Red and Her Wolf

by Marie Hall

  Huffing, he attempted to appear nonchalant. Tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, looking like little more than a stupid dog that had wandered down the wrong path. His size was a dead giveaway that he was definitely not a dog, but he hoped the act would keep the witch from immediately going on the offensive once she spotted him.

  He knew Red was supposed to be the one to take the witch on, but it was ingrained in him to at least help ease his mate’s way into the battle. Give Red a little time to study the witch before the witch noticed her.

  Hopefully.

  The closer they got, the faster his heart pumped. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, she was so small and the physical scars of her encounter with the other wolf hadn’t fully vanished yet. Faint and pink, bisecting her belly and breasts, he couldn’t help noticing them the night he’d pressed the stone of veritas (truth) to her chest.

  Red’s stare was wide and panicked, her pupils dilated. Even in the shade of the trees, he could see her pulse beating frantically upon her pale throat. Forcing a calm he did not feel, he shook his head and pressed on, giving her no choice but to follow. If he pretended all was well, maybe she’d panic less.

  Before long a gingerbread house crested the horizon, a faint plume of gray smoke undulated like a charmed snake through the air.

  The home itself was a cornucopia of treats, an enticement to come and gorge and feast upon. It all nauseated him. He’d not be sad to see the crone dead.

  Suddenly he realized Red did not pace him. He stopped and spotted her several yards back, gripping the trunk of a gingerbread tree with a white knuckled grip.

  She looked at him. “I… I can’t.”

  He whined, and jerked his head toward the candy studded home. The chimney, made up of big, fat gumdrops--a bright brilliant red--shimmered like rubies in the sunlight.

  “No.” She turned her face into the tree. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He huffed, knowing this would not be her first kill.

  She scowled. “No doubt you’re thinking about that wolf I killed. Well, it was easy because in my mind it was you. But…” she swallowed hard, “it’s all different now.”

  Dropping his shoulders, he sat. Miriam had said it was hate of him that had fueled her power. He knew what he’d have to do. Though the thought pierced his heart with thorns.

  “I… don’t know if I hate you anymore. I’m not sure I like you, but…” She blinked. “Ewan?” she cried, finally noticing that he’d begun to barrel toward her. Her eyes were large, round, and filled with terror.

  He ran, powerful leg muscles, bringing him to her in less than a second. The growl tripping from his throat was the deep throaty inflection of a wolf on the hunt.

  Hating to see the fear in her eyes, he willed himself to ignore it. If killing the crone would help her kill Malvena, he didn’t have a choice.

  A white ring surrounded her lips and her breathing grew harsh, she pressed her back against the tree. He advanced, predatory. Menacing. Hackles raised and gums exposed. Her breaths were short and choppy.

  Then he jumped and she screamed, throwing her hands over her face and glancing to the side.

  Ewan sank his teeth into the thick branch beside her head, ripping out a chunk of gingerbread. It settled like rotten meal in his gullet. He knew what these woods were really made of.

  A cackle erupted, chilling and foreboding, and then a door slammed open.

  “Come here, my pretty,” the ancient voice beguiled, wrapping a breeze like hand around his throat and squeezing hard. The power of the crone, deep and darkly disturbing rushed through his veins, slammed into his skull. He winced against the mind numbing moment of terror.

  She was still in the house, but she knew they were here.

  Dark clouds gathered high above them.

  Her terrible magic was strong. Even he suffered the urge to run away from the cannibal crone.

  Red jerked, holding onto her chest. She glanced at the house, then at him. Dangling bits of gingerbread caught in his fur.

  “You called her to me?” she accused as he nosed her thigh, urging her forward. She slapped his nose, making him sneeze and lick at the tingling burn. “No,” she gritted out.

  Ewan nosed her harder, using his front paw to propel her out of the shelter of the woods and onto the path.

  “No,” she hissed.

  But he was too strong, he kept bumping her forward, until finally she stumbled onto the cookie path.

  The path was empty. The house of candy and cakes stood silent and still. Then he blinked and the old crone appeared, fluidly, like a vapor rolling across water.

  She was bent nearly in half, her stooped shoulders large and yet withered by age. The crone stood fifty yards in front of them. Her beaked nose was hooked at the end, warts covered her cheeks and jowls, and the hands she beckoned to them with had thick black claws attached to each fingertip.

  Red curled her finger into his nape, tugging so hard on his fur he knew she’d ripped some out. But he didn’t move. Adrenaline seeped from her glands, rushed out her pores and settled on his tongue, thick and bitter.

  “Come here, girl.”

  There was a quality to the crone’s voice that bespelled the listener. Even he found himself leaning forward even as his feet tried to turn away.

  Black beady eyes turned to him, and the thin mouth curled into a tight little smile. “If it isn’t the Big Bad Wolf,” she laughed, and the sound of it rolled over his body like slithering maggots on rotten meat. “Which means, you...” she glanced back at Red, “are the Heartsong.”

  Her fingernails tapped a jarring rhythm against one another.

  Violet’s breathing was as rapid as hummingbird’s wings, if she didn’t breathe soon, she’d pass out. Ewan whined, nuzzling her thigh.

  She took in a deep breath.

  When he turned back, the crone was even closer. She did not walk, or float, she moved as silent as thought.

  Sounds, threatening and violent, seeped from his lips.

  “You mean nothing to me, mutt,” the crone spat by her bare, arthritic foot. “I’ll make mincemeat of you. But you,” she hooked a finger toward Violet, and something dark and twisted encased Red’s body, lifting her off the ground.

  He yelped when her fingers left him.

  Violet screamed. Twisting, she tried to reach out to him. Ewan latched onto the edge of her red dress, tugging hard, but succeeded only in shredding off a long piece. He jumped, attempting to latch onto her arm, but a tingling shudder ran like a bolt through him, locking him in place.

  “Malvena, told me to call her, bring you to her. But I’m so very hungry, you see.” Her dirt stained green robes brushed the ground as she reached out toward Violet who was now much too close. Cloudy blue eyes filled with an avaricious gleam.

  Fear clawed at his brain, Ewan urged his legs to move, to tear the crone limb from limb as he’d done Jana, but he was frozen. Locked in place and unable to do more than howl as the crone dragged Violet closer to her side.

  The black miasma circling Violet pulled in tight, forming a thick shadow, so that he could no longer see her. The crone laughed, devilish eyes glinting with glee. Then her hands were inside the shadow and she began to inhale. Every color of the rainbow seeped out from the shadow and the screams of terror turned to moans of horror.

  “So much power,” the crone murmured in ecstasy, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

  Seeing the crone pull Red’s soul out, Ewan finally understood what Miriam meant when she’d called Vi a soul sucker. He needed to tell her. Straining, heaving against the invisible barrier, Ewan prayed as he called the unbecoming. His lungs had barely shifted, before he was roaring. “Breathe her in, Red. Breathe her in.”

  He wasn’t sure she’d heard him, he screamed it louder, hoping to penetrate the fear riding her soul.

  But then the scream turned different, higher pitched and frantic.

  “What are you doing?” It was the crone and the impenetrable fog t
hat’d bathed Red lifted, pulling back inside the emaciated witch.

  Vi was pale, skin almost blue, as she reversed positions and latched her hands into the crone’s twisted body.

  Violet breathed, inhaling through her mouth, lungs expanding as the crone began to twist and wither. A wave, every color of the rainbow oozed from Red’s body, wrapping them in a kaleidoscopic hug.

  A pale red miasma bleached Violet’s blonde hair pink, her skin turned to swirling bands of green, blue and purple, her lips a bright yellow. The Ten--represented by their individual colors--bled out of Violet, making her shimmer with a fiery and icy glow.

  Entranced, Ewan watched the dance of death play out. Macabre as the crone’s dark soul poured like black venom from her mouth, and yet the swirling colors… so, so lovely.

  The witch’s mottled skin turned to paper, nothing but a husk over bones. Her black soulless eyes blazed fear, as she twitched and shook. Soon even that stopped. The screams reverberated long after the crone was gone.

  Violet dropped the husk, the green robes fluttered like a dead leaf to the ground. The barrier holding him back lifted, and Ewan was finally free to run to her side.

  But the moment he touched her, he felt the stain of that dark soul. It clung to his flesh like a leech sucking on blood. And when he looked in Red’s eyes, only black stared back at him.

  “Ewan,” she sobbed, “something’s wrong with me.” Then she dropped to her knees, and retched, but nothing came out. Sweat peppered her brow, her back, her skin blazed fire.

  The colors she’d bled while killing the witch, pulled back inside her body. Once it did, he was able to see how pale she’d become. White as freshly turned snow.

  “Red,” he gripped her face.

  “It hurts,” she screamed, “oh goddess, it hurts so bad!”

  Going stiff in his arms, she seized up. Shaking violently.

  Desperate, he glanced around. Where was the antidote? Miriam had said he’d know what to do. But he didn’t know.

  Bringing her hand to his lips, he licked her thumb. But there was no wound and nothing to heal. So he licked her neck, still she screamed.

  Licking her jaw, her cheek, he finally came to her mouth and the moment his tongue touched her lips a sickly sweet substance clung to him. It was a parasite, gripping on, sliding down his throat, the acidity burning sores into the skin of his mouth.

  Startled, he jerked away as the sickness spread through his belly. The screaming had stopped. Whatever he’d just done, it’d worked. Bracing for what was to come, Ewan sealed his lips to hers, slipping his tongue deep into her mouth.

  The poison latched on. It was thick and dark and filled his gut. He swallowed more and more, all of it. Gagging, he forced himself to keep it down and out of her. Her nails dug into his cheek, she was kissing him back with passion, twining her tongue with his.

  But it was too much. Ewan wanted her. Wanted to taste her, to hold her, but the acid spewed hot in his gut, with one final pull he felt it coming back up. Pushing her away, he ran to a tree and retched.

  Black blood spewed from his lips, covered the ground in gore. Up it came, with no end in sight. His body broke out in chills and then burned with fever. It felt like hours, but must have only been minutes when he sank to his knees, spent and panting, feeling as if his soul had born torn from his body.

  “Ewan, I…”

  Her soft hands were on his shoulders, rubbing gently. Expressing thanks with no words.

  The world spun and shifted around him. There was nothing left in his gut, but still he felt the need to give up more. He grabbed his stomach, moaning. Black spots danced in his vision.

  “Ewan,” her voice held a frantic edge to it, “you gotta come.” She tugged on his hand. “The land is dying; we gotta get out of here.”

  It took everything he had to crack open eyes that felt full of sand and busted vessels.

  The woods were melting. The trees ran with blood, branches were now skeletons, their limbs interlocked into a macabre structure. Sightless eye holes peered at him.

  The crone’s dirty secret revealed. All the sugar drop trees and gingerbread rocks had been nothing more than past victims spelled to appear as sweets.

  If he hadn’t already thrown up, he’d have done so again when the stench of decay assailed his nose. The breeze was alive with the rotten scent of flesh hung out to dry. Toxic waste ran where the chocolate river once flowed.

  “Please, Ewan, come on.” She tugged on him, snapping him from his stupor.

  “We must hurry,” he said, voice rough and scratchy. Shaking his head, attempting to right his vision, he called the becoming to him. The shift had him howling, his body too weak to handle the change.

  But her tiny hands, and soft pleas of encouragement, spurred him on, drove him to ignore the desperate ache filling his limbs. They ran, trying not to slip on the thick sludge beneath them. Violet cried as her feet gave out beneath her. She landed on her butt in a thick pile of something foul and sticky.

  Dizzy, vision blurring with spots, Ewan nudged her to sit on his back.

  “Are you sure?” she whimpered, biting her lip.

  He grunted, barely able to hold his head up. She didn’t hesitate again, quickly straddling him.

  Adrenaline was the only thing that kept him running.

  Chapter 10

  She shivered, hugging her arms tight to her body, wondering if she’d ever be able to sleep again. All that blood and gore. The knowledge of where it had all come from… she swallowed the bile trying to work its way up her throat.

  Night kept their secrets, held them within her dark arms, making it impossible for Violet to see too far beyond their camp.

  Ewan’s back was to her, his chest heaved hard and though he’d feared starting a fire, the moon was bright enough that she could see the gray pallor tinting his skin. She sighed.

  “Are ye okay?” His deep voice was a caress, and her lashes fluttered like moth’s wings against her cheekbones.

  “I should be asking you that,” she said with a half snort. He was the one that’d risked his neck to save them, and yet he still asked after her welfare.

  Finally he rolled over, his liquid gold eyes sliding slowly along the length of her body. She shivered again, but this time it had nothing to do with the chill nip in the air. She bit her bottom lip as her lower stomach dipped with a sudden rush of nerves.

  “Ye are my mate, Red. I’ll always worry after ye. Now are ye okay?”

  A lump lodged in her throat, the kindness in his words, the deep timbre of his voice, it did something to her. Confused her more, made her care. It was hard to speak, so she nodded instead.

  His eyes closed and a look of relief swept over his patrician features, making him seem softer, more approachable, and a million times more sexy. Her fingers twitched as a lock of midnight black hair flipped over his left eye.

  “Good,” he smiled and her heart dropped. “Get some rest when ye can take it, Red. I doona think we’ll have too many more nights like these soon.”

  “Are we close then?” There was a sort of quiet detachment in her question, maybe she should have felt fear. Any sane person probably would, but so much of this felt surreal. It’s not that Violet hadn’t known about the wonders of this world, she’d lived here once, long ago. But to see the stories of the mortal world open up before her eyes, to battle the cannibal crone and walk through a forest made of literal candy… sometimes it was hard to believe that all this wasn’t a dream.

  “Aye, we’re close.” He nodded, and then giving her a grim smile, stood. “My bones ache this night, I must turn to wolf. It helps me heal properly, shake me if ye need me.”

  She watched as his magnificent body became engulfed in a bright flare of white light and suffered a momentary pang of regret. He was much nicer to look at in human form, and the wolf still disconcerted her.

  The large black beast padded out of the light, gave her one last lingering look, settled down close enough to her that she could
feel the waves of his body heat, and let out a long puff of air. Violet studied him in the soft moonlight. He must have felt worse than he’d let on, within seconds he was sleeping, but somehow she sensed should another predator approach he’d snap awake. His muzzle was long and lean, the fur dense and so black it blended in with the shadows all around.

  He’d saved her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  A rushing tide of blood and bits had nearly taken them; the crone’s forest had tried to consume them just as its mistress had consumed so many others. The moment they’d passed the witch’s boundary, he’d collapsed. So still, she’d feared he’d died. Violet had sat with him, not knowing how long he’d remain that way. He’d come to an hour later, dazed but not quite so miserable.