Little Red and Her Wolf

     “My dear! Enchantress of the dark wood!” Little Red Riding Hood’s mother cheered, parting the curtains of her daughter’s bedside window, allowing the blessed beams of the dawn to bathe her Little Red on a new day.

     Little Red breathed to her mother, “I know hidden paths no one else dares to walk.” Here she grinned broadly and continued, “Because everything out there in the dark wood is merry, mother!”

     “Oh! My daughter! Only three and twenty – and I know what a wicked creature you are!” she smirked and added, “For I know you possess a big bad heart!”

     Little Red hurled the blanket off her and hugged her mother. Clutching her daughter lovingly, she whispered, “You go off today, too! Into the dark wood and bring cake and wine to your sickly grandmother,” then she spoke gravely, “For you know there are many hunters out there, my dear.”

     Little Red answered with an emphatic, “Yes, mother!”

     Little Red dressed into garments which hugged the cast of her body. A dark crimson bodice, her skirt slit high enough to show her milky thighs, and knee-high black leather boots laced tightly up the front.

     “My wine-red cloak!” Little Red begged her mother.

     “Here, my dear.”

     “May my cloak be a scarlet warning! I am the dark wood’s temptation!” Little Red flaunted, raising her long arms as she bared her bleach-white canines, “I don’t wear red because I’m innocent!”

     A wine-red cloak lined with black satin, laced around her neck tightly, and a hood concealing her pointed ears and raven hair. The hood draped low and her deep amber eyes were shadowed, as they burned like faint embers.

     “Forget something?” her mother questioned.

     Little Red rolled her eyes, declaring, “Beauty in the dark wood is armed,” she pulled a sheathed dagger from beneath her pillow, and tucked it into her boot. “My boots make a soft thud on the path – but my boot hides my fifth canine!”

     “Your hem is quite frayed, my dear,” her mother pointed a squat finger.

     “Yes, mother, I need to stop wandering off the path,” then Little Red gave a teasing grin, “For I am the enchantress of the dark wood!”

     “Little Red wise-ass!” her mother roared.

     Clasping hands, her mother whispered into her daughter’s ear, “Remember, you’re not only hunting today, Little Red.”

     “Yes, mother.”

     “Remember, you’re fetching cake and wine for your sickly grandmother – who’s mortal – she’s not like us,” forcing a smile she added, “For you know what a heap of gold she has hidden beneath her bed.”

     Little Red’s eyes gleamed under the shadow of her hood and her mother noticed with eyebrows gathered together. Then she planted a kiss onto Little Red’s plump cheek and gestured her to hurry.

     Out the door, Little Red was humming, swinging the basket of cake and wine at her hip. While she skipped down the thoroughfare of the village, her mother stood perched at her daughter’s bedside window, again with eyebrows gathered together, with piercing gold eyes that watched like a predator until Little Red reached the furthest edges of the village – the treeline of the dark wood.

     “Now as I walk as a woman,” Little Red stated aloud, “I shall win the golden heart or I shall devour her!” Little Red took out the bottle of wine and gulped.

***

     Skipping between roots and hopping over fallen moss-coated logs, a mocking smirk was on Little Red’s face, daring any man, hunter, or wolf to seduce her. As she skipped along the dusty path, her boots thudded softly. A clump of trees whose branches arched cathedral-like over the path, creaked as they bowed slightly toward her presence.

     “I am the enchantress of this dark wood – witness my canines!” proclaimed Little Red aloud, “I know the hunter stalks me! And I enjoy the game!”

     As the basket swung by her hip, the wine bottle within clinked softly, and every clink was a reminder to Little Red that she needed to be tipsy. The more she swigged, the more her stride down the path was like a breath flowing through her cloak.

     Grasping the neck of the bottle, warmth spread across her body. “Not only do I stride through this dark wood,” Little Red added, “The wine I must confess is a promise of lethal temptation!”

***

     Little Red heard a human heart pounding. Then something whizzed over her head, as if it were a bullet from a rifle. She knew by instinct, it was a silver bullet, as the heat from the silver burned her skin. Then a howl, originating somewhere between her and where the silver bullet was fired. Little Red gazed into the thick brush without panic.

     A gigantic, grey wolf leapt out of the brush onto the path, standing tall on its hind legs, gazing back at Little Red. Another shot followed, and the wolf lunged into the thick clump of trees off the path. A man suited as a hunter, appeared with his rifle at the ready – hunter eyes that fleeted about though not aimlessly.

     “A huntsman?” inquired Little Red as she licked her lips.

     “Yes, miss! On the hunt! That wolf is mine! You – are very lucky, miss!” exclaimed the hunter, scanning the clumps where the wolf had fled.

     “Tell me, huntsman, what has that wolf done?”

     “It murders! It devours innocent women like you!”

     Little Red restrained a smile that would have bared her canines.

     “Then you, huntsman, saved my life!”

     Little Red placed the basket onto the ground and offered, “I have here cake and wine! I offer you – please accept from the lady you saved!”

     The hunter’s eye suspected what she had said and her look did not accord. So, he asked without attempting to draw suspicion, “You carry a silver knife, at least? You carry anything that would harm or kill a wolf, miss?”

     Little Red then parted her cloak, lifting her booted leg, drew the sheathed dagger, claiming, “Silver!” she smirked and quickly tucked it back into her high-boot.

     Here the shoulders of the hunter relaxed, and so did the grip on his rifle. With the palm of his hand, he wiped the beads of sweat from his face. Then his attention fell back onto Little Red as she took out the bottle, drinking like a lady shouldn’t. She beheld the admiration of his gaze.

     “My! What focused eyes you have!” she flattered.

     “The eyes of a hunter, miss, I must go now and kill the wolf!” as he turned to pursue, Little Red stopped him.

     “Oh! The summer sun! I feel doused in heat, dear huntsman!” Little Red placed her hand to her face as if exhausted.

      The hunter lowered his rifle that was chambered with a silver bullet. “Oh! Miss! How remiss of me!” he swung the rifle over his shoulder and stepped to her.

      “I saw admiring eyes watching me as I walked through my village today, huntsman,” pausing she unlaced her cloak, “Now in this dark wood alone with the man that saved me – you gaze at me – you gaze at me in lustful anticipation – as if I am enchanting in this dark wood!”

     The hunter laughed, the skin of his face turning cherry-red, Little Red noticed the flattery working to her advantage – his rifle was out of the grip of his hands – slung over his shoulder. She knew she had to keep planting seeds of bliss into his mortal mind. Her eyes rolling down his body, she hinted, “This here basket holds wine for mischief!”

     The hunter replied, “I could wet my lips with mischief!”

     Little Red’s lips curved as she batted her eyelashes, further parting her cloak, with her hood still partially draping her amber eyes.

     “May I sip?” the hunter extended his hand.

     “You may swig!” giggled Little Red as she strangled the neck of the bottle, then stroking the length of it, brushing her crimson tongue around the brim. The hunter then gulped and his mortal, pale-blue eyes fell back upon her. “I am not afraid of my bare, milky body being seen flushed hot with beads of sweat running down my legs!” she beckoned him to her with a squat finger.

     Her lips and teeth stained blood-red by the wine, the hunter withdrew his eyes from her as he drank. “What is your name, beautiful?”

     “Townsfolk know me as ‘Little Red,’” she grinned before asking, “So, huntsman, who’s the predator? The wolf or you?”

     The hunter handed the bottle back to her, answering, “Well, miss, the wolf has no purpose and deserves to be shot by silver and then skinned – by me, the hunter with a purpose.”

     The heat of anger spread across her body until it boiled her blood with rage. With shut lips, she ran her tongue slowly over her teeth, not anticipating hot, sweaty sex, but rather the taste of his sweaty flesh, robust meat, and licking his bones bleach-white. Little Red fantasized devouring his heart, leaving him skinless and hollowed, unseen in the tall grass off the path.

     “So, huntsman, craving flesh and blood is such a bad thing?”

     A few heartbeats of silence followed…

     “I am not presently chasing the wolf, miss, I’ll find it after –“

     “After?” Little Red lifted an eyebrow and winked.

     “- Well, craving wine and a beautiful woman isn’t such a bad thing!”

     “I wonder what kind of huntress I would be.”

     “And what would you hunt, miss?”

     “Let’s say, there was a hunter in this dark wood chasing me,” here her lips curved into a scimitar, “I would hunt him first,” she paused to lick her cherry lips, “Chew his throat out and devour his heart… only after I licked the meat off his broken bones!”

     Standing in silence, the hunter observed something he could only have just noticed – her draping hood lifted back slightly, and saw the intense, deep-gold eyes – just like a wolf’s. He knew by now that he had to play along, and act stupid until the moment came to put a silver bullet into her body. With one hand wrapped around the shoulder strap, the other was readying its trigger finger.

     “Do you ever devour flesh? – Of an animal, I mean – I do!” she boasted excitedly.

     “I eat meat from an animal – not flesh, not blood!” here he paused and added, “I’ll eat wolf meat – that I devour!”

     “Would you devour a heart, huntsman?” Little Red parted her cloak further, revealing her dress which hugged every curve of her body. Lifting an eyebrow, she writhed, “Oh! Huntsman!”

     With his eyebrows gathered together, he answered laconically, “A wolf’s heart.”

     “I prefer not to have blood-red wine staining my cloak and dress,” she pulled her hood back, revealing long, curly raven hair, “But I am hungry,” her gold eyes again rolled down his body. Little Red took one more swig before she playfully undressed – unlacing her corset and bodice, dropping her cloak onto the grass. Little Red’s milky body stood with only her leather high-boots ornamenting her porcelain-white figure. Her long, black hair swayed in the breaths of wind between the trees. At that moment, both recognized the other…

     “The hunter and the hunted,” she hissed.

     Then a flash of lightning as Little Red lunged explosively at him, the rows of razor teeth within her mouth clamped over the hunter’s throat. His blue eyes bulged wildly in shock as her jaw clenched shut and his body dropped onto the dusty path. With his throat inside her mouth, she chewed then swallowed. Blood smudged over her mouth, blood streamed down past her chin, dripping onto her body.

     “I told you, huntsman,” licking her bloody lips, “I prefer not to have blood-red wine all over my cloak and dress!”

     Dragging his body, she pussyfooted away from the path into the tall grass and wildflowers. She laid him supine, a trail of blood on the blades of grass and flower petals followed. She crawled and draped her body on top of his corpse, sinking her teeth into his flesh, tearing out chunks, exposing bone. With her crimson, sandpaper tongue, she licked meat off his bones and drank his blood from the open arteries of his neck.

     As she feasted, there came the familiar howl from earlier. Her eyes scanned, her ears listening to the familiar beat of a wolf’s thundering heart, and her nostrils flared to the scent of another like her.

     Cleaving the tall grass needles, the wet, flaring nostrils of a wolf’s long snout emerged, followed by wide, human-like eyes that glowed faintly amber in the sunlight. Its jaw opened, and the massive canines were bared. The wolf locked onto the hollowed corpse as it licked its dry lips. Little Red extended her open, blood-coated hand, petting the wolf’s snout. Its large crimson tongue licked the palm of her hand clean.

     “The hunter became the hunted,” Little Red said to the wolf as she raked her fingers through its thick fur.

     In a man’s voice, the wolf responded, “And the hunted became the huntress!”

     The wolf licked Little Red’s blood-splattered face, then it asked, “How are you going to clean yourself, Little Red?” The wolf’s human-like eye winked.

     “Perhaps you should shape-shift into a handsome man and give me a bath?”

     With wildflowers wilting in her presence, she sprawled herself out onto the grass in anticipation of her man’s tongue.

     Drawing back into the thick, tall grass, the wolf cried a lengthy, agonizing howl, which would be unending to any mortal’s ears. As for Little Red, the howling of her love shape-shifting into man from wolf – she could listen for hours without shuddering.

     Cleaving the bloody blades of grass was the open hand of a young man, which Little Red likewise joined with hers. The man’s body slowly emerged until he lay nude beside her. Again, their hands joined, legs intertwined, his bare foot brushing her boot – wolf hearts laced together.

     “My! A she-wolf needs her hot, steamy bath!”

     “I am going to brush your whole body with my tongue, my Little Red!”

     His tongue sailing up her porcelain-white, sweaty legs splattered and smudged with dried blood, Little Red moaned in ecstasy. They were animal-like moans, where it would almost sound like a growl to mortal ears.

     “I know we’re animals… but don’t be too devilish here – just give me a quick bath! Then we’re onto stealing my grandmother’s heap of gold, my dear!”

     “How rich will we be?” the man’s eyes gleamed.

     “Many years of happiness ahead – that’s how much!”

     After Little Red’s bath, when her smooth, milky body was clean, her wolfman dressed in the hunter’s clothes and slung the rifle around his shoulder. Likewise, Little Red dressed, lacing her cloak, pulling her hood over her eyes, ready to skip and hop to riches.

     Leaving behind the hunter’s hollowed, skinless corpse, concealed in the bush, both the she-wolf and her wolfman joined hands as they moved up the path.

     “Should I go on ahead – to where our gold is?” asked her wolfman.

     “What lies ahead for us is merry, my dear,” Little Red raised their joined hands, kissing his, “That heap of gold is ours!”

     He reciprocated, planting a kiss onto her hand, “Your scent’s like wine; it’s intoxicating!” he cheered as he planted a kiss onto her slender neck.

     Both stopped suddenly and embraced lips, before he sprinted with swiftness ahead. Little Red strode along the dusty path, which was flanked by bowing branches and wildflowers that wilted as she passed.

***

     Standing tall before the cottage door of Little Red’s grandmother’s home, Little Red’s wolf in hunter’s clothing, was ready to devour her grandmother’s heart should she refuse handing over the gold.

     Little Red appeared, skipping up the garden path to him…

     “Oh! Huntsman,” she exclaimed sarcastically, “What golden eyes you have!”

     “The better to see you with!” he winked.

     “But, huntsman, what long arms you have!” she pinched his shirt sleeve.

     “The better to embrace you with!” he wrapped his arms around her.

     “But, huntsman, what a bloody scent you have!” she leaned into his neck and sniffed.

     “The better to attract you with!” she felt the heat of blushing cheeks.

     Then they cradled hands before the cottage door…

     “But, huntsman, what strong hands you have!” she kissed his hands.

     “The better to hold you with!”

     “But, huntsman, what warmth you have!” warmth spread across her body.

     “The better to warm you with!” their bodies pressed into each other.

     “But, huntsman, what sharp teeth you have!” he bared his canines to her pleasure.

     “The better to devour you with!” her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she gasped.

     “Oh! Dear! How uneasy I feel now!” Little Red cackled.

     “Oh! Dear! What a wicked creature I am!” he exclaimed.

     A basket of cake and an empty wine bottle in one hand, the other a balled fist drumming onto the burgundy, oak door. Silence followed for several heartbeats until an elder’s voice from within hollered, “I am sickly – just lift the latch and come in!”

     Without trepidation, Little Red lifted the latch and the door moved slowly inwards, the door creaking halfway ajar. There came a draft from within, of some aromas that neither recognized. However, it stung their nostrils and burned their eyes.

     “Little Red?” he stuttered.

     Little Red pulled her hand away from his shaky one, charging through the door, calling out, “Oh! Grandmother!” without answer, she laid the basket onto a table, pulled out the cake.        

     Little Red faced the door of the bedroom. Once her fingers were on the latch, she lifted it and gently pushed the door open to find whom she thought was her grandmother snug in bed, wearing a red nightgown and cap.

     “But, grandmother, what bright eyes you have!”

     “The better to find you with!”

     “But, grandmother, what a wild scent you have!”

     “The better to lure you with!”

     It was coming into focus now – Little Red smelled another she-wolf – a heart thundering and this other she-wolf was very close…

     “But, grandmother, what robust hands you have!”

     “The better to crush you with!”

     “But, grandmother, what long, pointed nails you have!”

     “The better to shred you with!”

     “But, grandmother, what sharp teeth you have!”

     “The better to chew on you with!”

     “Oh! Mother! How uneasy I feel!” she screamed.

      “Oh! Daughter! What a wicked creature you are!” she growled.

     In the dimness of the bedroom, her mother’s piercing gold eyes froze Little Red – froze her wild heart – her once pumping blood now dammed like ice… Little Red turned and bolted for the front door.

     Skidding to a stop at the threshold, Little Red’s wolfman had his long arms raised as her grandmother was aiming a rifle at him. Her grandmother yelled, “Silver bullets!” his rifle was laying on the grass.

     Then a deep growl from behind, Little Red turns into the dim of the cottage – her mother standing tall on her hind legs, towering over her.

     “Mother! Oh, why!” she cried.

     “Little Red Riding Hood! Oh, why!” she growled.

     “I was just doing what was asked of me, mother!”

     “To bring cake and wine to your sickly grandmother, my daughter!”

     “Yes, mother!”

     “Listen to me… I don’t care about you tearing apart that hunter on the path today…”

     “Of course! Hunt or be hunted!” Little Red shouted.

     “And hunting for your grandmother’s gold? Little Red! My daughter! I hereby disown you! You – young she-wolf, are on your own now!”

***

     Beginning their walk of shame, Little Red and her wolfman clasped hands, striding their way down the path away from what family Little Red had just lost. Neither looked back – their wide, gold eyes forward blindlessly into the blood-red sunset.

     “Shall we shape-shift?” her wolfman asked.

     Little Red grinned, saying, “I am quite hungry, my dear!”

     “There’s a full moon out tonight,” he added.

     They embraced both lips and bodies, then they undressed and shape-shifted into wolves. Leaving their clothes piled in the brush, while they hunt. Giving the other a lick, off together, off the path, side by side, married through devotion.