The wolf stared at her. She stared at him. She wanted to look away; she didn’t want to entice him, but she couldn’t turn. The cookies weighed her down like an anchor. Her heart threatened to burst. The wolf took a step forward. The basket of cookies fell from her limp fingers, the cookies scattered across the grass.
Without hesitation she began running in the opposite direction. The deep, dark forest was only meters away, maybe she could lose him among the trees. The branches tore at her skin and whipped her face. Shreds of her red dress dripped from the trees’ branches. She glanced behind her. The wolf was out of sight. She had strayed from the path. Her mother’s cookies for her grandmother had been spoiled. The weight of guilt flooded her eyes with tears. She had to find her way back home. Just as she turned around she came face to face with a man.
The man stared at her. She stared at him, petrified by his gaze. His naked body enticed her and she could neither look nor turn away from it. Was it fair to call him a man? Shaggy grey hair fell about shoulders of tensile sculpture. His haunting yellow eyes tore at her chest and she could feel shreds of red desire dripping from the wounds they opened. Thick full lips bulged slightly about his jaw, showing no trace of a smile, surely concealing fangs that would tatter her flesh to match her ruined dress. She brushed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her trembling hand.
“You fear me,” he said. There were no fangs when he spoke, just teeth and strong, inviting lips. His voice possessed her with its deep, virile tones.
“I was just upset that I lost my mother’s cookies,” she replied, as coolly as her shaking voice would allow.
He reached toward her. Every muscle in her body disobeyed her instinct to turn and flee again. Her eyes slowly followed down his form, chiseled perfection, until they fell on his outstretched hand. Her basket and cookies held there left no doubt who the hand belonged to. Nervously she reached out to take them, finally with the strength to turn away no longer bound by his hypnotic stare.
Patiently, he waited for her to turn and look back, but she did not.
“Go then,” his voice became a bestial guttural snarl. “Return when you have conquered your fear.”
She turned and fled. It was the weight of shame that now flooded her eyes with tears.
© 2012 Anne Schilde