Member-only story
Romancing the Wolf
Reddy knew the cost of such a union — but how could she resist?
“Haven’t we played this game long enough, Little Red?” the wolf man asked her, his dark eyes boring into hers as they sat in a little tavern, the only thing between them an insignificant wooden table and two metal cups of ale. He easily could have torn apart the tabletop with his fists just to reach her. But he was patient: he always had been.
“It’s Reddy,” she said in a clipped tone, tracing a finger along the whorls of the table. He couldn’t help but be fixated by her small fingers — how delicate they seemed, how fragile. He imagined entwining his claws in hers just to see how their hands would fit against each other, palm to palm, heartbeat to heartbeat.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t realize you had grown up so much.”
And grown she had. She wore a white corseted dress that accentuated the cleavage of her ample breasts, and her red cloak splayed across her shoulders as if she were a queen ready to charge into a battlefield of the dead. She was a far cry from the maiden he had glimpsed in the woods so long ago, back when full moons had meant he couldn’t shift out of his wolf form. But he too had learned how to adapt. Nowadays he rarely shifted into his wolf form unless he wanted to be stealthy like a spy undercover.
