullen voice, "I guess--since I'm not lucky enough to get the weekends off. Is your man tall, dark, and handsome at least? Is he the sexy kind of mysterious?"

"Yes."

Red opened her bag and slipped on the clothes she had brought from home. It was a simple combination of clothing, nothing someone would wear on a hot date. She had a white, buttoned-up top, a fifties style pleated red skirt that fastened around her waist, frilly ankle socks, tennis shoes, and a red hoodie.

"Dressing a little down, aren't you?" Sandra asked. "Where'd you get those clothes: the salvation army?"

"He's bringing my clothes." A little blush that didn't color her brown cheeks too much crept across her face.

Sandra's eyes studied her.

Red shrugged and shook her head, smiling. "What are you staring at?"

"Oh! I got it. You look like that girl from the 'Thriller' video. Your clothes are more modern but close enough."

"I love that video," Red said. Her eyes sparkled. "The darkness. The woods. The moon. The monster. It's all very... I don't know... sexy." She shivered.

"Okay. What's the girl's name? You look like her."

"Ola Ray," Red said. "I have to go. I can't be late."

She handed Sandra her gym bag, keeping her handbag that held her wallet, phone, perfume, and a few other, more protective items.

"Stay out of the woods," Sandra called after her, laughing. "They're full of monsters."

3

Will It Hurt?

Night had come by the time Marcus had strolled through the park. His skin trembled; his eyes shifted. He needed to move. He needed to run. He wanted to feel the wind against his face, but he kept his steps even over the curving cobblestone pathway under his feet.

Industry Park at night was not a safe place. The people he crossed under the lamplights were the kind of people that decent folks wanted to avoid. They eyed him from a distance, weighing and judging him, their thoughts clear to his mind. Those who met his eyes nodded as if acknowledging that they were on even footing, and then they hurried away from him.

Marcus hoped he would not cross their paths again as the walkway curved toward the lake.

He veered off the pathway, away from the lamps dropping their coned rings of light. He walked across the damp grass, the smell earthy, and he continued toward a thicket of dense wood only the determined would attempt to walk through. It opened onto a small clearing bordered by a dense brush and the lake. He dropped his duffle bag onto the grass and removed his socks and shoes.

"Will it hurt?"

"It doesn't matter. The man never remembers."

Marcus looked across the lake's black water. He could see lamplights across the broad expanse of its glassy surface. He could hear laughter in the distance, carried on the wind, people's steps, a bird's cry, and a squirrel's chitter. The scent of the night whirled through his nostrils, as did the coming rain. The wolf was coming, sharpening his senses to intoxicating levels.

"Will it hurt?" he asked, looking upward.

Coal-black rain clouds smudged the night's sky, but he could sense the moon. It called to him like a Siren seducing him toward the double-edged sword of paradise.

A fog gathered as the weather grew cooler. It drifted over the waters like misty snakes curving and coiling about as they slithered toward the shore. Fog and rain; maybe people would go home, making his hunt simpler.

He pulled the pink card from his coat pocket. Holding it close to his nostrils, he smelled it again, memorizing the divine scent clinging to its papered surface.

Overhead, the clouds broke, allowing the moon's silver light to stream upon him in thin white beams. A shock of lightning erupted, bringing the sharp scent of ozone. Thunder rumbled through the night like clattering sheets of aluminum.

Soon.

He took a deep breath. His skin prickled. His breathing deepened. His legs wanted to move. His clothes felt constricting despite their size. He wanted to rip them from his body and stand naked, surrounded by nature and all that was wild, holding allegiance to no master. He took a calming breath.

Lightning cracked. More thunder. More lightning. More thunder. More lightning.

His heartbeat rose, soon racing behind his chest.

It was time.

Marcus looked at the moon. His eyes gleamed underneath the light. The moon shined white and silver with bits of bluish-gray webbing its surface. It loomed above the world, enormous, crooning to him with a soft, whispery chant: Change, change, change.

He could feel it.

The beast was coming.

"Will it--"

4

Cab Ride

"Taxi," Red called, standing in the bike lane. She leaned into the street with her spirit fingers wide and waving to the passing cabs.

The sun had made its final descent beyond the horizon. The soft shades of pink and purple had melted away, buried beneath the night's darkness that the city's lights struggled to keep at bay.

"Taxi," she called again with frantic motions. "I'll fuck for a ride!"

A taxi stopped as the last syllable left her mouth.

"No way," she said under her breath, not believing the driver could have heard her through the sounds of the city, his closed windows, or his engine.

Thunder rumbled, fighting the city's clamor for dominance. A sheet flash of blue brightened the night, followed by more thunder. The rain was coming.

Red entered the taxi, taking the middle of the back seat. The cabbie looked at her briefly before pulling back into traffic. He looked grizzled, maybe twenty years her senior, with silver whiskers and thick lines crossing his dark forehead.

"Where to?" His voice was friendly yet rough.

"The front gates of Industry Park," she said, adding, "Drive along the northwest gate. I'm cutting through the park if the traffic is bad."

"You don't want to do that," the cabbie warned. "The park's a bad place at night. Muggings. Rapings. They even say there's a pack of wild dogs on the loose in there, mauling people, but no one ever sees them. What kind of city allows wild dogs to maul people?"

"Don't know," Red said. "A beast needs to hunt. It helps them remember who they are."

"If you say so."

She looked out the window as more flashes of blue broke through the breaks in the high rises. More thunder rumbled, louder than before but dulled by the taxi's windows.

"Music?" the cabbie asked. "I'm turning on the radio."

Red smiled into the rearview mirror, saying nothing. Melodic sounds filled the cab, deep, soulful sounds that reminded her of a warm couch and a small, dancing fire. She looked through the window, then back to the front, catching the cabbie eyeing her before looking away.

They turned. The moon was in full view through her right rear window. She leaned down, looking up at the bright orb with hints of blue and black around its edges. A chill ran through her body, filling her limbs with the need to run. She pressed her thighs together, looked into the rearview mirror, and then she looked back at the moon, opening her knees.

"Do you like the moon?" Red asked, leaning further down to take it in. "It's beautiful. It's hope in the darkness."

"I suppose."

Red heard the catch in the cabbie's voice as she spread her legs further apart, fluttering them and giving him a view of her firm thighs, but the tastier scenery lay hidden in shadow by the covering of her pleated skirt. She sat straight, leaning back, and rubbed her fingers over her thighs. She spread her legs again, a little wider, and she pulled her fingertips spider-like against the fabric of her skirt, inching the hem upward.

"It's impossible to hide under the moonlight," Red said. Her thick chocolate nipples had grown hard under her shirt, pushing against the fabric of her bra. Lightning flashed, thunder roared. Sam Cooke started singing You Send Me. The pitter-patter of rain tapped the roof of the cab.

Red pulled her skirt higher but not too high. She looked at the moon, opening and closing her legs, listening to Sam and thinking of her fiancée. They would dance under the moonlight tonight. How would he touch her? How would he hold her? Would he kiss her? Would there be hunger in his eyes? Would he be rough?

They hit traffic once they neared the park. There was always traffic near the park on the weekend. A fog was rolling through the city, reminding her of old Victorian London in the black and white horror movies. To her right was Industry Park and its ornate iron lamps lighting a clear pathway across the grassy fields.

"How much?" Red asked.

"How much what?" the cabbie asked.

"I'm going to walk through the park," Red said. "How much do I owe you?"

"Lady, you don't want to do that," the cabbie said. His concern sounded sincere. "It's dangerous, and it's raining. It's no good out there."

"The moon will keep me safe." She smiled at his baffled stare. She took a ten from her handbag. "Keep it."

"How about you keep it if you let me take you home safely," the cabbie said. "Industry City is dangerous enough. The parks at night are worse."

Red dropped the ten on the center console as they waited for the traffic to flow again. She got out, looking up at the moon as the clouds gathered around it. Sam sang, "Whoa, you-oo-oo send me, honest you do."

She reached into her handbag, closing her fingers around a small sprayer of mace. She showed it to the cabbie and said, "I've got protection." She smiled at the moon as the clouds swallowed its light. She didn't bother to show the cabbie her SIG Sauer P238 pocket pistol that held six rounds of lethality, each one ready for flight as soon as she pulled the trigger.

"But that's not enough to--" the cabbie's voice cut away when Red closed the cab's rear door.

The rain settled into a steady trickle. The drops beaded her hoodie with a light sheen of wetness as she walked into the park. Taking a deep breath, she smelled the strange mix of nature and the industry of man in her nostrils. She pulled her perfume from her handbag. They had custom-made the fragrance together, its depths swimming with unseen, crimson specks. She sprayed a mist into the air, walked through it, and continued into the park.

5

Hunted

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her tennis shoes hitting the cobbles sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. She hopped down a flight of stairs, looking to her right, under a crescent bridge, and she spied people gathered beneath the keystone light.

They weighed her.

They judged her.

They let her be.

The fog blanketed the park, doming her surroundings and moving with her as she continued onward. The light from the lamps reflected about the mist, making everything bright in a dulled way. Her steps were loud. Tap. Tap. Tap. She took a deep breath and caught the smell of something animal in the wind.

Red looked at the fog covering her, thinner above than it was around. She wanted the moonlight to shine down on her and sprinkle her skin with its mystical touch. There was power in the moon; a wildness that infused her with the desire to shed her clothes and--

There were eyes on her. She stopped, turned in a circle, and clutched her handbag tightly as bumps rose along the length of her skin. There was a shadow beyond the fog's rim. It was tall and dark, and it sunk back into the dense whiteness when her eyes fell upon it.

Lightning cracked. Thunder roared. Rain fell.

Red walked faster. She had to move faster.

It was watching her, following her, its movements unheard and unseen, but she knew it was out there. Her body felt light, ready to run. She quickened her pace as she deepened her breathing, trying to control the rising excitement within her body.

Something snarled, but the fog swallowed the sound. It was almost as if it--he--wanted her to turn and look for him.

"Keep moving," she told herself.

Red's legs stretched into a skipping run down a pathway she knew by heart. She had taken every step a hundred times before. Not even the fog could blind her way through the park. She also knew a man was circling her at an impossible speed, and no amount of knowledge of her surroundings was going to let her escape him when he decided to do more than circle her.

Someone laughed beyond the edge of the fog. Someone broke a bottle. More laughter followed. The misty barrier moved with Red, and a curved iron lamp came into view with three men standing beneath it.

"Fuck," Red whispered. She stopped, but they saw her, and they took an interest in her; that wasn't good.

Her stalker's eyes were still on her as well, penetrating her and eager to see what she did next. She turned her head by instinct, catching a pair of twin emerald eyes glinting in what light the fog managed to capture, and then they were gone.

Her mouth went dry as a strange thrill rushed through her body, making her shiver all over. Those eyes made her feel small, and they were hungry, and she was what they craved. A new warmth spread throughout her core, leaving her--

"Hey, pretty girl," a man said.

Red turned her head as the three men near the lamp approached her. They were young, neither clean nor dirty, and their clothes were passable for a trendy bar or a gastropub. Red lines shot through their eyes; liquor wobbled their steps.

"Excuse me," Red said, holding her handbag close.

She tried to walk along the edge of the pathway, but one of the men with a scarf around his neck and a rooster wave haircut jumped in front of her. He spread his arms with his palms up, smiling at her with pretty boy teeth. He wet his lips with his long tongue.

"What's your hurry, pretty girl?"

His friends laughed.

Red heard a low growl beyond the fog. The strangers didn't seem to notice. Red's eyes darted around.

"She's in a hurry to give me a kiss," one of them said. He smacked his lips together. "Wanna kiss me, pretty girl? I wanna kiss you."