Little Red, Riding Wood Ch. 01

And yet, most frighteningly, above and within all of its utter blackness, floated those dangerously intelligent, blue eyes.

Both stood their ground, squared off, for interminable moments, as Celia's heart raced. As certain as she was that she faced her death, as frightened as she was, her mind still contrived to imagine a conversation with the wolf, almost a duel of words waged to determine her fate.

You are in my wood, woman child.

"I wish to leave your wood, wolf."

His teeth bared at her. He held that pose, silent and unmoving, before he continued.

You may, if that is my wish.

"What is your price?"

The wolf laughed. It was a harsh laugh, both like and unlike that of the brutish woodsmen.

I have no price. I am a wolf. I am the wolf, here. I do as I please. I take what I please. I give leave when I please. No woman can stop or sway me, either by guile, or puny, female strength, or by paying any price.

Celia felt herself trembling as she continued the conversation.

"What do you want from me?"

I have no need to tell you. I would take whatever I want, and you could never refuse.

"Perhaps I have something that I would offer willingly."

The wolf raised it's head at that. His eyes danced with amusement, and perhaps a touch of interest.

What do you have, woman-child, that an old wolf could want? What do you have to offer?

Nothing, Celia thought.

I should take you as my bride.

For the first time, Celia felt true panic at such a horrid, unnatural thought.

Yes. I could make you my bride. My lover. My whore. My bitch.

Celia opened her mouth to object, and was silenced with a look of command from the black wolf.

Perhaps you would enjoy it. Yes? I could mount you at my leisure, for my pleasure. You would resist and deny me, but you would enjoy it, would you not?

She felt a visible shiver course through her body, and was embarrassed that she did not know if it was a reaction of fear, or revulsion, or thrill, or some wicked mixture of all three.

I could fuck you sweetly. Would you scream and squeal and squirm, I wonder, clutching at my fur as I filled you?

"I could never marry a wolf, no matter how strong or kingly. My father would never allow it."

The wolf did not answer her then. Its expression was strange. It showed humor, but not mockery. His expression was one of a teacher who's student has finally come ever so close to grasping the point of the lesson.

A fawn quite unexpectedly and foolishly wandered into the clearing, oblivious to the danger that virtually surrounded it. The black wolf did not noticeably glance its way, yet Celia knew that it was well aware of everything.

Do you see the fawn?

"Yes."

So young, and innocent? Is it beautiful to you? Is it cute? And cuddly?

His voice dripped with disdain.

To me it is a meal. To me it is dinner. For me, it will be warm, gushing blood and sweet, steaming flesh being ripped from its bones with my teeth, and gulped and swallowed in large, gluttonous chunks.

Celia tried unsuccessfully to close her mind to the image his words formed there.

The bones themselves I will save for dessert, to crack with my jaws, to suck the marrow dry, and then to gnaw on to clean my teeth as some refined, lordly prince might do with an after dinner toothpick.

He glared meaningfully at her then, as if gauging her reaction to his evil if natural and innate lust for living blood and flesh.

The fawn is young, and foolish. It stays near, wondering if I may or may not pounce. As long as I do not pounce, it doesn't run, and it ventures closer, thinking itself safe. It is too trusting. Trust is everything.

As the fawn nibbled on the leaves of a bush, Celia feared for it. She looked around for its mother, only to see the other wolves, their gray flanks barely visible, low to the ground amidst the forest. They moved now, to encircle the glade, trapping both Celia and the fawn together. She sensed the hunger in their posture and their patience.

Do you think it might enjoy being devoured? Do you think that is why it strays so close? Because as fearful as it may be of the outcome, there is something there to tempt it? Some sinful, deep, dark desire to indulge in what it knows would be a horrible, agonizing and very permanent fate?

Celia visibly shuddered at the thought. The wolf seemed to take notice. He sensed her fear, and revulsion, and looked perhaps like he knew he had struck a chord with her. And yet, in an unexpected turn, Celia thought she saw kindness and perhaps remorse behind his sage, old eyes.

The wolf nodded his head, almost imperceptibly. In a blink the gray wolves at the periphery had flashed into motion, in unison, as if they were a single, breathing creature. They darted into the glade from all sides. Celia stayed frozen, rooted to her spot, as the fawn ran and the wolves gave chase. As well as they'd cordoned it, it was more nimble and elusive than they had expected. With a great leap it mounted a log, then a low boulder, then bounded over one encircling wolves, as slavering jaws snapped at its trailing leg, only to come up empty.

The fawn ran, and the wolves gave chase. They disappeared quickly from her view amongst the dense tree trunks, boulders, saplings, ferns and other undergrowth. Celia hoped in her heart that the fawn escaped, and knew in her heart that it could not.

Through it all, the black wolf stood stock still, staring at her with those cold, blue eyes, watching her watch the tragic spectacle unfold. When the other wolves had gone she turned back to watch him, meeting his gaze, until without so much as a shrug he silently and nonchalantly moved off to follow its pack with the cool, stealthy ease of the master of the forest, as if he had never even noticed her.

* * *