Chapter 9 Scarlette #2
His head snapped up as I stepped closer, and the eyes that met mine were not human. They glowed, not with reflected light, but from within, amber and wild and rimmed in black. His mouth twisted in a grimace, teeth longer than before, white as fresh-cut bone.
“Don’t,” he said, or tried to. The word came out in a growl, thick and wet, and the effort of it made him shudder.
I stopped, but only for a second. “I’m not here to hurt you,” I said. The words sounded ridiculous, but they were true.
He braced himself on all fours, nails—no, claws now—digging furrows in the dirt. His body jerked, hips bucking, as if every part of him was fighting against itself. There was blood on his hands, and on the snow beneath him. The fur at the edge of my cloak prickled as I watched.
I remembered, then, the stories. The old wives’ tales, the warnings whispered in the kitchens after dark.
Girls who went walking in the woods at night, never to return.
Men who woke up in strange places, with no memory of what they’d done, blood under their nails and voices in their heads.
I had always thought them nonsense, meant to scare children, but now—
“Moab,” I said, as soft as I could. “It’s me.”
He shook his head, once, violently. “You have to go,” he managed, voice strangled. “I can’t—”
“Don’t be stupid,” I said, louder. I stepped into the clearing, ignoring the pounding of my heart. “If you were going to hurt me, you would have done it already.”
He laughed, or tried to. The sound was wrong, too high and thin. “You don’t know—”
“I know enough.” I came closer, so close I could smell the animal reek of him, sharp and feral and nothing like the sweat or blood of men.
He lunged, not at me but at the ground beside my feet, raking the snow as if he meant to tunnel into the earth. His whole body convulsed, and for a moment I thought he would tear himself in half.
I crouched, cloak trailing in the frost, and reached for his shoulder. My hand hovered, uncertain. “If you want me to stop, say it now,” I said.
He went still, every muscle locked, as if holding his breath could keep the beast at bay.
I touched him. The heat of his skin was shocking, a furnace burning through the thin rag of his shirt. His shoulder trembled under my palm, but he didn’t pull away.
“You’re not alone,” I said. “Whatever this is, you’re not alone.”
He turned his face toward me, the bones shifting under the skin, his mouth a snarl and a plea all at once.
I remembered, then, what it was to be hunted. I remembered the hands that had tried to claim me, to crush me into something obedient and small. I remembered the way it felt to run, knowing there was no safe place, that even the woods themselves might turn against you.
So I held on. I dug my fingers into his shoulder, anchoring him to the world.
I whispered the first words that came to mind—nonsense words, the old prayers from childhood, the fragments of poetry I’d once read in secret.
I told him he was strong, that he could fight it, that I believed in him, though I wasn’t sure I did.
He shook and howled, the sound raw and terrible, but I didn’t let go.
After a time, the tremors slowed. His breath came easier, the claws receded, the eyes dulled to a more human gold.
He slumped forward, head hanging. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice hoarse.
I let out a shaky laugh. “Don’t be. I’ve seen worse. Probably.”
He looked at me, uncertain. “You should have run.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” I said. “You’d just chase me.”
He managed a crooked smile, teeth still sharp. “Probably.”
We sat there in the snow, two broken things, until the cold forced us to move.
He was the first to speak, voice low. “You want to know what I am?”
I nodded, unsure if I did.
He stared into the trees, eyes distant. “I wasn’t born this way.
Not exactly. There was an accident—a crash.
I died. Or I should have. But when I woke up, I was in the woods.
This curse, or whatever you want to call it, came with me.
” He flexed his hand, watching the nails lengthen and shorten, as if showing off a parlor trick.
“I kept it secret. Only my brothers know.”
I absorbed this, trying to fit it into the shape of the man I knew.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Only when I fight it.” Then he looked at our surroundings. “The change has never been like that. So painful. I think it’s time travel. It’s done something to my DNA, transformed me in some way.
I squeezed his shoulder, gentler now. “Then don’t fight. Or not so hard.”
He laughed, and this time it was almost human. “You’re not afraid?”
I thought about it, then shook my head. “No. Not of you.”
He looked at me, something like gratitude in his eyes. “You should be.”
I stood, pulling the cloak tighter. “Let’s get to the hut before we freeze to death.”
He shook his head. “I saw two hunters heading that way. We’ll have to wait.”
He got to his feet, a little unsteady, and followed me out of the clearing. The moon watched us go, silent and indifferent, as if nothing that happened in its light could ever truly matter.
When we reached the lodge, I paused at the door.
“Moab?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not the only one with secrets,” I said. I pushed the door open and let him follow me inside.
We were both, I think, a little more human after that.
***
The lodge felt smaller after that night, every beam and floorboard marked with the memory of what I’d seen in the woods.
I moved through it with a new kind of caution, not fear but awareness, as if the air itself might catch and tear if I breathed too hard.
Moab was quieter, too, his movements careful, almost rehearsed, like a man trying to pass for human in a world that wasn’t fooled.
I kept the fire going. It was the only thing that made the room feel safe, the only light that didn’t flatten the world into cold, hard lines. I sat close to it, letting the warmth soak into my bones, and watched him from the corner of my eye.
He sat against the far wall, knees drawn up, hands wrapped around them. His hair was still damp with sweat, and the blue-black marks on his arms stood out sharp as wounds. He stared at the flames, not speaking, not moving. I wondered if he was waiting for me to run.
“You hungry?” I said, just to break the silence.
He looked up, startled. “Yeah. Always.”
I smiled, though I knew it looked more like a grimace. “There’s nothing left but the roots. Unless you want to gnaw on the wood.”
He snorted, but the sound died fast. “I can go out later. Bring something back.”
I nodded. “The men, do you think they’ll come back?”
He shook his head. “Not tonight. They’ll wait until the weather clears.”
We sat like that for a while, the fire popping and hissing, the shadows on the walls dancing closer every time I looked away.
I thought of the stories, the warnings, the way my mother used to draw the sign of the cross on my forehead before bed.
I wondered if she’d still do it, knowing what I’d become.
I reached for a stick and poked at the embers. “I have a question.”
He tensed, but nodded.
“If you can become—” I paused, searching for the word, “the wolf—why not do it all the time? Why stay like this?”
He thought about it. “It’s not easy. The first time, it almost killed me. The second time, I almost killed someone else. Every time after, it’s been a gamble.” He flexed his hand, watching the bones shift under the skin. “I can control it, mostly. But not always.”
“Does it feel good?” I asked, surprising myself.
He looked at me, eyes gone gold for a second. “Better than anything. But the more I do it, the harder it is to come back.”
I considered this, then said, “What if I asked you to do it now?”
He laughed, sharp and bright. “Why?”
“Because I’m practical. And we’re starving. If you can catch food, do it. I don’t care what it looks like.”
He stared, not quite believing. “You want me to change. Here?”
I shrugged again. “Do what you have to.”
He was silent for a long moment, then stood, slow and deliberate. He moved to the center of the room, as if needing space.
“I haven’t tried it with someone watching,” he said. “You sure you’re up for this?”
I nodded, feeling the pulse in my throat.
He stripped off the shirt, tossing it aside. The tattoos on his chest and arms seemed to glow in the firelight, the lines rippling as he rolled his shoulders. He braced himself, fingers splayed against the table, and took a breath that sounded like it might break him in half.
Then he changed.
It was not like in the stories. There was no neat shimmer, no flash of magic.
It was ugly, and beautiful, and real. The bones moved first, reshaping, stretching.
His hands curled into claws, the nails thickening, darkening.
The hair along his arms and spine sprouted, spreading in a rush of black and silver.
His face lengthened, the jaw widening, teeth growing long and sharp.
He groaned, a noise so deep I felt it in my own chest.
When it was over, he dropped to all fours, shaking. The wolf was massive, bigger than any I’d seen, shoulder high, eyes burning gold, the scar on his cheek still visible beneath the fur. He panted, steam rising from his body, then looked up at me.
I met his gaze, heart hammering. “Moab?” I whispered.
He nodded, the gesture unmistakably human.
I smiled, relieved. “Bring something back,” I said.
He padded to the door, pawed it open, and slipped into the night.
I sat by the fire, waiting. I didn’t know how long he’d be, or if he’d come back at all. The wind outside rattled the walls, and for a moment I thought I heard the howls of a whole pack, not just one.
Time blurred. I dozed, dreaming of running through the woods, the ground rushing beneath me, the air thick with the scent of blood and pine. I woke to the sound of claws on the threshold.
He had returned. In his jaws, a rabbit, limp but fresh. He dropped it at my feet, then sat back on his haunches, watching me.
“Thank you,” I said, voice shaking a little.
I skinned the rabbit with a knife he’d left for me, hands steady despite the oddness of the scene. I roasted the meat over the fire, the smell rich and wild. He watched every movement, ears twitching, tail sweeping the floor.
I ate first, tearing strips of meat and chewing them slowly, savoring the taste. When I was done, I set the rest by his paws. He devoured it in two bites, licking the blood from the floorboards after.
We sat in silence, two animals, sated and unsure of what came next.
After a time, he stretched out on the furs, head resting on his crossed paws. I watched him, the rise and fall of his breath, the way the firelight caught in his fur.
I moved closer, drawn by something I could not name. I knelt beside him, stroked his head, fingers threading through the thick, coarse hair. He shivered, not from cold, but from the touch.
I lay back on the furs, the heat of the fire against my bare skin, and watched as he circled me, slow and deliberate. He sniffed at my neck, my wrists, my ankles. When he reached my hip, he paused, breath warm against my thigh.
A flush spread through me, equal parts fear and want. I let him nudge me, let him taste the sweat at my pulse. I was not afraid. I was more alive than I had ever been.
He moved over me, careful and heavy. His tongue, rough and hot, traced the lines of my body. When he pressed between my legs, I gasped, not in pain but surprise. He was gentle, impossibly so, his mouth exploring every inch, every hollow, every secret place.
I arched into him, hands fisted in his fur. The world shrank to the heat of the fire, the scrape of his tongue, the ache between my legs.
He shifted then, bones snapping, fur receding. In a heartbeat, he was himself again, kneeling over me, naked and sweating, eyes locked on mine.
“You sure?” he said, voice hoarse.
“Yes,” I said, and pulled him down.
He entered me in one hard, slow thrust, filling me completely. I wrapped my legs around his waist, held him close as he moved inside me, each stroke rough and desperate.
He kissed me, mouth hungry, teeth grazing my lip. I bit him back, tasting blood, and he grinned, teeth flashing white. in someways, I’d become the wolf.
We moved together, bodies slick with sweat and want. He drove into me, harder, faster, until I thought I’d break. I clawed at his back, nails leaving red trails. He fucked me like an animal, like he couldn’t get close enough.
When I came, it was with a shudder that rattled my bones. He followed, hips slamming against me, body going rigid as he emptied himself inside.
He collapsed onto the furs, breathing hard, one arm thrown across my chest.
For a long time, we said nothing. Just lay there, two survivors, two beasts, the fire burning low.
When I finally spoke, it was barely a whisper. “Do you think it will always be like this?”
He turned, kissed my collarbone. “I hope so.”
We slept, curled together, and the dreams were all of running, and hunger, and the wild, endless night.